Episode 3: Lucky Charm Is Lucky...
(This game actually took place on St. Patrick's Day is the best part of all. This post is significantly longer than the previous two due to the fact that a lot happened both before and during the match. For those of you who hadn’t seen the pics of my team, the team colours are purple and green. lol)
Throughout the next several days, Norko, team coach and necromancer of the Trick 'r Treaters, was busy toiling in his dimly lit mausoleum of an office going through his various playbooks, trying desperately to come up with a plan for the team's next match - a highly experienced team of frogmen known as the Slaan Slammers. (13 Players including 1 Krox with Guard, 1 Blitzer with Wrestle, 2 Linemen with Block, 1 Lineman with Kick, 4 Catchers including 1 with Blodge, 3 Fan Factor, and 3 Re-Rolls.) He was not looking forward to the match due to the team's staggering experience and violent background (Slammers' Team Rating 138 vs Treaters' 109 for the match). It was time to call in a favor from an old friend.
A few days before the match, Norko heard a soft knocking at the door to his mausoleum. His yellow eyes perked up in curiosity, not expecting any visitors, certainly not at this hour of the day. Necromancers and other such creatures of the night aren't exactly 'morning' people, after all. He floated to the door and cautiously opened it a crack to see who had called on his residence. Seeing nothing, he snorted and slammed the door shut.
No sooner had he turned himself back around to head back to bed, than a much harder knocking came from the door. This time he wouldn't be made a fool of by whomever foolish pranksters were here to torment him and threw the door open in his increasing frustration. Still nothing, his hands rapping against his tired head with a growl, until at last a jolly little voice with a thick accent spoke up. "Paa'rdn me, sire, but I herr'd yuh might be a' needin' ta turn the tides on yer next match. I be here to lend yuh a hand, so t' speak."
Norko wiped the sleep from his glowing eyes and looked down to see a rather short fellow with a thick shock of fiery orange hair and wearing a fine, green coat. Eyeing up the little halfling as no match for his talents, and his home already deep within the gloomy cemetery, Norko decided that this little man was no trouble and decided to welcome him inside to talk.
Norko had long since learned to never trust anyone, especially anyone sporting such an eccentric ensemble as this, but he was soon to find out just how serious the strange little man truly was. “Er.. What did you say your name was?” asked Norko to the little Halfling. “Patrick, sire. Mohst call me Patrick.” The little man introduced himself while removing his tiny green bowler hat with a cheerful grin. "T'day's yer lucky day, sire." exclaimed the little man as his stout little legs climbed over the threshold of the mausoleum, the door sliding shut behind them both. (Special Play Card - Lucky Charm - Most flavorful inducement I've ever had going by the calendar. XD)
*****
It was a dark and stormy night at the Treaters' graveyard stadium (Pouring Rain - My favorite!
) and Norko took the miserable weather as a good sign of things to come. 'Perhaps the little mortal wasn't joking, after all.' he thought to himself with a chuckle, not convinced the shiny trinket the man left him was anything more than a simple few golden, emerald encrusted shamrocks on a chain. He admitted to himself that it wasn't (aesthetically) without it's charm as he admired the glittering jemstones in front of the candle light.
As the rain soaked into the dead earth of the pitch, the sickly sweet scent of the freshly burried corpses of the dearly departed gently rose into the air as a fine mist, creeping across the graveyard. This was turning out to be a better night than Norko could have anticipated.
After the teams had gathered into their respective dugouts, Norko was becoming anxious, peering at his pocket watch and at the cold iron gates of the cemetery, floating back and forth, eagerly awaiting his friend whom he had hired for the match. Suddenly, a deafening whinny bellowed from the gates of the cemetery as a powerful wind howled past the gnarled trees and lonely gravestones. Both the gates flying open and with a crack of lightning, a pitch black carriage materialized at the threshold of the graveyard, pulled by four nightmare stallions, bright blue flame flickering across their manes and hooves as they galloped toward the heart of the cemetery where the Treaters’ stadium was waiting.
In proper etiquette at the special occasion of a legendary star player arriving to the field, an exotic and controversial musical troupe was hired for the halftime show and to introduce the night's highly anticipated celebrity appearance. What seemed to be modified lutes and a series of drums were connected with thick cables to a local mad scientist's newest work which he had since patented as 'loud speakers’. All that was needed now was a substantial spark of electricity to get the show on the road. Lightning struck the rod at the top of the stage and it lit up in a blaze of violent sparks and crackling voltage, charging the speakers and lights to their maximum capacity with dangerous sparks electrocuting much of the crowd closest to the stage. During the ensuing mayhem, the band began to play.
Norko had heard this piece of music once before and enjoyed it thoroughly as the undead guitarist flailed wildly on the strings on the bulls-eye patterned guitar in an extravagant intro solo, a series of coloured lamps flashing in timing with the drums as the fans in the crowd cheered loudly, many of them singing along with the band as the black coach rolled to a stop in front of the stadium and the door swung open. A dark figure leaped from the coach, springing up the red carpeting towards the field as the music escalated in a crescendo, launching itself high into the air with a howl and landing flawlessly on a pedestal at the end of the carpet just in time to hear the band and crowd scream out in unison "BARK AT THE MOON!!" The Legendary Wilhelm Chaney stood up tall at his impressive 7 foot stature, raising his large claws to the approving crowd in greeting as the Pyro Wizards on either side blasted a series of mighty fireballs high into the black night as he valiantly made his way to the Treater's dugout. Flashing a toothy grin at the little necromancer, he spoke to him in a low growl of a voice.
"Heya, Norko! It's been a long time." "Indeed it has been, old friend." replied Norko gratefully as he floated eagerly to the mighty werewolf, shaking his massive furry hand with both of his tiny ones, placing the supposed 'lucky charm' in his palm and closing those clawed fingers around the talisman. "What's this, Norko?" asked Wilhelm, looking down at the glistening, golden chain curiously. "I've been told this is a charm to bring good fortune. So far it has yet to prove itself, but it might bring you luck." "Really, coach? I dunno.. I remember last season the team had a run in with such a character that didn't turn out so well." "Alright, my friend. How about you just try it for a little while and if you're not comfortable with it, then I won't force it on you." The werewolf thought it over for a moment and agreed to make use of the little trinket. "Sure thing, coach. I'll give it a shot, but the minute the game goes south, I'm tossing it. Deal?" "Deal." replied Norko and sent him up the wet stone steps.
*****
The crowd had become considerably rowdy through the intensity of the musical performance, as well as the dead ground becoming soft and muddy, allowing a small group of fans to unearth a rather large tombstone from it’s grave. No sooner had the candy-ball been kicked high into the air than the Treater’s fans lobbed the heavy stone over the fence, cracking one of the frogmen in the back of his head, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the mud with a juicy splat. (Thrown Rock – KO)
A firm gust of wind blew the ball into the waiting hands of the Slaan Slammers’ star catcher – Jet Leap as he leapt like a rocket into the rain, snatching the taffy with little troubles. Despite the croaking bellows from their coach yelling at them, the Slammers were more than a little anxious as they sized up the mighty star standing menacingly in the backfield, growling lowly at the lot of them while cracking his knuckles. None of the frogmen wanted to be first one tonight’s menu, so they hung back to figure out a safer method. “He sure is bigger in person than in the magazines..” croaked one of the worried Linemen to another who nodded in agreement, his throat bulging outward for a moment as he gulped nervously.
Spike was crouched beside Wilhelm’s knee, waiting for the precise moment to pounce. Both of their yellow eyes focused on Jet as he jogged nervously from side to side through the softening mud. The rain was positively relentless as another crack of lightning split the night, the downpour flooding the graves beneath their feet as the fresh, dead corpses began to rise to the surface. To the Slammers, the nauseating stench of decaying, rotted flesh was nearly unbearable as whitish foreheads and hands became visible, peeking themselves through the muck. For the Treaters, this was a scent they had easily become accustomed to and it made them feel at ease. Now they truly felt that they had the Home Team advantage.
Casper, the newest member of the Treater’s, floated his way across the field, materializing himself behind one of the frogmen catchers and shoving his nearly invisible hands against his back, stumbling him closer to the sidelines, Donnie lending his boney little hands in assistance as Spike at last saw his opportunity. With a feisty bark, he was off to finish the job, pouncing with considerable momentum against the catcher’s exposed chest as he stumbled backwards over the iron fence, falling into the crowd. Spike kicked off of the player, landing safely back to the turf as the fans surfed the poor catcher to the center of their writhing mosh pit. He wouldn’t be coming back for halftime. (Casualty – Badly Hurt)
Jet had seen what looked to be perhaps the best opportunity to move the ball downfield, and after a nervous gulp, he circled the field to the other side, getting himself ready for a hard sprint.
On the same side of the field closeby, one of the younger frogman Catchers had brought along a friend to help take care of Hollow as he stood there, his cloak sloppy from the rain and mud, clinging to his clothes which were soaked right through. ‘This should be a cinch!’ thought the little catcher as he wound up the block. Poor Hollow couldn’t see very well through the downpour having drenched his burlap face, his arms flailing clumsily at whatever green figures he could see. *SMACK!* (Slaan Catcher rolls Skull – 1 die Block) Hollow didn’t give it much thought as his wooden arm nailed the little catcher in the jaw, sending him face first into the mud (Stunned), but it was almost as though his sock covered hand was guided to exactly where it needed to be.
A bone chilling howl echoed from the Treaters’ half as Wilhelm moved like the lightning overhead across the field to Jet who could do nothing but brace himself for impact. Wilhelm’s beefy arm shot forward with the heel of his big hand connecting with a crunch, sending that slimy frog face backwards and flipping him right over himself face down into the soupy mess the pitch was rapidly becoming, the ball now floating close by in a watery puddle amongst the visible corpses. (KAPOW!! Stunned.) Wilhelm’s deep voice chuckled mercilessly down at the poor catcher as he lay there helpless.
Suddenly, Casper materializes into view with an eerie blue glow, scooping up the ball with no troubles in his invisible hands, his misty form soon vanishing from view altogether, the ball seemingly dancing itself downfield with the tiny ghost as he playfully began humming to himself.
Meanwhile, after having at last regained his composure and making it back to his feet, the young catcher next to Hollow croaked angrily at the practically blinded scarecrow as his long wooden arms kept swinging wildly from side to side. This time, the catcher wasn’t playing around and brought in extra help for a sure thing. The ground gurgled up from beneath the little frogman as a series of pale heads emerged beneath his feet, rolling loosely against each other and causing him to stumble, desperately trying to remain upright until at last falling back down into the mud. (Double Skullz – re-rolled Double Skullz. That’s 5 in a row from the same player against the same player to whomever had been paying attention.)
Casper hadn’t a care in the world now as the endzone came into view, floating his invisible little self closer as he chuckled, his body hovering a few inches above the tangle of fresh, dead limbs now scattered about the field. The Slammers’ Blitzer had caught the ball out of the corner of his round eye, having to take another look as he could swear it was moving on it’s own. He croaked out a guttural belch to Jet, instructing him into action to lend assistance for a Blitz against the little ghost. The little frog leapt away from Wilhelm who had been looming over top of him with ease. His glassy frog eyes focused on that ball. A wide, toothless grin creeping across that soft, green face of his, not noticing a pallid, greenish leg having floated itself out of the wet ground, tripping him outright as Casper rematerialized in the endzone with a bright blue glow, spinning the ball on his translucent fingers with a giggle, making the score 1-0 for the Treaters! (Go For It – 1, re-rolled 1.)
Norko was positively beside himself as he rolled on the ground, laughing until his sides hurt at the spectacle of such a prestigious and feared team stumbling about the field like green rookies. At last, Norko was warming up to the fact that the charm sold to him by the strange little Halfling might just be the real deal after all as the teams set up for the next drive.
Fido was sent to the field now that the Treaters’ were at last lit up on the scoreboard and the need for a third set of claws was needed in order to stop a response from the Slammers. The kick went high into the air, this time landing with a splash and bobbing up and down in the watery graves, slipping through the glistening fingers of the supposed star catcher. (Pick-Up 1, Re-Rolled 1.)
Now Norko was sure of it. It had to be real! He yelled out through the rain to the werepuppies to close the hole and protect the ball. Meanwhile, Wilhelm was busy brutalizing a straggler, creating his own kind of luck, grabbing the unfortunate frogman catcher and popping his arm out of the socket before dropping him loosely down to the goopy slop. (Casualty – Badly Hurt) The crowd went crazy as the muscular werewolf howled loudly into the rain in triumph.
Unfortunately for Sleepy who had been busy tying up the Slammers’ giant toad – Krick, the team mate that Wilhelm had put into the injury box moments prior had been a close buddy of his. Those dark, glassy, round eyes glared down at the innocent scarecrow in malice. With a guttural and ugly bellowed voice, he screamed out to the wooden man, winding up a spectacular slam. “KRICK… STHMAAAAASH!!” And boy did he ever! As that beefy green arm came down upon the unsuspecting scarecrow, it sent splinters flying along with his lower half far across the field, Sleepy laying in shambles, groaning while he began stuffing the muddy straw back into his shirt, his legs loosely quivering several feet away from the rest of him. (Regeneration Failed. Casualty – Niggling Injury.)
It was good planning that Norko always kept a ball of twine around just in case to fix up such injuries on his scarecrow players. He knew it’d be much like fixing up a busted broomstick, binding the two pieces of wood together and such, but inevitably with similarly flimsy results. One thing was for certain, Sleepy just wouldn’t be able to take the hits like he used to. At least not until the offseason when he could undergo proper repairs.
There were still a few precious moments left in the first half for the Slammers to tie things up, but the Treaters didn’t make things easy for them to say the least. Having surrounded their only receiver who could’ve made a miracle play, the Slammers had to clear some space. Jet groaned as he jumped to his feet after taking a recent hit from Lando, sending him close to the sidelines and tieing up the team’s blitzer in the process along with his monstrous, moot buddies. Jet dodges back to get ready for a flying kick at the little wraith, but it was no use. The ground had become far too wobbly for him to properly hold his footing amongst the dead bodies and landed onto Lando’s already waiting fist face first. (Skull. Casualty – Badly Hurt.)
The horn blew through the darkness, signaling halftime. Both teams slugging their way off of the muddy field, a horrific sight to behold as dozens of the recent dead had emerged from their shallow graves beneath the pitch. The halftime show was a resounding success while the Treaters gorged on their candy for a job well done!
The game was far from over, however and Norko knew that it was time to kick things into high gear. Calling Wilhelm over and luring the werepuppy brothers away from their pile of candy with their favorite squeaky toys, he spent the rest of the halftime intermission by walking the lycanthropes through an old and dusty playbook he had been eagerly waiting to use involving strategic plays from the old werewolf teams way back in the good old days when regulation rules allowed such rosters. In this case there were only three of them, but with Wilhelm being a legendary player to balance out the circumstances, that wouldn’t be a problem.
After blowing off a thick layer of dust from the old tome, Norko beckoned a finger closer to himself as his voice became a low whisper, showing the trio what secrets reside inside of those old, dusty pages, their furry ears perked in anticipation. “Listen closely, boys. This particular play is known as ‘The Kennel Club Cage’…”
*****
The whistle sounds and the kick flies high into the raging storm overhead, a hard wind guiding the ball to land directly at Spike’s feet. The little werepuppy tilts his head to the side with an excited growl and reaches for the ball, scooping it up with no troubles at all as a pair of cold, lifeless hands emerged from the deep mud, handing the ball to him from the swampy ground. The little werepuppy paid no attention to what had just happened as he was far too focused on keeping the ball now that he had it to notice the fact he’d literally been handed the ball by the field itself!
Wilhelm and Fido were already swift at Spike’s flanks, matching pace and sprinting up the field together, the two of them weaving back and forth in a synchronized criss-crossing pattern in front of Spike as he eagerly scampered forward, clutching the ball against his soaking wet purple shirt with a howl, the other two joining in the chilling battlecry as it echoed down the field.
Krick and the Slammers’ team blitzer were already on the job and rushed forth to stop the trio in their tracks. Wilhelm growled to his new friend, instructing the puppy to focus on the blitzer. “I’ll take care of the big one, little buddy! AWOOOOOO!!!” Fido had a little bit of trouble putting the experienced blitzer on his back (Re-Roll to avoid failed Both Down), the skilled frogman maintaining his footing and only sliding backwards from the pounce. Krick was busy stomping his way through the line of zombies, tossing them aside like ragdolls through his furious rampage towards the wolves, licking his long, pale pink tongue across those slimy, drooling lips with a raspy breath.
A ferocious snarl gnashes through clean, white teeth as the mighty wolf catapults himself forward, claws first into the exposed, soft, whitish chest of the colossal toad, sending him to the mud with a splat. A guttural and hideous squeal bellows from those wide frog lips as Wilhelm slashes his bulging throat wide open like a popped balloon. Hot blood gushing from the flapping wound as the ugly thing writhes on the ground in agony. “BWEEEEHHHHHH!!!” (Casualty – Niggling Injury. Apothecary fixes him up and sends him to the Reserves Box.) It would take the rest of the drive for the team’s apothecary to sew Krick’s throat back up.
Slurping at the spattered blood from his lips, Wilhelm takes off like a gunshot downfield alongside Spike, Fido left to deal with the Slammers’ blitzer with the help of his fellow zombies as they stumble back to their feet, meanwhile the rest of the Treaters having joined the party downfield.
A series of low croaking noises belch out from the blitzer, signaling the frogmen closeby to leap into action, so to speak. Several of them, himself included, jumping away from the grabbing hands and paws of the Treaters in order to stop little Spike from winning the game, forming a small, but effective blockade in front of the two werewolves. The veteran blitzer grimaced a toothless smirk in front of the little puppy clutching the bright piece of candy in his paws, ready to tackle him at a moment’s notice should he try and dodge away. (Diving Tackle’s tough to deal with sometimes…) The team’s last catcher closed the gap between Spike and the endzone. Things were looking grim.
Fido could see that his brother was in trouble, whimpering down the field at him and Wilhelm, not at all sure what to do next. Wilhelm’s ears perked up at the whines and barks of the little puppy, clearly struggling to find a way through the rolling scrum in front of him. But all was not lost! Wilhelm had a plan and barked out to Fido, instructing him to run through as soon as he could make an opening for him. The rest of the team began to clear a path down the center of the scrum, several frogmen being shoved out of the way for the little werepuppy. “Fido! Sick ‘em, boy!!” growled Wilhelm as he wrestled a frogman down with him into the mud. (This particular play was elaborate.)
Scampering up to his brother as fast as his little legs could move, he barks at Spike and the brothers both leapt onto the unsuspecting frogman catcher, sinking in their sharp little claws into that soft green flesh and forcing him to stumble backwards out of the clutches of the Slammers’ star blitzer. Spike kicked off of the catcher, sending him to the mud and sprinting his way to victory! Lightning cracked loudly across the sky as the little wolf crossed the endzone, holding the ball high in his gloved paws proudly for all to see. The adoring crowd screamed triumphantly into the night at the game-winning touchdown.
Spike had earned his favorite chew toy early as Norko congratulated his young star on a job well done, sending him to his kennel for the rest of the match. The werepuppy eagerly hopped inside, already gnawing happily on the squeaky rubber.
Even though the game had been lost for the Slammers, they knew that there was at least a chance for them to prevent a shut-out altogether. The monstrous toad groaned as he made his way to center field, a hammy green hand cradling the fresh stitches on his soft throat while he glared at the fearsome werewolf who had cut his throat to ribbons.
The Slammers’ fans were not impressed at the way that the game had played out, taking a sour turn for the worse and leaving many of their favorite players in the infirmary. A handfull of the team’s supporters began to rock a particularly large gravestone out of the softened ground, lifting the monolith high above themselves and lobbing it at poor Herman, cracking him in the back of his flat head. Despite his puny size, he was tough as nails and much of the metal plating that composed the majority of his artificial skull absorbed most of the impact with a loud clang, his short legs wobbling for a moment with a low groan, his eyes rolling backwards before landing himself face first into the mud. “mmmMMMmmmm…” *splat* (Thrown Rock – rolled 8, Thick Skull, Stunned.)
After the ball had landed in the Slammers’ half, the catcher hanging at the backfield was having troubles prying it away from an insistent pair of bluish, dead hands that had floated their way to the surface and caught the ball, the stiff fingers unwilling to let go to the unwelcome player treading on his shallow grave below. (Pick-Up 1. Re-Rolled 1)
Noticing the catcher angrily throttling at the lifeless hands holding the ball tightly from him, Wilhelm and Fido ran through a gap at midfield to try for touchdown number three! The little werepuppy grunted as he pried the ball from the cold, slimy fingers, popping it loose, but was unable to catch it when it landed into the mud as the pair of hands sank beneath the surface once again. (Pick-Up 3. Re-Rolled 3.) It was no matter for the little werepuppy as he found a new point of interest, many of his team mates having surrounded a limping lineman for him to play with instead. (Casualty – Smashed Collar Bone (-1 ST))
The catcher seized this final opportunity and snatched the ball away, winding up a spectacular throw to the blitzer who had already been running as fast as he could downfield, catching the perfect pass with ease. Turning back to the rest of the Treaters, he held his thumb to his nose, wriggling his fingers to taunt them with a satisfied cackle, only a few feet away from the endzone when suddenly, a dead foot rose up from the ground swiftly, nailing the frogman right between the legs, halting him instantly and tipping him forward into the turf, cracking his head on a tightly clenched fist waiting for him in the muddy earth, knocking him unconscious. (Go For It – 1. Re-Rolled 1. KO)
The horn signaled the end of the match, blowing a low, dull noise across the field and the crowd cheered loudly for the Trick ‘r Treaters, the little monsters raising their hands skyward, punching the midnight air at their greatest victory yet. Moments later, the sky had rained itself out and the clouds began to separate themselves. A bright, crisp full moon gleaming down onto the saturated field while the dead sank back to their graves to slumber once more.
Soon after the game had ended, a group of large Orcs with dark skin made their way down into the Treaters’ dugout and took Norko by his tiny hand, shaking it graciously and explaining that due to Spike’s phenomenal performance, they wanted to sign him on as a spokesperson for their new line of Orcidas running shoes. Norko was stunned and readily agreed, retrieving Spike from his kennel to sign the contract. After Norko finished reading it over for him, the little werepuppy placed his paw onto an ink pad and mashed it firmly against the parchment as his signature, his tail waggling excitedly. The large Orcs were pleased and handed Spike his first pair of Orcidas. Peering at the paw shaped shoes curiously, he stuffed one into his mouth and began to chew on it happily, sinking his teeth into the clean white leather until Norko had corrected the puppy moments later. “No, Spike! Mine.. Miiine..” Norko tugged the shoes from his paws and put them on his hind legs, lacing them up with the little puppy admiring the new footwear with a smile. (Spike Level-Up – MA9) The big Orcs finished their business with Norko and ascended the stone stairs of the dugout.
“That lucky charm’s gonna make me rich!!” Norko giggled maniacally at his investment having paid off so miraculously well and called his team over to the dugout to congratulate them. “Fantastic work, my boys! Wilhelm! Do you still have that charm I gave you?” “Sure do, coach!”
The big werewolf reached into his pocket to retrieve the talisman and handed it back to Norko who was grinning broadly in eager anticipation. The moment that giant paw opened itself to reveal the golden chain, Norko’s enthusiasm plummeted in horror. The once lustrous and shimmering piece of jewelry had turned tarnished and dull, the emeralds now murky and faded. “Err.. Maybe it just needs a polish! Yeah! That’s all it needs..” His cuff rubbing frantically at the gold to bring back it’s shine, but his efforts were of no use. The magic had inevitably left the talisman as soon as the match had ended.
Moments later, Norko heard a soft, jolly little giggle from outside of the dugout and floated quickly up the steps, having remembered that unmistakable voice to be the little Halfling in the green coat. Once at the top of the steps, he saw a shock of bright orange hair disappearing into the crowd and desperately cried out to him. “Patrick! WAIT!!” But the little man had vanished and was never to be seen or heard from again.
Continued in episode 4…
