Welcome to the voting thread for the 13th Scribe’s Contest writing competition!
“Block!”
Thanks to @Brawniac for formatting all entries, with an unexpected kind offer. Entries that lacked titles were given one to fit the format.
How to vote:
Please submit 3 numbers as votes by sending a PM to @GoldenHat
You are not allowed to vote for your own entry.
Each (more or less) anonymous entry is numbered ranging from 1 to 9. There is no need to specify which one you think is 1st, 2nd or 3rd. Simply list the three that you like we will do the rest.
Voting will close at 11:59 PM April 11th, 2022 EST (Eastern Standard Timezone). Once the votes are tallied we will post the results.
Subject Matter: Fouls and Gumbles - Blood Bowl Chaos Dwarfs
Entry #1
Text Version
Players of Renown
H’rah Furnace-Born
Race: Bound K’daai
Position(s): Blitzer
Team(s): Brak’s Bruisers (2503-2504), Hashut’s Fists (2504-2509)
Status: Deceased/Banished
H’rah Furnace-Born was a creation by the infamous Daemonsmith Dreng Onetusk, a K’daai Fireborn bound in a fully mechanical construct in the shape of a Dawi Zharr warrior. H’rah was originally signed on as a blitzer for Brak’s Bruisers in 2503, where during a game against the Khemrian Knockouts it not only scored two touchdowns but graphically mutilated and torched opposing team leader Pharaoh Ramset IV. This event earnt H’rah Hashut TV’s Best Kill of the Year and caused a slew of complaints and walkouts by Tomb King teams on the use of fire on the pitch that lasted until the 2506 Bandage Agreement. After Brak’s Bruisers dissolved in 2504 after a cursed gold scandal, H’rah was quickly signed over to the infamous Hashut’s Fists. It’s ironclad form leading the team to victory in the Magma Cup in 2506 and 2507.
H’rah’s career was tragically cut short in 2509 after rumour began that it was in talks to transfer to Brimstone’s Burners for an exorbitant sum. Supposedly, a jealous teammate sabotaged H’rah’s binding runes during the 2509 match against the Skryre Assimilators with catastrophic results. The resulting conflagration wiped out both teams (with the petrified Igniz Stone-Cursed the only survivor) and a McMurty’s Stand, leading to both teams having to pull out of the Undivided Cup. After this, several Skaven teams were inspired to create their own daemon bound constructs with varied results.
Awards:
Uzkul Cup Best Newcomer: 2503
Splat Magazine’s Top Eleven Hottest Players: (7) 2503, (8) 2504, (7) 2505, (3) 2506-2507, (6) 2508, (2) 2509
Hashut TV Best Kill of the Year: 2503
Enginseer Monthly Most Watched Player: 2504, 2506
Magma Cup Most Valuable Player: 2507
McMurty’s Sponsorship of the Year: 2508-2509
Hashut TV Most Destructive Death: 2509
Entry #2
Text Version
Napalm Beer
“Wow, what a spectacle we’re witnessing here! The Byzantium Bulls are absolutely smashing the HobGobstoppers! What do you think the second half has in store for us Motorgoat?”
“Ugh, Much pain! I hope that the HobGobstoppers shaman knows a spell that can reattach those limbs!”
“Indeed, it seems the bulls are having an Armageddon! Hah! We will see soon enough! But first, lets see what the halftime entertainment has in store for us today!”
“Right, you are Mr. MooMoo, lets see what they are bringing out. There’s a lot of barrels, but I can’t exactly make out what is written on them, N… something Beer?”
“That would be Napalm Beer Motorgoat, have you ever had it?”
“Can’t say I have Mr. MooMoo, though it burns when I pee in the morning!”
“I warned you to stay away from those pleasure daemon cheerleaders! Now Napalm Beer is the best thing the Dawi Zharr ever produced…”
“Except for those excrement voiding war machines!”
“What?”
“Nothing, carry on…”
“As I was saying, Napalm Beer is the best thing produced by the Dawi Zharr and has an absolute wonderfully bitter chemical taste! It makes your belly warm, and you can enjoy it twice, once going in and once going out!”
“Sounds lovely… Oh, what’s that, they’re bringing out some of those limbs and apparently the bodies they were attached to! Lovely, lovely!”
“That’s oddly specific…”
“Oh, and here comes the star of the bulls! Frizzy Testicles. He seems pretty pleased with the performance of his team Mr. MooMoo.”
“Well, can you blame him! Just look at that pile of corpses!”
"What is Frizzy T. going to do? He’s drinking the Napalm Beer… and loads of it… "
“I don’t know Motorgoat, but I do see a walrus shaped beer bong and I don’t think he’s anywhere close to finished with those barrels!”
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing, he just finished his second barrel! I do believe his pace is slowing down somewhat. I can almost see his gut trough his beard!”
“Which one?”
“The one on his face Mr. MooMoo, the one on his face…”
“Oh. He seems to be done! I wonder what happens next, maybe he’ll belch a huge fireball like one of those ogres?”
“I doubt it, he’s dropping his pants… What is he doing… This is very wrong…”
“Yes! What is he doing! I can’t wait… I mean I can’t watch this! Yes, that’s what I meant to say!”
“Is he… Is he really doing what I think he is doing?”
“Yes, he is really peeing on those corpses. Wow, look at that stream!”
“I can’t do this Motorboat… I feel sick… I Grebrbrlll…”
“Oh Mr. MooMoo, come look, he has a tinderbox now… Man he just keeps on going doesn’t he!”
“Grbrbrblllrlr… No thank you”
“Oh Yes, He lit the stream on fire! I get it now! Napalm Beer! Hahahaha, look at the HobGobstoppers fan’s faces! Beautiful!”
“Grbrbrblllrlr …”
“Grbrbrblllrlr indeed Mr. MooMoo. Grbrbrblllrlr!”
Entry #3
Text Version
A Team of His Own
Gray banners flopped morosely over the muddy pitch. A light drizzle and a chill wind combined to make the few attendant fans as miserable as possible. Among them sat Simeon the farmer, pouting as he pondered his cruel fate. Being pockmarked, poor and short, Simeon felt he had been dealt a bad hand in the chess game of life. To top it off, his local team had been wiped out to a man, and he had thrown away his homemade supporter’s gear in disgust.
The thin crowd for once gave Simeon a decent view of the pitch. Little good it did him, though, as the day’s favourites were but a bush league orc team. When the players entered as ceremoniously as they could manage, Simeon noticed that the opponent team consisted of two quite different sorts of players. Most of them were hunched greenskins, who Simeon guessed to be hobgoblins, but the rest were dwarfs. Resplendent in curled beards and enormous hats, the dwarfs were clad in brightly lacquered scale mail that jingled as they marched. Their outlandish costumes and otherworldly, rhythmic song made them appear as proud warriors of a bygone age.
But short, thought Simeon.
The orc team, calling themselves the Crooked Teef, formed a haphazard line of scrimmage. Their coach had long since given up on tactics and was resigned to watching his team make a single continuous brawl of it.
The linedwarfs formed up in perfect symmetry. Their breath was visible in the cold as they panted in anticipation of the impending violence. Simeon edged forwards in his seat.
With a yell the ball was kicked high, and to an orc, the Crooked Teef left their posts and sprinted towards it. Except for their front line, who were viciously grappled by the dwarfs, or expertly tripped by the hobgoblins. By the time the orcs had battled over who got to hold the ball, half their team were concussed, and one or two were shivved. Boxing up, outnumbered but defiant, the orcs prepared to drive upfield, but met a new line of scrimmage forming nearly on top of them! And now began the true test of brawn and aggression. The orcs were strong and tough, but lacked anything like focus or cohesion. Distracted by an eye-gouging hobgoblin here or a fake referee’s whistle there, the greenskinned warriors went down one by one, only to be mercilessly ganged up on and dispatched.
And almost unheeded, one of the hobgoblins had scored! In the wild celebration on the field, one of the dwarfs shook the referee’s hand effusively (his hat neatly blocking from view two hobgoblins pounding an orc further into the dirt).
Simeon discovered himself to be shouting with the rest of the tiny crowd. What a display of sportsmanship! Such bloody-minded thuggery!
The rain suddenly seemed far away and the wind was barely noticeable. Simeon sat grinning like a child. He had found a new team. And he had a feeling they would go far.
Entry #4
Text Version
The Rising Star
CRUNCH!
“Ooh that had to hurt, going after a minotaur like that, takes a strong combination of guts and brain damage.”
“You said it Gnarls, and with that, that’s the end of the first half. I’m Killem Burntheart, this is Gnarls Daemos, and we are joined today by Blood Bowl legend, John Madman. What did you think of that first half, John?”
“BLOOD BOWL!”
“Thanks John. With the score tied at 1 touchdown apiece, we turn to our in the field reporter Trashy Wolfrider with a surprising star in the making, um, some random hobgoblin. Trashy, how is it down there?”
“Well this is where the balls are, and all of the equipment down here works, unlike up in the booth.”
“Holy Cow! Usually in Blood Bowl you want to keep the murders on the pitch.”
“Wait John did you just say something other than Blood Bowl?”
“Uh, BLOOD BOWL!”
“Looks like John has jumped into the stands and is picking fights with some orcs. Hope this stadium has fire insurance. Back to you Trashy.”
“Good evening folks, I am here with Grendell Grievous. In this season you have scored a record 30 touchdowns, and caused almost as many casualties. Some say you turned your back on the big hatted bull, and went to the big horned rat, with the evidence being that your armour has a 13 on it. How do you respond?”
“What? No, that’s just the number I was assigned. The only god type thing that matters in this game is Nuffle. No, my success can be attributed to my hatred for all other races, good luck and bad coaching.”
“Bad coaching? Coach Hewer is a legend though.”
“The coach is literally an old goblin hewer with the head of a sorcerer that turned to stone, that tosses axes with ‘helpful’ suggestions such as ‘give the ball to the centaur,’ and ‘always go for the foul.’ The only good that Coach Hewer has done this game is retain some of his original function and has already put an axe into the skull of a few of their filthy goblins, so we’re up a player.”
“If you win this game, with the season you’re having, you will have your pick of any team, who do you think you’ll be playing for next season?”
“If all goes well in this game, I will probably be changing my name to something like um, Kahnish Kahn? Yeah something, and then opening a greasy spoon restaurant and smoke shop called the Hash Hut, mostly serving minced bull meat and whatever the halfling scum smoke.”
“It sounds like the second half is about to begin.”
“Here’s the kick off and… Oooh number 13 just took a chainsaw to the neck. Looks like a centaur from his own team has confused his head for the ball. He is running it into the end zone. An axe with some money on it is headed toward the ref, he picks it up, it’s good… TOUCH DOWN!”
Entry #5
Text Version
Soft Spot
Aktur found himself musing on the value of a hobgoblin life as he shuffled back to the line of scrimmage. Worth a score of orcs in daily life, incomparable to Dawi Zharr blood. But on the pitch…
He glanced at the green form being hauled away.
They were a body, same as any other. And they were running low on bodies.
In fact, Aktur was pretty sure they were out. With Adad and Namtar out in the first half, Ulzkai and now Narg down in the second, he steeled himself for playing a man short for the rest of the match.
He lined up opposite a bloodied marauder, tightening his chin strap. The brute was tall, a whole head taller than the top of Aktur’s substantial helmet, but lanky and built for running. He eyed Aktur with that black hatred reserved solely for sports rivalries.
Aktur dropped to a 3-point stance. If he could take this receiver out fast he had a clear shot at the thrower. As he waited for the whistle he lowered his head, angling the spike of his helmet towards the chest of the hulk before him.
“Hashut’s hooves!” he gasped under his breath. With his lowered gaze he saw Narg’s replacement being dragged unceremoniously onto the field behind him, his stone feet cutting deep gouges into the turf.
He hadn’t forgotten their last player but he had certainly not considered him. Before his very eyes the venerable stone form of Gurak Grazhoath was taking position.
“There must be some soft spot left on his head,” thought Aktur, “or he’d be on his way to the hallowed halls of Zharr Naggrund!”
The brute was still howling with laughter when the whistle was blown. Aktur lunged forward, slamming his spiked helm square into the bare chest before him. He stopped hard letting the screaming marauder slide off before pressing forward once more. The thrower still had the ball and was letting his catchers make some extra distance.
Another marauder, a bruiser of a man, moved quickly to intercept. He sprung at the dwarf, arms wide for a tackle. Aktur planted his right foot and ducked low. Instead of a clean grapple the marauder slammed his thigh into the Dwarf’s shoulder pad. Aktur lifted and threw, sending him cartwheeling over Aktur before landing hard on his back.
Noticing his sudden vulnerability the thrower hurried to make his pass - too late, Aktur took his legs out from under him and the pass went wild. Aktur followed the ball with his eyes. No longer was it headed for his receiver, well downfield and free of his coverage. Now it was headed straight for Grazhoath!
The great sorcerer spun a grudging inch as the ball careened off his permanently outstretched arm, launching high into the air. Aktur spun around, took three steps left, and caught it clean.
The crowd was in chaos as Aktur crossed into the endzone, and somewhere, deep beneath the stone, Grazhoath smiled for the last time.
Entry #6
Text Version
Disturbance at the Blood Bowl
… Hello, everyone, this is your action news reporter
With all the news that is news, Across the nation
Here he comes, … Boogity, boogity
There he goes, … Boogity, boogity
And he just in the mood to run in the nude.
… Oh, yes, they call him the Streak
Boogity, boogity, … Fastest Elf on two feet
Boogity, boogity, … He’s just as proud as he can be
Of his anatomy, , … He goin’ give us a peek
… Oh, yes, they call him the Streak
Boogity, boogity, … He likes to show off his physique
Boogity, boogity, … If there’s an audience to be found
He’ll be streakin’ around Invitin’ public critique
… This is your action news reporter once again
Covering the disturbance at the Blood-Bowl Grand Playoff
Pardon me, sir, did you see what happened?
… Yeah, I did
Half time, I’s just goin’ down thar to get Ethel a snow cone
And here he come, right out of the Dungeons,
Right down the middle of the court
Didn’t have on nothing but his Jewelry’s.
I hollered up at Ethel, … I said, “Don’t look, Ethel!”
But it was too late, … She’d already got a free shot
Grandstandin’, right there in front of the home team
And that’s when it happened.
Old H’Thark, Well he’s just lined up his gun powdwerin’ Ball Thrower
And He just sure flattened that uppity elf with a ball to the face.
Well, the Elf, he was sprawled flat over there, right in the centre of the pitch,
The dumb Ref was a blowin’ his whistle real hard, just tryin’ to as get
both the teams to stop their stompin’ on the stupid git.
And that big red smear over there is all dat is left.
Except for ‘is head that is, it’s sort of in one piece.
They is using it for Goal kickin’ practice up the other end.
Entry #7
Text Version
By Herbie!
“But, Uncle… but… oh confound it all, she wants me to take her to the game next week! You see, she told me that she loved Blood Bowl more than anything, especially that one team, and in a rush of sheer panic I told her that so did I – and in particular the team she’s so fond of and whose name I just can’t remember!”
An adventurous life divided between battlefields, Blood Bowl arenas, and Zharr-Naggrund gentledwarfs’ clubs had accustomed Lord Adherbal to remaining composed in the face of catastrophe. It was therefore with a calm voice that he addressed his nephew. “Bostar, my dear lad,” he said in a tone of benevolent yet firm avuncular reproach, “you have many undeniable qualities that I need not enumerate. Lucky the lass that gets you, say I – unless said lass has a predilection for Blood Bowl, because if you have one fault, it is that you’re not only perfectly ignorant on that subject – “
“Yes, Uncle.”
“– but have also resisted any attempt of mine to educate you on the matter with cast-iron determination.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“In my darkest moments during your upbringing, I used to think that one might just as soon succeed in persuading a parcel of Daemonettes of the virtues of celibacy as in getting you to appreciate the marvels of Blood Bowl, that most noble sport. In fact, on one occasion I actually tried to accomplish the former, just to prove the point to myself. But I admit that the matter turned out rather differently than…”
It was at this point that the feeble remains of Bostar’s composure finally crumbled under the cruel load of remorse, perhaps alloyed with a certain amount of terror at the prospect of his uncle’s finishing his anecdote. Emotion overwhelmed the young dwarf; the words came gushing out uncontrollably.
“Oh Uncle, I should never have so recklessly spurned your teachings! And for what? For so trivial an occupation as Daemonsmithing! Oh, dont’ you see that I am come before you as a penitent to implore your mercy“ – for years of studying arcane lore had left Bostar with an impressive range of exotic vocabulary – “and to accept any punishment you deem appropriate? I will happily join the Infernal Guard for a decade or three, I will smile serenely as one of those unfashionable masks is welded onto my face, I will slurp ash porridge through a straw and swear that it is a feast fit for Lord Astragoth himself – if you will impart but the merest fraction of your wisdom upon me, just enough to get me through that game!” Here the unhappy youth realised that he had neglected to breathe for a considerable time; but at least the necessary pause afforded him an opportunity to collect himself and gather his strength to lay down the simple, terrible fact. “I love her, Uncle Herbie.” And, after another pause: “Now, are you going to help me?”
Entry #8
Text Version
You’ll Never Walk Again
Jim: “Welcome sports fans to Sunday Night Blood Bowl, presented by Bloodweiser. Tonight, an exciting game day reaches it’s conclusion, when the No.1 seed in the OWC East, the Zharr Kagur Bulls, face the Precious Vale Treehuggers, a division rival. I’m Jim Johnson and you’re watching Cabal Vision+, coming to you live from the AT & Torture Arena in Zharr Kagur. With me here is, as always, the former Full Back of the Creevelent Crescents, with a career-high 208 inflicted injuries - including 78 player fatalities - Bob “The Biff” Bifford. Bob?”
Bob: “Thank you Jim, and it’s 79 fatalities, actually. Ole Butterblossom died last week after three years in a coma.”
Jim: “You don’t say? Well congratulations Bob, your mother must be very proud.”
Bob: “Hah, oh no she’s pissed, Jim, now we’re no longer tied.”
Jim: “Fascinating, must be an awkward Thanksgiving. But let’s have a look at tonight’s game, Bob, what can we expect?”
Bob: “Carnage, Jim, just how I like it. The Bulls are a mean bunch of sociopaths. They’re 4-0 at home this season, and the crowd is already out for blood. They brought their kids and ate homemade chili at the tailgate-party before tossing a few prisoners in a lava pit, laughing! ‘chuckles’ I always like coming to the Dark Lands, Jim.”
Jim: “You and me both, Bob. Well, you said it, the stands are packed with bloodthirsty fans tonight. And here enters the guest team, the Precious Vale Treehuggers from Athel Loren, and the crowd goes wild, Bob! They’re throwing hundreds of cut-off flower heads on the pitch and, wait, what are they shouting?”
Bob: “Flowers is for Elvsess, Jim, classic! ‘laughs’ Look! One of them is actually crying!”
Jim: “ Phew, this is going to be a looong night for the Wood Elves, Bob.”
Bob: “Not for all of them, Jim.”
Jim: “Fair enough, Bob. Let’s listen in on the fans as the home team takes the pitch.”
“Puny elves, stupid orks
Reeking men, craven rats
Bow down, here we come, meet your doom
First a fist to the face
And a shiv in the side
Then a hoof in the back breaks your spine
Watch out on your right
Watch out from behind
Hear your bones be cleft in twain
Watch out, watch out
They’re after your spine
And you’ll never walk again
You’ll never walk again
Too late, too late
That crunch was your spine
And you’ll never walk again
You’ll never walk again”
Jim: “Sends a cold shiver down my undead spine - pun intended! Now the referee has given the signal. The Bulls with the kick-off, ball is caught by Athyris Leafblower, he carries it over the 40 yard line, oh oh, there comes a Bull Centaur pretty fast from the ri…”
Bob: “Ohhhhh, and we have a flyer, head ripped clean off his shoulders, what an opening play by the Zharr Kagur defence! Mark it 5-0 for the Bulls, Jim, the Treehuggers would be lucky if some survive the game.”
Entry #9
Text Version
Aftertalk
“Well, didn’t that game meet all our expectations, Krogg?”
“Sure did, Ham! We had a starplayer scoring the best goal of her career. I’ve played Blood Bowl as you know, Ham, and I never saw agility and a kick into the mouth cavity like that before. Those tusks won’t fare well if the curlystunt survives, hur hur!”
“Well observed, Krogg. And we had a starplayer slaughtered on the pitch, to boot! What a memorable way to end a long success story in the bloody astrogranite.”
“Oh, that too, Ham! That Minotaur was magnificent. The way he ripped his victim apart by the midsection, held high in the air. You could’ve sworn it was raining!”
“Well, it sure was raining Amazons once the dumb brute started stomping her remains into the ground. Holy hell and bloody havoc! Well, he just couldn’t make it out of that heelpit, Krogg.”
“Not unless the coach hires a Necromancer!”
“Right on! And best of thing of all, that blind referee didn’t blow the whistle even once during seven mortal casualties. Not once, can you believe it? Hahaha!”
“Now there’s a referee I can live with, Ham! Don’t disturb the flow of the game, I say. And don’t mind the bribes. But the fans sure were furious! Those seven fatalities were just during the match itself, mind you.”
“Oh yeah, that referee went down like a Halfling in a Butcher’s cauldron soon as the match ended abruptly. Hell, Krogg! The Amazon fans displayed not a iota of mercy when they stormed the pitch.”
“He was quartered well and truly! But did you see what the enraged Chaos Dwarf fans did to their Bull Centaurs?”
“No, tell me, Krogg! I think I missed it in the riot.”
“It was incredible, Ham! Insane! I didn’t know a body can bend like that.”
“Perhaps it can break like that?”
“Oh, true! That explains how one Bull Centaur player was able to choke on his own rear leg. Who wouldna thunk it?”
“Certainly not the Hobgoblins, Krogg. They had their own fill of troubles!”
“Damn yes! I think Cabal Vision might actually censor what happened to that git who scored last goal in the match, Ham.”
“O-ho-oh, that one was good! By the way, did you catch a look when the fans fed that curlybeard to his own boots?”
“You mean they fed the sod his own boots, Ham?”
“No, the other way around, Krogg! Didna you see it?”
“What? How does that even work, Ham?”
“I don’t know, but the boot sure had bite. Now that’s Chaos for you!”
“Er, right. I for one enjoyed when that gang of fans drove the screaming Hobgoblin straight down into the meatgrinder! I think I’ll avoid hot dogs next game.”
“But do you know what was the best part of the match, Krogg?”
“No, tell me, Ham!”
“You know when the stands collapsed? I bet those ticket-paying fans got more violence than they bargained for!”
“Now that’s Blood Bowl for you!”
Remember, there are several prizes up for grabs this round.
Great job folks and good luck!
The Staff
I don’t really know how exactly I got the idea, but I had fun playing around with it. The constellation of characters is very typical. Lord Adherbal / Uncle Herbie is mainly a Chaos Dwarf version of 
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