““All rise for the High Prince Moranion!” declared a voice as the door on the locker room opened.

Those who were not already standing leapt to their feet and bowed their heads in respect.

“Rest easy my brothers.” Came the commanding voice. “I have watched your matches and found them to reflect well upon our race. Will you grant me the honor of joining you on the pitch for your coming match against the foul ogres?”

Kondor knew his place and kept his mouth firmly shut. The Prince looked around the room and locked eyes with each elf present one by one until all had met his gaze. Only then did the team captain dare to speak.

“The honor is ours your majesty. We are humbled by your request to join us on the pitch. What role would you like on the field?”

Moranion returned his gaze to Revwe. “My role on the pitch will be to bring down the largest foes and open space for the Archers of Avelon to bring glory to The Kingdom.”

The Archers of Avelon all nodded in consent and preparations were made for the game the next day.

Kondor immediately rushed to visit Coach C98 and inform him of the developments. He found the ogres going through their normal pre-game work out. Logs were lifted and stacked at one end of the pitch only to later be carried back to the other side to repeat the task. Boulders were tossed back and forth supposedly to build strength and prepare for tossing runts down the field. “Working out” was all nonsense to Kondor but many players swore to the effectiveness.

The quick conversation brightened C98’s mood considerably. He called the team together. “Lads, sharpen your boots and spikes. Prince Moranion will be on the field tomorrow.”

The ogres just looked at one another not comprehending the significance and the runts had not paid any attention to the conversation.

C98 slapped a palm over his face. “A big Muckty Muck thinks he’s tougher than all ya’all. Beat him up.”

Now they understood and took heart at the prospect.

When the game came around the next day both teams were highly motivated. They lined up at mid field for the coin toss and threw insults back and forth. This was the third time they had faced each other and both knew what to expect.

Thriller looked at Osonia and pointed a stubby finger that had been chopped off at the first knuckle at her. “Yer dead gimp. When I’m threw with ya, ya won’t have to worry ‘bout that bad back any more.”

She just shrugged. “You bumblers have tried before. Do your worst.”

The Archers received the ball and headed for the southern sideline. Prince Moranion singled out Eastwood in combat and wrestled him to the ground leaving a gap for the Archers to charge through. But it also left him on the ground and open to the boot of the runts. Three times they stomped on him with no effect before the Archers put a point on the board and both teams lined up again.

This time Prince Moranion tapped the rookie Fylson on the shoulder as he stood on the line of scrimmage. “I’ve got this son. Step back into the ranks. I want the front line.”

Fylson started to argue but decided to follow the command. Within seconds, Moranion was regretting his prideful decision. Again he was on the ground and boots rained atop him. Meanwhile Thriller made good on his promise and caught up to Osonia grasping her in a monsterous bearhug for which she was ill prepared. He looked her in the eyes and began to squeeze before throwing her to the ground with all his weight atop her. A collective and approving gasp of “Ooohhhh!” rang through the crowd. No one was surprised that the death was professional and instantaneous.

Thriller took a moment to grandstand. “Clearly she has never lifted!” He shouted to the crowd.

Boos echoed from the crowd but they were not directed at Thriller. Rather, a pack of runts had teamed up on Prince Moranion and with the help of an ogre stretched him wide open. Psycho’s stomp on the soft bits was truly an undignified blow to inflict upon an individual of the station of Prince Moranion. Fortunately, before he could bring the boot down again and eliminate odds of Moranion producing a spare heir to the kingdom the Archers of Avelon pushed into the fray and dragged him to the bench.

An Ogre scored the equalizing point and both teams went to the locker rooms for halftime. Prince Moranion was moved to a tub of Ice Water to nurse his injuries and from there he addressed the team.

“If you don’t win and look good doing so, I will have every one of you hanged before sunrise.” Said The Prince matter of factly.

To open the second half, the Archers blitzed, caught the ball, and cleared it from danger. For most of the half they danced and displayed poise and grace. Finally, they enacted a play that would put them back in the good graces of The Throne. Throthradir killed a runt and then Kydeth killed another before moving to the endzone where she received a long pass from Nienna for the win.

When the Archers of Avelon returned to the locker room, the Prince was back on his feet but clearly hobbled.

“Well played.” He said as he congratulated each player with a pat on the shoulder. “I’ve been called away so I will not be able to join the victory celebration. But rest assured that I will return to join you again. The Archers of Avelon have proven themselves worth of my aid.”

When he left the room, only silence filled the air. No one wanted to lay eyes on their prince ever again.
”