“Rogmesh quickly downed three beers as he waited for Wild Onyx to join the podcast. It had been a few days since the big Orc rumble. Wasn't much of a rumble really, more like an 11 v 11 orcish interpretive dance competition which Coal Butte lost. Maybe next time they met, maybe they could break out the pillows, both feather and foam, and have an epic pillow fight! Maybe even they could lift the league wide ban on Bomber Dribblesnot for the game and arm him with throw pillows. But 'Epic' and 'pillow fight' belonged in the same sentence about as much as 'Wrap himself in Glory' and ' 'Fleece nightie'.

As Rogmesh reached for beer number 4, he heard the Baron announce that Coal Butte had won the division, even after the crap show verses Badlands Blitzkreig! Talk about winning your division like a boss, an elvish boss that it. Did Coal Butte get extra creative expression points or something to put them over the top? Not exactly how Rogmesh had pictured winning his first division title, but this late in his career, he would take it.

He finished gulping down the beer and reached in the cooler for a fourth beer. Win the division on some technical bull, Rogmesh wanted to walk off that last game like a Patrick Lear Boss! Rogmesh held up his glass high, "Here's to you, Mr. Lear." Another dead solider fell on the ground next to the other crumpled up cans.

Won the division, wow?! Rogmesh grabbed another beer. Hyper must know what he was doing. Rogmesh was good at math, but whatever complex formulas, algorithms, and quantum computing they were using was beyond Rogmesh. GAWD, it would have been simpler if his teammates could have put some Blitzkreirs' on their butts, rather than busting out some moves more suited to disc balls than a blood bowl pitch.

Rogmesh had heard that birds can count to three. Stupid birds. And Hyper must be math whiz to figure out how Coal Butte could have a league title under their belts. Rogmesh reached back into the cooler and felt around in the cold ice water. Ah, found it! Beer number? Let's see, three while waiting on Wild Onyx, another during interpretive dance, one toasting to Boss Lear, yet another thinking about math. Flingsnake smiled as he counted in his head, a skill he was rather proud of. Four Beers!






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