Afro Samurai

The Young Avengers: Probation

Aight

Justice League: Shadow of the Gods (Always Open)

M A H A R A

S H I R U T A, K H A N D A Q

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^{January 1st, 2052 | 0500 Hours | Shiruta, Kahndaq, Egypt, Africa}

Mahara lay awake in her bed; sun peeked through satin purple curtains. She rolled over. Her helmet lay beside her bed, the rest of her armor in a armory case on the far end of the room. It was drill time yet again, but only with the newest of the duwain. Basic drills. A run across the desert. Ample water abound, she would not let them pass out. It was, after all, their first morning on the job. After their run, she would have them work formations and tactics: pincer, bullhorn, hammer, anvil. Then they could rest. She had preparing of her own to do.

She rose and collected herself. Basic hygeine taken care of, she donned her armor and blade and moved outside to speak to the small gathering of recruits who stood bracing themselves in the cold winter wind. There were a few hundred of them, and beside the general stood her captain, Faruq. Faruq was a lithe young man, some years her junior; black pupils scanned the faces of these men and women with more scorn than Mahara could ever muster. After some dramatic silence, Mahara spoke to the teeth-chattering soldiers who braved these gelid desert sands.

”Welcome to your first day; you will not enjoy it. You will come out of it better soldiers, soldiers worthy of fighting for your country and your people! ^{If you don’t die, that is!} the captain to my left is your supervising officer. Any complaints, you take them to him. Any disputes… there will be no disputes; we do not tolerate infighting here, understood? Good.” she gave a warm smile to them all, “come back in one piece, soldiers, your country needs you.” she turned, her matte black helmet clutched against her hip.

Back to her quarters, she sat on her bed and discarded the gauntlets of her armor to her side. Both hands ran down her face; she stared up at Kahndaq’s flag which was plastered on the wall next to her bed. She loved her country and her father, and she would go to any length to protect it--it did not mean that she rested well. Each night there was the stress of the future; another task, another assignment. There were the spirits most of all; visions of the tombs she had not visited in years, calling to her. Lucid accompaniments of her body mummified, wrapped in a black sarcophagus. She rose, he paced.

She was too settled. Action always dulled her. A knock on her door; it was one of the many courier girls who ran messages to and fro the King, who was her father, and herself. Her name was Farrah. She was but ten years Mahara’s junior; Mahara listened to the girl’s message,

“Your father wishes to see you, my lady.” Mahara gave the girl a firm nod, playing the social strata as it should be. Some leftover dolma sat wrapped in plastic atop her desk; she gave the girl one of the seran wrapped rolls and with a wave of her hand, she sent the girl away.
”What now?”

@MrDidact

DC Unlimited 2.0 (Titans / JLU / Open World RP)

Played it sparingly a few years ago, from what I played and heard it's pretty mediocre and nothing special. Cover art was cool though.

@Chain

Entirely unrelated, I'm just here to say hail the mighty Viktor Vaughn DOOM.

Justice League: Shadow of the Gods (Always Open)

Mahara Adam

M A H A R A

_{[ ◈ ] N A M E}

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Mahara Adam

_{[ ◈ ] A L I A S E S}

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None.

_{[ ◈ ] A G E}

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29.

_{[ ◈ ] B I R T H P L A C E}

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Kahndaq, Egypt, Africa.

_{[ ◈ ] A L L E G I A N C E}

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Legion of Doom.

_{[ ◈ ] P O S I T I O N}

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General of Kahndaq’s Army.
Liaison.

_{[ ◈ ] A P P E A R A N C E}

---

Mahara is well built, her frame sturdy and strong. She is tall, standing at 6’0. Under her father’s tutelage, Mahara has seen rigorous physical training regimen. She is not a physical powerhouse. For garment, she favors embroidered cloaks with arrays of colors. When commanding or in training, she wears battlearmor. Otherwise, one will always find her in kokos or other traditional royal guard.

_{[ ◈ ] A B I L I T I E S // S K I L L S // E Q U I P M E N T}

---

Ancestral Black Magic
Mahara has studied the mysticism of her homeland since the beginning of the Second Cold War. Her father’s forays into the mystic have been passed down to her. She uses the tomes, scrolls, and incantations uncovered in the crypts and catacombs of Egypt to cast violent magic spells and speak to spirits.

Wards and Shields: Mahara can erect mystical barriers and wards which disintegrate other spells and natural projectiles once contact with her shields are made. These shields are small and can only be used for her own protection. With sufficient physical force, her shields will falter.

Flame of Apep: Lifted from ancient hieroglyph, this spell--induced by ancient Coptic language-- produces a black flame which burns until the spell is uttered again and is extinguished. This spell can be directed at one person or several--the latter is requires a significant amount of her mana pool. It is Mahara’s only spell which is always passively active and is a constant drain on her mana pool. It is also the one she uses the most as a result.

Eyes of Hequet: When active, both of Mahara’s eyes twist into a yellow-blue; with this spell cast, Mahara can manipulate facets of terrain. For instance, she can transmute the ground beneath someone’s feet into quicksand. When changing the structure of a terrain, she can only change the terrain to something within that specific element (i.e. she can change sand into hardened earth or mud) or in the case of non-natural terrain like a metal floor, she can revert the space beneath an individual (or a group’s) feet into its former state (i.e. revert a metal floor into its heated state before it cooled). This spell is a rarity and when she does use it, it requires her to rest for weeks at a time.

Blade of Isis: A razor sharp blade which allows her to cut through a myriad of things. It is breakable and cannot rend through those whose skin is superhumanly tough.

Telekinesis: She can lift heavy objects (a small car). Most of the time she uses her telekinesis to maneuver small objects and subtly push and pull opponents about while in the course of battle.

Half-mortal: Mahara’s genes have been altered by the magic coursing through her father’s veins. Born from union with the immortal Black Adam and a human mother, Mahara ages slower than a normal human.

Enhanced Stamina: Resulting from her body’s rigorous martial training and her father’s magic, Mahara does not tire quick as normal humans. Her body can operate for up to one day without ceasing before she must rest for three to four days.

_{[ ◈ ] L I M I T A T I O N S // W E A K N E S S E S}

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A human: Aside from her sorcery, Maha is is still part human. She can be killed through conventional means. She needs to eat, sleep, breathe, etc.

Still learning: While a powerful sorcerer, Thema is no master by any means and she can be outdone by someone who is more powerful or more experienced, or both.

Arrogant: She has inherited her father's haughty and proves stubborn when given council which diverges from her own.

Not endless: Mahara has something of a mana pool which she must maintain with rest and sustenance and so she cannot cast her spells consistently and most of her spells require a great deal of her mana to cast.

Nightmares: She suffers from persistent night terrors. The stress of her charge has robbed her of a many a night of sleep, and has made her unnerved and a little paranoid.

With a Price: Mahara can--when her mana is low--supplicate the aid of ancient Egyptian spirits to temporarily boost her mana or allow her to cast spells quicker (but with less efficiency). Should she choose to call on these ancestral spirits, she may find herself drawing closer to the land of the dead or possessed by one of the spirits.

Fear of failure: As understatement, her father is a hard and unforgiving man to his enemies and to those who fail him. Maha, as a result, is a perfectionist. She fears her father and from that fear is often driven to rash decisions which are not always the smartest. Her fear of failure also exacerbates her anxiety.

_{[ ◈ ] B I O G R A P H Y}

---

Born to Teth Adam and his second wife, Mahara was bred from birth to be her father’s successor--to be the beginning of her father’s desperate attempts at a family. Adam and his second wife had multiple children, few of which survived. Her father believed it was a curse from that Wizard, one in a many tricks to bring destruction to that thing which the Wizard could no longer control--Adam himself. Zealous, Adam rushed his daughter through her childhood. Out of her he made a warrior, one in his own tyrannical image.

Adam’s plans--and his attitude--changed when the Second Cold War happened. Kahndaq, as the bridge between the Middle East and other African nations, was caught right in the middle. Afraid of what would happen to his second wife and his newest attempt at a family for himself, Adam softened his approach. The change came late, for he had bred a seed which was nearly him reborn. The Legion of Doom came to Kahndaq’s door, and Mahara--now old enough to be part of her father’s affairs--stood by her father’s side as open war raged across Kahndaq and other parts of Africa.

Bearing sword and armor, Mahara joins her father’s army and participates in the first campaign to repel the invasions into the Egyptian region and,subsequently, Kahndaq territory by the Neo-Thanagarians in 2047. In the Battle of Shiruta, the Kahndaqi army’s defense of the capital city, Mahara is injured in battle and returns home. It is during her recovery period that she discovers the truth of her father’s power and begins delving into ancestral magic.

As her father deals with matters of the Council of Light and employs another general to lead his army, Mahara studies the magic of her home. She reads, she learns ancient Coptic--the language of the eldest purported mages in the land. More, she takes up exploration, and with the state appointed archaeology team she excavates and studies the objects inside the tombs and crypts of long dead souls. Her forays into the magic of the dead activates the mana in her blood. Her tampering with the underworld becomes the first of her fatal errors.

For her meddling, she is cursed with terrors. What some call lucid dreams, she knows as ancestral vengeance. Those who disrespect the dead are haunted by them, as Mahara is. In her quest for power, she finds no more rest. Awake nearly all the time, Mahara’s psyche teeters. She becomes stringent, brash, sometimes completely irrational. When the spirits are assuaged, and she does rest, she does not learn her lesson and spends her waking hours investigating the secrets of the other side.

In mid 2047, once Mahara has recovered from her injury, Black Adam returns home from his long hiatus while dealing with Council business. Around the same time, Mahara re-joins her father’s army and participates in Kahndaq’s conquest of the Egyptian region, fighting in battles against the Neo-Thanagarians along the Sinai Peninsula, Cairo, Thebes, Alexandria, and Giza. Mahara uses her newound sorcery to turn tides in battles and helps the Khandaqi army stand against the Neo-Thanagarian offenses in Egypt. Her efforts are not enough to see the Kahndaqi's successful in pushing back the Neo-Thanagarians thanks to their anti-magic technology. Nonetheless, She rises through the ranks of the army, and learns from the then field general, Amon Farriq-awwal Hayaar, the ways of leading and conducting military organization and tactics.

As the outright fighting subsides during the early years of the new decade, the Kahndaqi army, under Amon's direction, changes with the tide of the war. No more displays of brute force, the army now has to adapt to the espionage, infiltration, lying. Amon--just as out of his element as the rest of Kahndaq--struggles to adjust the militant nation to one of black ops. When Amon is assassinated in 2052, Mahara is elevated to general of the army. Mahara is, like Amon, left trying to figure out how to adapt to this new age of covert warfare--all with tumultuous results.

And this new world brought her no peace, and in fact only causes her more stress. Her nightmares persist, and beneath the pressure of living up to her father’s expectation, she finds herself crumbling.

_{[ ◈ ] N O T E S}

---

_{[ ◈ ] S O U R C E}

---

Europa Universalis 4, Black Adam, The Warriors by J. Glenn Gray.

Caravan: Resurrection

^{The Rise of Kul}

Smor’Gen’Blok

Za’Kul’s shoulders relaxed. He could breathe. His father always had a way of maintaining his calm; it was almost like he had a soothing aura about him. It was just from his experience. Za’Kul rose to his feet. There would be no war, but there would have to be osme repercussions, surely? What was next for Za’Kul and his clan?

He also wondered what was next for his father; Ha’Kul was older, near the end of the life cycle even as a Lok’Sha. It worried him just slightly. Za’Kul trailed his father,

“What next for us then, Pa?”

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

I think I’m gonna make a young-ish Jedi Knight/Padawan, if someone wants to make a Master to go along with them. Just let me know, could be cool!

@Amaranth

certainly would

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

interest

Caravan: Resurrection

^{The Rise of Kul}

Smor’Gen’Blok

Za’Kul rose to a crouch, always remaining eye level with his father when they spoke one-on-one. His three hearts had slowed to normal pace and he was getting his bearings. Wits about him, he scrounged a reply,

“Hi’Wor die in collapse. Wor’Boa… Wor’Boa not there at all.” What was more worrying to Za’Kul was what may happen when word spread of the tunnel’s collapse. Who would get the blame? If Za’Kul knew Smor’Gen’Blok right, it would be the Low tribes, it didn’t matter if they were responsible or not.

“You sure sending Kul down there smart? What we do when other tribe hear? What if other tribe want want war? What we do, Pa?”

Caravan: Resurrection

^{The Rise of Kul}

Smor’Gen’Blok

Za’Kul stood with an unnerved look racked in his eyes. Three of his four hearts beat in rapid succession, it was the closest thing he could reckon a Lok’Sha felt to fear and bewilderment. Not knowing whether one was going to survive a perilous situation made all ensouled things panic, no matter the conventions surrounding the nature of their people. Za’Kul knelt on shaking legs to his father and to Ju’Kul, head bowed. His supplication followed,

“Pa. Ju’Kul. I bring Wor in peace, they come in peace. Need home.” he stayed on one knee with his head bowed. Ultimately, the decision was not his but his father’s.

If he was truthful with himself, Za’Kul had no idea what he was doing. As one of the younger members of the expanding Kul tribe, he acted on impulse which--as it is traditionally-absent of the cold reason which blesses one while he ages. As of late, words poured from his mouth without direction; so far, it had been working. The would-be leader wondered how much longer he had before his luck ran out.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

^{Baton Rouge, Louisiana
An old plantation
July 11th, 6:00 p.m.}

_{”In the business of cavalier men, I am something of a savant.”}

- Hunter, the White Wolf

---

Upstairs in the drawing room of the old plantation sat a man in a white suit, purple cravat, white pants, and white alligator shoes. Peppered grey strands of hair sprinkled the top of his head. He was reading a copy of The National Voyeur; there was a story in there about a hero whose moniker was Wonder Woman. A lifted eyebrow, smoke from a pipe shimmering above and into the ceiling. Before Hunter sat Ulysses Klaw, twiddling his thumbs and fidgeting; the two had not spoken a word to one another since Klaw got here twenty minutes ago. Klaue enjoyed silence in small doses, but this was grating his nerves. He spat some words which hoped to cut the silence,

“So, heh… about this uh, this assassination thing. You expecting me to uh, infiltrate this Wakanda place just... “ he put two fingers to his temple and pulled his thumb-trigger, “pew! Their king? You don’t think maybe, uh, there might be some… insatiable desire for, y’know, revenge?”

Outside was the butler, an African man named Kwame, who was preparing tea and pancakes. He and the wait staff, who were also all of varying nationalities, were at work with several tasks: cleaning the interior, assuring tomorrow’s breakfast was prepared and in the freezer, checking the international communication line back to Wakanda to assure its securities were up to date. Kwame entered the room, two tea cups and saucers in hand. From his reading, Hunter looked up; demure eyes were judgemental of the ragged and rugged Klaw.

Hunter gate-folded his newspaper and let it rest on his lap. He sat straight up, back pressed comfortable into the cushion of the couch.

“You are not dumb as your employers made you out to be, Ulysses.”

“Klaue.” the mercenary objected,

“Right, Ulysses,” Kwame broke the rhythm of Hunter’s speech with the clang of both tea saucers on the table. Hunter nodded and Kwame left, “I am sure General Moore has told you briefly who I am and what it is that I do?”

“Uh-huh,” Klaue scratched his mangly beard and indulged his tea without tact, “all you types talk a bit too much for my taste, can we get on with it?” Hunter smiled before he continued,

“Yes, yes. On with it.” with a waft of his hand, he pulled up a holographic map of the African Union’s meeting quarters for the 2018 summit in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

“You will set up here facing the east side of the building.” an index finger corresponded his words, “ 1.25 miles adjacent is where your nest will be. All of your equipment will be there and waiting for you. The windows are re-enforced, which is why you will be using the bullet we have provided for you. There is but one of these, Ulysses. You cannot and will not miss, understood? Expect your death to be swift should you fail. My men will be blocking any escape exits. You will not fire until one of my men give the signal.”

Klaue rolled his eyes, “I’m quaking in my li’l old boots! Haha! Sure, sure; I don’t want the boogeyman under my bed at night.” he put his palms together and bowed, “I will not fail you, Lord Hunter,” another mucus laden laugh. Hunter had a flashing thought of ending Klaue on the spot, but he continued,

“Think this a laughing matter, Ulysses, but it is not I who will kill you if you fail--it will be the Wakandans themselves.”

Klaue still found these ominous threats plump with hilarity, but he stopped laughing and let Hunter continue. He wanted this to be over with. Still, he knew he had to be cautious,

“So, uh… I guess this is the point where I ak a few questions. One of them is, ‘anything I need to be worried about? Bodyguards? Tracking systems? Other snipers?”

Hunter smiled, “Not at all, Ulysses. If you do as you are told, no problems will come to you. If you find yourself compromised, however, you will be on your own.”

“Sucks to be me then, huh?” Klaue was nervous; this was a big job with an even bigger payout. All he had to do was follow orders.

“Okay, right… but are you sure there aren’t any bodyguards I have to worry about? How the hell am I getting out of there after?”

Hunter had another sip of his tea, ice grey eyes not having left Klaue the entire time. Ulysses was unsure if the ‘White Wolf’ had blinked even once,

“It has all been arranged. As for… wild cards, there is the problem of the Dora Milaje.”

“The who?”

“Do not worry about it. Never mind that I said anything, my men will deal with them, too.” the Wolf knew he needed to plant that seed of doubt in Klaue’s mind.

“The King’s guard; I need not explain them to you, for if you were to see them face to face it would not matter. They would be the last thing you saw. I believe that is all I need of you, Ulysses.” Hunter set his teacup down, “please, see yourself out.”

“But I haven’t even finish my tea!” Hunter did not find Klaue amusing in the slightest; Klaue found Hunter uptight. He hoped the Wakandans weren’t that way, dead King or not. Klaue’s smile died. Hunter spoke up,

“Kwame,” the head butler arrived, “please send Ulysses some breakfast to go.” Kwame nodded and went to the kitchen to wrap some pancakes and a plastic container of syrup in some aluminum foil. When he returned, he handed it to Ulysses who accepted with glee.

“It has been a pleasure, Ulysses.”

“Hey, strange as you people are, you got some damn good hospitality.” Klaue gave a playful bow, waved non commital to Kwame, and made his way out.

Hunter and Kwame stood in the room alone. Hunter spoke in Xhosa to Kwame,

“Xelela abahloba bethu ehkaya.”

Kwame nodded and exited. The White Wolf finished his tea. T’Challa and his father would know how much they needed the Hatut Zeraze even if Hunter had to bring war to Wakanda’s doorstep for the King and his son to see it.