When the Chaos Dwarfs marched on the Feralwood Palace that fateful spring, they left a trail of destruction in their wake. Countless settlements, farms and homesteads burned under the might of their progress. Whole cultures, languages and civilazations disappeared into theose glowing, smoke soaked nights; remaining only as a faint and unplaceable memory of what once was. The lives, hopes and smiles of those people now exist - if they exist at all - in the shadows and untold stories of the tiny few that survived.

Silverfish Isle was one such fellowship. A town of poetry, theatre and painting. The inhabitants knew nothing of fighting and war except in the rich histories that sat in the vast library in the centre of their peaceful town. When the library burned, it cackled and screamed, and those histories escaped into the darkness on glowing chariots, those proud memories of long past battles and glory to be replaced forever by the horror and bloodshed of the unwritable present.

Those few that survived were never the same. Their world had been robbed of all light and meaning. Now they try to promote beauty in the most brutal environment they could think of; The Blood Bowl field. Together with other strays and scarred survivors they gather on their travels, they attempt to create their poetry in violent motion. In the arc of a lofted pass or the twist of a dodging body in the air. In the crunch of a bone or the bloody flow of a guaged eye. Silverfish Isle will never be forgotten.