Frances Le Breton, as the name probably suggests, is not from the Empire but from Bretonnia. A low criminal by even a Skaven's standard, he took to Blood Bowl like his specially-studded shoes take to his downed opponent's face. No one really knows how he got out of prison, but several business ventures with a heavy interest in Blood Bowl are suspected, as they had organised a game in one of Bretonnia's less known villages to scope out talent. Three fatalities later, Frances was dragged away, his poisoned knife taken forecefully from his fingers, but not before he managed to impress several scouts attending the game. Now, he's free. which may have been an unwise move on the part of his benefactors, and at the head of a new team called the Tolouse Troubadores. You have NO idea how much this ticked off Tolouse.

Not much is known about Charles, save for his first name and status as Frances' partner in crime in most of his escapades. Dark rumours have beem circulating about him ever since a rookie Chaos beastman picked a fight with him in the bar. All that was found later were a few scraps of fur and a bloodstain. Charles insisted that he didn't do it, and nothing really happened. In a COMPLETELY UNRELATED incident a few weeks later, a pair of Beastman eyes were found in his pack, which he said were 'good luck charms.'
An enquiry was attempted but the enquirer was mysteriously punched in the oesophagus and the case was dropped.

Half-Face Hans got his name when a fire broke out in an inn where he was staying. He managed to get out, but suffered horrific burns down the side of his face from the flames. The resulting deformation gave Hans his nickname, but no one's really tried to say it to his face yet. Well, they have, but not without loss of bodily functions. Currently serving under the Troubadores because of the money they offered him (duh), Hans holds the line against homicidal maniacs and pansy elves alike, occasioanlly even knocking someone over. On a good day. With perfect weather. With the Gods looking on him personally.

Paul suffers from a huge ego. He thinks he's the best thing since free lapdances were given to MVPs. Well, maybe not THAT good, but you get the point.
Yes, I know there's no such thing has free lapdances for MVPs, now shut up.
But I digress. Anyway, Paul's ego was further enhanced by the name of the team. He thinks it's allllll to do with him. Well, it is, but nevertheless Frances has smacked him around to the point where he actually follows orders, so that can only be a good thing.

No one's really sure where Michael came from. Not many can begin to pin his frankly stupid accent down. All that's known about him is his complete lack of interest of anything other than the ball. He frequently runs through 3 linemen to grab a ball with no thought of personal safety. Frances and Charles often have to physically redirect him into the path of something else when they need to. Apothecaries still aren't really sure what's wrong with him, and no one really wants to get close to him to find out, due to his manic ball-deprivation-induced rages.

Samuel is the signifcantly saner of the Tolouse catching duo. Mostly just a normal guy forced into the 'Bowl to pay his bills, Samuel has been catching for a scant few days. It's a miracle he got so good at it. Or, if you believe the godless Troubadores' tortur-uh, trainer, "stern discipline." Samuel has been showing signs of mental trauma recently. It seems that he's not quite fully trained yet. The wuss.

Gaulle's past is a troubled one. His family has been killed around three times now, and one girl he was engaged to, which is rather unfair given that she wasn't even family yet. The culprit for all of this was an Undead force that attacked Brittonia 6 years ago, leaving Gaulle alone and insane.

Now a 3rd rate psychopath, Gaulle just wants to kill things, marking him out for a shining career in Blood Bowl. He frequently goes into a beserker rage when confronted with Undead, or indeed, anyone on the floor, regardless of state of death.

Poirot was given his name by his cruel and sadistic parents. Oh, they SAID they were treating him kindly, and the inspectors SAID they didn't find anything, but it takes a cold, cold, heart to give a child the ridiculous name of Poirot. He mostly gets by these days, dishing out parental-misdeed-rage-fuelled punches to anyone who fancies their chance against him.

A pretty obscure mercenary even when a match report is filed, Fritz is quite possibly the most faceless grunt to appear on the scene. He rarely gets called by name, and, oddly enough, seems content with getting paid a pittance to be cannon fodder, so it's all OK. He will probably die a horriffic bone-mangling death soon so an in depth detailed explanation of his background is not necessary. In fact, many believe that Fritz prefers it that way.

Despite failing his exams at school due to generally being thick, Johann Schoff still managed to find employment in the Bloody Bowl, where mental prowess came second best to turning an opponent's face inside out with a single punch. Johann was VERY good at this bit, and so got onto the Troubadores without much trouble. Now, if he could only stay alive for at least one half he might actually get something out of this...

Marc was an unexceptional boy, an unexceptional man and is now an unexceptional Blood Bowler. This hasn't really hampered his undying ambition to be actually good at something, resulting in his signing on to the Troubadores, mostly due to his sheer expendability.

Leon the Lineman joined after the Troubadoures' first game, mainly because he needed a job more than anything else. A tavern rat all round, Leon finds himself in the unenviable position of 'meatshield' on the Troubadoures' frontline, and wishes he was a better person every time a crunching block heads his way.