Afro Samurai

The tales of Calradia

Brenna had heard the whispers in the air of some nobles summoning folks high and low to the border of Swadia and Rhodok to swear legiances and swords to their respective kingdoms. She scoffed at the idea, she would make her own way--although it couldn't hurt to go to the ordeal, she always heard how these balls where these nobles congregate is a good a time as any to make a few connectoins; maybe she could woo some old hag into courting her. But first she had to doll herself up a bit. Surely they wouldn't let a peasant into a house of lords. Sunrise above, Brenna put down her scythe and went inside to wash up as best she could; there were few adequate means of hygiene on this ragged farm--she was one of the few young hands her employed to tend to the fields in his sickly days, but he was the only one with any experience in irridation and piping; "a girl shouldn't dirty her hands like that, darlin'", pfft.

So she found the best wear she could, an olive green dress and a cheap golden neckless. She pulled her hair back and twisted it into a bun, sure to let no strang loose--she heard the upper class thought it wasn't "fitting of an upright woman" to have loose ends. To them, it meant a woman was sloppy. Idiotic lords and their arbitrary customs. But alas, she had no time to waste. She went to her father's quarters and kissed him on the cheek--he was sleeping.

"I'll be back, papa. I promise." Soft fingertips rubbed his wrinkled forehead and she turned to leave the room. Just before she did, she remembered something; the dagger her father used to carry with him in his younger years when he would visit the taverns. He always kept it in the drawer next to his bed when he slept. She quietly peeled open the drawer andd acquired the dagger which she holstered in one of her bra straps.

Then she set out to the horse stable to acquire one of the smaller, speedier steeds. She saddled up and rode off. It took her no time--an hour at most--to reach the border where this soiree was taking place. She dismounted the horse a few paces away, they'd think her a raider or a pirate. She moved up to the gates and put on her best prim accent,

"Pardon me, sirs--" an inviting, soft smile. "--I am an attendant of one of the ladies."

"Who?" One of the brutish guards repulsed. She had half a mind to slit his throat right then.

"Lady Eskyr" a made up name to be sure, but one that sounded close enough to a relative of the high-crown that she had overheard during one of her occasional trips to the local taverns. Hopefully this made up noblewoman had lots of servants.

To her suprise, the guards stepped aside. The path to glory had begun.

The tales of Calradia

@Dusty Once you're accepted you're free to post in IC.

Welcome to Marchand!

Herman encountered Britney because she was nice enough to help him carry his luggage. He made a sorry attempt to look cool and it backfired, he thinks she dislikes him now, then Erica showed up and told him to get a move on to which Herman was going to bravely stand up for himself but then, of course, he didn't. He's taken his broken pride and his luggage into the kitchen where he enjoys pancakes by his lonesome.

Olympus Academy

Demetrius had tied his braids up and pulled them back in a ponytail. He wore swim-shorts and no shirt, basking in the rain as it beat down on him. He glanced up to the sky and winked, a silent thank you to his father. He picked up his surfboard and wafted a hand at one of the many rain puddles that began to form on the ground to coagulate the water into a small pond with enough motion for his surfboard to skirt across the top. Arms extended out to either side as he pretended to shred massive waves, an occasional "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" voiced his pleasure with such a mundane activity.

He carried himself with the swagger of an earthly mortal rap-star. He hadn't bothered registering for classes or even signing in so the teachers and administrators knew he was indeed present. After all, his father was Poseidon, one of the big dogs of the pantheon; it's not like they'd have the gall to suspend him or expel him. One word to pops and this whole place gets drowned! And so he continued as is, idle surfing along a thick body of water in the courtyard of the school--he watched as more responsible students made their way into the academy and did the things he should have been doing. It didn't bother him much--he'd get to it eventually.

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐚 𝐍𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚

Uncle Pappallo

“Hey, listen; I forgive you. I ain't so sure about the big fella though, you know what I mean?”

Name
Dominick "Uncle" Pappallo.

Ethnicity

Italian American

Age: 41.

Loyalty

Lombardi.

Rank

Caporegime.

Personality Traits
Extremely loyal.
Quiet and strict.
Authoritative.
Respectful of even his enemies.
Formulaic.

Skills & Talents
Efficient at reading and understanding others.
Patient.
Merciful, perhaps to a fault.
Kind.

Weaknesses
Not the most aggressive person in this brutal line of work.
His softness his often mistaken for submission.
May be easily decieved by someone more cunning than himself.
Sometimes he can be a push-over.

Background Information

Born to Michael and Antoinette Pappallo in the southside of New Jersey in 1900, his father packed his family up and hauled them off to Queens after receiving a new job. It is on the streets of Queens that young Dominick found his way into the unsavory: stealing stereos, boosting cigarettes, stealing from fruit stands. He spent young adult years (21-30) making a name for himself as a local tough guy who worked well with his fists and his mouth.

Eventually he caught the eye of some of the wisemen around Queens and soon was a respected associate of the Lombardi. Pappallo didn't "make his bones" in the same vein as other mobsters--he didn't commit a murder. Pappallo made his bones by earning: he ran bookie and loan shark operations, white collar crimes, money laundering, embezzlement, buying off judges, doctors, and politicians. He established relationships within and outside of the underworld and was soon a rising star in the underworld and within his own respective crime family.

And while Pappallo himself has avoided pulling triggers for most of his criminal career, he is not averse to calling hits when necessary. Even when ordering an execution, he is selective and careful; he does not bring death to those who do not deserve it, or those who have no involvement with the underworld. He also tends to avoid harming insignificant street hoods (petty drug dealers/users, petty thieves, etc.) His good nature, calm demeanor, and intuitive knowledge of humans serve to make him one of the most respected and beloved characters in all of the underworld; it is also the reason he runs a large cell of soldiers underneath Don Lombardi--Uncle Pappallo's legitimate connections in combination with the sheer number of made men and associates under his command make his reach seemingly endless.

Things I'd Never Do If I Ever Became an Evil Overlord (#121 I will not attempt to use an artifact that I know can only be used by the pure of heart)

Name: Habervast The Invincible White Mage-King XIX
Nickname: King Habervast the Wonderous
Alias: The Greatest Mage of All Time
Title: Mage-King
CB Handle: not_habbyv1
Slurs your frenemies call you: None. They're all dead.
Pet name from your SO, if you're fortunate enough to have one because I haven't kidnapped them yet: None.

Species: Human.
Race/ethnicity: Afro-Cuban-Swiss-Scottish-German-Brazilian
Gender: Male
Alignment: Good
Occupation: Bandit leader

Smart Bio: Trained by other wizards. Worked at Cluck N' Duck for three years before the manager disappeared and he usur--took over. When not wizarding, he collects plush teddy bears and enchants them so he has people to talk to. Brings his favorite teddy, Lord Stuffington, on adventures with him.

Powers (put anything. I dare you. Seriously.): Transcendent Mage Phsysiology.

Mage-King Habervast can bend and alter the laws of magic themselves and create his own school of magic if he so wishes. Can remove the effects of spells cast against him, and he can also learn other magics regardless of the school in which he is initially trained. He can remove spell-casting requirements and negate magic effects on others. He is immune to magical effects. He accidentally cursed himself with semi-immortality, and thus he never ages. It does not mean he cannot die, but his soul will return to the Mage Circle in the Sky, where he will be deemed worthy/unworthy of being placed back into a new body--if deemed unworthy by the Magi Circle in the Sky, he remains dead forever; if deemed worthy, he returns.

Weapons/other items carried: A backpack of several colors of robes for each day of the week, and a few robes with different color-types that he often changes depending on his mood. A ruby red ring on his finger. A large bostaff. An ancient "indestructible" wizarding wand.

Appearance (Realistic pic preferred. No anime. Not trying to be funny here.):



Other:

@Infamous Empath

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

Mazone Tetu

Name:
Mazone (mah-ZON] Tetu (Teh-Two)

Age:
31.

Brand:
Body

Weapon & Rune (if they have one): An Estoc with a lightning rune and a rapier sword with a myst rune. A dagger tucked into one side of his coat; an arming sword tucked into the suspenders beneath his coat.

Faction:

Wanderer.

Personality:
Suave. A true gentlemen of old Aristocracy but modern flavor. He is charming as his smile is bright and wide, and his hair is impeccable.

Background:

• Trained from a boy as a swordsman by his military father.
• Moved up the social ladder as his father became a lieutenant general and later a general in the army.
• Spent decent amount of time around nobility.
• Rune appears when he hits puberty.
• Studies runes and runic magic in general to learn what this newfound insignia is.
• Begins training his rune powers at 16.
• Trained with some of the finest swordsman in the land as a teenager and young adult.
• Forsook status and became a wandering bladesman.
• Disowned by father.
• Seeks to begin new life in Kokotha.

Other: Is never sloppy, always adorned in fine clothes (though flamboyant).

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

"Sounds good to me." He replied. This is the most he heard her talk all night. Gradually, his guard began to wane--maybe it was because he had started to consider her a real ally, maybe it was because the dull boredom of conversation was rising in the back of his mind. He couldn't stand the smell of coffee beans and tactless perfume bombarding his nose any longer, so he grabbed the train of his trenchcoat with a hand and rose from his seat.

He fixed his coat, keeping sure that his Estoc and his Rapier were as hidden as possible in the trenchcoat. This was quite a foolish idea, the Rapier blade extended far past the length of the trenchcoat. No matter, it wasn't like anyone could take it off him by snatching the blade anyway--he'd have their head for it, literally. He adjusted the suspenders that held the sheaths to his dagger and his arming sword fully concealed from sight beneath the trenchcoat's insides. He had to be able to walk normal if he was going to be dancing all night.

"Let's get out of here; I'll show you I'm a man of my word and the finest Waltzer in town, love." Mazone smirked, devilish.

@Yomojo

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

"What is it that you do?" He may as well come right out with it, he thought. She seemed comfortable around him enough that he could ask such a quasi-personal question. The best thing he could do right now is make an ally--maybe a friend or two. Those always come in handy in the future, he figured. Besides, he'd probably need some money some day and thought he may as well amass a blacklist of people he could mooch a few bucks from.

His interest returned to the conversation and away from his solipsistic wondering. Of the few remaining questions he had, one had to do with the kind of rune she got, though he thought the question trivial as 'what's your favorite movie' or anything in that vein of speed-date questionnaire format. His rapier snugged against his coat and he jiggled the large handle, his attention remained focused on Lucy while he fiddled. In the back of his mind he wondered if anything interesting would happen any time soon.

@Yomojo

Welcome to Marchand!

Sure, he wasn't popular. Sure, he was scrawny. Sure, he had an oddly shaped head and was built like a toothpick. But by golly was he not going to be pushed around by some girl who thought she was hot stuff! Courageous, he inhaled through his diaphragm so his chest poked out and he appeared bigger, then he bravely espoused:

"I'M A--" coward.
"Yeah, ... alright." He used the girl's carrier/trolley and pushed his luggage down the hallway toward the wafting scent of the pancakes, where several students and a few teachers appeared to have gathered. His bony, wanting legs pushed with a vigor surprising for one his size. Once he had the opportunity to depart from the luggage that had all but soured the first twenty minutes of his first day, he moved right for a plate and some silverware. And then he gorged.

No syrup, he liked his 'jacks straight. No knife, either--if he couldn't shovel the golden brown goodness down his throat in two bites, he wasn't fit to wear the heart-shaped bib currently tied around his neck. He'd have broken the symbolism of the heart--that is, his love for food. He was at peace for once. Perhaps he was just malnourished, but these pancakes altered his senses. They had to be laced with something. Is that what this place is? Just some big drug den? That'd explain all this talk about 'magic.' He didn't have time to pontificate the implications of such a reality...

He had pancakes to finish! ...Although come to think of it, that second girl was pretty cute, too.

@Mr Allen J @Dodi do 900