“Professional

To be a pro is a big compliment. Of course, every player that laces up cleats and has the nerve/stupidity to actually step out onto the pitch is a badass, to be a pro among badasses is well, sick. It was enough to earn a trip to hallowed ground.

Rogmesh supervised Vololon and Khrash, the two Karag linemen as they lugged the shine to the top of the Butte. He poured himself a stout one - four fingers, no ice. The he raised his mason jar to his two fellow pro quests, "Here's to you Vorolon and Khrash. Fellow pros who were punching above their weight class and, well, quite simply you all stood tall." Rogmesh reflected back on his last toast and spit out his last sip. He raised his Mason jar a second time - "Hell yeah Vorolon and Khrash! Studs among mere mortals!"

Rogmesh smiled. Yes, that was a much better orcish toast. But those two really came through. They didn't have the skills, fame or glory, but GAWD, they were pros that really came through and made the plays that only a pro can make.

Rogmesh wondered about their fate in the game. Two pro linemen, one excellent at blocking and the other at tackling. There is no way Coach TheRedoubt was going to let those two players go. No, they are going to be back for a well-deserved second season.

Rogmesh turned his attention to the next game and Power Slave. He was the only remaining legend currently remaining in the FA Cup. Ah the FA Cup. Let's back up a second here, Rogmesh was well, well into his fourth drink before his last fourth drink. He stumbles as he reach over to grab the FA Cup to support him. Patrick 'The Boss' Lear had left it up here the previous shindig. Rogmesh took another drink as he thought about the next match. Rocking the Nehekhara was a Gold division team anchored by Power Slave. Damn, that mummy was tough.

Vololon gave another strong pour all round. "He raised a toast, Fuck the Elves!". Rogmesh was getting well, let's just say less than sober. His counting skills regressing to three, the same as a stupid bird. Then after the repour, Khrash raised his glass, "Fuck the Wardancers!" Rogmesh was keeping pace with these pros as he downed his ''second drink of the night.

Volokon, "Fuck the Gutterrunners!" Rogmesh raised his jar and hammered it down. After all, they were all pros.

Khrash, "Fuck Rat Ogres!" This was the coup de gras for Rogmesh. How could you not drink the whole bottle of shine to that toast.

Rogmesh woke up the next morning not quite remembering what had happened the night before. GAWD, Krash and Vololon were true pro. Now where did that FA Cup go?”