Hephaestus

”I see, among youse’ selves, who glorify the nature of sodomy, and laying with those of the same kin; naught, but sloth. Shame on ye’, shame on she, whom sheds all but robust, evil light upon the nature of homosexuality.” Through and through, the ripples of his short-lived reaping upon the word of his own brethren in Horen, Vittorio Falcone set such heretical word against the mantle of the inferno, that brewed within the heart of a hearth. Rise, ever so slowly. Rise, could be the word used to describe, the movements of the Damascene fire iron, Vittorio gripped tightly upon, letter of which penned such heresy having cut itself through the middle, therein pinned against the sharpest most end of the cast. Wither, as it were, bleached in burn of cherrybark, thus the rising of a familiar scent, embracing the nostrils of he whom happened across it. It had been the beginning of a new age.

Just a few that’ve been eating at my head.

”I put no stock in the revolt against brotherhood. Far too long, has there been lunacy of fanatics, in every denomination of the Uzg, claiming the will and testament of the spirits, and their honour. Forged in Blood and Iron, boys. Blood and Iron.” Prophecised, did the Honourary Wargoth, Grishnaakh’Raguk, grinding a polished stone against a variety of berries, resembling an ombre of the blood, he spoke so highly of, in his clan’s motto, thus forming a warpaint of it. It were high time for war.

Sleeping Hawk heeded his own call through and through the filthy nature of the ramshackle hut, built upon a rigid canopy, he dubbed solace to himself. The pariah craned his neck to the right for but moments, eyes flashing glares between the embers that invoked themselves upon the ends of his bundles of sage, and the rune he’d previously drawn across his wall, below a visage of pure monotony, in every sense of the word; thinned lips held in a close line, pattern of blinks unwavering. Through and between the releases of several long drawls in his groan, the Hawk’s vision drifted across the scroll, an absence of complete attention made apparent, hand gliding across the air, digits slipping between rows of tattered clothes. ”Day and night cannot dwell together. Those that lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.”

Grishnaakh’Raguk but made a clicking sound against his own tongue, nay long lasting growl escaping his cracked, ancient lips. In a turning of his heel, the pallid man pressed forth in strides, closer to struggle marches under plate, managing a semblance of disgust in the crunching up of his nose. Where his wrists were, not long ago, stubs only remained, hidden below his gauntlet, of which took the engravings of esoteric curses, waving about at the arid heat of the air he ventured through. ”And, just as I find solace in the heartlands of Malin.” He wheezed about, through the brewing of smoke that escaped his lips, before himself. He gathered herb-laced saliva in the back end of his throat, spit cutting through the air but moments afterwards, as a pellet would. ”Spirits have mercy on your wicked sons.”

Liking the old school sorta layout, and build style. The build itself takes me back to some of the earlier stuff from Salvus, and Petrus, and Felsen, to some extent. The Studio Ghibli music was also a nice touch, you've done well.

**** yeah acid

Liking this format very much, please keep this level of quality up, +1.

Heavily emphasising this. Asking for magic OOC, be it in game or mediums otherwise, is a huge turn-off for those who actually do have magic TAs. Your safest bet is being around often, keeping your expectations low, and not making an ass of yourself. Do also interact with many different communities, but in the end, it’s a matter of why you want the magic; if you’re going to do edgy **** with it, it is likely people won’t share magic with you.

+1

I really feel safe

Good job, boys. You’ve made a former dwarf proud.

almost 7 years and 5 accounts on this server, when will the torment end

Mogroka the Blind allowed for one eye to spare view of the letter, the other having run amuck in concentration. Consolation managed his weary, sickly visage as he only briefly gazed upon the letter, somber glare lacing his glower, taking the greater form of a weak scowl. ”One day at a time, Sohaer. Someday, I will be there to lead you on, to whereabouts Ixli roams.”

You had a good run.

and he turned himself into a meatball. funniest **** i’ve ever seen

Qafsiel of Chariots bobbed his head about, eyes only glancing for short moments at the notice. Sat against a boulder, cushioned by moss below himself, the templar managed a short letter upon his set of scrolls through the use of ink, and his own fingers, thus placing his own digits in his mouth, the resonance of a whistle sounding about, through the canyon in which he resided. But moments later, a crow landed atop its perch, tolled by the kindling of the sun’s heat; this, by no means, handicapped Qafsiel. For, the zealot tied about at his letter, to the bird’s talon via hempen. The letter, as it were, read as such: ”Based.”

Please cite me for the penning of such an epic username, I am, after all, a masterful scribe. Your username is amongst my best works. @TheTri

Vittorio Falcone managed a single snigger, through and through curses and gloats, in damning the writer of such heretical script. The olive skinned man turned at his heel, hand rested at his frons, as the other signed the Cross of Lorraine before his mortal form, as his gaze washed upon the missive. Spit began to build in his throat, until finally shooting out at such a letter, wishing for damnation to whomever degenerate decided to write it. ”Man an’ woman, that’sa’ ‘ow God intended it! Damn ye’, and yer’ mistress. Damn ye’ to Moz Strimoza!”

This man is an impostor, please pick me for Senior Admin.

Glad to have you back man, I missed you

man