I believe this is the first time that additional Lore has been written for Guild Ball since the revival.
Happy days!
Now I’m just hoping we’ll see even more of this in the future. Take a look in the Lore Compendium here on The Bench when you’re done reading the story below.
Everything below is straight from the SFG blogpost about the release of the Lumberjacks Guild.
Read it on the SFG blog: https://steamforged.com/en-eu/blogs/(…)lumberjacks-guild
Hey sports fans. If you’ve been following our Lumberjacks blogs over the past couple of weeks, you might’ve already seen a few small snippets from the narrative tucked between the reveals. This is the full story those moments came from.
It follows Mallet of the Masons Guild as he steps away from the noise of the League and takes a quiet moment to reflect on where he’s been, what the game’s become, and where the Lumberjacks fit into all of it. If you’ve been playing Guild Ball for a while, you’ll recognise a few familiar faces along the way. If you’re new, this is a window into the life of the Lumberjacks and their relationship to the Masons Guild.
A Mason’s tale of the Lumberjacks
It had taken Mallet some time to find this place.
For months he’d followed rumours and stories, tracking down leads and kin in-between his match day and training commitments. There had been plenty of setbacks along the way. Dead-ends, as he discovered friends and relatives had either relocated again or passed into Solthecius’s light. Wasted hours on the road, leaving him sleepless and fatigued on the pitch the next day. With only himself for company on those journeys, he’d grumble under his breath that it was no existence for a man of his age.
But throughout it all, he’d persisted. This was too important not to. Each lead guided him somewhere, until finally, he’d found who he had been searching for—his old friend’s daughter. And after a short discussion, and plenty of assurances that he simply wished to pay his last respects to an old comrade, that had duly led him here.
Greyscales’ final resting place.
They’d chosen the location well. The cove was a peaceful nook, a slither of sand cut into the cliffs and framed either side by chalky white stone. The small inlet faced west, opening out into the stretch of ocean known as the Summer Sea, and greeted the sun each morning as it rose. Valentia could be seen as the barest smudge on the horizon; otherwise, the water was open and unblemished, a wide field of unbroken blue, glittering diamonds basking in the morning light.
A gull cried in the distance, answered by a second, and then another. They loped lazily through the air, gliding over the water, swiftly disappearing from sight as quickly as they appeared. In their wake the only sound was the tide, gently lapping at the shore. Nothing felt tainted here, with civilisation and its troubles so very far away.
In truth, the closest settlement, if you could call it that, wasn’t far. A handful of aged stone and wood residences, long since bleached by the sun, and a larger pub with a small stables. Yet, the people were straightforward. They and their ancestors had lived simple lives for generations as fishermen, fishing during the morning, preparing their hauls and then supper during the afternoon, and later drinking in the evening.
In a world of politics and guile it was a simple and rather pure existence, something Mallet found himself envying in the moment.
The memorial itself was a simple one. A small slab of light grey stone with Greyscales’ name on it, as much as the Elder Fisherman would ever have asked for. Mallet knew that people of Greyscales’ faith were given to the sea rather than buried. Greyscales’ memory was the only part of the man that remained here, and the marker enough to pay respects to where his final voyage began.
Even so, it left Mallet saddened that the Elder Fisherman wasn’t buried in this idyllic cove. He would have liked to imagine his friend’s shade, watching the sunrise each day.
‘I must be getting soft in my old age.’ His words didn’t match the gentle smile underneath his moustache. ‘So, this is where you came from, you old seadog? Can’t say I blame you for getting out while you were still young. Nothing to do but go out and fish. No wonder the pub does such good business.’
If such a shade existed it kept its council to itself, not even a single sound or change in the air to betray its presence.
‘Mind you, things weren’t easy these last few years. All of us, just pawns in a game where we had no control over the result, no matter how hard we tried. We were helpless. Sometimes wonder if you left us at the right time. Would have broken your heart to see what the game became in those dark days.’
Mallet paused. Bleak memories threatened to surface until he forced them back down, as he had become accustomed to these last few years. A soft breeze rewarded the Mason’s fortitude in the ensuing silence, and he enjoyed the cool sensation against his skin before continuing.
‘Things are different now though. When the Pious VI died, the church left us alone—for first time in years, it turns out. Even the men and women in the high seats never knew how much the clergy had been meddling with the guilds. The Union, the Longshanks, the Shadow Games. All part of their web, made by a spider that wanted to control us. Wasn’t until the new Bacchus took his chair that we realised. He doesn’t much care for the game if you listen to him speak; but we leave him alone, and he leaves us alone.’
The Mason shrugged.
‘It took a while, but eventually we got back to just playing the game. Wasn’t any big announcement or show of unity from the guilds, mind. The magisters are all too proud for that. But those of us on the pitches, we made our peace with each other. Even the Butchers and Morticians. Had to, really. No way we could have gone on that way.
‘One good thing did come out of it all, though—building closer ties to the minor guilds. Started when we didn’t have enough players to field a decent team. But now the guilds aren’t paying taxes through the nose to the church or wasting their time bribing the Longshanks in some Shadow Games, there’s more opportunity to invest in the minor leagues.’
Feeling the morning sun starting to tan his neck, Mallet sat down next to Greyscales’ stone, facing the sea again. A simple action, and not one he made with any intent beyond avoiding being burnt, but Mallet found himself smiling at the familiar action, the same as he had done during any number of practice sessions before with a teammate.
He’d missed the Elder Fisherman. And whilst this wouldn’t bring Greyscales back, it did feel good to be talking to him again in some capacity.
‘It’s been good for me.’ Mallet continued, ‘Try as I might to hold back time, I’m not getting any younger. The Masons went through—still are—going through a rough time. The First Lady never came back after being forced out, and Hammer did a lot of damage. There’s a new captain now, Corbelli. He’s a good man, but he needs fresh young legs over a tired old veteran like me.
‘So, I’m keeping out of that and spending my days playing coach with the Lumberjacks instead. My experience makes a difference with them. They’ve not been playing long. All the raw materials are there though—you’ve never seen men and women so strong as this, I don’t think. Comes from long days out in the wilderness, plying their trade.
‘Disciplined too, used to working as a team already. Just needed to work out how to translate that to the field.’ Mallet’s grin grew wider under his whiskers. ‘Brought Flint with me too. If anyone asks, it’s to teach them how the kick the ball. You know as well as I that I’ve never been much good at that myself. But I don’t mind telling you that he’s no young buck either nowadays. Felt like a good way for him to save a little face, if you get my drift.’
Mallet’s mind wandered for a moment. ‘Sort of job I never saw myself doing, honestly. Always thought that was more your style, teaching the young ‘uns.’ The words were absentminded as sorrow rose up to pinch his crow’s feet and leave him staring at the ground for a moment.
It had been good for him to get away from all that bad blood in the big leagues. There was a time when he’d felt utterly lost and betrayed by his guild and the other players. Chisel, Harmony, Champ, Granite, even Tower. He felt like he had nothing in common with them under Hammer’s leadership. They’d gone to a place and mindset he couldn’t reach.
By comparison, he liked the men and women in the Lumberjacks. They were as straight up and down as the trees they felled—no hint of duplicity or ulterior motives. It reminded him of the Mason’s Guild under the Old Man, in years now long gone by.
He even saw a little of the Old Man in the team’s captain, Oak. She was as strong as an ox, but she knew for the team to succeed she couldn’t just run the opposition down like a clumsy Butcher. Without him needing to tell her, she’d taken to mantle of captain by assisting and setting up the other players during practice. Made his life a lot easier.
A dedicated fan of the game before even the first words of an alliance between the two guilds had been uttered, it had actually been Oak’s idea to set up plays around the log piles. It was something she’d learned from watching Honour guiding the Farmer’s Guild in the early days, before they won their first championship.
Of the others, although Flint had spent some time with each player, the striker had taken a particular shine to Tinder. The pair had spent long hours on the field drilling passes, shots, and tackles between themselves and had achieved tremendous results. Despite his stocky build, Tinder had begun to move like a forward and commanded a quiet confidence whilst on the ball.
Tinder had even taken a hand in teaching the Cross and Cut during the main practice, assisting Flint. Mallet liked both of the twins immensely. Although still wet behind the ears, they were fine rookies and had the whole world at their fingertips—especially given how eager they were to listen and take instruction.
Bucker was the only one amongst the Lumberjacks that Mallet had found much difficulty with. The man had been stubborn in the way that only Raeds could truly be, his sour behaviour making his own life harder to a point that seemed entirely non-sensical to everyone other than Bucker himself.
For a time, he’d resisted instruction, leaving Mallet wondering if Bucker had harboured aspirations to become team captain himself. Eventually, he’d worked it out, whilst listening to them talk at the campfire one evening. Bucker had been an Old Raedlander during the Century Wars and was still carrying an unhealthy dose of animosity as a result. Mallet knew he wasn’t the person to work on that but did know how to motivate old soldiers.
The next morning, Mallet and Oak had embarked on a training regime designed to enforce discipline amongst the Lumberjacks, giving Bucker a sense of familiarity to latch onto. From then onwards, he’d obeyed orders from both Mallet and Oak to the letter, taking militaristic pride in doing so.
‘Reminds me of a younger version of myself in some ways.’ Mallet chuckled. ‘I wasn’t so easy to get on with back when we first started out, I’d wager.’
Mallet imagined Greyscales laughing at that.
‘Here’s something that would have got a rise out of you then—the last player, Itsa, used to be a Hunter. Not one of the northern ones from the forest though, like we usually see. A real rarity, a Hunter from the deserts.’ Mallet chuckled. ‘Believe the scuttlebutt, and they hunt dragons out in the wastes. Guess life as a rigger climbing up and down trees is a lot less dangerous, eh?’
Despite his mirth, Mallet’s words made him realise just how much the world had already changed since Greyscales’ death, in just a handful of years. It still was, too. Time continued its relentless assault on the world, and nothing truly stood still without some change, not even the strongest stone or brick.
The realisation came with a bittersweet pang. Mallet couldn’t remain here with a foot in the past. He needed to move on, and say a final farewell.
That time was now upon him.
Mallet offered the horizon one last look, enjoying how the water shimmied side to side on the tide. As resting places went, it was as peaceful as anyone could rightfully ask for.
The moment stretched Another gull called overhead, breaking the spell.
Mallet addressed the memorial stone. ‘I may come back one day. But I have a duty to the young ‘uns first. The future of the game comes first. I know you, of all people, will understand that.’ He bent down and ran a hand over its smooth surface, feeling a faint warmth from the sun.
One last smile.
‘Goodbye, old friend. Gone, but never forgotten.’
