Hephaestus

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.

________________________________________________________ SOME several dimples 'gainst the long and gelid countenance of that studious thane, LORD VLADISLAV OF CARRION, boded the semblance of a gregarious grin — either end of his maw met by a contingent of creases and pleats, his jaundiced, chartreuse teeth and molars cast unto limelight, with glee. "GRAND. PREPOSTEROUSLY GRAND." INCANTATED the man, his hoar guise bestead by a momentary warmth — a genteel, if were he to deign even, though borne from greed and wanton gluttony, — ten-thousand and threescore shreds and grains of cinder and brimstone displacing in the stead of that waxed parchment: rapt unto the resplendent fireside. ________________________________________________________

ONE Crow scrivener’s pensive survey capers the breadth of the scroll; a rime chill behooving him, as if to precede his exhausting of an abhorrent slur of croaks and wheezes. Withal, he bobs his crown in concordance: content with his writings.

Sleep easy, brother. Make good choices.

A contingent of Carrions cackle the Crow’s Caw.

true.

Please. Who could have thought curating 10 blocks of x material every 5 hours was a good idea? On paper, it drives roleplay – but, only in the least: point in case, Vortex was certainly not made with consideration of large-scale builds. For the love of God Almighty: just give us paid LC.

is this halal/kosher/vegan?

________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9xi4O4RvlnQ ] BIDING sombre respite yet, word o'th' grapevine betides the LAURIR OF MAEYR'ONN, IHIEVHII'THILLN MAEYR'ONN; a caper of his gilded survey, flitting thusly to and fro, and yonder glen, o'er the waxed parchment, bespoke an abiding tact, 'twixt the throes of a cerebral fit of scrutiny. A languid inebriation paved the frameworks of a humoured countenance, 'gainst his lambent pallid and pellucid –– digits twining the gnarled veneers of a threadbare chalice's stem, through and throughout, in copious indulgence: one could venture even, lilting dimples displaced o'er his equitable taut, boding his salt-swept smile. "DEATH TO'TH'… IMPURE, AN' HIS WAYS OF –– AH: SODOMY. MRM… MORE BOOZE, IF YE' MIGHT…" INTONATED that pompous equester –– begging manage a volte-face shift of his chiding stare, ceded then o'er the 'ker valet adjacent himself, MORDU'KER [ @Shah of Iran]: a decadent avarice betoken in his coeval, auric iris'. "MRMPH… … SWIFT ARE THE SPOILS; SPEEDY IS THE PLUNDER." ________________________________________________________________________

PROCLAMATION OF LAURIRSHIP CIRCA. 5TH OF THE GRAND HARVEST, 1830 ___________________________________________________ “EVARAL’ONN TALKARIMAR; PRESERVATION FROM VALOUR” – ANNALS OF THE MAEYR’ONN TALONNII, 1468. ___________________________________________________ WITH HEAVY HEART AND ARDOUR, IT IS THAT THE PRIMEVAL HOUSE OF MAEYR’ONN DECREES ITS LONG FERVENT BANNERMAN, IHIEVHII’THILLN NELECAR MAEYR’ONN, ITS JUST LAURIR; THROUGHOUT the vicissitudes of Haelun’orii governance, the last two-hundred winters, it has been observed by the Motherland’s assiduous vox populi that the presence of the long-lived Talonnii of MAEYR’ONN has been merely notional. That is to say, the mantle of Laurir, more titular and figurative than very much else; vicarious, simply. This is apprehended more so, under the tenure of El’Sohaer, KOLVAR URADIR, through which the house is wholly impertinent, and trivial –– and, one would venture even, irrelevant. WITHAL, given the return of IHIEVHII’THILLN NELECAR MAEYR’ONN, who arrives nigh in the Haelun’orii steppe that is the Isle of Daybreak, following a twenty-year’s sabbatical of his equestrian duties, it is seen fit that he be appointed the venerable truss of Laurir, in the absence of any other bannermen. This bill is seen seconded by the Laurir of Elibar’acal, his kindred nephew; as by the Laurir’s brother. IHIEVHII’THILLN NELECAR MAEYR’ONN demonstrates and proves both cerebral and martial aptitude, as is bespoken and evidenced by his feats of valour under the silver threshold that is the ORDER OF THE SILVER LION; and, his consummate scholarship in the field of the alchemical. He harkens to both the genteel lines of NELECAR MAEYR’ONN, ‘THE LION,’ and CENWALL MAEYR’ONN, ‘THE FROG;’ Sohaer and Ah’Sohaer respectively, whose tall tales span the purest annals of Haelun'or, and shall yet for thousands of ages. ___________________________________________________ SIGNED, IHIEVHII’THILLN NELECAR MAEYR’ONN. ___________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________________________________________ [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgDgM2sJe24 ] "AH, SWEET CHILD OF GOD, RETURNED TO THE OCEAN; MARITIME'S NURSERY, MEASURELESS A CURSE MEASURELESS A SEA ACCEPTING OF ALL THERE IS THAT CAN BE … AND WILL BE." – ECCLESIASTICS OF RENATUS, 1677. RAVENOUS soughs o'er Woldzmir's bounties augured the fast-stirring toss of tempests; spoils of dead rock and granite girdled 'round the lip of a bank and shoal of the Dobrovii waters' waxing viridescence –– and VLADISLAV, THE CROW OF PETRA TURRIS bade a pedantic survey, down to a sunless sea. Tempered smogs flout a periwinkle firmament in strokes of lead; an ashen tumult of hoar frost and silver flouting the gelid vista from glen to yonder glen. 'Twixt its tepid throes, thrashing in reel and route 'gainst vermillion raiments, that bohemian lord's digits narrowed stranglehold o'er a waxen scroll of ivory parchment; the gnarled tract of Common glyphs spanning its breadth, saccharine miasma triumphing the fetid of that wan crag and cliffside. Reprising e'er, a salt-swept distortion foundered VLADISLAV's own thought; "I FEEL… UNWELL, HELEN: WHATEVER IS THIS… MALADY?" "SHALL YOU ACCOMPANY ME, ONE FINAL TIME?" HE CRANED HIS HAND UPWARDS THEN, CALLOUSES FEELING TO AND ABOUT HIS EYES; DISCERNING YET, THAT THE SKIN HAD BEEN CRACKED, AND COLD. ONE MIGHT VENTURE… OLD. TEETERING to and fro yet, obliging manage a caper in his own, exanimate stoicism, the CROW queried of a hastening howl in the horizon –– a festering, windswept gelid rapt unto him, mild trepidation ceded down and throughout his spine: maw, then, a riddle of anaemic flush and halftones. Charting a nugatory count of footfalls onward then, clandestine rumination descended o'er that presbyter thane, in a fit of macabre quietude. Deliberating a brisk, volte-face pivot of his form then, he made about, rereward; swallowed whole, from the naves to'th' chops, by the squalid nimbus of that sea-girt archipelago, thrust into the belly of the night, to make amends with those who would soon be UNDEAD –– For… DEAD MEN TOLD NO TALES. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________________________________________

My only concern would be that this seems a little close to Sens. Illusion. Otherwise pretty neat; I enjoy seeing interesting little curios like this that really have the potential of tying narratives together, if not spark new ones. +1