“The Avelon crowd was prepared to jeer and taunt the visiting skaven team, but as the visitors took the field the crowd was in stunned silence then they burst into a round of cheers. The fourteen rats galloped to the field astride massive alligators. As headgear they sported a variety of sombreros, ten gallon hats, and bandanas. They whooped and howled swinging lassos over head as they tormented the archer cheerleaders and hogtied a backup referee.

The Archers had been warned of the spectacle and chortled at the pregame entertainment. However they did so behind shoulder high concrete bunker that had been built specifically to keep any loose alligators at bay.

After conducting a number of roping and riding drills to warm up the Sewer Cowboys safely locked their mounts in holding pens and came to mid field for the coin toss.

Corbis could not help but wonder how a skaven would go about bridling and saddling the hungry reptiles.

As usual, Kondor pretty much ignored what was happening on the field and crossed the pitch to chat with his counterpart. He and Coach Rbthma had met in several encounters and each was memorable. In fact Rbthma was instrumental in helping Kondor earn the Griddled Fumbbl Badge.

“Hello Coach Robthorman.” Stated Kondor.

Rbthma smirked and shook his head.

“Rubthemen…Rubenthemar…Hubthumb…” Kondor tried but Rbthma simply shook it off.

“I know your name was Rabi Thomas!” Said Kondor.

Now Rbthma laughed heartily. A 12 year old lad at his side stood by his side to translate. “Sorry, you are not even close it is Rbthma” the lad tried to translate as the slurred speech mumble from a deformed jaw.

Kondor gave up for the moment. Rbthma is a rotter. In fact, it is possible that Rbthma is the oldest rotter in existence.

More than a century ago he had played for a High Elf team called the Hixelpuggers. He had the misfortune of playing against the Rotten Luck Rovers in an exhibition match. An unfortunate gouge from the teams’s Beast of Nurgle turned septic. Within hours it became clear that the future coach would soon be a mindless rotter.

But this elf would not quietly go to the Nurgle cesspool. As a young elf he had studied alchemy and medicine and in desperation he put together a conglomeration of chemicals. With the last of his strength he consumed the noxious liquid and ordered a friendly shaman to pull the tourniquet tightly around his neck.

It is not clear what exactly happened, but the coach woke up with the tourniquet still tightly in place and a solidified mass in his intestines. Over the years that followed, it became clear that the Nurgle Rot had been slowed considerably but not completely stopped or cured. Slowly the coach’s movements slowed to resemble that of an average rotter, but most frustrating was the loss of speech. The rot ate away at his tongue, jaw, and vocal cords until his speech was unintelligible to everyone except rotters and a hand-picked child trained to translate.

In the background, the game was underway and thankfully, the Archers were losing. Kondor nodded his approval. He noted that even though the Sewer Cowboys walked strangely, they were sure handed and skilled.

“So tell me Rabitharmer. Where did you get your new choker? Red leather and spikes suit you.” Said Kondor.

The rotter coach’s hand went to his throat and pointed to town. On the field a horn signaled a third Cowboy score. Kondor listened politely and tried to understand the explanation he was given. Kondor glanced at the translator who haplessly shrugged. Kondor nodded and when Rbthma’s mumbling stopped he found a way out of the conversation.

“Well, I may have to go there and get one for myself. Congratulations on the win. I look forward to our next match.”

Rbthma waved goodbye and Kondor headed back to his own sideline only detouring slightly to avoid the alligators.
”