三浦按针

still waters run deep.

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                  Nothing fades as fast as the future,                           Nothing clings like the past.

                     William Adams, Nioh 1 & 2, written by Rawbi (she/her, 30+)                                         Historical & Modern Fantasy RP      Exploring Concepts of Faith and Despair in the Face of Time's Inexorable March

                                     Rules & Character Information

                                             Lore ∞ Aesthetics

[eclecticlysm]

                         The world is ever-changing.                   What are you going to do about it?

eclecticlysm -- multimuse RP blog featuring muses from Rise of the Ronin, Warframe, Nioh (OC), and Dark Souls Written by Rawbi (she/her, 30+)

                                       Rules & Muse Information

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    He broke her heart. After everything she told William, everything he'd seen himself, the gunslinger left into the sunrise, and she did not follow.

    ...or did she?

    Gods, his head is killing him...

[ken-ken-photos]

1ounce

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( :3 )

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( as daunting as it is thinking about all the graphics I need to make, I might go ahead and make that multimuse.

what do you guys think? )

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( okay, potential multimuse lineup:

lucatiel (ds2) sakamoto ry.oma (rise of the ro.nin) fionn mac cu.mhaill (irish myth, set in the ni.oh universe) garuda (warf.rame)

maybe others later but I'd rather keep it small )

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.

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( okay, nutty idea time

what if I made a multimuse blog to resurrect past muses (lucatiel, dr. stra.nge, and ter.ry bogard are most likely) and try writing new ones (rotr ryoma for the most part but maybe a niohverse fionn mac cumhaill)

would anyone be interested )

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youve been through many time periods and associated fashions. which one was your favorite? which one was your least favorite?

    Fashions? As in clothing fashion?

    "You're asking the wrong person. I've never paid much attention to that." He has trouble remembering where he was two weeks ago. What he wore back in the day is less than a footnote in his memory. Yet as he wracks his brain...

    "Centuries ago, I wore a suit of armor enchanted through amrita with protection and healing. I fought armies in it. Japan, Ireland, Java... It was a second skin to me. Kept me alive and kept me going.

    "I don't know where it's gone." William sighs. "Rusted to nothing, most likely. It was a marvel in its time, but as blades fell out of fashion and guns improved... There was only so much punishment it could prevent."

    For a moment, he says nothing.

    "I owned little as a pirate. There were voyages all I had to my person was boots, two cotton shirts, and a pair of trousers. They were full of tears and hasty stitches by the time we came to port. I don't miss that."

    . . .he doesn't.

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( oh, post came up on my dash that reminded me

I don't really know DC but I like the concept of the lantern corps

William is a green lantern but an argument could be made for violet )

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( done with my week finally and feel like yapping so please by all means pester william )

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-- @hearthtales

    "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

    The uncertainty in his voice makes William wince. Face it: while Kevlar and leather are good at preventing him from becoming a red smear in a motorcycle crash, they're probably not the best for meeting fae royalty. Or maybe they are. He has no idea who runs the Court. Showing up as he is, mysterious stains and all, provides an honest picture. Come as you are and such.

    He folds his arms and frowns at himself in the mirror. Hadn't cared what he looked like four centuries past landing on foreign shores. Why care now?

    Because she does, part of him murmurs.

    William looses a long breath. "Ada," he says, turning to the seamstress, "Do what you think is right, but...I have one request."

    Saoirse perks up at the memory. How strong it made him feel. Like it was part of him. She smiles in his mind.

    "Many years ago...I had a long, blue scarf. The color of midnight, it..." Gods, how long was it? "It reached my knees." His lip turns at the thought, excitement threatening. "Can you do that?"

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( been playing a lot of RotR so here's something that burrowed into my head today. shrugs loudly at historical accuracy )

                                             - 1876 -                                             Arkansas

    "Bass."

    Reeves looks up from the fire.

    "How do you say...?" Across the flames, Ryoma Sakamoto points at the thousands of diamonds in the night sky.

    The samurai -- and Bass isn't certain what exactly that means, some kind of warrior-politician? -- is interesting. Call it grace of God or sheer dumb luck, life sure keeps him on his toes.

    Hadn't meant to get Sakamoto involved. In what was becoming routine, Bass told the horse thieves they were under arrest, to come quietly and not make a fuss. The saloon was half-full, something he also wanted to avoid, but it was take the opportunity or lose them to the plains.

    "Fuss?" was the reply, said with a smirk through tobacco-stained teeth, "Show you fuss, coal black sack of shi--"

    Hands flew to holsters and things got very loud, very fast.

    Bass felt a bullet bounce off his belt buckle before finding cover behind a flipped table. There were shouts, scrambling feet, clouds of gunsmoke. The fellow with long, bushy, gray-streaked hair at the bar Reeves hadn't given a single thought to slammed back the rest of his moonshine and threw himself to the floor. That was the first time he noticed the man carried his own iron.

    And in a surprise at the time and deep gratitude later, he pointed it at the thieves. Things got even faster.

    Two shots popped, two thieves dropped. The third bolted, running the man down, finger tight on the trigger. Bass barely saw the sword move, an upward cut quick as lightning. The thief had time enough to scream at the stump that'd been his arm before Bass put him out of his misery with a blast to the heart.

    The saloon stood still. Dust swam through the light. The man sheathed his blade, retrieved his hat from the bar, and gave Bass a smile. "How ah you?"

    His English has gotten better in the three days since then. Ryoma is a welcome addition to the posse. What words he lacked were made up for with pantomime and onomatopoeia, providing sorely needed entertainment. Sakamoto played out story lines Bass could barely follow on the campfire stage. Arms billowed like gliding wings, secrets whispered behind palms, imaginary steel clashed against his own shadow. Reeves had only seen stranger tales told by raving drunks.

    "Why are you here?" he asked on the second night.

    Ryoma thought about it, piecing vocabulary together. "I want to meet people," he said, smiling that way that won the entire posse over. Taking a map from his rucksack, he unfurled it, traced the route he was taking. California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas. Backwards from many travelers Bass met. His last destination was Boston, circled in ink.

    "Bass?"

    Reeves comes back to himself. "Oh. Stars. They're called stars."

    Ryoma nods, wagging his finger. "Mm. Hoshi."

    The fire crackles. Someone snores, another turns in his sleep. Bass trusts Sakamoto to keep watch if he too hits the hay, but he finds he likes the samurai's company. There's a keen mind behind the language barrier, he can tell, and he knows already he'll miss him when he leaves.

    "Same su-tahs," Ryoma says, face to the heavens, "Stahs. My home. Your home. The same."

    Going to miss him a lot.

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For Thine is the Kingdom

-- a closed thread with @bootscooted

    The good thing about Texan highways is the apparent complete disregard for speed limits. The bad thing is they're full of Texans.

    Unleashing the bike's full potential with a banshee scream never fails to scratch an itch good somewhere in William's soul. Let them call it a rice cooker. They wouldn't know a Ducati if it bit 'em. Let the road rage bullets fly. They have to hit a target doing one hundred sixty kilometers. His biggest concern is the trucks both large and small weaving through the lanes. They don't need to rush.

    He does.

    The good thing about the bike is its blistering speed. The bad thing is it doesn't last forever. Amidst the blur that is the side of the road, William spots it. The patron deity of the beaver temple.

    Beneath his leather riding gear, his skin crawls. It will have to do.

    He takes the off-ramp's shoulder, bypassing a line of cars that blast their horns indignantly. Skill issue, he thinks, one of his favorite sayings of the past century. Slowing down in the minefield that is the parking lot, he swoops to a stop at a gas pump.

    Okay. Hasn't died so far. Good.

    Adams reaches into a jacket pocket and comes up empty. Blue eyes widen under his helmet as he pats himself down. Fucking damn shit fuck if he's lost his wallet somewhere--

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( more muses need to call william "blondie" or variations thereof )

[machabre]

A commission for @rawbiredbest! + a cooler tone edit, I couldn't tell which one I liked more. :) I've never drawn a sporty motorcycle or done sunset-y lighting before but I'm pretty happy with how the leather and especially the bike turned out!