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What’s in a name (An unofficial origin story) The kid sat in the changing sheds. He was nervous. He shouldn’t be here. Not yet. Not now. He knew his rise to the starting 6 was pure luck, the result of Cleaver, his mentor losing an arm in the previous match against the Seamstress’ guild. Now here he was. The youngest starting player in the history of his guild, about to step out onto the pitch in the most important match his team would play this year. Win and they had a chance at the big league again next year. Loose and for the first time ever, the Butchers guild would be relegated to the minor leagues. It seemed he had trained his whole life for this moment however he still didn’t feel ready. He knew he wasn’t as fast as Shank, as Skilled as Brisket or as powerful as the Beast, in fact about the only thing he did have going for him was that the dog seemed to have taken a liking to him. No one on the team had spoken to him up to this point, even The Master Butcher had only addressed them as a team, and the rookie was certain that the speech would have been the same regardless of who he had been addressing, “Today, we put this team in the ground for our guild.” As the rookie began his journey from the changing sheds to the pitch a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to see the Beast smiling down at him as if he were about to pass on some friendly advice, “If you fail us today kid, I will put you in the ground myself”. The match was about to begin, the rookie was nervous… The game hung in the balance, the Chefs guild had put up more of a fight than expected. Shank was on the side-lines being attended to by the sawbones, and Brisket seemed to be limping severely. The rookie blinked what he had thought was sweat out of his eyes, only to realize that it was in fact his own blood. He couldn’t remember how he had been cut and didn’t bother to think about it much. He surveyed the state of the game. The Chefs seemed to have momentum at the moment and the score was tied. Whoever scored next would win. He watched as Brisket suddenly seemed to shake off her injury, charge at Herb, deftly tackle him and dodge away. The rookie’s spirits soared, surely she would score and win the game from here. Sear leapt in between Brisket and the goal, flailing at her with his massive fry pan. Brisket deftly kicked the ball, not towards the goal but in the rookies’ direction. It was not until the ball was at his feet that he realized what this meant. The only chance the Butchers had of winning this game was entirely up to him. One player stood between him and the goal, the Chefs captain, Skillet. A monster of a man, Skillet resembled the Ratcatcher in both stature and mental state. He stood over his boiling stew pot sampling his obnoxious brew while staring down the Rookie. The rookie looked around for support from his team and realized there would be none. Boar was on his back with Potbelly standing over him. Brisket was still engaged by Sear, and Ox was holding off both Herb and Grater from getting to the ball. Skillet grinned, put his ladle back into the pot and hefted his oversize rolling pin in such a way that the rookie was left in little doubt, one wrong step here would mean the end of his short career, perhaps even his life. As Skillet began to advance on the rookie Princess came charging out of nowhere and sunk her teeth into one of his fatty legs. A savage blow from Skillets pin sent her flying through the air to land unmoving in a heap, metres away from where the rookie stood with the ball. Without stopping to think the rookie punted the ball towards goal and charged Skillet. He did not stop to see the ball hit home. Nor did he hear the whistles final blow signifying the victory he had just won for his team. All he saw was the only member of his guild that had ever shown him some kindness sprawled motionless on the ground. As he reached Skillet the years of training kicked in and in one swift movement he ducked a fierce blow aimed at his head while striking upwards at the same time. His knife hit home, severing a crucial artery in Skillets groin. As the rookie rose he crashed his shoulder into Skillets midriff knocking him off his feet and into his own boiling pot. Skillets death came swiftly but painfully as he boiled amidst his own blood and broth. As the crowd exploded in rapturous ecstasy at the display of violence and bloodlust from the rookie Bishop Giuliano Rodrigo Brunetti looked on in silence, a faint smile issued from his lips. Finally the pieces were falling into place. The game had begun. The sound of the crowd cheering suddenly jerked the rookie back to reality, and while he processed what he’d just done and what it was they were chanting he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned and found himself looking at the half mad grin of the Beast again. “Well kid. Can you hear them chanting? Looks like you’ve earned yourself a name.” The rookie sat in the changing sheds with his hand resting on princess’ bandaged head. As he looked down at the dog that had shown such loyalty he found himself reflecting. Going back to those key moments that had brought him here, made him who he now was. All the beatings in the Solthecian orphanage as a child, the blood and vomit spilt on the proving grounds, the final moments of todays match... He sighed deeply. The match was over now, the game was only just beginning. The kid was no more, Boiler was nervous.