“Chapter 15

It was amazing to see the change that came over Hang Eleven when they could play within reach of the ocean. Their last match, deep in the deserts of Khemri had been an absolute disaster and a thoroughly miserable journey from start to finish. Coach Robsson swore he would travel in a separate cart if they ever had to go back that way again.
“Are we there yet?”
“Can we go home now?”
Over and over again for two days.

But now they were all smiles. The wind was up, the waves were high, the boards were waxed. It almost seemed a shame to drag them away for an afternoon of Bloodbowl. But he was going to do it anyway.
“So, what do we have today, Coach?” asked Mighty Morris Ten. “Something fun?”
“More undead.”
“Which ones this time? Please, not more water dodgers.”
“Necromantic.”
“The ones with the doggies,” added Surfer Girl helpfully.
Mighty Morris Ten shrugged.
“Well, doesn’t really matter, does it? They all just do the same thing. Run, bash, bash, run.”
“More bash, less run.”
“Whatever.”


* * * * *


“Well, it was more fun than most,” said Surfers Stomp.
“How do you know?” replied Surfer Girl. “You spent most of the match in Doc Onholiday’s tent.”
“I was watching through the flap.”
“You’d have been more help on the field,” said Surf City.
“Yeah, like whatshisname the biscuit. He was a lot of help…to them.”
Whatsisname the biscuit was actually called Jack Hideouslightning. He was with the team for all of about ten minutes before he was actually Jack Hideouslymangled, Jack Totallydead and then Jack Backtolifeandplayingfortheopposition. Surfers Stomp had taken this betrayal very badly and was still angry with Jack – he’d even had words during the half-time break, but by then Jack was in no position to talk much.
“To be fair to him, though,” said Coach Robsson, “He did play a pretty good game for them. It’s nice to see all that training we gave him counted for something.”
“But we didn’t give him any?” said Surfer Stomp. “We just put him in a helmet and pointed him in the right direction.”
“Exactly!” said the coach. “And that’s just the training a zombie needs.”

The match itself had been nothing unusual until well into the second half. The wood elves had scored quickly, the undead had scored right before the half-time whistle. But in the second half, the undead chose to score as soon as they could, leaving Hang Eleven plenty of time to carry out their usual tactic of throwing away a perfect final opportunity. But today the had even managed to mess this up, and it was their turn to see how it feels when the ball sails into the endzone just as the whistle is about to blow.

“A lucky break at the end there, I feel” said Coach Robsson as he shook hands with Coach FMSTAN. “The game was yours really.”
Coach FMSTAN shrugged.
“These things happen. We’re happy enough. We stole one of your players, and, I believe, some of your fans.”
“Plenty more where they came from. And Jack seems happy enough with your boys. Honestly, I hope he has a great career.”
“Thank you,” said Coach FMSTAN. “He shows promise, but I have a question. Why does he keep trying to pick up his coffin lid and take it down to the ocean?”
Coach Robsson smiled.
“What’s bred in the bone…”
”