Hemlocke – Wanted: Dead or Alive?

Hemlocke

So this year’s Guild Ball Community event is looking at the schism in the Union team caused by Rage slipping his leash and the Solthecian Church coming in to take over the running of the team.

Details can be found here: https://steamforged.com/union-in-chains

Eight of the original Guild’s have been paired up and are fighting to gain a member of the Union as a Guild member. The pairings are:

 

  • The Fisherman’s Guild & Butcher’s Guild will be competing for Gutter.
  • The Brewer’s Guild & Mason’s Guild will be competing for Decimate.
  • The Mortician’s Guild & Hunter’s Guild will be competing for Hemlocke.
  • The Alchemist’s Guild & Engineer’s Guild will be competing for Harry the Hat.

Each of the Union members will get an alternative sculpt depending on which Guild they finally settle in.

Hemlocke is being fought over by the Mortician’s and Hunter’s Guilds (Go Morticians!) and her alternative sculpts are:

 

Her back story is:

A fate unknown

Light flooded into the empty chamber, coloured in faint hues of red and green from the faded staining in the glass dome above. Motes of dust fluttered through the air like tiny fireflies, tumbling ever downwards in lazy spirals. A peaceful stillness had taken hold of this place and refused to relinquish it, entirely at odds with the sinister darkness lurking in the catacombs below.
Grace stood in quiet contemplation of the scene, light reflecting from her pristine robes in a blinding glare. Her lip curled. She cared little for this place. A long-abandoned chapel built atop an ancient temple ruined some centuries past, the neglect of this sacred ground was an offence against Solthecius himself.
The Inquisitor’s dilapidated surroundings offered little to placate to her condemnation. The elements had not been kind to a building standing unattended for so many years, her eye picking out places where walls had crumbled and fallen in, and dark metalwork was spotted with orange. Tall windows, once proud and vibrant, had grown dull in their frames; the panes from several others shattered over the floor in pointed shards of multicoloured glass.
This remote shrine would be impure forevermore, sins of the past having rendered it far beyond the limits of mortal sanctification. The order had allowed the lonely site to be quietly forgotten over the years as the trail of attendant worshippers had slowly reduced to a trickle, content that the pious should never know of its existence. It was probable the dusty flagstones had known neither foot nor knee for decades until the arrival of the Inquisition, the carpets once covering them having rotted away long since.
But, Grace was not here to kneel in supplication.
A warren of tunnels hid underfoot, a sprawling dungeon first created for the primitive temple a thousand years ago, made into a labyrinthian maze by the architects of the chapel erected in the time since. They had not been alone in their attentions. Nature too had touched the confusing hive of forgotten cells and foetid cellars just as it had the land above, shuddering tremors and flooding causing irreversible destruction in the depths. Fraught with collapsed ceilings and impassable corridors, even the most recent map was hopelessly obsolete.
It was the perfect prison for as vile a fraternity as the Union.
Despite the length of leash allowed him by the new Bacchus, Rage had quickly proven too wild a dog to be left to his own devices, his rebellious instinct too fractious to be of use. Grand plans for the treacherous cadre spoiled, Pious VI had not sat idle in retaliation. His Inquisitors’ mission of stewardship soon become one of hunter and prey, Grace and Benediction ordered to entomb each member of the Union underground, far from the eyes of man.
Their first quarry had been Rage himself, the vicious thug now imprisoned in a cell as bleak as his blackened heart. His capture in particular had been a dark enough deed to cost of the lives of three initiates, each bloodied by his wicked cleaver until their bodies moved no more. Pursuit of the other wolves in his ruthless pack had been less barbaric, yet none had come easily.
The Saint would have lied if she did not admit to a sense of satisfaction in persecuting such reprehensible scum. She had readily paid penance each night, quickly reaching forgiveness for her behaviour in service of the August Lord. Her conscience remained as pure as her unbroken innocence.
Footsteps cut through the silence and from the corner of her vision, Benediction’s immense frame appeared. Unlike Grace, he wore his armour and faceplate, his robes dirtied from travelling through the depths below. Behind him he dragged a long chain, metal links clinking together as they writhed, the final malefactor struggling in vain against the hard iron.
The witch had arrived.
The woman had been a dishevelled mess even before she had been dragged from her den, clothes a tattered collection of unwashed rags, her hair matted into thick dreadlocks. She reeked as only an individual with an aversion to bathing could, a musky stench of dried sweat and mould.
Grace’s eyes narrowed, a sadistic smile creeping across her features. Hemlocke deserved cleansing in more ways than one. Amongst all of her miserable brethren the witch offended the order most, by defying the very word of Solthecius with her sacrilegious profanity. She belonged in the dark ages past, a slave to the pagan beliefs of man when he had paid fealty to the elements and the stars above.
Sensing the contemptuous stare, the witch turned her head towards Grace, only to wilt and avert her tortured eyes as she shrank away again. The brief glimpse revealed pupils dilated to monstrous proportions, all trace of colour replaced by heavy black orbs. Doubtless, Hemlocke had been sampling her own stock.
A vicious yank of her collar dragged the witch under the light of the grand dome, painting her in dappled hues. She reacted by clawing at the chain and shrieking at her tormentor.
‘No blind man should see as you, giant. You are unnatural, an abomination!’ The sudden outburst was the first collection of legible words the woman had offered since her capture, the rest only gnashing of teeth and forlorn wailing.
Hemlocke’s spite earned her a backhanded slap across the mouth, the impact whipping her delicate neck backwards. When her head swung back again she glared murderously, bloated eyes unblinking.
A thin trail of red trickled over her chin, and the witch defiantly spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the floor, crimson covering a cross carved into the stone.
She grinned, teeth stained pink. ‘The Old Ones care little for your pretend lord, or the misguided fools who follow him. You are as powerless as the lies your kind peddle, and these worthless icons crumbling under my heel.’
Benediction punished her blasphemy again, a huge hand seizing Hemlocke by the throat and roughly hauling her into the air. His head swung around to Grace as the witch’s hands scrabbled at his grip, blank mask somehow conveying his silent question.
Grace took a moment to savour the undiluted panic over Hemlocke’s features. Her face was turning a painful shade of purple, her legs frantically kicking on tiptoes. The witch was clearly running out of breath, her sullen tongue silenced but for a strangled gasp.
The Saint shook her head.
Benediction gave one last cruel squeeze before hurling the Union scum away, her body tumbling through the air until she landed amongst the rotting remnants of a row of pews. The witch struck the wood with a sickening thud, an agonised scream torn from her lungs on impact. Her voice trailed into a rasp as she slipped to the floor like a child’s discarded ragdoll.

Hemlocke lay still amongst the splintered wood, only movement a tremble as she sobbed
pathetically. The line of red across her chin had become a wide river, pooling on the old stone beneath her.
‘I will not pretend you do not deserve death for your sins, witch. You are barely a trial in our holy mission, a trivial distraction at most. Perhaps death would provide the best form of censure for one such as you, rather than imprisonment.’ Hemlocke didn’t react to the words, her eyes still closed.
Grace glanced at her companion. His mask hid any hint of expression, but Grace knew his judgement would match hers regardless. The heathen woman’s fate was sealed in a moment of unspoken communion.
‘Illuminate her.’ With the slightest nod, the Virgin Sister signalled her guardian into action once more. An armoured boot stepped forward from under his robes, catching the light in spite of a thin layer of grime.
Hemlocke lurched up into the air, a marionette with her strings suddenly pulled taught. Her hands scratched at the air, nails clawing like talons clutching invisible rungs. Back straight as a rod, the witch’s head snapped towards Grace, eyes rolled back to become milky orbs. She bared her teeth in a feral grin.
Benediction broke into a run, hands reaching for her, but the witch slipped away as though possessed by a devil, her nimble agility at odds with how erratically her limbs moved. She reached the nearest window in moments, the tall glass pane already shattered inwards. Without breaking her unnatural gait Hemlocke launched herself through the opening, disappearing but for a bloody scrap of cloth.
Benediction roared in frustration, punching an armoured fist into the wall. He looked back towards Grace, tilting his head downwards in self condemnation.
The Saint’s smile returned. It was time to persecute the hunt once more.

Hemlocke’s eyelids slowly parted, her vision blurry and indistinct. Whatever spirits had aided her escape had scattered, leaving her entirely mortal once more, a broken shell stretched over weak and bruised flesh.
As her senses returned she became slowly aware she lay at the bottom of a shallow ditch, muddy water soaking through her clothes, icy cold against her clammy skin. It seemed some time had elapsed since her flight, the avatar of the Father fallen from the blank skies to usher in the dominion of the  Goddess. The landscape was coloured a pale hue, the faint and ethereal light birthing a deep shadow in the recess where she now  languished.
Her ears detected nary a hint of pursuit, but Hemlocke knew the accursed holy men would still be searching for her. She was the last of the Union to have evaded them, and their kind did not rest easily.
They would hunt for her until her last breath, the chase as relentless as their passion for their falsehood god.
She groaned, knowing she was poor game presently.
Her forehead was warm and fevered; from her short breath and a dull ache in her flank she was likely wounded inside, the taste of coppery blood painted over her lips. Two of the fingers on her left hand were broken, pointing in unnatural directions. With her frenetic scramble apparently ceased some hours before, Hemlocke feared that if she tried to move her body would not obey.
She was a shattered figure, collapsed in a bolthole and awaiting death.
Hemlocke closed her eyes once again. If the gods wanted to take her, she would gladly relinquish her life to them. Even in this state, she was their servant, and she dared not betray the ancient oaths of her order. In a faltering mumble, she began to mouth ancient words from the rite of ending.
An image appeared in her mind, her voice faltering as the words inexplicably caught in her throat.
She felt herself frown outwardly as the vision expanded and a fine lunar mist eclipsed all, covering every surface and leaving her numb. Somewhere in the distance faint silhouettes moved, their forms indistinct and wreathed by billowing clouds. Whenever she would strain her eyes to concentrate on one it would become intangible, only to maddeningly reappear some distance away.
Their voices echoed through the murky gloom, words illuminating each spirit momentarily with sparks of colour against the grey background.
‘What do you want for this one’s release?’ Even distorted the first voice was deep enough to be undeniably male, strong and powerful, the speaker glowing bright amber.
‘A gesture, support in coming trials.’ The second voice was a sinister hiss, the slither of a serpent baring its fangs.
‘Very well.’ Hemlocke felt uncertainty creep into the first speakers tone, and saw a shard of cold ice break through his aura, a jagged line of canker, twisted and bitter. He reluctantly spoke again after a pause. ‘We shall enter into agreement with you.’
The second spirit did not reply, instead sweeping around to face her as the mists surrounding them whipped up into a storm. His eyes bored into hers for a moment through the turmoil, and a cold sweat dripped down her spine. The vortex span faster, accompanied by the shrieking of a thousand crows, swirling forward to envelop her within a cloak of charcoal feathers.
His face coalesced inches before her own, the spirit become a horrific visage of a cloaked devil, a skull with sharpened teeth leering from the folds of blackened sackcloth.
‘You are not supposed to be here, witch. Why have you transgressed into this past?’ His dark words were the chill of the grave, morbid and flat, bereft of any trace of warmth.
Hemlocke found herself unable to answer, terror seizing her breath and suffocating her.

Her knees buckled as her essence ebbed away, drawn on strings leading to his skeletal fingers.
The devil’s hold was broken in a howl of agony, a spear of light skewering the enveloping darkness, warmth flooding through the rent to return life to the world once again. On the other side, she could see the first speaker, his golden aura strong and restored. He shielded another figure, a bestial creature which snarled furiously, and clacked her slavering jaws.
‘Come, Hemlocke! Quickly!’ This voice was female, the animalistic snarl familiar somehow.
‘Salvation!’
Hemlocke’s reply was drowned out by the murder of crows, a jagged cacophony which lashed at the golden figure and reopened the rent in his soul, allowing the ice to pour in.
She felt herself slipping away, the vision pulling itself to the edge of her consciousness. She desperately tried to reach her hands outwards, still unable to wrest meaning.
‘Run! Run, Hemlocke! Whilst you can, come to us!’ The urgent voice broke through once more, faint and quickly fading, swallowed by a tide of rolling mists, retreating away into the aether.
Hemlocke’s head recoiled, a great breath forcing itself into her lungs with a violent shudder. Her eyes open, she saw that day had come once more. Somewhere nearby, she could hear footfall in the undergrowth, dried leaves cracking under booted heel.
It was time to flee her hiding place. The gods had seen fit to send her portents once more, and where they beckoned she would follow without question. She scrambled to her feet, forcing herself to ignore a sharp spike of pain in her chest. Her role in the machinations of the Old Ones was far from over, her future undecided, a path untraveled.
And her side yet to be chosen.

Some exciting times ahead. Both sculpts are great – I really like the snake that the mortician version has.

Time to play some games and head on over to the Forums and get Hemlocke in the Mortician’s!

Until next time sports fans!

Advertisements

What’s in a name? – Farmer’s Guild

Farmers-The_Honest_Land_painted

The first 6 of the first Season 3 Guild, the Farmer’s Guild, has been released, so we have a look at the origin of their names:

 

Farmers

Farmer’s Guild

Grange

Granges were landed monastic estates used for food production, centred on a farm and out buildings and possibly a mill or a tithe barn. The word grange comes through French graunge from Latin granica meaning a granary

Peck

A peck is an  unit of dry volume, equivalent to 2 gallons or 8 dry quarts or 16 dry pints and was often used to sell grain and other goods like fruit and vegetables.

Peck also has another apt meaning which is the action a bird (like a chicken) makes with it’s beak, particularly when feeding.

Bushel

A bushel is another unit of dry volume and is the equivalent of four pecks and was mostly used for agricultural goods such as wheat. The name comes from the Old French boissiel and buissiel, meaning “little box”.

Harrow

A harrow is an agricultural implement consisting of many spikes, tines or discs dragged across the soil to break up and smooth out it’s surface.  It is distinct in its effect from the plough, which is used for deeper tillage. The purpose of harrowing is generally to break up clods (lumps of soil) and to provide a finer finish, suitable for seedbed use. Coarser harrowing may also be used to remove weeds and to cover seed after sowing.

Jackstraw

A jackstraw is an obsolute term used to describe a straw-stuffed figure of a man or scarecrow.

Windle

A windle is another unit of dry volume, particularly used as  a measure of corn, wheat, or other commodities, equal to approximately three bushels.

Until next time sports fans!

 

 

Taking Union to Vengeance

Interesting Vengeance 2017 write-up of my current favourite team.

Singled Out - A Guild Ball Blog

Holy Union Batman!
So Vengeance. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy (the Battlehammer) along side a room full of awesome people and beer!
I arrived in Stockport on a mission. Steamforged announced a few days before that there would be a painting competition for the early release of Grace and Benediction. I was all over that like a fat kid on cake and pestered Jay to sell me them in the early afternoon. 4 hours and 5 beers later they were complete and I promised myself to play them every game to reward the hard work…. more on that later…
My squad of players was as follows
sBrisket

vRage

Strongbox

Grace

Benediction

Gutter

A&G

Decimate

Harry the Hat

Mist
TO THE GAMES!
Game 1 – Martin Rockerfella (Brewers)



Line up
SBrisket

Strongbox

Mist

A&G

Grace

Benny
A cracking first game against a lovely bloke…

View original post 1,441 more words

The story so far…Hunter’s Guild

hunters-team

The Hunter’s Guild were a team introduced in Season 2 with only a passing reference in Season 1 (on Hemlocke and Minx’s cards).

Hunters

Season 2 -Hunter’s Guild

The Hunter’s Guild is not a new one, but one of the oldest there is. However, they don’t have Guild Houses like the others nor do they ply their trade in the cities. Their Guild Ball team is a recent addition, however.

Most Hunter’s are pagan – believing in the old gods of the Moon Goddess and the Sun Father. The Moon Goddess is the mistress of the hunt. She blesses them to steal from the Sun Father, who nurtures the world.

The original purpose of the Guild was to hunt the great beasts of the forests in the north and deserts of the south.

The Hunter’s story starts at the Frontier’s Cup with the Mortician’s keeping Minx caged and them being guided by Hearne. Obulus barters the support of the Hunter’s in the forthcoming tournament for Minx’s release. Hearne, however, warns Obulus that the Hunter’s will seek recompense for Minx’s captivity – something Obulus seems unconcerned by.

The story continues with a match between the Hunter’s and Mortician’s. The Hunter’s are said to not play the game like any other team – rather than having established playbooks and practised tactics they stalk their opponents on the pitch by instinct.

Ghast is taken out by Jaecar before being patched up and sent back on. Zarola scores to give the Hunter’s the lead. Ghast and Jaecar then fight again and Scalpel manages to take down Egret. She then moves to help Ghast (now facing Seenah) but is stopped by Obulus from the sidelines. Seenah then attacks Ghast, ripping his throat out and killing him instantly. The game ends and Obulus is satisfied the Hunter’s progress to the final.

The story concludes with the final – Mason’s vs Hunter’s. The game is watched by Obulus from the sidelines to ensure the Hunter’s fulfil their side of the arrangement.

The game ends with the Mason’s winning but with Honour crippled, presumably by Hearne at Obulus’ behest.

Theron

The team is captained by Theron, Champion of the Sun Father. A career soldier during the Century Wars, he felt betrayed by the political unions reached at it’s conclusion. He spent the subsequent years wandering, trying to find somewhere to belong – eventually walking into the wilds of the north. Soon after he encountered an emissary of the Hunter’s Guild, Hearne.  Theron finally found somewhere he felt he belonged.

Fahad

Fahad is the team mascot, a midnight devil from the forests of the north.

Jaecar

Jaecar is the team vice captain, a natural born killer known to do all that is necessary to ensure the kill.

Zarola

Zarola is a skilled hunter and makes no distinction between humans and animals that hunt – seeing them as siblings and hunting with them as a pack.

egret

Egret is unusual for a Hunter as she is neither an abandoned orphan nor an exile. She is the daughter of an old Castellyian noble family, a well-educated child born of privilege. However, a noble existence felt like a noose around her neck and she escaped to the wilderness to find peace. She was watched by the Guild before being taken to the Lord Huntress. For many this would mean banishment or death, but Egret was met with a smile as the Huntress sensed a kindred spirit and potential successor.

GB-S2-Hunters-Hearne-TGN

Hearne is the eldest of the Hunter’s and no living soul remembers his life before the Guild.  None also know how he became the spiritual conduit of the Sun Father. All that is known is that the benevolence, wisdom and serenity of the deity shines through him. Hearne is present at the initiation of all new novices into the Guild; he occupies a unique position for devout Hunter’s. The Lord Huntress is the ceremonial and political head of the Guild and is chosen by the Moon Goddess. She must have her opposite though in the Scion of the Sun Father (currently Hearne) as both ally and rival.

GB-S2-Hunters-Chaska

Chaska is known as a stubborn, coldhearted, intractable man, but is probably the friednlist of the Hunters as he does interact with the outside world. He is a skinner within the Guild.

Seenah_zpsavdmjqpm

Seenah, the great bear, is a remarkable member of the Guild team. A wild beast seemingly tamed to aid the Hunter’s cause. Rumours abound that Seenah has the soul of a man trapped inside like the ancient tales of lycanthropy.

Until next time sports fans!

Solthecius!

c3kt_h1xaaaz1g6

Given the recent teasers of Benediction and Grace as well as ‘Union Captain’ there is a bit of a buzz around the community about Solthecius and the Solthecians so I though I would recap what we know so far:

The Solthecian Cult/Church is one of (probably the) biggest organised religions in the Empire of the Free Cities and is built around the worship of Solthecius (presumably montheistically) and draws a lot of parallels with the historic catholic church.

Solthecius was originally just a sun deity (hence the symbol) but seems to have developed into something more.

The Solthecian Cult is widely regarded as being heavily involved in the creation of Guild Ball as a sport.

Although Skald and it’s people are known to have their own style in all things; from fashion to eating habits, they are extremely resistant to outside influences from the other Sovereign States. The only element that appears to have been able to permeate this cultural ideal is religion. Skald is almost exclusively given to the worship of the Solthecian faith, robust churches standing proud in most villages and towns. In the cities, the walls and roads are lined with spectacular stonework and artistry of saints and blessed angels, spectacular cathedrals dominate the skyline.

Piervo is the holy city of the Solthecian Order, which has offered the Sovereign State a great deal of protection.

The head of state of both Piervo and the Solthecian spiritual faith is known as the Bacchus and is elected by mandate of the god Solthecius; his divine will manifested by the archbishops and cardinals.

The role is unlike any other clerical or royal position throughout the Empire of the Free Cities; the Bacchus is able to influence several Sovereign States where the faith has any sort of foothold and even more so where it is the predominant religion.

During the Century Wars, Bacchus Alexandria IV and his successor, Bacchus Galbratii, were able to successfully negotiate with any Sovereign State that turned her sights to Piervo. They spared its people from the horror of the conflict beyond the walls and saved the city and its ancient religious landmarks from ruin time and time again.

Although to believers this leader is the chosen of Solthecius, in reality, any election of a Bacchus is a process of shrewd manoeuvring, underlying threats, and careful alliance. Thus, the head of state is often possessed of a considered political mind. Many followers would likely be surprised to learn how deep corruption runs within Solthecian faith and how self interested its leaders tend to be.

The Holy City is home to spectacular architecture and beautiful gardens; high domed cathedrals compete against monasteries with spires that point into the skies like crooked fingers. Statues old and new line every boulevard and street. Every hour, bells ring out and the scent of incense is thick in the air. Wherever an individual might stand in Piervo, there is at very least a low hum of penitent followers deep in prayer and every day the city is flooded with pilgrims come to demonstrate their faith.

This is not to say that industry does not exist within the walls, far from it. The Butcher’s Guild’s ruling house is in Piervo and has existed as the sole purveyor of sacred meat to the Bacchus for generations; something which its many Magisters and Chamberlains are keen to remind both visiting officials and those of other guilds. The Mortician’s Guild also holds significant influence amongst the clergy in Piervo; the two bodies frequently working hand in hand in the day to day lives of the population.

The symbolism of the Solthecian faith draws a lot of parallels with the Christian church and images of Angels (such as Angels of Conflagration) and devils are rife. The Church also denounces Mechanica constructs as devils.

The Churches of Solthecius are organised by Sovereign State and have their own military orders, as demonstrated by Michele Cesare de Corella, Knight Paladin of Divine Solthecius, praise be to his name and noble legacy, First High Priest and august Lord of the Valentian Church of the Solthecian Cult who captured Ox in Season 1.

29393-med

Spigot is a reformed character, now sober he is a devout (but secret) follower of Solthecius.

Bonesaw

Bonesaw was once a priest in the Solthecian Cult but has been exiled. He still offers prayers to Solthecius during the funerary rites when working with the Mortician’s Guild. Solthecian priests and monks are known to participate in calisthenics as a way of purifying the body.

gb-s1-ltded-union-mist

Mist also has an as yet unexplained link to the Solthecian Church. There also appears to be a strong but as yet unexplained link between the Union and the Solthecian Church.

Until next time sports fans!

 

The story so far…Fisherman’s Guild

gb-teams-fishermen

Onto the Fisherman’s Guild

Fish

The Fisherman’s Guild is, as would be expected, one that is very common in the island nations of the Sovereign States. The team has been around for a few years but had been languishing in the lower divisions until the Guild’s fortunes changed when the nobility developed a taste for sea food. This resulted in Guild Houses appearing where they hadn’t been before and the team improving a lot very quickly.

Season 1 – Fisherman’s Guild

The Season 1 story begins with a Butcher’s team (Ox, Brisket, Boar, Boiler, Shank, (presumably) Princess) facing off against the Fisherman’s Guild (Corsair, Siren, Kraken, Shark, Greyscales, (presumably) Salt). The game culminates with Ox cutting Corsair’s foot off.

Following a meeting between the Lord Chamberlain of the Fisherman’s Guild, Vincent de Laurentis and the mysterious Longshanks of the Union, it is agreed that Corsair will be removed as captain of the Fisherman’s team and replaced. Shark is then appointed as the permanent team captain of the Guild.

The story continues with a match between the Alchemist’s (Midas, Flask, Katalyst, Mercury, Calculus, Mist (of the Union) and Fisherman’s (Shark, Salt, Angel, Siren, Kraken, Greyscales) Guilds.

There is an obvious tension between Siren and Mist (described as the wrath of a thousand year enmity – literal or figurative is anyone’s guess). There is at least an insinuation that either Mist has some ‘mind control’ abilities or Siren is prone to bouts of psychosis.  Siren is seen to imagine the world changing into a shimmering blurry image whilst she’s fixated with Mist, resulting in her screaming ‘Get out of my head!’ before she sees an image of herself as a child.

Next up is a match between the Butcher’s and Fisherman’s Guilds again. The game sees Ox, Boiler, Meathook, Brisket and Boar facing off against Shark, Kraken, Greyscales, Jac and Snakeskin (of the Union disguised as a rookie Fisherman). The game is going well for the Butcher’s until Snakeskin fulfils her contract and guts Brisket, leaving her for dead, in revenge for the attack on Corsair.

The story continues with another meeting between the Lord Chamberlain and Longshanks, which results in the Fisherman’s Guild imprisoning Longshanks, who is subsequently tortured..

Once again there is another match, this time the championship final between the Fisherman’s and Mason’s Guild, which the Mason’s go onto win.

Ox and a group of Butcher’s manage to infiltrate the Fisherman’s Guild House and kill Laurentis in revenge for the attack on Brisket.

Shark

Following the attack on Corsair, Shark is appointed as the Captain for the remainder of Season 1.  He is from Eisnor, on the northern fringes of the Empire, and is seen as a blunt, aloof individual, and so differs from the familial nature of the rest of the team.  Shark feels the weight of the captaincy upon him and is more concerned with the success of the Guild than his own personal glory.

Salt

The Fisherman’s Guild doesn’t have a strong history of bringing animals to the pitch, but the season 1 mascot is Salt, the sea otter.

Greyscales

The team’s vice-captain is Greyscales, a veteran of the game who provides the inspirational leadership that is lacking from Shark.

Siren

Siren is an enigma and how she came to be on the team is also a mystery. One story says that she and Kraken walked into a guild house in Boujonte and demanded to be on the team, whilst another is that Greyscales and Corsair found her in an abandonded shipwreck. Her origins are still unknown.

Kraken

As with Siren, the origins of Kraken are unknown but he is seen as a gentle giant. There is an, as yet unexplored, link between Kraken, Siren and Mist (of the Union). In a game against the Mason’s, Kraken and Siren  both reacted to Mist’s presence (Siren in shock and Kraken in rage).

Jac

Jac is believed to be from Butcher’s stock and is seen as hardy, reliable and loyal.  He was press-ganged into the Old Skaldic Navy during the Century Wars. Rumours abound that he is actually Ox’s missing brother Jacques.

Angel

Angel is the rookie of the team in season 1 and is generally liked by all. At least to Greyscales, she will become the biggest star the game has ever seen.

Season 2 – Fisherman’s Guild

29242-med

Corsair returns to captain the team in Season 2 and before being attacked by Ox was seen a sthe real driving force behinds the team recent on-field success. Rumour has it that Corsair travelled east to Indar and Numa during his recovery. The Corsair that returned was drunk, overweight and a shadow of his former self.

29325-med

The mascot in season 2 is Tentacles ,the octopus, who attached itself to Corsair ship on the trip back from the East and was subsequently taken along to a game.

Sakana

Sakana is from a large family in Numa, a poverty-stricken province of Indar. The Numasai usually take one of two paths in life; a nomadic existance on the land or a life on the sea crwing fishing trawlers and merchant barges. Sakana took a third path, that of the pirate. He became a privateer under the charter of the Indarii sultans. During Corsair’s exile he became captain of the crew Sakana was on and they became friends. When Corsair returned west, Sakana came with him.

29375-med

The Fisherman’s Veteran player in Season 2 is Siren.  Her story (and that of Kraken) remains a mystery but something has caused a change in her. Before she was seen as creeping, insidious and passive but now as a silent, furious banshee, charging in headlong into the fight. Where before she would often be seen to smile her face is now almost always in a snarl. Greyscales view is that it was something to do with the moon, the tides turning in the southern seas, and the old Lords of the Deep. Take from that what you will.