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Welcome to Iaryn Under Dome today is
Marktag the 18th of Pflugzeit, 2505
. The weather is:
Perfect Conditions for Blood Bowl, neither too cold nor too hot. It's a warm, dry and slightly overcast day.
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I know what our betters believe: that the Skaven are just one more peasant superstition. I truly wish tha' twere so, but it isn't. Used t' be a village a day's journey from here, lovely place twas. Now Orlin's son, Boris, he fancied a girl from there he'd met at market. One summer, e' comes running through t' fields, saying that the village entire was gone without a corpse to show for it. I was younger then, and a lot more foolish, so I went with a group of men to give the place a look. All we found were in the village square, where it looked like a struggle of sorts went on. In the side o' the village well, there was a single star shaped piece of strange metal, a throwing blade of some kind I suspect, that had somehow melted right into the very rock. Had a symbol on it, a marking of three overlaid lines. Georg the Younger was the only one with the courage to touch it. He said the metal felt slippery to the touch. Poor sod died a few days after. Years later, a priest told me, when I described the symbol I'd seen that day, that it was supposedly the mark o' the Skaven, and then he laughed about it, said twas nonsense. Sigmar save us all from such nonsense.