Mr. Savdog was once an aspiring wizard studying under the great Wolfgang Von Pamelmouse at the Bright College of Magic. A promising career hurting firebolts and lighting bolts beckoned.
However, fate, or the Altdorf paparazzi, interceded. While out celebrating aceing his midterm exams Mr.Savdog was caught in a comprising situation with a half elf lady of the twilight. This craven act was captured by a hobgoblin paparatzo and promptly sold to the New Ork Times.
Scandal ensued.
Mr. Savdog was expelled for the Colleges of Magic in disgrace. Now earning his living as a Blitzer he has sworn vengence on all green skins and their ilk, he also never smiles when having his picture taken.

Throweck was left abandoned from birth. Found and raised by Orcs, he grew up learning their garbled language and unfortunate habits and transforming them into something beautiful. He knew he was different. The pale skin, hair, charming features, walking upright without slumped shoulders did not fit. He knew it was time to leave when the cry of 'WAAAAAARRRGH!' did nothing.

Now an adult he travelled far and wide looking for similar beings to himself. Eventually, possibly fatefully, he happened across Archibold Manigence's school of etiquette. Here he was able to be himself, learning the ways of a true gentleman. After many years of hard studying he was a true gentleman. He had mastered the art of courtship, witty repertoire and clipping fine cigars. Alas, something was still missing.

It was again fate, that on a hot summers eve, a band of travelling Blood Bowl passed his establishment. This game, he had heard, was rather obscure and filled with ruffians and scallywags. This team looked different. Somewhat refined with their glorious moustaches and smartened attire.

Throweck's eyes caught theirs and an immediate bond was made. This...this is the place he needs to be. And so it came to be that Throweck joined the gentlemanly team to be an up and coming blitzer in a dangerous game.

"The details of my life are quite inconsequential ... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloé with webbed feet. My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament ... My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon ... luge lessons ... In the spring, we'd make meat helmets ... When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Vilmer ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking ... I suggest you try it."

Mr. Rabe's father was a Blood Bowl player himself, his mother one of his team's cheerleaders. While his procreation was probably not exactly planned, his parents stuck together, bound by love to each other and to the sport. Rabe Jr. was meant to follow in the steps of his father, even though he showed early ambitions and talent that predestined him for a higher education. Unthinkable for the down-to-earth folks that he was surrounded by. Hence he kept training and secretly sought out a mentor who would teach him reading, writing and refined manners.
Playing in his first youth team, he found out that he was seriously disgusted by body contact with other players. Due to this (and not being able to turn down his meanwhile invalid father's wishes and hopes), he focused on the only object that did not sweat and thereby insulted his nostrils: The ball. Unfortunately for him, opposing players frequently show great interest in the pigskin as well, so his next goal was to get rid off it as soon as possible. Naturally, Mr. Rabe developed into a thrower, and - driven by his self-protecting instincts - not a bad one even.
When his mentor one day introduced him to a secret club for gentleman later on, he was finally able to live his intellectual and aesthetic desires freely. He wasn't too happy when the club members decided to enter the pitch by themselves, but since he was never good in withstanding family or peer-group pressure, he followed them with mixed feelings.

Quote: "You take care of the opposition, I take care of the ball. Deal?"

Born in a large swampy city on a small swampy island, the catcher who calls himself Pentalarc began life as a third assistant scribe in a small guild that often hired out to a local temple. Said guild had a commission to transcribe part of the temple's secured vaults, strange and mysterious, often dark tomes from around the world.

Not willing to risk the sanity or loyalty of any of their actually good scribes, they sent their worst, dimmest and least experienced, putting Pentalarc in charge of them, since, despite his skill, he was still expendable.

It was while copying one of these books, that the young scribe first saw reference to the game of bloodbowl. Fascinated, he immediately stole some of the more valuable books, and sold them for safe and comfortable passage to the nearest area with a league.

His academic manners and speech however at best confused the other teams and at worst caused derision as he offered his services. Downtrodden, he made his way to an upper class tavern to drown his sorrows and began a conversation with a group of welldressed gentlemen who, themselves seemed educated and cultured. Imagine his joy when he found out that they were in fact the most recently formed team in the area. Finally a place where he speak with proper grammar and quote philosophers while butting people with a spiked helmet!

Mr. Ady Brooke grew up out on the range, where men were men and sheep were worried, but this rural idyll was not for him. Weaker than the other boys, he was often bullied, but found his speed and agility were more than a match for them. Mocked and disheartened he wandered until he came to a city where he heard the roar of the fans from within a great stadium - he discovered Blood Bowl. A sport for a real man, where his childhood tormentors dare not follow.
Here he would become a hero...

Retro was a loner, a wanderer. One day, he was bitten by a radioactive halfling and his life changed forever.
Now able to grow a moustache and beard he discovered a confidence he had never experienced before. Unfortunately this hirsute fellow also found growth on his palms, which made catching a hairy affair.
Still, it doesn't undermine his confidence and he strives to have the best moustache in whatever competition he plays in.

Mr. Troy is being trained by Mr. Luxyluxo in the art of wrestling. Although Mr. Troy is one of the original members of the team, it is youthful looks that gained him the title, 'The Freshman'.

Mr.Cipherious, was one of the lucky orphans that ended up in the Marienburg Home For Foundlings under the loving care of Sister Marianne Liefeder. As a youngster he was gallivanting the streets of the wealthy merchant town on Marienbourgand in his blue uniform, shaking his tin to earn some money for the home.
Growing up he was wondering the more darker streets of the city getting himself constantly in trouble and always ending up in fights! This caught the attention of Anders Grimm who tried to knock some sense into him, but he found him a tough nut to crack! So he helped him find his way into the illegal streetball games being played all around the darkest alleys of the city! There he started making a name for himself for being a wee bit brutal and eventually he was spotted by Coach Throweck who was on tour with the gentleman's club boxing society, and was out and about to satisfy his gambling addiction when Coach Throweck spotted the opportunity and got Mr. Cipherious out for a dinner where he realised he had to work on his gentlemanly manner before he could actually hire him to join the gentleman's club boxing society. Although it was hard work, mr.Cipherious emerged a proper gentleman and found his place in the team!

Mr. Luxyluxo was once a trained in the art of 'wrestling'. Not the entertainment variety but that of a grand master from ancient worlds. It has been said that Mr. Luxyluxo is one of the best wrestlers of our time. So much so in fact that his confidence has built to a level where he will willingly take even the biggest of opponents to the floor.

Mr. Donkare was never really an outgoing individual. Content with counting his money he let the world just pass by. It wasn't until a summers day when a spiked ball shot through his window and landed on his beloved cat, killing her instantly. Enraged, he shot outside and took down both teams that were playing just outside (some of the mansion staff occasionally have a kick around at lunch time). Spotted by Mr. Throweck, he joined the team.

Mr. Easilyamused has spent many a year performing at local bars under the pretence of his alter-ego 'Monsieur Heureux'. He has always wanted to make people happy with his unique comedic abilities. Afraid of being shunned by his fellow gents for frequenting such establishments, he takes to secrecy instead.

Mr. Xaro was once a ringmaster for an established circus. However, his relationship with a strong-mans wife became too much. He was chased away from the circus and is still on the run. Perhaps one day he will meet the strongman on the pitch and scores will be settled.