Hephaestus

"The difference between manslaughter and homicide is clear as fresh water." Far beyond the confines of the Empire of Man, one particular Xannite murmurs at either two, calloused hands of his, hardened at shell as such, heavy eyelids retracting at themselves, in drawing such high o'er then, coming to visibility only one at a time in their gentle ivory hue.

"Curious… very– very, curious." One Raev hummed, kindred steps becoming of his feet in their shuffling off, loose gaze – in the hanging noose that it were – narrowing for no longer than short, breathy moments, to have retracted off beyond with the further drawing of breathes, on the Carrion-Barrow's own behalf. Flask, whence it hung at digits, leathery they were at callouses, came to its halt in sways, set to rest unto counter, with that Raevir's foreboding footsteps off, resounding in concurrence thus.

Across his face, an artisan of yore, speckled at his jawline in hairs, that'd then taken to a hue all close to that of a rainy day and sky. Thus, dimples in the shapes of crow's feet managed at either ends of his cracked, decrepit lips, which'd run dank in in tears of skin then. But, he'd put down his life, for one of poverty, had he not? "Some things are best left alone, beldam. You are well past your prime years.." He murmured to himself, by the judgement of his own iron drum. "Spare the tears. No longer than sojourn, shall it hurt." In direct contrast, one Raev scribes his own application, thus.

which one am i (vladislav)

A troubled Vladislav Barrow pursues his surveillance upon the missive, clicking at the far roof of his tongue betwixt speculation, digits clung, as if talons, unto the thin sheets of page. Swiftly so, the boy drew at the hinges, hung upon the fair cedar of his study drawer, as if to cease and desist such a letter, thus making at stuffing it therein. "No, this cannot be right.."

"Much as I renounce the word of the Arch-Drakaar and his fiends, I better roam knowing there will exist little contact between myself and the faux descendants of Malin, whom lie under their canopies, lazy." Heeded to his call, he of brazen 'ame blood and flesh himself, however a believer in Xan and a son of the Ossiriand he were himself. Gently, bobbed a net above the surface of the kindred waters he foraged for the semblance of marine life, deep within the valley he called a home of his own, a brewing amusement spawning and manifesting within his own pearly eyes, grizzled and ivory in hue. Despite a longing interest in the decree itself, Ptolemy of Thoth, retained a bemused smirk, pulled and procured across his brass guise, a guile only spawning within the short frame of an instance. Tugs became of his arms, thus heaving at what much remained within his fray net, unto solid ground, only to have made off to yonder any beyond. "Bah, what do I've to do in this scheme of the Drakaar? Live, and so let live. Perhaps, it is then, that they will find the Lord of Light upon their wayward path, and his respective absolution."

based

based???

Wait a minute..

"I am growing too old for this.." Distastefully so, a politician of the Empire, in days of yore, only just managed in words, through a sporadic bout of wheezes, thus bringing a single hand at his gum, in rubbing it gently.

Being somebody who actually has some academic experience, on the subject matter (I am studying neuropsychology and experimental psychology and/or psychiatry), I can affirm that mental health is something that should not go unnoticed, not even on the obscurest of platforms and mediums, such as ours. The server, on its own, may serve a sort of aid to the problems of some, and so it is not entirely unbelievable that someone could use the platform as an outlet to treat their own mental health problems. With that said, it is upon the will of the people on the server to lend their hand out to those in need. The one who tells the stories rules the world. I commend you greatly for putting this piece out, price. We are all in this together -- we really, have to be --, especially in such times as these. After all, one rain does not make a crop.

man [Nice job, bud]

Good Lord.

Only just getting to play interesting (I hope) characters, as a result of being more involved within the community, despite being an on and off player since Anthos - Athera. Recently, I've enjoyed more priestly, theological rp, because so much of what is applied is readily prepared and provided. Although defunct and exiled, I've had some of the most enjoyable rp on my Visaj, who served a Dominus in his time, and a usurper not long afterwards. It was fun brewing conflict, for doing things as awful as claiming myself a messiah and uniter.

A MISSIVE OF GREAT, AND CARDINAL SIGNIFICANCE ~ The text, as follows, may be found in intricate tatters, lining the walls of forum boards within cities far-flung and yonder, soiled about and filthy, below many a dusk that sought rain and mud. To the dame whom continues to consistently scribe public missives to the Pontiff, claiming sodom and pleading for acceptance . . . Fair morrow. I hope this missive finds you well, as I am well aware there exists more than but one child, son or daughter, of Horen across the plentiful peninsula we acknowledge as Arcas. I have taken upon my own, the liberty of fabricating a scriptures, therein following in such a context of your own; do read, at your own expense, however, for I care not if your sodomy is challenged by such text. I pen more so, in response to the frequency at which these claims and letters to the Pontiff of yours, and how one, of such holy devotion, as myself, may find such a letters, and their recurrent themes offensive, and outright bothersome by the bounds of my own creed. I am of the Canonist faith, forsooth, and take your own dubbing of thyself a ’holy daughter of GOD’ but pure hogwash, not but in my own eyes, but in the eyes and conscience of many others whom hold close to their hearts, beliefs as my own. I also refer to GOD, in claiming such, therein. For the past two saint’s weeks, I have witnessed naught but disgust upon the faces of those a likeness to their devotion, close to my own, in reading such a missive. But alas, a new day will dawn for those whom stand tall, and I will therefore, take little further notice of the topic itself beyond this small section of the writings. The feeling that washes upon me, with the manifestation of as little as a single thought of sodomites and their practices, repulses me. My spirit is longing, and crying for leaving in spotting mention of these topics within the holy public, in the face of women and children. But, I do not suppose you are of enough a benevolent soul to care for much of such. No. Do you not think of the children? No. Beyond the scribing of yours, I see naught but an malevolent soul, too angry at the Church, and, I daresay, GOD, to spare even the littlest thought for the children. This critique of homosexuality, however, is not, in fact, the purpose of my recording such a letter, to yourself. I pen this letter, particularly in regards to your consistency in writing these public letters of yours; nay entirely the topic, at which they are on the basis of, but more importantly, the frequency at which you pen them. And, in mention of such, I bear but one sentiment: for the love of GOD, too many of them have been scribed. I see, plastered unto bulletin boards, not one; not two, but three letters addressing sodomy, and its righteousness within Canonism, or otherwise, despite the Pontiff himself having claimed it a definitive sin, and an epistle regarding the exact ethics of the practice within our most holy of creeds, stating that such beliefs may not be practiced. That is all. Greatly, would I appreciate, of yourself, to respect my own thoughts, and the thoughts of others holding similar feelings in regards to your missives. I hope you may limit the number of these letters, scribed consistently. . . . Regards, a faithful Canonist that shall go unnamed.

Pretty much what Malaise said. If you’re going to be a ****, do it within the bounds of the universe in which Lord of the Craft is set in. It only becomes a problem once biases make themselves into the mainstream OOC, or all little circles, outside of an RP medium; and it is then, that we must draw the line.

”Mirdautas vras, latz zonzaf’ Leyd.” Cardinal Grishnaakh’Raguk boasted, in his true, ancient speak. Either gauntlets seemed to draw into each other, as though a magnetism struggling in the midst of them, in slowed, patient claps resonating a horrid thumping across each corner of the ornate skull that hung itself atop the Raguks’ own fort, lay lazy in its own perpetual slumber. A particular eeriness rung about, enclosed within the mouth of the head, taking upon itself the semblance of a cavern, in appearance, accompanying the leisurely claps, thus either two eyes of Grishnaakh scanning across the landscape presented below. ”Mabaj bot ob armauk, so it is true, and has come to me, in these final few moments of our victory.” He continued about, in boasts and laments, underlying a similar tongue. “Hozhly done, wayward sons. Hozhly done.”

|| COURT OF THE CRIMSON REX || || A CLAIMS TO A PEOPLE || (Hereupon, is depicted the bestowing upon Grishnaakh’Raguk, Wargoth of Raguk, his claims to the Crimson Horde; and sons and daughters of Raguk). ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Hereafter, is notated in the script of commoners, and all sufficient readers: Since the day I had rightfully been bestowed, the coveted gift of honour, from, however a controversial figure amongst those of Krug’s spawn, Rex Korgahk’Gorkil, brother to my eldest master, Lüga’Gorkil the Slaver, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind, at large. From the moment, I was blessed with Kor’s touch, and hence was allowed to grasp upon the spirit realm, with a tether, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind. When I served, in my term, a Dominus, and advisor to a Rex whom shaped Krugmar, and its terrain, as we know it today, I have done naught but protect and preserve the culture of Raguk, and Krugkind, at large. And yet, here, as I live and breathe, in my moment seldom sparing time to the great worship of the spirits, but instead my brothers, whom bear skin a scarlet and crimson in its hue, and in the midst of a clan war, I am still viewed as but an outsider, amongst those, whom claim spawn to Krug? No, that cannot be right. Were not, the paths of Krug and Maehr, paths that granted those who laid their weary feet upon them, the semblance of brotherhood, where one could not find it? Were it not, a path that granted honour, to a world and a people, otherwise stricken with dishonour? In my aid to the cause against the Ibleespawn, my honour is viewed as illegitimate. In my own craft of shrines, my honour is viewed as illegitimate. In the loss of my own two hands, at the expense of Urguan, by the wishes of the Rex Murdok’Lak, I am viewed as an outsider. No longer, will the mali’aheral, whom left his own kin in blood, to grow and prosper amongst individuals, whom are the basis’ of laments and folklore, be viewed as but a pariah. Truly, a causes unjust on behalf of the very spawn of Krug. Today, I adopt, as my own, the claims to the Raguk people, and the Crimson Horde as their Rex. No – the one, true Rex; and the only of my ilk, since Phaedrus –. As voted and dictated by the children of Clan Raguk, I, Grishnaakh’Raguk, first of his name, name myself Rex of the Crimson Horde. ”Our skins burn red, as our wrath does. Our tusks, a yellow as marble. Our pride, undying as the Myrzym we mounted in times of yore. And, whence I prevail, a Rex amongst all, united orcs, will there be duality, in the name and spirit of Krug. Watch, in the Court of the Crimson Rex.” Scribed, and bloodscripted by Grishnaakh’Raguk, Rex of the Crimson Horde, Bloodscripted by Matumakh’Raguk, Bloodscripted by the Effigy.

”Latz have put thiz upon latzelvez.” Shifting through sands a beige, dragging at the rest if his form, rendered a burden in such a scenario, as noted by the conditions, Wargoth Grishnaakh’Raguk wheezed at the constant herbal smoke, that emerged therein from his mouth. ”We ahm Ragukz. Our zkin burnz the red of our wrath. Our pride, glows the yellow of our tusks. Our devotion to spirituality and brotherhood, scalds one’s very soul, as our forges do.” ”Nub more squalor, agh poverty, that ztranglez the way ob Krug, like a noose. May the Crimson Uzg rise, and burn itz faithful red, in its newly discovered court!”