And here, from the coach himself, is the roster and some background:
01. Braga da 'Ed Bash'a (Black Orc)
02. Morgur (Black Orc)
03. Roflog (Black Orc)
04. Azgrum (Black Orc)
05. Sorgask (Blitzer)
06. Urghuk (Blitzer)
07. Grambad (Blitzer)
08. Galoth (Blitzer)
09. Grab da Bol (Thrower)
10. Slib'ry Ands (Thrower)
11. Galhag (Lineman)
Plus two re-rolls and an apothecary, for a total team value of 1,000,000 gold.
Coach: Braga da 'Ed Bash'a (yes, he actually plays on the pitch)
Team slogan: Wesha be doing in yar nogin!
"Staggering out of the Blasted Wastes came one of the the mightiest warlords of orc history, Grimgor Ironhide. His renowned bodyguards, or "Immortulz" as they are known in orcish legend, were made of the strongest, most battle-hardened and meanest Black Orc you could find in all the Old World. 'Braga da 'Ed Bash'a was one of them. Traders from distant lands like Araby and Cathay say that a Bash'a translates into king...maybe they're onto something. But frankly, Braga made his name by...well simply just by "bashing" his enemies heads in like a child would smash two tomatoes together.
The sands of time filled the hourglass and Grimgor once again became furiously bored with the mundane warfare between what he refers to as fickel races, such as "humie's", "stunty's" and "da pointy 'eerd folk". Grimgor, a colossus even within orcish standards, beckoned his strongest and most feared Black Orc bodyguard to step forth. Braga approached and knelt humbly before his chief. Just the other day these two bashed heads in the clearing in front of 'Da Bosses Hut'. Which was of course tradition if one was to challenge the current occupant of the throne. As was well expected, Braga lost the gruesome brawl. Being a sadistic piece of boar-dung, Grimgor left Braga alive to writhe in shame. The battered, and now slightly smaller (shame is evident) orc begged to know how he could please his master and make up for his former wrongdoings. The war boss grabbed Braga by the neck and hoisted him up from the ground, just as a gatherer would pick up a mushroom. He then bellowed; "Yousha be go to dat Blaad Bawl thingy dat every 'un iz babblin' about n' bring glory in me name! Maybe den I iz can forget why I iz give ya all doze bruizes! I also 'erd dat they iz make good loot in thouz gamez! Yousha fill them trophy cups to da brim with shinies or yer 'ed'll be on the mantle piece!!!"
Braga realized that if he succeeded, this could be a chance to get back to Grimgor's revered personal guard. In the process, he could also accomplish something only a few orcs in the Old World could even think of (so not that many of them); world wide glory amongst all races of the Old World and maybe one day he could earn the right for a rematch against the indomitable Grimgor Ironhide.
The next morning Grimgor found himself awoken for some reason. He could hear commotion outside his hut like it was happening right inside his head, he had obviously drunk too much at the great feast last night and now was suffering the horrid aftereffects. Slowly rising to his feet and shuffling towards his huts porch, he shoved aside the two bodyguards stationed at his doorway. Squinting as the sunshine hit his eyes, he leaned against the door frame and held the curtains aside. At once he saw what the ruckus was all about. An armored Braga was marching out of the stronghold. The common folk had formed an angry crowd at the gates, this was to be expected for losing a challenge in such a demeaning fashion. They started throwing dung and rotten provisions at him while screaming profanities at the top of their lungs. Interestingly enough, there was also a peculiar looking group following closely in Braga's wake. They seemed to be reluctantly a part of this apparent expedition. Grimgor thought to himself that Braga probably had to have bribed, twist a few arms and call in some favors to muster this sorry looking bunch. The exiting band was made of Black Orc, Big 'Uns, Goblin, a Stone Troll and everything green in between. The half-drunk war chief snorted aloud; "Hah! Braga, ya old fool! Wif dat circus behind ya, yer 'ed'll be decoratin' me fireplace in no time!"
Thus began the journey to Blood Bowl for Braga and his Brutes...WAAAGH! help us all."
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