Afro Samurai

Blades of the Shogun - The Island of Screams

I'm tossing in an archer.

Blades of the Shogun - The Island of Screams

In.

Caravan: Resurrection

^{The Rise of Kul}

^{Smor'Gen'Blok}

^{9 A.M.}

To his father Za’Kul knelt with his fist still pressed over his heart. He rose and spoke,

“I go. You rest.” Ju’Kul, the informal second in command. Smor’Gen’Blok’s tribes had no formal ranking system besides the official chieftans, and within the tribes themselves there were those who were respected enough to hold positions of power. Ju’Kul was one of his father’s oldest friends, though he was nowhere near the same age as his father. Lok’Sha remained in their primes until he died, and Ju’Kul--among the Low tribes--was respected as a warchief, but more for his leadership. An old Lok’Sha tale long circulated around the Low tribes about Ju’Kul’s stand against an army of Maw Hounds with nothing but a rock. The truth of said legend was doubtful indeed.

Za’Kul, nonetheless, aspired to be like him. In age--and everything else, if he was honest with himself--Za’Kul was nearly everyone’s junior and was sometimes treated as such. Unlike many of the other races of Thoris, 30 was near infant. For Lok’Sha especially, one did not reach their ‘prime’, they were always in their prime. Their bodies only got better: faster, stronger, more durable. Blood of four hearts blessed Lok’Sha with physical gifts unparalleled in all the land, and they were a hearty and ignorant group because of it.

Morning lingered, Za’Kul prepared himself for the day by making sure he carried his small armaments--his two battleaxes--with him. The Great Warhammer was for massive battles and sieges, too cumbersome for quick travel. Navigating the system of the Low Kul’s respective cave was not difficult, theirs was miniscule. To the surface is where Za’Kul planned to take his people once given the chance; he would subdue the Shaka and the Wor if necessary, he was tired of looking up at them--tired of having to prostrate before them because they had numbers and connections. Alas, there was nothing he could do but wait for a miracle.

It didn’t take long for Za’Kul to find Ju’Kul. Again with his fist over his heart, he spoke,

“Ju’Kul. Strength. Pa send me. What work for today?” he let his arm fall to his side, the blood red of his eyes fixed directly on the man who had been like an uncle to him.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

_{The Ode of the Pathetic}

Attack on Sherman Square

---

Ebony sky compressed the things below it to silhouettes in Pantheon’s sight. The firmament decor exchanged consistent black for the reds and oranges of explosions, debris found brief illumination in tune with flame. Overhead, thrashing rain settled the steam rising off him; a soothing cool helped him reign his bloodlust. The boy loved rain and any trinket of joy made it easier for him to slip through, to pull against Pantheon’s push.

Eyes closed, he let himself feel the calm. They felt it as one, if only for a brief moment. It was snapped with a beckon. Visage opened to more dancing booms and fire raiding the heavens, a boredom swept and stayed. Love for battle that he had, the collective might of the heroes was greater and more effective even than what he could do on his own. Nothing here was enough of a challenge for him. Focus enclosed around a familiar face and voice, the Alchemyst; she came with another, the witch who--unbeknownst to Pantheon--was the origin of this ethereal storm.

Alchemyst brung him a weapon, a bat forged from her talent. It rolled near his feet and he picked it up to examine it. Spikes were a nice addition though unnecessary for his purposes. As he opened his mouth to greet his nearest acquaintance and introduce himself to her companion, the fume and light of a flare smoked at his feet. Attention drawn toward it and then its general direction, Pantheon turned. An army of Hounds, nothing new; so mundane, in fact, Pantheon initially hadn’t even made a move to confront them. Brazen though he was, the boy wasn’t going to leave Alchemyst nor her friend unguarded, he knew Alchemyst’s powers took time and were of no defense against a hail of bullets.

Lady Hex had mentioned requiring cover; unfortunately, a thick fog would not be enough to deter the marching squadron of terrorists, or so he was inclined to believe. It was not until Pantheon saw the effects of the red smog that he lifted an eyebrow, interest piqued. He would not be getting on her bad side any time soon. She had dismantled many of the Hounds mechanisms including their guns in one fell swoop. It didn’t prevent a few of the silver bullets fired (while the ritual was occuring) to crush against Pantheon’s body and for him to stumble back, woozed by the disrupting enchantments of the projectiles.

By the time he gained his wit, Hex’s ritual had completed and its effects apparent. In those moments following his disorientation, Pantheon took himself and his handy new weapon toward the crowd of Hounds. Spikes dug into flesh and ripped skin from faces; metal banged against bone and one could hear the grinding of snapping ligaments. Loud pops from broken kneecaps and torn ACL’s. He made quick and light work of the platoon of men.

Lying before him were broken, useless, sprawled Hound bodies. A swathe of armored trucks rolled up, replacing the group of Hounds’ depleted numbers fast as he could whittle them down. Pantheon’s eyes dropped to the bat, then raised to the truck. The violence had become comical; he could not help but laugh at the absurdity of his own actions. These were peons. They did not deserve his energy; he was only here because of Charlie and the agreement he had struck with her to begin with. He tossed Charlie’s gift of destruction aside. Standing in front of the group of armored trucks, he sighed and then spoke,

”I let one of you live before because the boy is courteous, ”Pantheon remarked as though the group of Hounds knew who he was referring to, ”but even he grows tired of this. Bore me further and I will assure none of you get a chance to suffer, I will kill you.”

They had forfeited their right to live long ago far as Pantheon was concerned. A dissenting voice cut across his warning from behind, she called herself Blacklight. Pantheon turned to face her, behind him the armored Hound trucks climbed out, weapons pointed. She floated slightly above him, the cold of her wings chilled him briefly before becoming a heat; he admired the strange beauty of the scattered light.

”Blacklight,” he looked her up and down, palleted iris’ chaining finally to her face, ”I am Pantheon.” always respectful of some mortal customs, introduction was merely coded, polite showmanship and the antithesis of humility, as was Pantheon.

”And this is not a courtroom, your charge is foolish. We have done far more here today than is within the right of any of your mortal laws. Do not lecture me, child.”

”Instead, be useful. Let us remove these fools from our presence.”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

<Snipped quote by DearTrickster>

Thanks! He's a little bit Indiana Jones, a little bit Van Helsing

@HenryJonesJr

this message is Blade approved

DC Earth Infinity ∞

I'll play John Stewart as a Green Lantern.

Caravan: Resurrection

9:20 A.M.

Smor'Gen'Blok

Ebony waded through the deep caves perpetually. Low light was no obstacle for Ha’Kul and his ilk; the same applied to his firstborn, Za’kul’s eyes pried open with a conscious of their own. Falling into his eyes was as much illumination his eyes could muster. A grunt, a hard exhale. Transitioning from sleep into the waking world was as jarring from Lok’Sha as it was for normal humans. When he gathered himself, he rose.

Strapped to his chest was his bandolier. On the cave wall some feet above where he slept were his three weapons of choice: twin battleaxes and his two handed greathammer. The work of the morning had not to do with weapons of war, but greeting his father and then forging. That was the course of most of his days. Not long after Za’Kul awoke, so did the other members of the tribe. It did not take long before Za’kul had made his way toward his father.

Ha’Kul--chief and patriarch of the Low Kul tribe, among the weaker and more disgraced tribes in this land of rock--sat by the Hearth Stone which was the heart of his people’s protection. In his father, Za’Kul saw himself, a flash of greed; in this way he was more his mother, a taker. His father was a good man, cunning; good, cunning men did not survive long without relying more on their cunning than their goodness in Lok’Sha. Goodness had to be snuffed, buried--and that his father did well, at least the members of his tribe knew no different. Outside, however, Ha’Kul the Low could not fool the other chieftans. They knew he was weak, they just didn’t bother to stamp out the Kul because they were--in the words of the Great Shaka tribe--”ant.”

Za’Kul had intentions to change all their minds, whether it be war or peace. Finally in front of his father, he put one fist over his heart and spoke,

“Pa.”

Caravan: Resurrection

Za'kul the Bastard

Name: Za’kul
Age: 31
Appearance:

Hider

Personality: (Optional)
Height: 8 feet 8 inches.
Race: Lok’sha.
Home Nation: Smor’Gen’Blok
Magical Capabilities: Berserker. Za’kul’s preferred weapon of choice is a two handed warhammer with his tribe’s symbol on it. He also carries two smaller battleaxes when travelling light.
History: Born to a smith and a mason, Za’kul and his parents lived the lower rungs of his tribe which itself was miniscule in comparison to the rest of the neighboring tribes. Secluded in darkness for much of his childhood, he had ample time and peace to adapt to it with only the light from his father’s forging as his sun. From boy into man Za’kul apprenticed under his father as his father turned his smithing of crude weapons into a business and began creating tools and selling them to the less intelligent members of the society.

The Low Kul tribe--as they became known under Za’kul’s father’s assuming of chieftain--rose in prominence not through pillage and raiding, but through goods and service. Za’kul’s father rose through the ranks of the tribe, earning the respect of its members for an approach taboo to the other members of Smor’Gen’Blok: ingenuity. It is for this reason the Kul tribe--having since shed the ‘low’ caste designation but not yet attaining respect enough to designate them ‘high’ and ultimately ‘great’ titles--finds themselves at odds with the much larger and more violent surrounding tribes of the inner and outer caves because of their endorsement of warlord Li’li’po’s desire for a nonviolent S’G’B.

With Za’kul’s father approaching 100 and his mother not too far behind, Za’kul,--the oldest of his siblings-- is set to take the reigns of the tribe and is inevitably tasked with defending his people and keeping the peace with the smaller tribes within the inner caves lest they band together and obliterate Za’kul and his tribe.

Caravan: Resurrection

Za'kul the Bastard

Name: Za’kul
Age: 31
Appearance:

Hider

Personality: (Optional)
Height: 8 feet 8 inches.
Race: Lok’sha.
Home Nation: Smor’Gen’Blok
Magical Capabilities: Berserker. Za’kul’s preferred weapon of choice is a two handed warhammer with his tribe’s symbol on it. He also carries two smaller battleaxes when travelling light.
History: Born to a smith and a mason, Za’kul and his parents lived the lower rungs of his tribe which itself was miniscule in comparison to the rest of the neighboring tribes. Secluded in darkness for much of his childhood, he had ample time and peace to adapt to it with only the light from his father’s forging as his sun. From boy into man Za’kul apprenticed under his father as his father turned his smithing of crude weapons into a business and began creating tools and selling them to the less intelligent members of the society.

The Low Kul tribe--as they became known under Za’kul’s father’s assuming of chieftain--rose in prominence not through pillage and raiding, but through goods and service. Za’kul’s father rose through the ranks of the tribe, earning the respect of its members for an approach taboo to the other members of Smor’Gen’Blok: ingenuity. It is for this reason the Kul tribe--having since shed the ‘low’ caste designation but not yet attaining respect enough to designate them ‘high’ and ultimately ‘great’ titles--finds themselves at odds with the much larger and more violent surrounding tribes of the inner and outer caves because of their endorsement of warlord Li’li’po’s desire for a nonviolent S’G’B.

With Za’kul’s father approaching 100 and his mother not too far behind, Za’kul,--the oldest of his siblings-- is set to take the reigns of the tribe and is inevitably tasked with defending his people and keeping the peace with the smaller tribes within the inner caves lest they band together and obliterate Za’kul and his tribe.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Pftt. Killing Eve and Barry are two new shows coming out about assassins. I had assumed it said Killing Eva and Berry. I was wait what? Since when was Eva and Berry a TV show? And why weren't we informed.

@VATROU

idk seems like they stole our intellectual properties, man. can't just slightly change the name of our creations and them monetize them! we will not have it! I SAY WE WILL NOT HAVE IT, OH!