Hephaestus

VLADISLAV O. VIMMARK-ROUSSARD OF WOLDZMIR smiles the Sun's smile.

What was the spark of ingenuity that provoked you to write the Torah?

FOR surely in surfeit thereof, it were rapt and heralded, but the diaspora for yet the age implied of the individual it wrought the countenance of, great markings for his ill-acquainted lineaments, that of an old man; older than time itself –– or at least, so were it suggested to his fetid appearances, at founder in flesh, and all that a tissue that yet pertained hereof –– for to reap of a sure show for his joviality closely. Thenceforward, a dynamic smile were shunted in lip appendages, hearkened the sentence for a great blister in its presiding bounties; whence had a sum for ridges creased and ringstraked of his maw, with its dole descent for yet merriment and pride. HOWEVER were he of carbuncle fluids, for which coursed through and betwixt silica in a siphoning conduit, lodged to the constraints of his ashen deformities in limb here and there, one IPOS reckoned the age-old augur of the SAVOYARD claim, hoar to either an eye declaring aroynt as had sheen moored thereof in a jaded roll herein. Certainly, though, thus the gesture were of aught but ennui. "Very well then, Eshænveurd. Rise from the ground, however have the ruins of your dynasty been salted, so that no good could become of them." IT were one of envy. "Undvalla."

zoo-wee-mama!

Mayhaps, not quite here; not quite there. Presiding over nary a dark, nor light. And ever entranced, and certainly, led astray in that regard, claiming and boasting a tenebrous veil, art projection of th' wayward Illatian spirit. And, ever in its slighting; the assuage, to its fervent waning, and the ardour, for which served the prerequisite thus, it were nigh perennial –– smouldering flax, he did not quench, nor either, a bruised reed, he relinquished thereof. Surely, he had upheld, that an unbridled force of the long relieved man, what an epithet he held, in his epoch about the waking world –– the Old Adversary, and… the Herald of Sacrilege; the like. Lo' where had he fastened in his constraints, as had shackles and trammels impeded his degenerate tract, transgression coursed ever of the precincts he assumed to his worldly mind, –– per'aps, lack thereof, to consider his findings –– susurrations but an inhale, and exhale indicted of his waylaid miasma: indeed, had claimed of it, a harrowing tribulation. But, were this miasma of he at lack of scent? No; had it only but seemed aught a just truth, to consider he lingered of other domains –– far… far darker. Umbrage foundered of its tendons, exigent as had it made initiative, thus it unseamed him, the primeval surplus of a man long beyond commission, from th' naves to the chops. Victor walked, surely –– treading of his machinations, the causeway of what had been assumed his Hereafter. Agony: per'aps, that were one variable that death were at naught a liberty for obliging the relief to, as not per the consideration of the melancholic malediction of his spirit, feigning of the creature's ruse in physicality, no accoutrement of flesh, surely. This were no praxis of the creed he boasted of his piety, in wake. No praxis, whence the war rages all throughout its armistice. No praxis, whither the world ceases to be, but ever the cosmos to encumber oneself, as had trudged thou of the elder lunar body, of the Moon itself. And certainly, no praxis whence ailment and pestilence prevails in pitied death, writing of its exegesis', in a new beginning promised the vanquishing hereof. Right reverent and worshipful, Victor sifted of the buffalograss volumes to the bitter air of recoil to his likeness, spirit seeping through and betwixt the vesicles in particle matter of the very world itself. He devised none but the very worst in his mind, as came ember that a divined likeness of knowledge its kindle of the man's subconscious. Thenceforward, had wish washed over he, the ill-begotten Illatian, even in the Hereafter, the wishes for drawing of tongue –– but appendage for the release thus in either a lips, confirmed rebuttal to the devices of the metaphysics that governed his domain, it had seemed, and he could not spare the troubles. And adamant, and quiet, his air became. Not a wavelength; not a chirp. Not a psalm of his wicked disposition were pardoned of the man's lethargy, ever dictating his presence one of abdicating silence. Surely perhaps, that would relieve the abhorrent quality of his spirit; sentenced to its rouse in walking… and walking… and a torment of bone marrow, as had he tired about his throes, besetting of them, a great strain, in recurrent deuteronomy. Pace, after pace –– after pace. But, what of the world he trekked for his conquest? The world, that had come of his waking in the after-death? Per'aps just, at no liberty were he of determining. Ever shifting, but a most definite walking; immutable, and indentured a servant to the tides of the esoteric Stream, weaving a distortion of his close vision. A man with sure eyes, after all, may still be verily blinded. The kindles of the sky hadn't their extinguishing, just quite then, –– coeval a scathing iris' to Aerial reckoning of its surveillance, in long scrutiny oft the hour; the abiding, undying hour. He walked of the bounties surveyed in hearty sight -– for if were this none but yet the demiurge hereupon. Certainly, knowings of the divine Aengul were without their presence –– were Victor, without knowings of this mighty image –– of gnostic piety. For, in the face of the esoteric entity beyond his veil of zeal, if it was that which branded his countenance not a likened fright at the very fleeting image thereof, then one hadn't the least idea whatever were. Time is relative, had he imbibed of his destitute, forlorn mind, that a pleading lament. At least, when he were of his youth, in bygone time, that is. But, in fact, that a truth persisted, as he assumed dole in having tread the grasses of his afterlife, perhaps without quantifiable mirth, to consider the circumstances he had been assumed under. One may choose to believe, as they wilt, but there was no rebuttal of the fact, Victor's sentencing would be not one of haste nor times that a sojourn. Behold, that no: were this no insignificant sabbatical, nor a pilgrimage. Rather a verdict, as the cosmic court adjourned, that he would remain ever of the pain he was subjected that a day. "As saith the proverbs of old…" Then, to his view, came a brilliant light, far and without its definition in the sky; a great fire, for which had smote fifty-thousand, and threescore winds in its wake. He had his weariness, and his knowings, of whomever that a shooting gleam was: "… Do not thou this folly." And his frown grew manifold then.

This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon. Please note that if this is playable lore, such as a magic or CA, you will need to write a guide for this piece. You will be contacted regarding the guide (or implementation if it isn’t needed) shortly.

i believe so i can, as a matter of fact I would like to cite just reading quite often as the main benefactor for my ability to write, but that would be a lie –– mostly, I have an affinity for theology, and especially esoteric poetry and scripts of such nature. Music, and other similar forms of media factor in, as well.

i'm supercool 😎

You get a worse rep than you deserve. All my interactions with you, as both a player, and a friend, have been some of the best I could have ever had in my years and years on the server. With that said, yes — you are (however, dastardly in your schemes) a player with huge ambitions I can only admire, and a welcoming one, at that. fyodor because he cares for the well-being of those whom he is fond of (music teachers are strange people).

woah there –– monks monks

monk-s.

this is my native trade; it is pure wealth in and of itself not soon i am managing a startup dedicated to the research of neuroscience, to develop funny innovations that will stop the elderly from going verbose (i am a student, full-time) you made me into a very strong orc man; i owe you yeah, man it brings me no pleasure to say, yeah sometimes. It would appear so. because i need something to make up for my dickishness crude oil If you must

i would like to say, monks.

HELLO. Hephaestus writes sometimes. Ask me anything (no stupid questions [there is a criteria {you will be considered and judged based upon this criteria}]).

RP Name: Vladislav Vimmark-Roussard MC Nane: Hephaeastvs Voted: Yes

"Your ardour, for to desecrate a just name, is without acclaim, should I so say–" Shrouded below a blanket of stars to the backdrop of dim fray an outwardly, about the picturesque horizon, for which had so but illuminated in thus having been woven to a cling so, the Silver State's own Ihieuhii'thilln, the Breath of Silver, fashioned respite in a drawing for tongue, the sodden keep to which had so haunted in psalm, and reckoned by pure distraught, the outers of his coalescence, and that a heart and soul of his. However were it without common spawn, especially about the kindred of that 'aheral's theatre for a countenance, devoid much of the expressive gesticulate the norm would so assume and set to their employ, it were indeed so, that for the wrought and blight that gathered, his ivory likeness, a taut at either an eye, shrewd in its pools of amber that so bequeathed yet pigment, in stark contrast to the malaise that reigned otherwise, for hereupon had his eyes drawn short slits by svelte to their curtailment, in ***** squint over. As had his vision reduced, for its similar stow, were the man's vacancy in pallid a contours to his disposition, and thus its vacuous quality. For were his ire rooted to several a constants and under-earths –– he were irate, short measures from being seething with conflict, for the fact that were the legionnaires he sought claim to, some far lion days ahead, had been assumed but a tumour, to a vesicle that could not quite supported; he were irate, for and because of the fact that one whom traced his own ilk had thus humiliated so self, for the favour of propagating the superiority of a waylaid rival in blood; he were irate, for and because of the ersatz nature of his claims. And though were he anointed in the prospects of but abase a variety, and habits, Ihieuhii'thilln fathomed not the jaunting about, as did his unsound distress reverberate hither his jaded spirit. Tapered ends to either sabaton moored so themselves to the regency of cold soil, for as heed to the pivot that the sir made in his form, a march onwards and about. "And you, Celiasil, shall live to observe no theme resound that has not its superlative source in me, nor will any twist the humming about my despite. Justice is healing."

Through word of the grapevine, had it that, prospects of the refined art a hunting came about his, the Lord Vladislav Vimmark-Roussard, walk of life. Lo' and too behold, about the cosm that a conscience of the Raevir stirred and coagulated some in the coagulating and too ebbing for so thus endeavours on so a matter, for had the unlikely delusions of a faint smirk crossed in crass saunter, the man's svelte maw, as had thus crease and anathema to so tissue become tenfold, hence were fold about fold in skin and flesh, at either an end, that far man's quaint appraisal in pallid lips, that so blended per suit, the olive that he had taken on; sickly, plagued. Word of the grapevine, however were it that which came brief upon the slew of so other prospects, that a highborn, he quenched not by so the abase, most humble concupiscence in appetite to so respective that a physical pastimes. Blotting about in certain sluices for calligraphy all so but immaculate in how so were it woven, ink blighted the theatre that so came to employ, the parchment hither the Vimmark lord, corresponding its requisite in disingenuous shows of wealth, for that a feather in quill that hither came to his assumption. Tittle after but the next, it were that which the Raev occurred upon the tell for so script and passage, had he hoped brand before, by will and wish of the very coulter of the tool he occupied. Though were it, indeed, one of ***** disposition, in for its quality that a being far too rushed along in so pace, way of bird came along, to which may it've wrought the letter, off and about –– and, it read as so followed: "Vladislav Vimmark-Roussard, by the grace of God, Baron Ostromir Carrion of Woldzmir, Iosephus of Man, to venerable John, Lord of Kovachev; to honourable Emerentia, Lady of Kovachev, his most kind greetings. Consider he beseeches thou, of what you owe to him, pay heed to his demands. Right reverent, I recommend myself unto you, by way for which I may do so, most zealously so. For has so a missive, indeed, bestirred to so the theatre of my mind, the slighting likeness of intrigue. I may only so commend myself about so a guild, or society, in wishes to apply myself most humbly, and participate in that which it is, for to contribute any deal in. Let thus missive serve brand and show, for that I have made my trivial mind up about so a subject, by my own very will. God have you in governance. And we shall pray thereof for the preservation of your noble estate. Farewell, for in faith I trow ye' be well in bed. In witness, I set my seal hereof, at Kremlin Anavet. Scribed the day of V, of Horen's Calling, MDCCCX. Yours, Vladislav O. Vimmark-Roussard."

About each last slum and borough, metropolis and the like for whence does Man inhabit; to thus likeness of homely apparatus' and boards for notice here and there, and there and some, for did measly children a homeward-bound spare the smouldering of their flax for so to have planted and passed about, as if rations in hellish wartime, their fair shares of scripture and epistle. For, lo' and behold, these an elegy made their way to that which were comfortable, and that to whom held naught about his name; zealots to the wayward God, in the lands beckoned by He to the tangle of his night and daylight requiems. Parchment relinquished in the pearly hue that so held, a probable time before, the missives could only so be likened an unremarkable: dull, and without colour but for which the verily stark shades of ebony in ink that were put to fair use –– charcoal, and taupe… jet and onyx, and so the like. Though the apartheid by colour, to so were the scriptures' scribe forged upon, the readings seldom differed: "Aesh dea, and ēastre greetings, venerable Postdiluvian of the Exalted. Right reverent and worshipful herren and fräulein, in my most humble wise I recommend me unto you as lowly as I can. For heed, I am of the antediluvian retinue of Gwynon, or some where of so like – my memory, or perhaps, lack thereof, exceeds me, – by the orderly moniker of Johannes of Ceannaideach, Anointed the Ecclesiates, and as so does my primeval epithet suggest, the cloth from which I am cut of is that a preacher, if any more or less. And for so it is that I preach, is no other than but the Lord and his word, to be taken trivial not. And, doubt not, for that I am verily long in years. For though thus, am I reckoned to a lack of amity in tandem close, as have I been for a great, numbered winters and long, lion days of summertime. If anything, is to be considered of my foolhardy, nonsensical ramblings, it is for so that I desire, to fair measures, men of so ilk that a Horen, and his sons and scions, as is my own self rightly, whom tread their thread and fray a godly and monastic, just as so do I myself, and are of wishes to bestow unto, yet reprise to those which stand tall about their sabbatical. I desire some, sirs and dames, for whom will deny not the unyielding relent of God, and deny not the trivial understanding of that which is, and that which will be of his craft; understanding meaning, and the inverse so; understanding creation, and the inverse so; understanding faith, or more rather, our faith in He, and none but He, the God above. Come, ye' disconsolate. Come, ye' faithful, impoverished, and wretched. Come, ye' needy, come and welcome. Meekly beseecheth your highness, God – your poor and true continual servitude thereof. The younger that it might please your good grace to call on-to your most discreet and notable remembrance that lateward. For, we may break bread humbly, and consider the truths of God. And, consider theology, as had my own mentor, Jaghari yr Kastafir'ei, though were he shorter in years than I. And I will be at all seasons ready to perform in this matter and all others, your pleasure, as ferforth as lythe, in my poor power to do, or in all theirs that ought will do for me, with God's grace, whom I beseech to send you the accomplishment of your most worshipful desires, mine own brothers and sisters. For, I will no further labor but to you unto the time ye' give me leave, and till I be sure that ye' shall take no displeasure with my further labor. Return a bird, at you will, for if God's will is anything to revere, the tides will find me. No more unto you at this time, but God have you and all yours in his blessed keeping. Amen. The God is good. Yours Anointed, the Ecclesiates, Johannes of Ceannaideach." (Hephaestus#8435, come under my apprenticeship, if you so wish)

Sleep well. May time be kind to you in the next life.

By ill will not in his assumed scrutiny, for only but to have veered that which had previously been necessitated of his mortal self, in favour of a coagulating for thought naught about that which had been ordered effective immediately, the elitist Lord Vladislav Vimmark-Roussard parted some his lips a passing ebb and spread for whatever much a fluid clung to his pallid, most horrid set of lips –– forsooth, the lord came to heed, at once: "I know little of the Mme. Reiss; though, if so the judgement of my kindreds is of thus sort, the Right Honourable Representative Vimmark-Roussard votes aye, in support of the Confirmation of Elisa Reiss."

It is shameful that this post hasn't gotten nearly as much recognition as it should. Fascinating blend of Ottoman, Romanian, and Russian cultures, with a social structure that is actually elaborated upon. I am very much interested in the concept of the Sigismundaroșie; haven't seen much likened to it, in my several years on the server. I implore of you, Burnsider –– give me more to feast upon. +1

From thus the slouch he managed, to whatever a rug still wove itself from thus fray likened to naught of the ordinary, the Sleeping Hawk exercised the spirit of a writhing to his sluggish thigh, for thus had he blighted by the interwoven flesh for so had drawn and flaunted an ebony, near bronze, in its technicolor tint, a foul blight in fold by fold, to his very last tissue to lace meat by thin accoutrement; he graced upon the lethargic limb, a near taut in its wrinkle and sag yet per the offers for hospice and solace in his rise. For, so had it occurred over a fortnight – the reconcile for will to the man's each slighting muscle, assuming by so odds that it were of essence for the man to have shifted his weight, hence by no other but by mooring a greater surplus of his willpower to his hamstring, though it so twitched here and there, per accommodating a sure rise at either foot. Toe, as had soothsaying by ill wish of a timid wriggle in so, contracted splinter some in a tear to the garb in tissue, forsooth had his flesh become septic, seeping with short ichor, to which the 'ame were none the wiser. Little so stood the placid halcyon, for a life of his, the ill-begotten, decrepit mali, for thus did his vision mend and falter; as so cauterised his eyelids in trembling tissue to yet the bottom, in an attempt to fit the quota for so a stoical blink some. Obscured none, by that bayou fog, a wafting, better drifting dimness that beckoned to its stow and suit, the uttering for the contents a grimoire, in so the rowing of gentle monsoon, the contingency of the dreading air that so held, it danced and rippled a fair idea for mirage –– fire, though one greater than most others. For every passing frame for an instance, did the cancer in that inferno become twofold in the verbosity for which it beseeched a subsequence for whatever much air that held to its beyond; a fire, to the spawn a hayseed effigy, far and insignificant hereupon. And did yet he, the Sleeping Hawk, part either lip in dispersion to the ptyalism that held all the while, heeding word at once: "The Hawk awaits, in good patience, for to be revered, as had he in bygone day." And a second instance, did he so hold his drawing to lip and tongue, "But, the Hawk knows no better than to wait. He has waits, for the Widow to come into becoming; and too, he waits to come into knowing."

YO?

(No can do)