The oldest of the old, these behemoths have drifted on the astral tides for so long that their bodies have lost every trace of the lifegiving slime they received from the Spawning Stone at birth. Now, near death and endlessly dreaming, they haunt the farthest reaches of the multiverse, vagrant bulks of withered flesh spewing stories with no beginning and no end. Pity the adventurer that happens across them and sees the Dessicated Slaad's mask of ebon witch-light flicker into existence. These dreamers, you see, do not take well to being awakened.
8.25 inches by 12 inches
acrylic paint, ink and paper pulp on watercolor paper
February 6, 2012