In the lands to the Far East, where the sun rises in the morn, in a mysterious sacred clifftop monastery rising above the clouds stood a wisened, but small and gnarled figure with deep claw scars wearing flowing bright yellow monk robes.
Meditating and reflecting upon the decades of passing his wisdom to the mischiefs of rats that came from afar to sit at his feet he pondered whether using the deadly skills of Jujutsu and the way of the ninja to inflict mortal wounds on the Blood Bowl field was what his master would have hoped from him.
His heart was heavy and consumed with guilt from all those rats who had multiplied and gone forth only to go splat as soon as an Orc Blitzer cornered them on the astrogranite. He had failed them in his teachings and felt the only way to atone was to take to the field in his twilight years.
Walking with a limp and held upright with the aid of a short walking stick it was easy to mistake him as a slow ambling rat in his dying days. However years of Jujutsu training meant this was no ordinary rat – capable of bursts of lightning speed and bounding leaps that would take those who underestimate him by surprise Sensei Splinter was to show his students who had gone before him and perished that only a master rat could survive the perils of Blood Bowl.