Even deep within the laboratory, down in the bowels of the tower, Gorp heard the angry cry and the smash from his master’s chambers above. With a mixture of fear for his master’s safety and fear of what might have triggered one of his rages, he shambled as fast as his misshapen body would allow him up the winding stairs. Gorp was almost certainly human, but the necessity to describe him in such terms should be evidence enough of the unfortunate nature of his appearance.
The tower steps were no trifle, for the tower was tall, as they tend to be when a wizard puts his mind to building himself such a monument to solitude and ego; and as his master was certainly no ordinary wizard, he had not done things by half either.
When Gorp, out of breath and somewhat dizzy, eventually reached the chamber, he rapped tentatively on the heavy wooden door, and was greeted mere moments later by the eruption of a bolt of electrical energy that blew through the centre of the oaken portal and exploded with a flash of brilliant light and smoke into the wall beside him. Gorp stood still for a few moments, his stunned face blackened, his few hairs standing with electric charge, his eyes a dizzy collection of white spots.
‘Well, what is it?’ yelled his master impatiently from within.
Gorp gathered his senses as best he was able and peered through the smoking hole into his master’s chamber. Inside, all seemed well, barring a smashed crystal ball in the centre of the room. His master peered back at him suspiciously - the clear blue eyes at the centre of a pale, narrow face topped with close-cropped and prematurely grey hair, the head atop a thin, tall frame that was clad in robes of a rich and luxurious black velvet edged in silver thread.
‘I heard a noise master. I wondered if you were safe.’
‘Of course I’m safe, idiot! ‘ came the response. ‘Am I not Seifer Strahad, the greatest Necromancer in the Old World? What harm could befall me?’
‘But your crystal ball, master...’ Gorp offered apologetically.
Strahad gazed down at the broken item as if for the first time.
‘Bah! Don’t remind me! That damned Ezegiel!’ he said, and his hands crackled with the same electrical energy that had dispatched the door. Something had upset him, that was for sure.
The Necromancer turned away and strode to the balcony of his tower, a balcony which offered a lofty view over the southern reaches of the Great Forest.
‘Gorp-’ Strahad turned and saw Gorp still peering at him through the smoking hole.
‘Gorp, in the name of Morr, do come in. I will not have a conversation with you through a hole in a door.’
Gorp pulled aside the remains of the door and stepped gingerly into the chamber.
‘Gorp, I have decided something. A man like me, a man feared and admired by all who know the power of magic, by all who have experienced the terrors of the Necromantic art, he should throw his ambitions higher and wider than a mere hedge wizard.’
Gorp had heard such sentiments before. They usually preceded one of Seifer’s wilder demonstrations of power, demonstrations that usually ended in widespread devastation.
‘Are you going to launch another zombie invasion, master?’
‘No, Gorp, no, not now.’ He whirled round from the balcony to meet his servant’s gaze directly. ‘Gorp, I was thinking that perhaps it is time to approach the world in a different way. A less confrontational way.’
Gorp gazed back at his master with a perplexed look.
‘Gorp, do you follow Blood Bowl?’
Gorp was stunned for a moment or two, because of all the statements or questions he had expected from his master, this was perhaps the least likely.
‘O-Of course master, I’m a great fan of the Champions of Death.’
The glance that Strahad shot back at him immediately caused him to regret his answer.
‘What? Isn’t that the plaything of that fusty old hack, Tomolandry?’
Gorp squirmed as he tried to think of an answer that would not anger his master. Fortunately Strahad continued without waiting for one.
‘Hmm, well, he does have some talent, I’ll give you that. A good example - I shall not punish you.’
‘Thank you, master.’
‘In that case then, if you are a fan, perhaps you have also heard of the Deathriders?
Gorp squirmed even more, knowing exactly who they were and trying desperately to conceal the fact.
‘The name...rings a bell, master, but-’
‘Do you know who runs them, Gorp?’
‘E- E-’
‘By Sigmar’s ghost, Gorp, say it!’
‘Ezegiel, master.’
‘Yes, damn his eyes!’ Strahad spat, and once more his figure blazed with magical anger. ‘That fool, that amateur! Did you know, Gorp, his team have just won some tournament or other? The- what is it-?’
‘Orcidas Regional Cup?’
‘Yes, yes. Ezegiel received the trophy from Elector Maierhoffer himself! Can you believe it? One hundred thousand Gold Crowns and a drinks reception with the Elector. A drinks reception! Hob-nobbing with the establishment, with the upholders of law? Has he no shame? He’s making all of us Necromancers look bad!’
Gorp knew better than to disagree with his master, particularly when it came to opinions regarding Ezegiel. He did not know the exact details, but the two Necromancers had been deadly rivals ever since their days at the College of Magic.
‘As galling as it may be, Gorp, I have to admit that the jackanape seems to have hit a real winner there. But let me tell you this, if he thinks I’ll sit idly by and watch him clear up, he’s got another thing coming! Strahad shall also have a team, Gorp, one that will put Ezegiel’s bag of bones back into their graves!’
Gorp’s eyes grew wide as his master went on. A Blood Bowl team, here? Their very own? It was a dream come true for a humble Necromancer’s servant.
‘First things first Gorp, I want you to tell me everything you know about Blood Bowl. After that, I’ll build myself a team!’
***
For most prospective Blood Bowl team owners, ‘building a team’ means withdrawing a large amount of Gold from the bank (or treasure hoard/tribal chest/clan vault, as appropriate), wandering down to the local Blood Bowl pitches (or slave pens/fighting pits/asbestos mines, as appropriate) and making an offer to any likely-looking players. For Strahad, it had a more literal meaning. For two straight weeks he and Gorp locked themselves within the laboratory. There they picked out the largest, meanest and toughest pieces of once-living bio-organic material they could find within Strahad’s extensive stores. Then they began the laborious process of stitching, moulding and empowering that material with all of the dark arts of Necromancy. Lightning crackled above Strahad’s tower, beasts fled the area, and terrible noises came from within, but nearly a week later, down in the laboratory, an exhausted and red-eyed Strahad stood and admired his creations with all the pride of a new mother.
‘Look at them Gorp, aren’t they magnificent?’
Gorp could only agree. Strahad’s efforts had yielded two Golems - mindless automatons, cast not as other Golems were, - either from the power of the elements, or from the ingenuity of engineering, but from the twisted magic of Necromancy and the raw material of human (and other unspecified donors’) flesh. They stood perhaps seven feet tall, with raw-muscled limbs as thick as tree branches, and horrifying faces that were a grotesque mockery of man. As the Necromancer and his assistant gazed upon them, the eyes of the Golems gazed back, an expression somewhere between fear and hatred playing across their misshapen visages.
‘These are the foundation Gorp, but only the beginning! We’ve a whole squad to fill.’
He withdrew a crisp, freshly-inked scroll from the folds of his robes.
‘I had this sent over from the official league administrators. It lists their various rules and regulations, and according to this section regarding squad composition, well, it all gets rather complex, but the gist of it is simple enough. We’re going to need zombies, Gorp, lots of zombies.’