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Survival of the Meanest: War Journals of Sometimes Player, Sometimes Coach, Sometimes Both...
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konamikode

Cooking Harder
Survival of the Meanest: War Journals of Sometimes Player, Sometimes Coach, Sometimes Both, Dozer Konami, Ogre Bull 'Mercenary'
(Blood Bowl)
(SI)

---


Entry ??: Motivational Speaking
Date: 1 / 28 / 2522
Location: Har Ganeth, Naggaroth
Team: Harlum Waaugh! Trotters
Position: Replacement 'Koach', Star Player
Season: Winter
League: Khaine's Cup of Sacrifice, Match 1 of 10 King of the Hill
Subject: Team Training

Note of the Day: Only the desperate and foolish accept an invitation to the City of Executioners right before the streets literally run red with blood as the Brides of Khaine go about doing their thing. Being an Ogre Mercenary
coaching an Orc Team, that doesn't matter so much, but participating in an event so blatantly in the home team's favor?

Now that's just downright Cunningly Brutal!

Pfeh. Just means more gitz ta crump Koach! (Excerpt from Player 28 Blitza Koknokka)


---

Har Ganeth is chilly on the best of days during the bleak, sunless winters this far north close to the edge of the watchtowers looming over the Chaos Wastes. Even hundreds of miles away, the biting winds of raw magic better left unexposed to would chill frailer beings down to the soul bone.


If souls have bones.

They might?

Anyway, this isn't an issue for a creature as hearty and resistant to Chaos corruption like the magnificent specimen of an Ogre Bull such as I! The gobbos I might worry about some, but those lot are cheaper to hire than it is to buy hapless Druuchi slavestock!

By that it means I can just grab the nearest gutter runt, stick a helmet on his head, and toss him out onto the pitch with just as much expectation for performance as one of the regulars.

They don't last too long either, so really the skill gap doesn't matter much! What's a few hours of life experience on the pitch going to do for a Gobbo player anyway?

Now Da Boyz I do worry about. Proper sized Greenskins that can take a hit and not die are easy enough to find, but those special ones that can hit first are a special breed. That either takes proppa training or just having the roight stuff that propels them off the bench and straight into the starting lineup!

Why, it took me all of a month to bash in enough heads of small brained, ill trained, Ooligan Warbands to steal away the cream of their crop!

Funny since Greenskins actually do grow from right out of the ground!

It's astonishing what shounen style training can do to a group of violent psychopaths that can take it without dying-

"AAAUUUUUGH! ME ZOGGIN 'ASS!"

-though learning from their brutal physical regimen is something that I'm having a horribly difficult time pounding into their thick skulls!

"You stupid git! How many Mork damn times do I have to tell you!? DON'T. FALL. DOWN!" I roared and stomped across the nail encrusted pitch, heedless of the horrible screeching noise of rusty bits of iron being crushed against my plated feet and the frozen ground underneath.

I started wearing steel plated soles after a bad run in with a gutter runner that wouldn't stop biting after I stomped him into the dirt.

Bugger took off one of me toes so I had to rip out of his guts so the apothecary could zap it back on!

In hindsight it was fortunate that I had the foresight to shove the pigskin I recovered from the rat's scrabbling hands and shoved it down his throat. The opposing coach tried to flag the ensuing touchdown I scored by pointing out my extended contact with his player, but the referee ruled the action in my favor.

It pays to know your Blood Bowl history. Did you know that it's now illegal to swallow or otherwise hold the ball inside of a player's body? Why, I was just helping the game go by quicker!

The referee never did say anything about how it was wrong to force a ball down into an opponent's guts in order to set up said technicality.

Then again, I did eat the last dumb gobbo that tried to tell me what to do, even if it got me kicked off the field during my time with the Reikland Reavers. Pays to have a sterling reputation!

"B-but, Koach! I can't run that far without fallin down! It just ain't proppa Blood Bowl!" The idiot and worthless Lineman dares to complain!

"FOOOOOOOOL!" I slap the bleeding Orc with the back of my hand just hard enough not to kill him, but with enough force to leave him seeing stars and remain stunned enough that he can barely comprehend that I had just backhanded him in the face.

"You're just a zoggin number to me sixty-two! You know why your jersey is in the double digits!? Because you're a Lineman! You should be thanking your Gods that you get a chance to earn your place on the pitch! You know any big Orc teams that got any linemen in it!? Do you!? None! And some of them even field Goblins!" I continue my rant, picking up the lineman who is already narrowing his eyes in indignation and confusion.

Orcs don't slap each other! What was this twiggy gobshite-

"B-but Koach-" He growls and attempts to defend himself when I kneel down next to him and sigh, causing him to tilt his half brain dead skull in bewilderment.

It is good most Blood Bowl players are unable to comprehend emotion other than fear or anger. Doubly so for Greenskins.

This makes what I'm about to do, and have been doing for the past few weeks much easier.

"I'm giving you a real chance here Boy. No. Fred. Your name's Fred Dursta isn't it?" I speak softly with not wholly falsified mental fatigue.

I actually do have to take a second to remember his name.

"Yeah, datz roight Koach- You'ze remembered me name!" He exclaims surprised, already forgetting about the pain of missing half of his teef and the staunched blood flow no longer leaking from his perforated rear end.


"Look here Fred, what do you see?" I ask gently, almost reverently while holding up the spike studded ball in my comically large palm.

"D-da ball?" He answers intelligently.

No, seriously, I have developed something of a habit where most of the injuries I cause are brain related, and most players don't really have that much more they can afford to lose and still remain able to play the objective. I'm a rather proud practitioner of the if you can't kill 'em, cripple the enemy team enough that they have to spend all their cash on new players school of thought.

Good thing Orcs are a tough lot!

"No Fred. This right here is the team's hopes and dreams. Da Boy'z future winnings that they are all sending back to the gitz back at home so that they can pay for enough gear so that they can have at least one roight proppa scrap on a real fucking pitch before they have to go back to the drudgery that is a normal job." I say emotively while gazing and gesturing at the rest of the team practicing in the freezing cold chill.

"K-koach?" He asks in the dawning confusion that he's about to get a lecture, but one he can't help but find himself being drawn to.


"Fred, this little thing in my hand holds the future. Your Future. Isn't that how it all started for you? You were just a plumba working on a backed up pipe in the stadium back in the Badlands. And you were the first to come rushing down onto the field when the team ran out of players-" I allow myself to be interrupted by the mumbling Lineman.

"Y-yeah. I'z remember Koach… you'z stomped me into da ground good-" He rubs the small indentation on the top of his in the shape of my knuckles from the phantom pain.

"We lost that day because of you. You were the one that managed to hold me back for that half-second it took for the rest of your team to pile on top of me while Runty took the ball on in. You remember what I said after that?" I continue while holding out my hand, jogging his memory just that tiny bit.

"You'z picked me up and shook me 'and, and said good block-" He recalls.

In reality, I threw him out of my way towards the eager crowd in a fit of rage, but given the brain damage, a little white lie is something I can easily get away with~

"That's right. Fred. I did that because you earned my respect that day." I nod solemnly while grasping his hand in mine, standing the both of us up with carefully controlled force that would've wrenched out the arm of a less robust race.

The bruised shoulder is taken as a sign of friendly camaraderie where I consider him as enough of a buddy where I trust him not to hit me back twice as hard because I didn't smash his face into the dirt.

Orcish kultur at its finest.

"Aww… Zog Koach, you'ze gonna make me ungreen!" He covers his face with a single hand, looking away like the untested and inexperienced youth that he is.

Heh. Still got it.



Ugh.

I really need to invest in some Bloodweiser Babes for the aftermatch party.

Some members of my newly adopted race swear by Knoblars, but I'd much rather have squishy bits climbing all over me while pouring pitchers of ale down my throat than creatures I'd rather eat.

"You know what else is in your hands now?" I chuckle and smile in embarrassment while looking away and rubbing the back of my luscious, ponytail trailing head.

In reality I'm trying to stare holes into the sun to burn the mental image of being handfed by an Orc out of my obviously tampered with brain.

Fucking Chaos.

"Dere's sumthin else Koach?" He asks from behind me and I take the moment to toss the ball over my shoulder and towards his bewildered hands.

"My belief in you, Fred." I wipe a single bead of sweat from the corner of my eye and begin walking away towards another problem that is cropping up.

"K-koach!" Fred calls out, throat raw with never before felt emotion.


"Believe in the me that believes in you, Fred. I know you can do this." I finish with while placing my hands onto the sides of my gutplate, shining sun illuminating my back from the front.


Fred stills for a long moment in thought before I hear the telltale crunching of the uncoordinated Orcish feet practicing agility drills on the frozen, nail covered turf.

I'm going to create a Runna if it's the last thing I do.

"Zog!" The voice of my current target yells in irritation before it is silenced by my responding bellow!

"Goff! You gibbering runt! What the hell are you doing laid out on the pitch like that-"

I've put far too much work into this for it to fail!

-----

The SI kick is real :p
 
I saw the title and for some reason all I could think was: Cool. Every good story he writes will end with his talent leaving and the original idea being turned into a slot machine. :)
 
Watched. At the very least this will soothe the pain I feel from konamikode's quest discontinuity.
 
I had no idea I needed this so much. Orks are a good team but not top tier. Unless you somehow make ork elves. That shit is weird.
 
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