Hephaestus

what gus said. just for ease of communication, might i contact you on discord?

You were a paragon of solid player-to-staff communication all throughout your tenure, and I only pray the next Community admin has your drive and openness to make a difference. I wish you nothing but the best. Cheers.

solid work, fellas

"No can do, I've an eight-thirty reservation at Dorsia." ONE astute Pertinaxi croaked, seated parallel to his well-beloved friend, PAULUS AILENUS.

_______________________________________________ _______________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4lAdX-W__U YOKED by the smog and haar of twilight, one Raevir bogeyman, the very one made mention of in the missive, VLAD OF GOZA, caroused the night 'till the outset of day came crawling into the sky. His anorectic arms launched heavenward, swaying to and yonder fro as if a nigh animated pendulum — revelling and making merry in the crooked ways of those who walk with their spines faced towards God. Lo', vestiges of that vermillion aerosol film clinged, as if some sycophant pathogen, to the breast of his tawny tunic. And in his stead, he towed the mennirous stench of gore and undeath: a herald of his house. Roadkill. CARRION. IN the throes of his merrymaking and carousing, he saturated two, footed goblets, with whit of malt tonics and gin, in equal gravity. One, he raised to be long of living; and the other, in unwitting, inebriated bacchanal. Joie de vivre, it was said of old, after all. "Behold with what base companions I walk the streets of Savoy, and roll in the mire and filth thereof, as if in a lounge of spices and fine bushels. … And, CARRION, they called me." _______________________________________________ _______________________________________________

Really beautiful stuff.

_________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LB5YkmjalDg FROM the bounds and breadth of some gaudy howdah, sat astraddle the hump of a camel, VLADISLAV'S nigh reticent, chiding eyes settled unto the rolling heights and sweltering steppe which spanned the open prairie 'fore him. Many an arid vistas stretched out 'fore his mount, in that bank and shoal of time. He steepled the ends of his garish digits at those tallow, mauve flaps and bags which rounded and girded either eye: mementos of his fatigue, and pestilence. LO', that tawny turban which fixed itself astraddle his head and crown unfurled into textiles and ivorine serapes wrought of selvedge — and, the pygmy frameworks of some age old, dire psalm convened and churned in his mind's eye: "It is true, I did take her life. I used to be a renegade, I used to fool around. But I could not take the punishment, and had to settle down." _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________

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.

THE DUKE OF ADRIA propped a mauve halcyon flower at his breast, given his conspicuous invitation to the momentous occasion.

_________________________________________________ _________________________________________________ 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…" _________________________________________________ _________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FSmeV45Erw "… Savorm avhe fielduk ro damnaavion, mir agh plenavy—" ROWS of long-forlorn Uruk-hai took to brisk rout from the steppe of damnation, where the ground palpitated with discord and trepidation, and espoused the hoar vapours of dominion: it was WAR. A murder of jutting arrows capered the leaden winter's sky, estranging the indomitable battlements which girded 'round the range of Dâlzob Hûrûrz Mazauk, the incessant Planes of War, a mainstay of the Uruk Hereafter. The canter of hooves trilled all throughout the sunken prairie, souls languishing in perpetuating strife and disaccord; blades, rent and rusted how, flailing athwart the air, only afore meeting their assailant in grating cadence: wind-waking blares spelunking the bowels of that plane, on a terrific precipice which loomed precariously astride the boundless breadth of oblivion. MENNIROUS spoils of gore percolated into the haar-ridden sky, in piquant vermeil miasmas: sending an unceasing hebetude into the bowels of those Uruk-hai's souls. A deep rift blazoned the discordant steppe of Dâlzob Hûrûrz Mazauk, where hid then was a brook with pewter threads and festoons, where rills and brooks wind in deep, subterranean gorges through the glade. And, one legionnaire bade the shade that grotto had cast: lurching at its lip, a cleft of his face bedimmed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FyPE0u2muE A PALLOR spilled into his sunken skin: much unlike any Uruk, countenance embellished by boils and blains, and the vestiges of discord: scars. His ears behooved the sides of his head, below his brass-wrought burgonet, long and kept to fine points, finding resolve in the nigh-winding tumult which stirred astride himself. He listened, craven and sullen, languishing in cowardice: vicariously scheming some, in the pits of that glade. The rout of the Uruk-hai harrowed his mind, where vistas of the waking world he once dwelled seemed to open fore him. GRISHNÂKH'RAGUK, THE USURPER REX languidly exhumed himself from that rift, thrust into the throes of war. And he knew only one phrase: "… LUTAUM KÛ'PAR UL-RIUK!" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgWQOEKu5p8 _______________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________________________ 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.