St John Smythe was a proud and Noble Elf. Slim, attractive, swift of foot and strong of arm he was the poster boy for the High Elf BloodBowl team the Mother Superiors. They hadn't had a great start to the season and had slipped to the bottom of the table but St John's performances had been outstanding and he was not only ranked as their top player but as a possible Hall of Fame entrant come the close of the season.

Due to the vagaries of the Swiss League system, the Mother Superiors had become embroiled in a series of ever more brutal grudge matches with the Horrid Henrys. It was during the threepeat match that St John found his speed to be his downfall and he outstripped his own team but not the shuffling horde of the undead who cut him off from safety and then, with a devastating tackle, cut him off from this mortal coil as well. Briefly St John saw a bright light and heard the soft welcoming voices of his Elfen forefathers calling him to paradise but then he felt an intense pain and an arcane magic dragged his soul back into his broken body and back into the game he loved. Unfortunately, for St John anyway, it was into the very team he had come to hate.

The ball was kicked off for the second half and Jonty, the High Elf Lineman, looked up from his position on the line of scrimmage and stared into the face of his old friend. He recalled hazy days in the forest when, as young boys, they would climb trees and build dens; they grew up together, went to school together, dated the Greenleaf sisters together. St John was even Godparent to Jonty's first-born son. "St John", whispered Jonty in horror. "Brainssss" moaned the animated creature that was once St John Smythe and he lurched forward, teeth bared, and tore into his former friend.