It was July when the dead began to rise in London.

After the initial surprise, fury and devastation the authorities eventually managed to put the old city into lockdown. The slaughter was close to absolute. What few survivors there were told of 2000 years of history erupting from the clay and devouring the living with what has been described as anger or resentment.

Beefeaters ate their horses.
Pearly Kings and Queens chewed the bones of coffee shop workers.
Rotting Knights Templar pulled apart the cab drivers.
Victorian chimney sweeps ate the pigeons, three at a time.
Elizabethan merchant sailors dragged their bloated corpses out of the Thames and decapitated the bankers (no one minded this one so much.)

Now the city remains a gruesome recruiting ground for the worst Blood Bowl team of all; London Flesheaters FC.