Hephaestus

What is the nature of our relationship? What shelved lore would you bring back, if given the opportunity? When are you designing that computer I asked you to make me (you study computer science)?

Feed me more.

_____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ "BESPOKE HANDICRAFTS FROM BIRCH AND WICKER — MATS, PAILS, AND MORE. WE USE BOTH DYED AND MUNDANE WICKER, BE THAT WITH OR WITHOUT BARK. WILLING TO MAKE BROOMS, FURNITURE, OR HOUSEHOLD AMENITIES UPON REQUEST. PRICE NEGOTIABLE. CROPS, DOWRIES, AND GROOMS FOR MY DAUGHTER ALSO VALID FORMS OF PAYMENT. REACH OTRYGG FOR INQUIRIES." — SAVOY NOTICE BOARD, 1839. _____________________________________________________ YELLOWED notices decorate and festoon girdered, cork notice boards and other such placards in all four corners of the realms of Man: ORENIA, HANSETI, SAVOY, AND FREEPORT. Ebon glyphs span the missives, the occasional etching blanched by a nigh dried splatter and varnish of phlegm, and mucus — a testament to the writer's malaise. The occasional scrivener appeared in the tide, splintered, calloused digits girding a hammer to prop up the notices: the fleeting courier only then retiring from the fief which they trekked, dispersing. Vermeil seals brand the bottom of each such bill. One, splaying here and yonder with the fast-thrashing wind, reads: "THE scriveners of the bounty of DOBROV are pleased to impart new word that the LORD VLADISLAV CARRION, seeks arrangements of scholarly companionship, to aide in his positively prodigious academic endeavors. He treks the realms of Man for like-minded, and more importantly, highbrow individuals to further the academia of Man with himself. HE has expressed the specific wish for those well-versed in the feat of alchemy, to accompany himself in, verbatim: 'SERVING AS THE SCHOLARLY SUCCORS OF OUR DAY.' THE scriveners of the house of CARRION are liable to interject, and add that the fast-tolling age of the lord has put him in a condition of unsoundness, both of the form and the mind. Hence, the house of CARRION requests any attendants of this proposed arrangement be interdicted, or quarantined, for a bountiful three days, before trekking for the lord, or returning air-borne bills, writs, and missives. HE wishes, however his very conspicuous allure and charisma, that onlookers kept non-platonic stirrings at bay, in their scholastic toiling with the lord. He seeks only platonic, scholarly arrangements. A bespoke portrait spans the other side of this notice. AND he shall be at all seasons to perform in this matter. We pray the Exalted keep you in holy governance. The scriveners of the house of CARRION hereby set their seals. _____________________________________________________ Hephaestus#8435 on Discord. Contact me there if you would like to keep your replies incognito. Otherwise, drop a comment. P.S., I will not be teaching alchemy, or any other magic. BYO[MA]. _____________________________________________________

ya mama (archons) Jokes aside, this is some gnarly ****. I always try to entertain the idea of a mage coming to realise the detriment of their feats.

"DUNAMIS! DUNAMIS IN ESBEC!" IN the throes of an unabated mania, one begrimed peasant cantered out the solace and bounds of his farmhand home: hands flailing and splaying to and fro. For, in reel and rout, the fires of fry and brimstone razed the town to its very toes. "DUNAMIS IN ESBEC, I TELL YOU!"

_____________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvNRQPkgHTM FROM the precipice of the sea-girt peninsula that was FREEPORT, one lord of old retired himself to a seat astride a threadbare crate. For however his age, that thane's taut of flesh was nigh unfurling; his age undone; and, wanton pleats and creases folding to and 'twixt, and across his temples, vacuous jowls blanched with an unseemly pallor — a token of his pestilence. He ruminated pedantically, the odd ringlet of his hoar, crepuscular locks twining 'round his moribund, bedizened digits, nails unseaming from his own fingers in ceaseless torpor. HIS watchful, stolid cataracts laid bestead upon the wear and tear of one argosy ship's tatter-spangled, steepled sails, thrashing with the nigh tossing tempests and tides. Vistas of entropy and disorder opened up before him, languishing down the docks, whose stilts stood the tests of time, albeit begrimed and girded by the verdant sea's tongues of kelp and weeds. AND, he murmured only in a delirium's bout, to none but the sycophant, leaden wind: "WHAT SOLUTION DO YOU SEE FIT, SHEPHERD?" _____________________________________________________________________

Our mortal succor.

_________________________________________________ _________________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0sflDPa9zY DIMPLES encroach either end of VLADISLAV's leaden maw, jowls stretched into the, albeit, lackadaisical and waylaid, semblance of a gregarious grin. Limelight ceded to his appallingly gilt-tinted teeth, canines waxing with jaundice, as if'; a heinous and appalling tone of yellow, whereby his gelid, kaleidoscopic eyes surveyed the missive — with awe and zeal in equal gusto. The gin-soaked CROW hacked, in a guttural cacophony, then deliriously raving, in the throes of a demented fit, melodically: "… I AM THE LORD OF BA-RROW; I AM THE LORD OF BA-RROW …! — … I TH' L'RD OF BARROW; ITH' L'D AF BA-RR'W…" _________________________________________________ _________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________________________ FAR from the bounds of the descendant realms, across a sunless strait which died into moors and firths in Old Rh'thor, a moribund contingent of YULTHARANS in the reaches west sulk. Their sullen faces did reap anaemic pallor, with dimples met at their jowls: their smirks razed, maws dilapidated wholly in nigh-unending melancholy. A mennirous odor boded the sea-girt grotto, that of GORE, as vestiges of the winter's gelid frost festooned the entrance to the hallowed cavern: ringstraked with viscera from corner to corner, in piquant vermeil rings. Word of the metaphysical had been in the tide, kept at bay no longer, sending the sages and learned men into their mania's throes. RAIN rilled and trickled astride the mountainside: autumn was in full swing, as a pallid red and tawny bled into the trees, and all life which enswathed the bounty, in all four corners of the peninsula. For, in the pits of their spirits, their melancholia reduced their once-busied spirits to naught. Ensheathed 'twixt the digits and dactyls of a long-inanimate cadaver, the final issue of the FILIUS PHILOSOPHORUM bade its stay — the root of the litter's tumult. THAT eve, the gaggle took sorrow and lament in the demise of their felled, discarnate god, who brought no fruits but the root of lunacy and delirium. They would mourn the SPOKEN SPIRIT. ___________________________________________________________________________

You can't ******* leave me on a cliffhanger like this, you sly bastard. In all seriousness, your rest is very much well-deserved. If I'd known you would be able to drop this forsaken server so easily, then I'd have suggested you took your break [be that, temporary or permanent] long ago. I'm going to miss you a ton, even though I am sure this won't be our last time speaking to one another. Your commitment to writing, forming meaningful narratives, and roleplaying is incredibly admirable, and I've always looked up to you. I will always remember having RPed with you gaily, when you'd played my son, just as I will remember having sulked with you about Sanguinem Artis getting denied. Try not to about forget me when you're out in the real world. So long, old friend. "You were right, brother. We made it." [Ryneus, Enderal] Good luck.

ONE Haelun'orii sentinel found respite afore the hearth within his estate, which spat with resplendent, torrential grains of fire and fry, thoroughly penitent glare surveying the breadth of the missive: reticence escaping his eyes, as dimples met the corners of his maw. He beamed momentarily, burgonet lowering concordantly as he cross-examined the ivorine glyphs with an insurmountable pride and hubris. However scholarly and cerebral he were, pleats spanned his temple in a daze and frenzy, by the convulsion that was calculating his own PURITY POINTS: counting the merits with his fingers and dactyls, muddled by the feat. "Hrm… five-thousand merits: the Sohaer must be informed of my piety!"

_____________________________________________________________________________ A MOTLEY contingent of avowed sages and schoolmen, who harken to the peninsula of YULTHAR in the far, western reaches of the world, finding resolve in the quiet corners of the cosm, take relish in the chronicle. Their gnarled callouses charted the enchiridion's tanned, hide binding and sleeve; rilling up and about its spine. Though blind, they were, fleece unfurling o'er their pauldrons, to ward the wicked, rime's winter, condolence came to them as they prodded every inch and bout of the tome — decreeing its begrimed pages, and nigh festering jaundice a testament to the book's grit. SUMMER betided the YULTHARAN litter, the gaggle having splintered and sundered; some driven to their death's throes; some, to lunacy; others taking to rout from the peninsula's tawny mountainside. Word of the pataphysical had turned their souls to stone: HOW DESPICABLE, KNOWLEDGE IS. _____________________________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________ TACT boded the futile footfalls of one contingent of far-seeing men; prints and tracts of their sabatons, flung far and near, biding the earthen steppe that was ANDO ALUR, smote by nascent forces and synergies of mana. VLADISLAV's watch was chiding: a hoar frost and cool whipping ravenously 'gainst his ebon vestments, boring his form with a rime cold from the naves to the chops — despairing, as it capered the sullen glade, almost, vicariously projecting the ivory citadel: twice five miles of fertile ground, tawny towers girded 'round. From his rear, reticent breaths found resolve, estranging the wiseman known as MENEUS OF VOR, positively clad from corner to corner, tenaciously met at the fringe of his kindred, the MAN-MAKER: discordant, grating chords which trilled through the prairie, to the base of those eastbound alps: snow-capped, in rows four-by-four. FOR, the ground was sundered from its seams: and from it, rose vapours of dominion, ringstraked with vestiges of the cataclysm — a testament to the might of magicka. The RAEV of the litter sniffled with some modicum of lethargy, a pestilential nimbus exhumed from 'twixt his nostrils: the bridge of his snout reaping a number of pleats and folds, scrunched with silent, forsaken rumination. In truth, a trepidation bore his mien, from top to bottom; the wick of his torch spitting with torrents of granular cinder, the cataclysmic haar subsiding at its spittle, proving insufficient to mitigate his shudder and qualms. 'FROM the vestiges of ANDO ALUR, the frameworks of ASH'AR became manifest, the final foothold of mankind unadulterated by PALEBEAST,' decreed one amongst the motley band. _________________________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________________________ VLADISLAV'S pedantic survey ran athwart from the ruination, cast unto the unseeing seer at his leftward flank: then harkening to the uncomely desolation which was the remnant threshold of ANDO ALUR, a sequence and cadence of heady sighs exhumed from the lordling. The heel of his leathered sabaton grazed and skimmed the rent pauldron of a cadaver: felled by the rout and retreat from that Haelun'orii fief. His stoic posture lurched and teetered to and fro, only 'ere it drew to a halt in full swing: cross-examining the lame carcass' vestments, textile from textile, considering its minutia with a sliver of discontent. HE rescinded his glare from the unseemly thing; opting defer to the MAN-MAKER: "Another spirit rent and spent, cast aside like a battered torch. … The Palebeast is hearty, even here, Psevdosaiman. We have need for stock of valour: not yet battered, Man-maker. IN the wake of that exchange, he penned and compiled a number of missives and writs; entrusting them upon a varmint courier, to cast them upon the four corners of the world, to a numbered stock of acquaintances, far-flung, VIKTOR among them, unknowing that he would know no such letter. _________________________________________________________________________

Levied. Report to the Silver State to receive your arms. — Laurir'thill Ihievhii'thilln Maeyr'onn.

I find this quite scrumptious.

Levied. Report to the Silver State to receive your arms. — Laurir'thill Ihievhii'thilln Maeyr'onn.

Sleep easy, brother. Make good choices.