Rusty Derringer

A ragged peasant squints at the proclamation, then searches his pockets. He pulls out lint, a pebble, and half a dried onion. “By GOD” he exclaims, he is so very sad.

New spell?

******* prude.

Ettiéne stood amidst the aftermath of the skirmish, his chest heaving beneath the weight of his brigandine. The metallic tang of blood and sweat filled the air as he surveyed the scene, feeling a strange but familiar satisfaction in having won yet another battle. His pale grey eyes, usually calm and collected, flickered with remnants of adrenaline. A young brigand rushed towards him, breathless and clutching a weathered parchment. "Etti," the boy stammered, extending a notice spread far and wide with trembling hands. Ettiéne took it without a word, His eyes moved across the penned words, each sentence driving a fresh dagger into his heart. Shock rippled through Ettiene like an unexpected blow from an unseen enemy. "Tatti? Engaged to HIM?" His fingers tightened around the parchment until it crumpled into a ball of resentment and heartbreak. "Damn that Knight and damn the King!" He barely recognized his own voice—low, trembling with raw emotions that had been dormant for too long. His usually relaxed demeanor shattered like fragile glass, replaced by a fervor that surprised even him. Ettiéne didn’t just feel betrayed; he felt blindsided, run through with a sword of deceit. He crumpled the letter further, his knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip. Panic and anger surged through him in equal measures, tangling together in a tempest that left him breathless. "Tatiyana," he muttered under his breath, as though saying her name could bring her back to him. Without wasting another moment, he barked orders to his men to secure the encampment and made haste to mount his horse. The beast, sensing its master’s urgency, stomped and snorted impatiently. Ettiéne swung onto its back with practiced ease, his mind a maelstorm as furious as the storm clouds brewing overhead.

When viewing replies on status updates from the forum page (without navigating to the specific status update), it is not possible to see all replies. It only shows the latest replies, and prev/next buttons do nothing.

Problem solved.

Personal preference, but I prefer the directory at the top of the page instead of only at the bottom, which is how it is in the new theme. It makes navigating a lot easier. This thing ^

Orange is my favorite lightsaber color.

[[OOC]] IGN: Rusty_Derringer [[ OOC]] Discord: oliver_eng Name: Wyn Where are you from?: Unaffiliated

Delete this. The baboon blew my daddy's legs off.

Would Argentum count as silver?

[Written with a weary hand—no, a hand both rigid and unyielding—each stroke of the pen was a battle against its own constraints, these reflections emerged as if drawn from the depths of a restless soul. It is as if the very act of writing was an act of defiance, the ink splotchy and uneven. The text can be found folded neatly next to a notice board. The paper, slightly crumpled from being handled, seemed out of place among the posters and mundane advertisements. Its presence invited passersby to pause and reflect, to unfold the paper and delve into the musings of an unknown author.] What is the self but a construct, a figment, a mirage? We carry the burden of our names and roles as if they are the essence of our being, but in truth, they are nothing but fleeting, insignificant shadows of an ever-changing consciousness, slipping through our fingers like sand. It is only in times of solace and torment intertwined, in the moments between wakefulness and sleep, that these shadows take truthful shape before dissolving into mist. Dreams are false illusions and the heralds of truths half-hidden in their folds. The Oyashiman, with her resilient spirit and trembling leg, rages against the tyranny of pain. She reminds me that life is a concoction of disappointment, reward, and desperation in her path of defiance against the illusion that the world is a domain of suffering. It is in dreams we escape; in dreams that we find the seeds of our deepest longings, our most profound truths. She does not dream much I think, but through her struggle, we see that even amidst shadows there is a whisper of meaning beyond identity. In armor, I am One, an identity forged in battlefield and conflict, despised and hunted. Without it, I am Another, a name that hovers like a ghost, whispering only in the echoing silence of forgotten libraries. Untouchable? Perhaps it is an arrogant conceit. It lives on the edge of understanding, teasing and elusive, shimmering like a mirage that beckons yet never stays to be grasped. The steward of many dead men, with dead ideas persisting in his flesh, with sanguine-gold embers and cryptic wisdom, speaks of a world where we are more than tools in each other’s hands. To be living is to be more than paintbrushes wielded, but masterpieces hidden within the canvas of our own perceptions. It remains a beacon, the golden gift, divine privilege, the light shining on the self, allowing for alignment with all that is. There is peril in dreams. Wondrous and fractal, unfurling in patterns too sublime to map. Elixirs that lead us to wonder, but mothers of disappointment, forges where they are cast. Every step into the garden of dreams is fraught with the thorned ivy of despair beneath blossoms of unparalleled beauty. Do eyes perceive, or is it the fog embracing translucent night? In every challenge, every defiance against limitation, It etches its lessons with delicate and brutal hands alike. Whether chased by shadows in waking life, or dancing in somnolent realms, the pursuit remains immutable. The dance of dreaming and living colliding in the banal and divine, light and dark forging paths filled with fleeting clarity, sibilant in echoing. In every dream, however perilous, from my wearied heart and weary feet, true purpose whispers; the spirit must concur through limited veils. I dare to dream—for to dream is to be. If you dare to dream, beyond the convoluted machinations, the tangled schemes, and the arbitrary morality they've decided, find me.

Skin: - Automaton [1] Bid: - 15 $ Discord: - oliver_eng IGN: - Rusty_Derringer