The Blood Bowl Omnibus by Matt Forbeck

Author:Matt Forbeck
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2020-10-22T17:30:30+00:00

CHAPTER ONE

The last thing Dunk Hoffnung remembered was the ogre trying to knock his helmet off his head with a bench torn from the first rows of the end zone. Dunk had just scored a touchdown for his team, the Bad Bay Hackers, and the crowd had gone wild. From hard-won experience, Dunk had avoided letting those battle-crazed, blood-thirsty bastards pull him into the stands. He knew that even fans who liked you often got carried away once they got their hands on you.

That’s probably why he hadn’t seen the ogre coming up behind him. He couldn’t remember which one it was anymore. All of the Oldheim Ogres looked the same under their cauldron-sized helmets and with their tent-sized jerseys draped over their massive plates of spiked and sharp-edged armour: like gigantic servants of death with mean hangovers.

The ogre had picked Dunk up with one hand and held him dangling in the air by his ankles, like a bad daemon baby in need of a fatal spanking. Then the creature reached into the stands with its other hand and pried the bench off one of the bleachers there, sending the fans who had been sitting on it scrambling for their lives.

Dunk remembered one snotling still clutching one splintered end of the bench as the ogre hoisted it into the air as a makeshift club. The hapless thing had got its Hackers fan jersey snagged on the splinters. It started to try to gnaw through the fabric with its wide, flat teeth, but there hadn’t been enough time.

Dunk had heard the green-skinned midget squeal in horror as the bench came swinging down at him, but he couldn’t muster any pity for the thing. He was too busy trying to angle himself out of the way of the ogre’s mighty swing.

As the blue painted plank came at him, Dunk reached for his toes, which hung high above him, still in the ogre’s grasp. The weight of his own armour made this nearly impossible, but the terror-fuelled adrenalin coursing through him inspired the heroic effort.

The board went sailing underneath him, right through the space where his head had once been.

‘Jim, I haven’t seen a swing that feeble since you tried to dismember that dwarf for dinner last night!’ Bob Bifford’s voice rang out over the Preternatural Address system, echoing across the stadium and throughout the nearby streets of Magritta.

‘I still enjoy a bit of sport with my meals,’ Jim Johnson grumbled. The retired ogre player’s massive, battle-scarred mug flashed across the gigantic crystal ball perched at the far end of the stadium. Then it cut straight back to Dunk, squirming in the Oldheim blitzer’s grasp.

‘It seems Gr’Nash down there shares your passion for a good fight,’ said Bob, ‘and your skill!’

The crowd erupted in laughter, and the sound drove Gr’Nash even madder than before. The ogre swung at Dunk again, but the Hackers’ star thrower managed to angle himself out of the way once more.

Dunk wondered where the rest of his team could be.

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