Hephaestus

In the casting back a brooding few flickers of a likely coral translucence about so cashmere and whatever seemly fabrics and fibres so tread in traces, that dim an ebony about delicate fray for the sake of garb, a great fry and coal cackled about its few crackles and sparks for every so often, whereabout parallel the ornate quintessence a lounge. Lo', did that lounge so occupy the lanky, though by no means brooding, figure a gentle cast of silhouette, likened so only by its backdrop that of the Sir Vladislav Ostrobor Vimmark, for which had each corner of his dim dress become obscured some degree in the mirror of brilliant lustre to his far forefront. Only by a kind retort, however, did he subject his weary mind to in so a moment; so a few significant instance, for whereupon had he held his child daughter in either arm, forearm of her own, the good Leopoldine, thus digits having become encumbered in a respective anchor of firm grip. Cobalt, to either pools an iris', swirled some in its disposition that fine fry that relinquished its essence before, as the Vimmark only surveyed the timid scene, and its odd warmth. Forsooth, though so, a tired misery transversed for the warm obscuring of so a kind few frames, if much at all, in its laces bound by the cold exchange of news that bore so, not the last ounce a similar geniality that otherwise, had the Carrionborn sought hereupon. No –– only vain dichotomy to such beseeched, and so had it come to him, the Vimmark lord, by word of the grapevine, in a slighting dismay. 'The Lord Dima Carrion has passed,' did the handmaidens weep, as per echo of what previously had courtiers and, all the fairer, too noble maidens proclaimed and wept; 'the Father Dima is no more.' These a lousy cries penetrated mahogany by mahogany tapestries, to which had the Raevir man's estate aided and held accountable, for its presence then. The subtlety of these cold niceties penetrated one eardrum in a fine enough ring, managing exit by wishes of the next, in respect to the lord. Though the wit thereof, he but dimly discerned: His brother had perished. To so terrible obituary and necrologue, not one crease in taut blight a leathery patch nor furrow to the man's pallid countenance, he simply beckoned an eerie stillness to his cerulean stare over and a past, in surveillance that gleam to his flank at his forth. Nor either, did his fair form and its endearing, deep accoutrement and garb contour nor falter any in its stiffening, or lack hereon. He became completely, and utterly still. Perhaps, this were in show, his distress and, fittingly, unwitting reaction; or mayhaps even, a display of utter shock for so an instance. Not one theorem could be entirely accurate, for he differed little whence had he watched a dance and linger of hearth previously. But if one thing were certain, at all, it could very well be his displeasure, and revulsion for so; this were a state, any one man or woman could detect of his detached mind, in even the slightest survey of his guise. For, though displeasure were one way he had become versed well in, it grew tenfold in pores and tissue about his sickly visage. And at once, steadfast a proposition, he came to waver. Near ivory a lips, in much their acquired dryness, and dank quality to the cracks that ran about them, sought split and part in the conservative line for had they drawn over, in creases a dimples at either end of his face. And, by the wishes of the hasty slurring and dancing of his tongue about the roof of his mouth, Vladislav heeded eulogy, curtly: "… A – bottomless curse. Bottomless sea. Curse to all that will ever be; and soon, the world may cease to be. Though they have relinquished you in their synod, I wish you would be… zealous, for this world's pardoning of your spirit. I hope you have found your place, somewhere; it is of my wishes, to raise your kin as my own. Farewell, Brother."

A humble surprise. So, the wait is no more.

Based.

I like this very much. It seems to draw from pre-Islamic Arabian/Iberian cultures, as those situated within the Gulf most primarily, and for that I commend. The concept of animism in conjoint with monotheism and/or the belief in Allah is a bit odd, as the latter is dichotomous to the other, and cancels it out thus, though I am a fan nevertheless. If anything, it is better reminiscent of the tribes in Dedan Ezekiel and just generally, Arabia, wherein people indulged very frequently in the worship of several idols at once. I do wish, however, that this was a more conservative culture, but if we were to compare it to the olden tribes of Dedan, then either were rather liberal, I suppose. Overall, just wish it incorporated some more grimdark themes. Otherwise, I can only advise formatting this post better.

Several few dimples framed themselves about one Artemidoros Elverhilin's grim countenance for the favour of setting to its bounties a smile in folds and stretches across, binding thus folded flaps at skin tissue to the far bags along either eyes, in yet a show for a bemused excitement to his interests. His lips faltered few, whence did they part their thinned nicety for the blight of wrinkles about jawline in its far strains over timid, supple flesh to hang and plaster itself only barely to his chassis, in entertainment of a starving obituary and famine therein. Nevertheless, for this accord, the Elverhillin beckoned of his noggin a fair few spirals to upwards rises and cranes whereabout chin, and subsequently downwards to a short dip and bob few, besetting reduction to the momentum at which so held his eyelids a widen, in drawing them to short slits for the last likeness of squints a hubris over, obscuring the wrinkling to either ends of his eyes a vermillion to crow's feet per engrossing a better exuberance to guise. The Elverhillin blighted verily, the interests of his neck, with grooves and furrows to the profiles of contours and slashes to the limb in making for its trajectory over his left flank, rallying pools of rural viridescent in either eyes about gaze to Zekiel, his own very son, smile widening tenfold in its further stretches over, managing ear to ear, following yet a parting to the glaze that so held them to dwelling about each other's measures for to have drawn themselves asunder, in oscillating word to his Adam's apple, forsooth having pulsated at it. "You are an odd… wonderful one, Anordal. You see what he means then, in mention of his dream for Malinor?"

RP Name: Vladislav Ostrobor Vimmark-Roussard MC Name: Hephaestvs Voted: Yes

Dark, so could the niceties of that familiar quintessence liken themselves to, in obscuring above much else that which reigned about the domain for which one soul amongst others reckoned. But this – this was no soul to man – for, to his essence, he bore the aloof of a beast, as so did his shrewd breathing pulsate about the semblance to. For thus short instances, that lowly spirit only ushered the natural way of all that ever was, and all that ever would be; inhale, to preface exhale. Inhale, then exhale. Forsooth, this one bore to he naught a conspicuous, nor quantifiable form, for any matter; it, he, was no man by thus point, in having met his dues in the Hereafter, wherein such could not be idyllic, to most profound consideration hence. Then, it ceased. It did cease; that tireless breath of his, for which pulsated in place for which it lacked much else. His spirit warped about – it fell to a voids, here and there, and far and fro. And then, that too ceased. For, the world – or perhaps, the afterworld – seemed to have halted to much its bygone hubris, for which it accounted for, and flaunted and taunted about to its cosmic bounties, if so too were they eldritch, without any doubt. But to this absence, to its dichotomy, the lingering of a wigged one did manifest, in its far distortions and warps over to quantifiable error. And, so did its lines over for lips part to make for exuberance, in allowing yet for much a malice in cackles to resound, and account for waves and ripples in sound, to fill for what much this place of his; no, this Stream, lacked. He cackled. He cackled. "Well, you've done it, Padraig. Oh, ah… how I wish you could look me in the eyes, as I do so cackle in the hereafter I so gained, 'cept. It is a shame, we made for different domains for thus, we do rest. I wish, I too could snap at the bonds to grapevines, as you do. Anathema, be upon you, as it so has myself; anathema, be upon ye'." And, to gospel, he preached no more.

Woke up from my evening nap today at 22:45 in a cold sweat today; when it came to me, that actual voidal magic was being written, and then it came to me that this alibi could be the thing to allow for me to nap peacefully once again.

Stifle the last likeness of a chuckle, echelons from great in its coarse nature, for having claimed a quality for being harsh and guttural, as if brewed and forged by steel to the underbelly of one 'aheral's dried throat, so beseeched of himself; one particular mali. For to flex a single brow, in contraction about to its ridges and grooves about the bridge of his nose, and far end of his frons, it were for the bold mali'aheral to heed naught but a single quirk in it, raising it to a brow for to follow the tempo at which he arched to that brow of his. Wherein, oracle foretold no more than sardonic, almost satirical, scalding and jeering to his tongue, Ihieuhii'thilln beckoned for a commendable, well-meaning taunt in a spiral of his chin and jaw to a rise, concluded by a single bob downwards at either ears, in what much a few scattered, sporadic nods he could manage all throughout. No – this one only drew to the lineaments of minute respect, in the place of a snide for to ridicule otherwise. It were so bound to the natural nature of things, for that pallid mali's peaceful resound in either two iris', of brewing pools in amber, to draw to their blinds and covers, furthering to a lack of sufficient energy to heave about his bowed brows and folds at eyes and bags respectively, in what could only be sought a fluttering of eyes shut, for once in seance of conveying a newfound respect and reverence for Arelyn. Forsooth, to the haunting to his conscience at constant reverie, it so were that conclusion and resolve found itself in occurrence, in the elf having finally manifested about a decent degree of attention respective of such a missive. "With little doubt, a bold decision. Perhaps, my problem lies within the elect of a woman, for such a position; but, no –– this one; Arelyn, she is different. Only feminine in appearance. She would make a fine Sohaer."

I hope you're good and well, and wish you all the best for the future. It was good working with you whilst I was on the ST/ET, however unfortunately short my tenure was. Take it easy.

If you are looking to play an orc, I would highly suggest looking into cultural, as well as spiritual lore. It is never fun roleplaying, without a decent grasp at nor generally coarse understanding of the lore at hand. I, myself, would liken my knowledge of any part of Uruk lore, be it; that of culture, honour, or the Orcish creed of Spiritualism, rather veteran, and would be happy to answer any queries regarding anything of such semblance.

Congregate, 'lo dominions in herb. Forsooth, spring has blossomed to its séance in your favour.

deciding i wanted to be rex, followed by me proclaiming myself rex in a forums post and IRP and leading a nation into total war.

“The tireless and most devout worship makes us men… makes us more than men… makes us – makes us men no more.” To much appeal for his sorry state, and appeal to greater beast hood, the Vicar, First of the Ordained sayeth, but few harrowing croaks crossing and begrudging that tongue of his, laced in the cold embrace of blissful sacrilege.

At its talons, the kind jay met the somber embrace of the ground, in contrast as to the loose nature of the cobalt skies, it flapped its wings – not once, but times a-several, – thus meeting far and fro, its destination at coarse, crude caw in its cry, as to such alert descent then. Hempen, so it were that managed its not at the foul cretin's feet, forming at ditches in its craft of inlay at soil, fertile or otherwise, but a tattered set of scribe clung at that strip of rope, in its poor knot yonder about the bird's ankle. "To the sire, Jean yr Kastafir'ei – otherwise, the sire, Jaghari yr Kastafir'ei; 'lo put stock in my word and treat it delicately. Fortnights ago – or, perhaps were it more than but moons, but rather years, I will take little effort in bothering any correction – tongue was exchanged by myself and yours, and it were so that ingenuity in tidings of philosophy, but more importantly, word of God, were brought up and tossed about, here and there. This piqued my interest to measures far and unaccountable; An interest, far greater, if not, rivalled, as to the word and telltale of the august antediluvians of yore and bygone. It is for such fair pretext, that I greatly anticipate the exchange of good word – and, on my behalf, apprenticeship – between either of us in coming sojourn. I heed to ailing marrow, in my joints, and my time in this life will is limited, if anything; it is all that my decrepit age and nature will beseech of me anymore. The anointed, Johannes of Ceannaideach. Aesh dea. The God is great."

“Aye for Sarkozy.” One Vladislav Barrow pronounced his absentee vote. “Nay on the formation of the Imperial Commission.”

"Tale as old as time…" One Barrow recited to his tongue such a rite, word and tire to worn voice likened then only to he himself, the Right Honourable Vladislav Barrow, MHC, of whom spared the fleeting image of a gentle few curls to chivalrous lip, at either respective corner of such phantom limb. Dimples folded over and outwards, those desolate lips, so dank they appeared to have run in cracks along arid outlines. "The cavalries of melancholia, I only suppose, will take a stance in the lady's hair; to the favour of making sweet sixteen." "'Lo, you are all too pure – dearest Milena, sister. I only take to wonder, in my most foolish, selfish of reveries; would Mother take to the offering of such goodwill too, to myself?"

RP Name: Vladislav Barrow MC Name: Hephaestvs Voted: Yes

“Mm… a commendable jest. In that regard, it is rather humorous.” At elongated, pronounced breaths of his own, that Raevir, the most honorable Vladislav Barrow produced low, guttural rumbles as to a heed to call then. Gently, he narrowed that sharp, cold glare of his before that declaration, he’d announced no more than a playful joke, eyelids from whence they restrained at their unceasing blinks finally came to lie before aquamarine iris’ in shutters. Thus, they came to a wake, with the swelling of shrill cackle and disdain that’d then become of his gravelly rasps and grumbles and groans – here and there, and far and fro. “Try stirring up tenure in this sorry state — all mangled and twisted with every inside on the outside for all the world to see.” That Barrow bastard’s roars in escapade and hysteria only further beseeched of taunt and ridicule from the manifesto, to have eventually dissipated to little more than the few husks at chuckles in croaks and growls. “A fool, is still a fool, even in his own, wildest of delusions.”