“Serpent's Maw, South Islands -- March 19, 2024

Foghorns bellowed their deep-stomached blares in the distance. While seaside dawn crept through the window, Coach Kochenberger lay sleeping in his bunk-- snoring, drooling, and as it would turn out, quite hungover.

Indeed, the week following the Blue Isle Mariners' career-opening 1-0 triumph over the Black Gulf Privateers was one filled with celebration. So much so that when Kochenberger finally tossed over and opened his red, crusty eyes to view his elven-gold watch, it read 10 minutes past the day's kickoff time. Thoroughly panicked, he tossed his body out of bed and moved with cartoonish urgence out of the seedy hotel he was occupying. Along the hot-sand footpaths of Serpent's Maw did Kochenberger run, arriving to the stadium to see his men holding their own against a band of Puritans plus one ever-famed Helmut Wulf. Huffing and puffing on the sideline, he began to make sense of the situation his elves were in, and with his tactical acumen he saw a situation slipping beyond salvation.

While to a casual onlooker the Mariners field positioning as they received may have looked as capable as any, coach K saw his men pushed forward in a line bound to break. And break it did, as the hooded and blue-eyed Kathisla sacked Vernon Jayne despite seemingly deep coverage.

The line now scrambled to assail the fleeing pilgrim, sullied by their steel carapaces. Blitzer Divinus Alterian, who had been sparring gutsily with Wulf, now let her attention slip to the ball and-- in that moment--caught a grizzly chainsaw slash from collar to bicep. Now Wreck Prismyn stood between Kathisla and the end zone. And, in ironically Prismynian fashion, the Hunter unsheathed a rusty sickle from her cloak and slashed at Leo's eyes, blinding him for the moment and leading him off the field (by a half-dozen gnomish medical staff carrying a stretcher) before she'd score the first TD.

What with ensuing bloodshed and outraged fans at the neutral-zone Serpent's Maw Bloodgrounds, questionably competent referees would scramble to quell the tensions flaring from fan to player alike. They sent off Helmut Wulf, but weren't privy to the stab by Kathisla. Perhaps understanding that his team's success was rooted in such dirty and devious tactics, coach Demigod took to the pitch with fury to give the referees loud protest. On a better day, Kochenberger would have rolled up his sleeves and come face-to-face with a rival such as this one. But, hanging his head at his team's position, he gathered the diminished players around in a huddle.

Having chosen to receive as per de facto captain Wynin Sexton, the Mariners now had either to score shorthanded on players and time, or look to force a turnover and draw in the second half. Kochenberger knew that the Hunters hadn't exhausted all of their tricks, however, and decided to try for a bash at the end of the second half.

"Listen," he'd begin as a seaside sun-shower started overhead. "This one-- it's on me. We're in... Well we're in a shit situation now, but we've got to ... work with the hand we're dealt." The shining blue armor of the elves glinted in reflective rain. They responded with silence. Fearing that his players lost trust in him, Kochenberger began to doubt himself. 

Unable to find more words for a pep talk, he spit on the ground and then explained: "their ball and chain is going to come out now. Don't tangle with him and maybe we can get ourselves together next half." The elves showed stoic understanding and began to approach the field. This was when Kochenberger hailed Trisdove, and swiftly handed him a dense pair of brass knuckles. 

"Give 'em hell."

Trisdove would land a nasty sucker punch square in the jaw of the gray-haired Leeonex. But unfortunately for the Mariners the old pugilist was so far gone he'd get back on his feet minutes later to continue brawling. The reputable Norse referee Olvad Goldbeard had sent coach Demigod off moments earlier after hearing enough of his complaints. Surely enough, the Mace of Justice took to the center of the field, but couldn't land a hit with the steel ram before being ejected at the end of the half by a beleaguered Goldbeard.

Kochenberger drew up a grid for his players to form on the field as the second half drug to a start. Parc, Daejor, and Jayne would man the line of scrimmage against the entire Hunter squad, backed up by a dual-lined safety. Caught flat-footed by the aggressive formation, the Blue Isle defensive unit collapsed upon itself as Kathisla ran a second wide-zone touchdown in for what would certainly be the dagger of the match.

Standing tight in his hungover resolve, however, Kochenberger echoed The Hunt Is On with a lopsided, line-toeing setup of his men, and left Sexton in the backfield to receive the kick. Not quite out of tricks up his sleeve, Kochenberger devised a fumblerooksie-esque play. As Sexton appeared to struggle handling the ball, the witch hunters charged through the line-of-scrimmage gap to seize possession. But at once, the elven thrower picked the ball up with his bare arm and heaved a pass to Orard, who'd have plenty of blockers to slip into the endzone.

Now showing enthusiastic signs of life, the Sea Elves struck hard along with the impact of a final kick off, and now caught the Puritan witch hunters asleep. This second wind propelled a sack attempt from Orard that didn't quite pan out, barring the Mariners from forcing overtime and thus ending their rookie tournament run.

The defeated elves walked from the field in a dignitary, full posture. Captain Wynin Sexton gave some input from the locker room following the game.

"Two naught, three naught, a score like that would be inadmissible," he said, defending Kochenberger, "but nay, today's match was a simple swell of the tide, a headwind against the sails, a thrashing of the giant squid against the hull-planks that hold our équipe, and binds several into one. When one man can row no longer, the next is well and rested. At today's dawnbreak, it was our coach who needed the rest." 

Sexton continued. " 'Tis an honor to don any armor of elven craft, and our match today is a celebration enough in its own for that reason. I was prepared to stand at the helm in such a situation as today brought, and I was more than content to navigate our men through the storm-eye."

And continued. "When Zachary appeared, red of face and short of breath, we--I can only speak for myself, but attest to the character of my teammates alike--reacted not with resentment but understanding. Who has not awoken minutes, nay, hours after the crow of the cock, and felt his warm slumber turn to ice? Who has not assembled outfit and equipment upon his person in delirious late-morning haste? Why, I remember in my own years as a cabin boy, running to the docks through gray rain- shoeless! As not to sit crestfallen with my feet dangling from the pier as I watched my ship, and my dreams with it, dip and rise drowsily into the distance." Sexton paused, and let out a wistful sigh. "I relinquished my de facto leadership to the coach, and was proud to follow his leadership into the ultimate of today's match."

Unfortunately, Sexton was so verbose that we didn't get time to catch up to Kochenberger, making it the second match in a row without word from him. However, we wonder to see how his boss, coach Fivehead, who now prepares his Eskimos for a run at the Ulthuan Invitational, will respond to the tardiness of his mentee.


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