GGTTP 0 - 2 Zharrduk Zephyrs

“Brown paper package,” grimaced Glorfindel.

“Tied up with strings,” frowned Stormwind Monroe.

“Gods!” lamented Duran Fiennes.  “How I’ve come to loathe these things!”

It was the third parcel, on the third day, wrapped – much like the others –in waxed paper and spotted with blood.  It could have been a delivery from any butcher’s shop or fish stall in the land, but they knew that its contents would be somewhat less appetizing.

Coach Lysenko had been missing for two weeks now, captors unknown.  Apart from their initial note, there had been no communication other than a string (sometimes literally) of body parts sent to the team every time they lost a match.  They couldn’t help reflecting that, given their recent form, ‘Lucky’ Lysenko’s prospects weren’t good.

The Zephyrs had been an intimidating opponent from the start, having stomped, clawed and impaled their way up the league – gaining a momentum that most stone  walls would struggle to halt.

It had all started badly from the first whistle when Peregrine Pine-Cone, who was quickly becoming a master at such things, managed to completely mis-kick the ball and hand it to the Chaos Dwarfs as a touch-back.  After that, most of the first half had been a slow trundle of death as the Zephyrs relentlessly rolled down the pitch.

Fans who thought that this was the worst start possible were distressed to realise how wrong they were.  Before the Dwarfs were even halfway to the endzone, Khorakk Brassfist succeeded in killing Pine-Cone – which many fans felt was quite harsh, despite his disastrous kick-off.  Luckily, apothecary Donna DeNiro was on-hand to resuscitate, though even now his injuries remain grave.

So busy was DeNiro with her expired catcher that she was unable to prevent Kelm the Witless’ removal after a disastrous yet brave attempt to leap in amongst a pack of Bull Centaurs to retrieve the ball.  Her end was bloody and painful, but luckily not permanent.  One commentator was heard to cry, “Kelm the Witless?  Kelm the Reckless, more like!” and the name seemed to have stuck.

With two of the best players out of action and several more knocked out along the way, it was not hard for the Zephyrs to claim their first touchdown in the dying seconds of the half.

If the Players thought that things could only improve, then they were desperately disappointed at the beginning of the second half when, having kicked the ball down the field, the Chaos Dwarfs sprung into action before the Wood Elves had even had a chance to react.  Their carefully-planned attack strategy was thrown into complete disarray when they discovered that the Chaos Dwarfs were none of them where they were supposed to be and that their one remaining Wardancer was flat on her face.

Glorfindel was out of action, knocked out cold in the previous half, so it fell to Duran Fiennes to pick up the ball and throw it out of harm’s way.  But at the sight of two raging Bull Centaurs thundering towards him, he soon panicked and managed to fumble the ball, dropping it at his feet.

The remainder of the half was much the same as the first, the Wood Elves scrambling to stop the Chaos Dwarfs from picking up the ball and scoring.  Once more, they failed and the Zephyrs left the pitch celebrating their win, two touchdowns to nothing.

After that, body parts began to arrive on a daily basis.  “IF YOU LOSE AGAIN, WE WILL SEND BACK YOUR COACH, PIECE BY TINY PIECE,” the ransom note had read.  His captors were true to their word.

“Do we have to open it?” fretted Stormwind as Glorfindel’s trembling fingers fumbled with the string.

“We failed to win the last three games.  We haven’t scored in the last two.  This is happening because of us.  So yes, we have to open it.”

He cautiously laid aside the twine which had bound the package and gently began to unfold the paper.  He paused to gather his courage  and Donna DeNiro put a hand upon his shoulder to strengthen him.

He took a long breath and then finally he opened it.

The rest of the team had gathered around and their gasps echoed through the dressing room as one.

“OH MY GODS!” cried Stormwind.

“Is that his…?”  choked Clew-Neith, and fainted.

“Oh, the poor man!”  wept Hoffman.

“Barely a man now,” grimaced Auburn Branagh.

“But how will he… you know… wee?”  Panoply Cruz added, blushing.

A long time passed in silence as they all stared down at the dismembered member before them.  It felt like hours, but none of them could curb their morbid fascination.

It was Glorfindel who broke the silence:

“It’s very big, isn’t it?”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

When Hoffman exhaled, it sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Well that’s what I was thinking,” he exclaimed.  “‘Big’ doesn’t even cover it.  It’s massive!”

“I mean, the circumference alone is just… well…,” Glorfindel shook his head in disbelief.

“But how could they do this to the Coach?” wondered Panoply Cruz absently, captivated by the sight before her.

Donna DeNiro shook her head.  “It’s not human.”

“I know, dear,”  Glorfindel squeezed her hand. “They’re monsters, utter monsters.”

“No, you bloody idiots!” she groaned.  “That.  It’s not human.

The Elf turned.  “What do you mean?  I thought humans were all… that big.  Are you sure?”

“Well, I’ve seen enough of them in my time, loads - hundreds in fact, and -”

The whole room was looking at her.

“Well… I mean… professionally.  As a nurse.  Seriously, you lot!  It looks like it’s off a bull or something.”

“Have you seen many of those ones?” asked Branagh, expectantly.

She punched his shoulder and he collapsed to the floor.

“And what about yesterday?” she asked.  “The calf’s liver?”

They stared blankly.

“And the day before?  Sheep’s eyes?”

With the speed of a whale swimming through set cement, it slowly began to dawn on them.

“You mean – this isn’t from… a person?” someone asked.

“The parts aren’t…the coach’s?”  came from somewhere at the back.

“Somebody’s been playing you for fools,” declared DeNiro.

“To get us to play better?” gasped Glordindel.

“Didn’t work very well, did it?” she said.

“But who would…?” Glorfindel’s brow creased.  “Unless - ”

DeNiro gazed over at the coach’s cap, hanging by the door.  “He wouldn’t?  Would he?”

The room erupted with cries of “I’ll kill him!” and “I’ll cut it off for real when I get my hands on him!” before the team stormed out en masse, baying for the blood of their coach.

Only Thorn Cruise remained, staring longingly at the severed bull’s phallus, just wondering, out of nothing more than scientific curiosity, exactly what it would feel like in his hands.

Cautiously, Cruise looked around.  No-one here, he thought.

The Elf slowly reached out, his fingers trembling with excitement…