Contact person: Edouard Metulescu (Vaenril)
Group: Basilisk
Count of Tickets/Player: 16 (+3 House Cerastes)
Tents:
Sahara 300
Sahara 400 x 3
Sahara 600
Saxon Tent (4x6)
Spatz Tent (2x3)
Knight Tent (4x4)
Other:
A few tables and benches and some shade
Groups you want around you: L'Ost Noir / Chaos / Raetien
Arrival day: Tuesday
Ansprechpartner: Edouard Metulescu
Gruppe: Basilisk
Anzahl: 16
Zelte:
1 x Sahara 600 "Imperator" (two masts)
3 x Sahara 400 (round)
1 x Rectangle Tent (4,5m x 3,5m)
Wunschnachbarn: Ost Noir, Chaos and / or Raetien
Perpetual wavering, creaking and anxiety meant another restless night for Vaenril. Feeling heavy, stiff and unhappy in the hammock of his cabin, his green eyes stayed on the dust dancing in the pillars of sunlight falling through the planks as his mind went back to the events of the past months: the Ratio assault on the northern capital, the counter-strike of the Night Squad, the great battle in the Mirror World, the discovery of the World Breaker and all the single-minded efforts surrounding the study and destruction of the mysterious artefact.
Eventually his thoughts caught up to the present moment and he took the heroic decision to get up. Staggering, he made his way to the washbasin where he plunged his hands in the tepid water and splashed his face in an effort to bring himself out of his torpor. His gaze met the reflection in the mirror. Taller, thicker and hairier than many humans, the half-drow wondered for the thousandth times what the other part of his heritage was. He was too short for a half-ogre, his nose did not fit a half-orc and a half bugbear would have been even more hirsute. The most likely solution he thought was being a mongrel out of a mongrel, a second-generation bastard.
He often wondered if he should blame or praise his impure blood and un-elven features as they meant he would live the youth of an outcast in the Underdark, away from the deadlier plots and machinations. Intelligent enough to be taken in as an apprentice by a mage uncaring for any other characteristics, he learned his science through years of servitude. He fell in with other outcasts and ultimately ended up in the Night Squad where his talents awarded him the relatively lofty position of Councillor.
As he started to put on one of his few non-black shirts, his thoughts turned to the mission at hand. He was travelling to Logre, the island stronghold and laboratory dedicated to the chaos god Tzeentch and home of many of the greatest mages and researchers of this world. He would stay there several months at least, working on a much unusual but vital project. Their timetable would be unforgiving but he would be able to count on very experienced colleagues and many specimens provided by the neighbouring island, dedicated to the worship of Slaanesh.
At last, his hand clasped the edges of his full mask. The memories of his brief encounter with the little human pompously titled the “Eternal Sword” during the last operation in the Mirror World flashed back to him: “The mask is my face, you will see none other”. He snorted, considering the fact he had decided to start working on a new one, it was not entirely true. Now covered from head to toe, he thought himself ready to face the glare of the punishing sun and a couple steps brought him to the door of his cabin. Flinging it open, he was still surprised by the brightness and shielded his eyes. Taking a step back in the soothing darkness of the cabin, his vision adapted and he could make out a familiar figure outside...
