And Stay Down.

If y🕸 find a few bul🕸t🕸les in y🕸r post, that's p🕸bably my bad She / Her 🎕 Lesbian 🎕 "The Best Quality of a Traveler? Sheer luck."

[memories-of-ancients]

Wheel-lock pistol, Rhineland Germany, circa 1650

from The Victoria & Albert Museum

[blyddyn]

I think that’s a wheel lock converted to a flintlock

[qsycomplainsalot]

That's absolutely right.

[barbucomedie]

Bergmann 9 mm MP18-1 Submachine Gun from the German Empire dated to 1918 on display at the National Army Museum in London, England

This weapon was one of the world's first widely-used submachine guns, made for the Sturmtruppen, Stormtroopers, of the German Empire. Assault tactics became more advanced during the trench warfare of the Western Front and weapons adapted to fit these tactics. Slow firing and more powerful rifles were replaced by rapid firing and more compact weapons such as this. They were useful in clearing enemy trenches.

They proved their effectiveness during the German Spring Offensive of 1918. Rather than mass infantry assaults, the German army used smaller infiltration units to attack headquarters, artillery units and supply depots. While this was eefective in causing chaos in the Allied lines, there was little support to hold any of these positions from being recaptured.

Photographs taken by myself 2024

[handfulsofhistory]

Spanish Campo Giro pistol

[barbucomedie]

Kolibri Pistol from the Austro-Hungarian Empire dated to 1914 on display at the Army Museum in Stockholm, Sweden

The world's smallest automatic pistol was built by watchmaker Franz Pfannl in 1914.Handbag sized, it was designed for women to use in self-defence and was advertised as such. Due to it's size and power though it was not effective at causing much damage to an attacker but would discourage them from further attacks.

However, with the outbreak of the First World War it was discontinued to focus on more practical firearms for the military.

Photographs taken by myself 2025

[sharpshooting-rose]

New Journal; Entry 05

Today, I was awoken by a polite man, as thin as a pencil, in a bespoke black suit. He told me that he was simply checking my room to ensure that I hadn't any contrabands. I asked what he considered contrabands. He told me that anything which was not beautiful was a contraband which must be eliminated. He searched the room rather thoroughly, leaving when he realized I had nothing of the sort. At least, that would be his telling; I woke up much earlier, as I always do, and having seen this inspection of a man's home yesterday, I hid anything of the sort inside the uncomfortable mattress. After the typically unsatisfying breakfast, I stepped into the courtyard to enjoy the crisp air of the coming Winter. In the town square, I heard a great commotion. On a platform, I saw a man yesterday who the inspector had visited, his hands bound together. He appeared to have a red pock-mark on his cheek. I was told that it was the mark of sin; that he must have eaten something disgusting or created something unappealing or walked improperly in some sort or manner. Many of the kind and friendly villagepeople had their personal theories. Some said he committed an atrocity against another, others thought he had simply participated in something ugly. The inspector from earlier soon appeared on-stage with a long, beautiful, slender blade in hand. The way he walked, he appeared to be a remarkable expert in the craft. I have seen swordsmen trained for half-centuries who could not wield a blade so elegantly. With a single stroke, he gouged the blade through the man, leaving a cut so thin it was nearly imperceptible, until the accused began to spray a fountain of blood. It was certainly not the first execution I've witnessed, nor was it the most gruesome. Still, to watch a life end is no simple thing; and to see it so gratuitously celebrated brought a curdle to my stomach. Even still, the death was not the worst part. Despite its utter brutality, there was one thing about the murder I could not deny; it was beautiful. I almost wished that I could see it again, so that I may truly appreciate it. Luckily, that was the only execution scheduled for the day. Returning to my inn after recovering from my stupor, I found the inspector had already arrived. In his hands was an old, rusted trinket I have carried with me for half a decade, a small and ugly and unvarnished piece of metal. Holding his blade in one hand, he informed me that I had broken the village's most sacred rule; for it, I was to be executed. Before he could draw his blade, I pulled the Justiciar from its holster, leaving three clean holes in his chest. The sheets were ruined, which was a shame, because I had begun to appreciate how beautiful they were. Retrieving the trinket from his cold hands, I holstered my weapon, checked out of the hotel, and departed from the village without hesitation. While the village was beautiful, I was glad to be gone. I had an ugly side, after all.

I dub this the Prosperous Village.

Until my next stop.

[handfulsofhistory]

Double barrel pin-fire

[qsycomplainsalot]

That's a very unusual breech :0

[yuriartillery]

these girls are cool as fuck im outta my league

[yuriartillery]

im in a server with transfem bane what am i meant to do here

[yuriartillery]

im (generously) a pretty ordinary fighter with a high pain tolerance and a flexibility gimmick and ive been included in a group chat with the technical execution devil (localized cleverly as "the devil in the details") and the 50 kiloton woman. they're going to grind me into paste

[sharpshooting-rose]

Have you tried a revolver? One well-placed shot...

[armoredprincess]

Infantry blockhead’s tragic first and only encounter with the Bullet-Reflecting Palm

[sharpshooting-rose]

Sorry, I wasn't aiming for you...

Ignore the sound of that chandelier, by the way.

[siegemode]

Fuck this world, ill destroy it all

[yuriartillery]

i could win a fight against you* ** *** ****

*if i could have my sword

**and if you had a sword we were starting sheathed

***and ideally we'd both be sitting in seiza

****i promise all of this is meaningfully different from just sneak attacking you

[sharpshooting-rose]

Don't you know the old saying: "The gun is mightier than the sword"?

[sharpshooting-rose]

New Journal; Entry 04

I woke today to a rather disappointing sight. While the beds were draped in the most beautiful, soft satin sheets, and the bedframe carved from golden wood imported from villages a few-thousand kilometers away, the mattress underneath was remarkably uncomfortable, and halfway through the night, I unfurled my sleeping bag and slept on the floor. When I went downstairs, I found that breakfast smelled remarkable, and appeared as if it was painted by some of the masters. Better yet, its taste was unbelievable, better than anything I've ever eaten in all my life. At first, I cracked a joke that I may settle here simply for this food. As I continued to eat, though, I realized that though the food was a delight to my senses, it was substanceless, light, airy, and unfulfilling. The more I ate, the more hungry I felt, or at least it seemed that way. I took the man from yesterday up on the tour he suggested. More and more, I saw gaunt and hollow people in the most fantastic clothes. They were beautiful and graceful people who walked so precisely they almost appeared to be clockwork automata, trailing along like music-box ballerinas. And yet, most who I saw were weak and tired easily, requiring a large group to accomplish even the most simple task. As we passed by an orchard, I watched the laborious struggle of a cadre of workers in gold-studded overalls, who nonetheless required the might of three to hold steady a ladder, while the last plucked the final apples of the season with a persistent tremor. The man guiding me told me why this place was so beautiful; a hundred years prior, it had been a humble village of unfulfilled and ugly peasants. They ate large feasts, though they were untalented chefs and often their recipes were pedestrian and uninspired. They lived in small houses without luxury. They worked hard but for the short hours they did, they could not afford luxury! One day, a wise philosopher entered the village atop a beautiful horse. Draped in gold and jewels and robed in fine silk, he drew the attention of all the village. Holding a thick tome studded in fine leather, his radiant smile ingratiated himself to the village. He told them of his wisdom, that the best things in the world are the most beautiful; that our eyes were designed to discern good from bad by beauty. So said the wise philosopher, the ultimate good to which everything points is beauty. He was so beautiful, and his horse so captivating, and his robes so splendorous, that he captured the attention of the entire village, yes? They could tell, too, that he was good. And so the village entered a time of absolute prosperity. Though a small group of the village had both luxury and utility, those with little still had luxury. Because of this, they were the most luxurious, richest, most prosperous village in all the world! I asked whether or not he was fulfilled, but he simply laughed, saying that fulfillment is not the ultimate good; and that if he were to chase fulfillment, he would not be good. I eventually returned to my inn room, electing now from the beginning to sleep in my bag.

I wonder why beauty is so captivating.

Until tomorrow.

[yuriartillery]

these girls are cool as fuck im outta my league

[yuriartillery]

im in a server with transfem bane what am i meant to do here

[yuriartillery]

im (generously) a pretty ordinary fighter with a high pain tolerance and a flexibility gimmick and ive been included in a group chat with the technical execution devil (localized cleverly as "the devil in the details") and the 50 kiloton woman. they're going to grind me into paste

[sharpshooting-rose]

Have you tried a revolver? One well-placed shot...

[sharpshooting-rose]

New Journal; Entry 03

Today, I found a small village nestled in the embrace of the valley. A river passed by my side as I rode through. The village was rather beautiful; every street was paved perfectly, every branch obsessively trimmed, every home immaculate. I met a man, just a few years past his prime, who had fallen and required help. Though he was well-groomed and opulently dressed and with a proper posture, he was weak and could only stand for a few minutes before needing to sit, and his cheeks were gaunt and pale. I inquired why he was in such a state; and he informed me that he lived in the most luxurious village in all the world, and for it he was one of the richest men to ever live; certainly more than his father, or his father's father, or his father's father's father, who lived in a small cabin with ratty clothes and a mere dirt road. For tonight, I took my leave, though he offered to show me around the village tomorrow.

I wonder why he was so anemic.

Until tomorrow.

[sharpshooting-rose]

New Journal; Entry 02

The path here winds comfortably around the fat and shallow hills which lazily stretch into valleys here. The treeline has become little more than sporadic cover, the birds flying rarely yet always in long, weightless glides overhead, where their wings never flap.

I wonder what it would feel like, to be so weightless.

Until tomorrow.

[sharpshooting-rose]

New Journal; Entry 01

The bumps under my wheels are beginning to even out. The woods are beginning to thin. Where once grew lush and verdant the thicket that blotted the Sun, now there grows a thin underbrush. The leaves have begun to wither on the bough; The trittering croak of the nightjar has become a familiar lullaby, the bright and airy holler of the shrike a waking call.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

Until then.