Here is our selection of Blood Bowl-inspired webseries, whether literary or comics. New episodes are published more or less weekly with breaks during vacations and holidays.
“I don’t go gabbing about anyone on this team behind their backs! And from this day on, neither do you. You can all have confidence that everyone on this training pitch is ready to stand with you. Because you now know, all of you, that anyone who betrays us won’t be on the training pitch.”
“I don’t go gabbing about anyone on this team behind their backs! And from this day on, neither do you. You can all have confidence that everyone on this training pitch is ready to stand with you. Because you now know, all of you, that anyone who betrays us won’t be on the training pitch.”
“You’s gettin’ ex-ploy-ted!” Grimmy Grimejacket had turned up for the game against the Skitteringi to speak to the Xonyxas, now some of the agent’s key clients. True to form, he had donned his usual assortment of finery, though he’d made an effort to get decked out in the Militantes’ colours of blue and yellow. He wore a canary jacket trimmed with azure brocade in military style.
“You’s gettin’ ex-ploy-ted!” Grimmy Grimejacket had turned up for the game against the Skitteringi to speak to the Xonyxas, now some of the agent’s key clients. True to form, he had donned his usual assortment of finery, though he’d made an effort to get decked out in the Militantes’ colours of blue and yellow. He wore a canary jacket trimmed with azure brocade in military style.
There was Diandro Paredes at the far canal lip, his legs driving hard and his body leaning forward. He had a harness around his bare torso, to which was hitched a hawser that stretched back and down into the canal, to a grain scow loaded with what had to be a score of big jute grain sacks.
Eguardo Giamucci burst into the owner’s box like a tsunami slamming into a secluded cove, his twisted hands thrust high in the air, one holding his cane aloft like a messiah of yore. “I’m tellin’ ya, Thordwall, there ain’t no way your Militantes win today.”
“This is the signing that carries us over the finish line.” In her notebook, Thalia Espinas jotted down the words spoken by the owner of the Mytilan Militantes, Cassandra Thordwall, who stood on the bar of the Luffing Lateen speaking to a packed house. She could only guess because Thalia didn’t come down to this part of Guayamartí often, but she had the distinct impression the owner of the Lateen, Samuel Gosling, was unused to hosting such formal events.
“Is it from a BOY friend?” Jasmine, Jacyntha’s sister and Mytilan’s Crown Princess, held a sealed letter to her chest, a coquettish smile lighting her copper face.
“Is it from a BOY friend?” Jasmine, Jacyntha’s sister and Mytilan’s Crown Princess, held a sealed letter to her chest, a coquettish smile lighting her copper face.
A club thumping into an Exotherm’s skull. That was what Anahuark’s foul sounded like to Jacyntha; the skulls of those damned big lizards were hard and had hollow chambers running through them, making an echoing thump when they got brained in battle.
