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Welcome to Iaryn Under Dome today is
Marktag the 18th of Pflugzeit, 2505
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Perfect Conditions for Blood Bowl, neither too cold nor too hot. It's a warm, dry and slightly overcast day.
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Of all the creatures of this world, they are the eldest, predating even the mighty Dragons. The first of their kind to draw breath was Krakanrok the Black, who arose from a primordial swamp over a thousand years before the Old Ones found this sphere. I have not had the honour of meeting him, but I'm reliably told that each of his foreclaws is as large as a warhorse and when he takes a full breath, all within a hundred paces fall unconscious due to the lack of air, as it is all sucked into his titanic lungs. There has never been a new Shartak born since the dawn on which they successfully bargained for their 'immortality' with the Gods. The very lighting that fuels their bodies has rendered them infertile. Knowing my Lord as much as any mortal can, I suspect he deemed it a grand jest, forcing them to trade one sort of longevity for another, but I digress. What is important to know is that they are ancient beyond Human reckoning and their wisdom is vast. Even as they dream down the long ages, their spirits wander learning much of the world. When they finally rise at the thunder's call, they are often amazingly well informed of current events before being told. My fourth tutor, a being I honour before all others save one, was a Shaggoth named Tirsoknaia. He told me that his people hold their dreams to be their reality and regard the brief years they are forced to stay awake as their dreams. They are capable of committing horrifying deeds and legendary feats without hesitation as they go about our world, for the rest of us are deemed to be mere figments of their imagination.