Pride and Penitence Page 3
Gerhardt caught the fleeing priestess with a diving tackle, bringing her down before she could reach the top of the stairs. Sister Bertilda barked an astonishing variety of swear words as the pair of them bounced back down the steps. Gerhardt eventually landed on top of her, pulling open her habit to reveal the dazed face of the Tomas, Coach Gutmann’s assistant.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dolph, clambering over the advertising board to join Gerhardt at the foot of the stairs. ‘Let me explain.’
He forced himself to look into the blitzer’s face, his expression that of a kitten wondering what it had done to deserve being fed to a minotaur. The fans paused in taking another bite of their cat burgers, hundreds of hands hovering over boxes of deep-fried cockroach nuggets as the tension rose unbearably.
‘Sister Bertilda, the orphanage…’ said Dolph, his head bowed under the weight of his confession. ‘It was all a–’
Gerhardt interrupted. ‘You… lied?’
‘We all did.’
Dolph turned to see Felix the Chaste joining the rest of the shamefaced team as they gathered behind their coach. Tomas sidled away, straightening his habit and replacing the turnips down his front for reasons no one thought to question.
‘It was the only way we could stop you from… well, from being you,’ said Felix, his voice suddenly echoing from the Cabaltron nearby, as a Cabalvision camera-goblin eagerly broadcast the team’s confession to the entire stadium.
Gerhardt sat down on the steps in shock.
‘You’re a star player, Gerhardt, the noblest of us all,’ said Dolph, approaching him, almost in tears. ‘You are the brightest of the Bright Crusaders, but we were losing every game because of you. Sometimes victory must come before piety, surely, otherwise what’s the point of playing?’
Gerhardt stared at Dolph as though he were gibbering in a foreign tongue. The betrayed look upon the blitzer’s face ignited within the coach a monumental sense of shame. Dolph had prided himself upon his impeccable record. For eight years as a player he had faced every defeat with bewildering gallantry, his patience unbreakable, the inspirational legend of Dolph ‘the Saint’ Gutmann unquestionable. But now his legacy had been sullied by a single lie.
The irritated voice of the goblin referee broke the hush that had descended upon the stadium.
‘You haven’t actually broken any rules, you know,’ he said as he shoved his way through the players’ legs. ‘So do you want this bleedin’ trophy or not?’
Dolph felt countless eyes upon him. The Crusaders fans glared at him, many of them so wild with rage they looked as though they might lose control at any minute and write him a very, very stern letter. The other players stared at their boots as if in mourning. Gerhardt gazed up at Dolph with a childlike look of hope.
Dolph gave a long, melancholy sigh before turning and addressing the stadium.
‘A victory won unfairly is no victory at all,’ he said before turning to his players. ‘Who are we?’
They answered with what little enthusiasm they could muster.
‘The Bright Crusaders,’ they said.
Dolph nodded, feeling a pang of bitter satisfaction. ‘Maybe next year,’ he said.
His attempt to lead his team in a dignified exit from the pitch was marred somewhat by Gerhardt elbowing him into the stands as he roared to his feet, his voice amplified to an earthquake by the speakers of the Cabaltron.
‘Good people,’ he boomed, his words vibrating through the stands. ‘The code of the Bright Crusaders has not been compromised!’
‘We lied to you, Gerhardt,’ said Dolph, clambering out from between the legs of several fans. ‘It’s not how we win games.’
Gerhardt ignored him, leaning over the advertising boards and yelling at the camra-goblin. The image of his face filled the Cabaltron, raining the inside of the screen with spit.
‘My team swore an oath to me at half-time,’ he said. ‘They swore to join me in an act of penance that would assure the virtue of the Bright Crusaders as we claimed victory.’
He turned to his teammates. ‘Is this not so? Did you not all swear?’
The other players nodded, exchanging fearful looks as they realised that exactly what they had sworn to had never been made entirely clear.
Gerhardt continued. ‘Then I can assure you all that our victory has been achieved fairly, that our piety has not been compromised, that the strictures of virtue and honour have been obeyed! So swear I, Gerhardt the Penitent, the brightest of the Bright Crusaders!’
The fans erupted into forgiving applause and Gerhardt threw his arms around Dolph, who suddenly found himself trying to extract his face from the player’s cleavage. The applause intensified as the goblin referee shrugged and stomped off to inform the officials.
‘So...’ said Dolph, his features pinched between two slabs of pectoral muscle as he peered up at Gerhardt. ‘This act of penance you mentioned…’
Gerhardt beamed at Dolph as a pale arm snaked around the coach’s neck and pressed a foul-smelling rag to his nose. Blackness rushed over Dolph like a shroud.
‘Dolph,’ said Astrid Smallbeer, the halfling interviewer from CabalVision News. ‘The stadium’s empty, you’ve bared your soul before thousands of fans, and you’ve won the Bright Crusaders their first trophy in years. Now the excitement’s over, you appear to be in a contemplative mood.’
‘Well, it’s been a tough season,’ said Dolph. ‘We’ve all had to make sacrifices, but really I’m relieved more than anything that we could achieve victory without compromising our principles.’
Astrid nodded sagely and took another bite of an immense meat pie. ‘Principles have always been important to the Bright Crusaders,’ she said, spraying Dolph with pastry crumbs. ‘But even die-hard fans are questioning your decision – and, indeed, your sanity – in allowing Gerhardt the Penitent to bury the entire team!’
‘To be fair, he only had us buried up to our necks,’ said Dolph, puffing aside the blades of grass that kept tickling his nose as he looked up at Astrid, now shaking crumbs out of her plaits. ‘Knowing Gerhardt as I do, I think that shows tremendous restraint on his part. But really all we’re doing is what the Bright Crusaders have always done, and that’s demonstrate humility in the face of victory. We hope this gesture serves as an inspiration to the entire Blood Bowl community.’
Astrid fought to keep a straight face.
‘You’re clearly a firm believer in achieving the impossible,’ she said. ‘But some have suggested a month could try even the patience of Dolph “The Saint” Gutmann.’
‘I’m sorry, a month of what?’
‘Of being buried up to your necks.’
‘A month?’ yelled another head from somewhere further down the line of scrimmage. ‘I didn’t agree to that!’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Astrid,’ said Dolph, trying to maintain his composure as he felt yet another subterranean invertebrate seek refuge in his trousers. ‘But is Gerhardt around?’
‘He’s buried right behind you,’ she said. ‘He’s upside down, but he can still hear you. Look, he’s waving his feet.’
‘Ah, so he is,’ said Dolph through teeth gritted so hard he could hear them cracking.
Someone cried out. ‘I’ve had it! I quit! I don’t care! Just dig me out of here right now!’
Astrid hesitated. ‘Gerhardt’s trainers told us they were under strict instruction to leave you here until the stadium reopened. They had crossbows. Big scary ones.’
Dolph watched in horror as one of the dark elves slithered into view and whispered in Astrid’s ear.
She nodded. ‘They said not to worry. Your assistant has promised to feed and water you. Oh, and the groundskeeper’s said he’ll try to mow around you as best he can.’
‘The groundskeeper?’ said Dolph, struggling to make himself heard above the others wailing in his ears. ‘You mean Wulfe th
e Drunkard?’
‘The one with two eyepatches, that’s him,’ said Astrid. ‘Erm, Coach Gutmann are you alright? It’s just that your eyelids keep twitching. Coach Gutmann? Hello? Sorry, viewers. Dolph ‘the Saint’ Gutmann seems to have drifted off there, no doubt meditating on the glories that await the Bright Crusaders next season. This is Astrid Smallbeer, CabalVision News. Back to you in the studio, Jim.’
About the Author
Alec Worley is a well-known comics and science fiction and fantasy author, with numerous publications to his name. Also a film journalist and critic, he is an avid fan of Warhammer 40,000 and ‘Stormseeker’ in his first story for the Black Library. He lives and works in London.
In a fantasy world where violence is a way of life, the number one sport is Blood Bowl - Gridiron where anything goes. Dirk ‘Dunk’ Hoffnung, once a barbarian swordsman, is now a rookie quarterback in the toughest football league you’ve ever seen. Follow his career as he goes from Most Promising Newcomer to MVP!
A Black Library Publication
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Wayne England.
Pride and Penitence © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Pride and Penitence, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, Blood Bowl, Warhammer, Warhammer Age of Sigmar, Stormcast Eternals, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-654-5
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