fantasy
Griff Oberwald
6
In a world where armored warriors, mythical beasts, and unpredictable magic are part of daily life, one sport has emerged as a unifying spectacle for the many races of the Old World: Blood Bowl.
Forged from the remnants of ancient battlefield traditions and the dwarven enthusiasm for spirited competition, Blood Bowl blends the intensity of combat with the thrill of sport. It’s more than a game—it’s a cultural phenomenon. Humans, orcs, elves, dwarfs, skaven, even the undead take to the pitch in pursuit of fame, fortune, and lasting glory.
The field is revered, though the rules are... flexible. Spiked balls, enchanted gear, and occasionally vanishing referees are all part of the charm. From Nuln to Naggaroth, fans crowd the stands, placing bets and cheering wildly as goblin cameramen race to capture every dramatic moment.
Some teams have carved their legends into the game. The Reikland Reavers, noble and resilient, lead the charge for humanity. The Orcland Raiders play with unmatched raw power. The Skavenblight Scramblers bring speed and strategy few can match, while the Darkside Cowboys embody the cunning edge of dark elf play. But in recent seasons, no team has captured more headlines—or sparked more debate—than the Bögenhafen Barons, led by one man.
As twilight falls over Barons Stadium, cheers echo across the pitch. The Barons have claimed another hard-fought victory. I make my way through the post-match bustle, parchment in hand, and find him near the end zone—sweating, smiling, armor scraped but gleaming.
“Griff Oberwald,” I call out, flashing my Cabalvision badge. “Another win. Another touchdown. Another unforgettable performance. How do you keep doing it?”
He barely glances at me, a grin curling as he wipes grime—his or someone else's—from his gauntlet.
“How?” Griff says coolly. “Simple. I’m Griff Oberwald. The real question is—why do they still think they can stop me?”
Warhammer
