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Sam

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About Sam

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    Journeyman

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  1. You flatter me with all the likes :kiss:

  2. Sam

    A Contract of Kings.

    hether or not Athyon was familiar with their legacy or not was irrelevant— all that mattered was that conditions were met and that an understanding was had. Throughout his statement of terms Sam remained silent and cautiously aware. Negotiations for something as complicated as their line of work wasn't always smooth. Usually when they broke down there was violence of which they were known for, but somehow he didn't get he feeling that the Carmine Empire was worth making an enemy of, not now anyway. Then again, that wasn't his call. The youngest of the BREAKERS he was a tool of violence for his kin who knew nothing more than to take and break. Still, everything he said more than exceeded his own expectations. As long as he had resources and women that meant he could smoke all the herb and have as much pleasure as he wanted till his hearts content! Of course they had to get the jobs taken care of but that was of little consequence. Somehow he knew that in the midst of it they'd find Bishop and Tenju and perhaps solve the mystery of where the island of his origins had disappeared to. The one thing that bothered him was the alternative identities. “Mmmmmmm, so. As far as identities...what did you have in mind?” Sam asked, stuffing his hands into his gi's pockets. They weren't the ones to bow their faces much especially with the way they went about things, but as long as they weren't masquerading as pieces of filth he wouldn't personally have an issue. Shit...Heidern would probably be more upset if anything. “Nothing to crazy yeah? Oh and is there a blacksmith here? I need to have some gauntlets made and I heard the metal you all have around here is top-notch.” Primal Alloy wasn't gonna do it for him, he needed something native. Besides, his collective wasn't gonna stock itself.
  3. Sam

    [Quest] Bogus Booty

    zzzzzzt! Somewhere that was nowhere in-particular that Sam could make out finally had some noise in it when he heard his celluar vibrating against something that sounded hollow and metallic. Huh? Where was he? He felt warmth and euphoric but he also felt cold. This wasn't right. A few moments passed in the blackness as he strained his eyes to open beyond a peak to figure out just what the hell was going on. Wherever he was there was absolutely zero light. Knowing already that his situation was dire he tried to move. Nothing. His body literally wouldn't respond. That was the last time he hooked up with a mercenary woman who obviously had ulterior motives. Wait, he did what? That's right! His ultimate weakness was the opposite sex and if he could drown in it he would have already. There was something-- well none of that matters. What does is that somehow he'd let his guard down far more than he was used to. Somewhere inbetween he'd made his way to a local inn and was ready for his happy ending, which, of course, inevitably came...but at a cost. The woman, Christina she said her name was...she was good. Not just good, but great, and not in the way you're thinking. If everything in the span of that hour they spent together while he was conscious was an act, then she likely had a dozen other identities she'd used in her tenure as a mercenary. That dirty bi- “G-gah...Gaoddamnit!” his lips were barely able to make out, no sound following. His senses were dulled almost to the point of not existing and it was hard to breathe. They made sure to cover all the stops in respects to him...were they aware of who he truly was? Not likely...but it seemed like he was useless to his team. Sometime before he'd made a promise to an unlikely fellow. At that time he realized that he was lost as all hell and in-exchange for a little bit of guidance to find his fellow brothers he'd help him with whatever it was he had going on. Little did he know he had lunged into the jaws of the proverbial beast before he was ready, and it served him right too for not rendezvousing with his peers this time around. Then again, he worked better alone. He couldn't wait for them to save him, no he refused, especially since it was possible that they'd never come. Closing his squinted eyes he entered a state of deep meditation and perhaps even reflection. The goal? Forcibly eradicate the poisonous drugs in his system and regain control of his body so he could get out of whatever hellhole he'd been duped into and crack their fuckin' skulls. Worse now though, he knew information that was almost vital to his team and he wasn't even able to tell them. Man. These bastards would rue the day they deceived a BREAKER. Somewhere in his heart if you could perceive his spiritual confidence you'd see him sneering as if he'd never lost control. “H-h-h-eh...” Here's to hoping he learned his lesson!
  4. Alexei

    Thanks for the like broda.

    1. Sam

      Sam

      U KNO DA WEI

  5. Sam

    A Contract of Kings.

    his was the first time in a few years he'd been in the presence of royalty for matters of business. Usually Sam wouldn't have depended on himself to take care of something so frivolous but at behest of Elias he showed— and sober at that. Who'd have thought? With every step he took his feet absorbed the world around him and traced the thousands if not millions of people throughout the city going about their lives and he couldn't help but think just how grandiose Umbra was. Of all the cities he'd ever visited this was by far the most colossal of them, and the thick air that suffocated foreigners made it hard to breath until he adjusted. This place wasn't for his ilk— that is to say this place wasn't for his species. That much was certain. Did it matter? Not really. No place was really for his kind if he were being honest with himself. Everywhere he went they went they brought ruin in their wake...and that was the reason they were so revered. When the esquite acquired a more admirable pace he eased the tension between the two and continued to revel in the sheer magnitude of the capital via all his wild assortment of honed senses. Following down a constipated alleyway Sam grimaced. When the grand palace beyond was all but within their distance they halted. “Thank you for coming,” the guard said. Sam said nothing back, offering him nothing more than a stern gaze of amber eyes that scrutinized him as they had all else— with casual indifference. “I very much appreciate you taking the time. My name is Athyon Yor, Lord Imperator of the Carmine Dominion.” “Radovid Cartier Samuel. You can call me Sam. You know who I am.” Sam replied with pride, lifting his left hand to pick his nose briefly. Dressed in a violet Tang Soo Do vestment he looked the part of a martial artist oozing with arrogance though he'd argue otherwise. “I've been rather enthusiastic about following your work overseas. You're a talented bunch, aren't you? That being said, I have no doubt you can imagine why I might desire an audience. The Empire has great use for men like you, with abilities such as yours. So, that leaves just two questions: are your skills for sale, and if so, how much—or what—will it cost to have access to them?” Flattery aside everyone involved were already aware that these very two questioned would be asked. The first was an easy answer but the second was far more complicated, atleast Sam had thought so. “To the point? Only to the highest bidder...and by the looks of the palace you got, pretty sure you guys make the cut,” he motioned to the palace beyond with his right thumb, a brief look of astonishment plastering itself on his facade before it was back to business. “Resources, women, territory...and perhaps a pact of amnesty so we can move around with some leisure. Not too much to ask for high rollers like yourself ya'?” There was no need to discuss specifics, or was there? Hard to tell. If so Sam was prepared, but he'd rather it be taken care of once they had their fun. “You need somethin' broken or someone killed, we're the ones to do it.”
  6. Sam

    A Contract of Kings.

    avage Samuel was on a conquest of which only the truly great understood. All of his training, everything he had endured, it had all been for what was to come. From the moment he set foot in Genesaris he'd begun to reminisce of the days he spent as royalty, arrogant and naive, begging the gods to drag him from his life of eternal boredom. One day that blessing came, and it brought with it a wrath that killed many and left others utterly devastated. When he looked back at the island of his origins slowly being swallowed by the heavy mist of the sea all he could see was despair agony. Was he so selfish to make others suffer just to appease himself? The answer was in the chronology of his life thereafter. Years past where he had sex with countless women, spent riches in the comfort of those he called brothers, and met people who in reality shouldn't even possibly exist. Every step along the way he gained valuable insight and his Eye of Tepeu swelled. Day after day he learned more, not just of the martial arts, but of herbalism, medicine, and geomancy. Still nothing compared to the valuable training he'd received at Imir, The Institute of War. Training underneath the ex-Zodiark Adonis he found the means of which not only to exponentially increase his power, but to locate his family as well. In doing so a new chapter in his life had begun. A chapter that superseded even his loyalty to the Breakers. New friendships, new contracts, he'd made some friends along the way and they were down to have fun just like he was. Good thing to, since life on the road by himself had been getting pretty lonely. The sheer size of the kingdom paled in comparison to any he'd seen in Genesaris, and this wasn't his first time visiting. Times before he'd come merely to take in the sights with his lungs full of chronic and his mind further beyond than the celestials but this time was different. What was it that made uncle Aythyon himself request the presence of a Breaker exclusively? Months had passed since any of them got their hands dirty officially and their names had faded into legend that was almost impossible to confirm. In the pit of Sam's stomach he felt grief. He knew damn well that his brothers were stronger than anything this world had ever conceived, and even if this were his hubris talking he knew the only one who could beat any of them were they themselves. Masters of the battlefield they manifested like Gods and left nothing more than ruin in their wake before disappearing as if never having been. Breakers. Almost impossible to fathom, even harder to contact. “Yo', how much longer till we reach old man?” Sam barked to the imperial esquite, his eyes clear and lacking their usual bloodshot from his habitual use of medicinal herbs. Where exactly he was and where he was going was hard to tell, but marching through the streets of the kingdom was like a damned labyrinth he just didn't care for on that day. @King
  7. Sam

    [Quest] Bogus Booty

    erhaps Sam's underestimated how terribly lucky he could be, or maybe he had his ear to he heartbeat of his objective in ways that regulars just wouldn't understand; either way he really had to piss. Through smog and grime his lacquered boots met hard black gravel, rooftops, and even stone chimneys alike - shifting like an aimless darkness through the shadows of Tekwell. While all amount of visitors had traveled from beyond to attend the Homebrew Festival a puff of a thinly-paper rolled joint later and he had come to realize that many of the visitors arriving in the City of Smoke were out of place. Some because of their culture that didn't quite intergrate into the grit of the pale, monotonous palette of lazy brush strokes that was the city itself: others because their dispositions suggested that their conduct was a facade. An exchange of hands? Unbuttoning his pants he tilted over alongside a building in one of the alleyways somewhere near the station while balancing the torch lit between his lips that gave off a tropical vigor that most incense couldn't even match. “I came to the wrong damn city, not a woman in sight...” Sam cried aloud, trepidation miring his young face. “True...I can't imagine what attracted a child here...” a young soprano rang from deeper the entrance to the walkway just into the alley where Sam had turned to find his isolating pissing location (IPL, this is important later!?). The first thing the red-haired vagabond noticed was that her hair was short but wrapped and kept out of the lingering smog, unlike her chest that hung out from atop her metal grey armor. Unlike the other soldiers who's cultures matched other regions, hers was very much like the other suspicious individuals he'd encountered in his silent scaling of rooftops and uncle tom'ing throughout. “Kid? Fuck off. I'm a grown ass fuckin' man!” Sam shouted, stumbling for a few seconds to button his denim pants (why the fuck were there buttons?) before whipping his right hand out to point at her rudely. “Didn't Pinocchio of Cosanastre say something similar?” “He was a virgin too!” “Oh?” the woman smiled, folding her arms along her chest. Even with her relaxed stance he felt zero openings in the way she handled herself, were he to strike at any given time he knew she'd be ready and able to counter. Down the list he marked off the number of countries and continents she could be from while engaging her in playful banter but the truth became clear before he had a need to finish investigating. “What about you?” the enigmatic woman of high cheek bones and grey armor questioned him, her eyes making full contact with his own. “...you haven't come across a man like me yet...” Sam started, his voice unsettling and ominous as could be. Yet the carefree smile of adversity remained staple. “do yourself a favor and get lost, or you'll get yourself hurt...” She took a single armored step forward, her large plated hips swinging with a single preemptive move. “...big talk for such a young man...I sure hope you're legal.” “Shit!” Sam exclaimed under his breath, in excitement and dismay. A single final drag of his joint and the half-smoked black gold joint was left to burn where something strange and dangerous was born. “No. Sacrificing the lives of others for my own selfish gain is wrong...sacrificing the loves of others for my own selfish gain is wrong...sacri-” the professor regurgitated repeatedly in the darkness, his sweaty palms flipping the lacquered card emblazoned with ancient writing repeatedly. “What would my students think? No what would my mother think? I cannot betray my character!” he huffed, slamming the card on the table loud enough to echo through the darkness of the facility outside of his dimly lit office. “Out of the question. I will rely on all of our resources to make our ambitious dreams come true...and then I'll get to join you all again soon...” The bald scientist wearing huge rectangular glasses smiled faintly, his mind retreating elsewhere that brought him ease. “...I will see you soon...”
  8. Sam

    Lyric Talk -- Literally

    Bitch I keep the Smith like my name Brad Pitt.
  9. Sam

    Sam.

    name: ? designation: sam. age: twenty-two. height: 5'7". weight: one-hundred fifty-eight pounds. weapon: missiletainn. a longsword that can be used to channel the dragon stream or be used in succession with his wind manipulation as annotated below. overall length — 40 inches. blade length — 35 inches. guard width — 8 inches. weight — 2.3 pounds. composition — mythiril. arcane: THE DRAGON STREAM. the dragon stream [birthright] • Sam's birthright as a son of the ____ kingdom gives him him preturnatural control over the life that flows through the planet, known to him as the Dragon's Stream. With meticulous control Sam can channel it's power unto himself, making him invulnerable to suffocation, drowning, or any means of exhaustion within the body that isn't decapitation and blood loss. the dragon stream [dragon's breath] • By carefully channeling the life energy of the planet, Sam can conjure bright astral flames that effortlessly burn through magical defenses, but do little to harm the natural physical world itself. Anything born from magic, regardless of whether it retains it's magical strings, can be incinerated by the dragon's breath angel wing ashera [verrine excevva] • Having stolen the holy relic of the ____ kingdom, the angel wing ashera grants him incredible control of wind while simultaneously sapping his strength. In exchange for the blessings of zephyr, he loses his strength, but exchanges it for utility and grace. PROFILE CREATED FOR VALUCRE T1 TOURNAMENT 2016. Outdated. To be revisited.
  10. Sam

    [Quest] Bogus Booty

    am was an obdurate abuser of medicinal drugs who dimly captured the zeitgeist of the most enigmatic organization of gods and kings that dared manifest: BREAKERS. Fomenting political unrest one second and sealing up waterproof bags of hermetically sealed pharmaceuticals the next the young king rotten to the core by destitution never gave even a single fuck what egregious peons that filled the lands spoke of him. None of them had felt the shallow shackles of royalty burn their wrists and bar their freedom; they weren't accustom to running the skies with gods and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the world was only as limitless as one's imagination. No, instead they usually got a fist shoved down their throats and some much needed insight: an acuity of wisdom that he was taught inadvertently without getting flatlined himself. Word, the BREAKERS had given him everything he needed to find his way through Valucre, a land of multiple spanning continents and adventures that gave him the means to further his many passions. Some seemed random, others were intricately linked to his time in the nameless kingdom of his past, but above all his love for poetry and medicine stood at the forefront. “I got loyalty, got royalty inside my DNA,” Young Sam chipped, two pods slipping methodical notes of music however convoluted through his ears mimicked. “I got power, poison, pain and joy inside my DN...” For miles and even days he'd spent his time rolling flaky herbs with medicinal qualities and rifling through his CasTek's Melody Simulator for a variety of outer dimension musical stations that superseded the immediate more repetitive environment. Food wasn't an issue (although the munchies siphoned his rations dramatically) but the dilemma of being lost with no real sense of direction was getting old. At first he told himself whatever, eventually he'd somehow track down Bishop or Tenju since Heidern and Elias were busy with their own bullshit but even those two had disappeared. For whatever reason this meant he was on his own and from the age of seventeen he'd been traveling the world as a rogue doctor who's renown and air of mystery would eventually reach heaven. Still, the longer his contemplating detracted from the ethereal hues of hazy smog and twisted earth, the better. Honestly this place was depressing but it wasn't unheard of for somewhere like Tekwell to exist. The bottom line is, in a land like Izral, forecasted by a witch who charged way too much for the affair, he knew he was stepping into the jaws of a beast. The downside obviously meant he wouldn't get to enjoy himself as he had throughout Alterion but it also meant that he might just find someone who could satiate his penchant for unruly belligerence the way Heidern could. Since they'd met there wasn't a single person, entity, or organization that could press him in an uncomfortable direction, or much less give him cause to worry. Pills and potions became a meddlesome alternative. When the glass-eyed neon crimson haired doctor stepped over the ridge to find the place in question his heart sank with his gas. The jelly beans he'd been consuming weren't agreeing with his dissatisfaction of what he saw. “The fuck man...” Sam groaned in displeasure, slipping his hands back into his pocket. The coarse winds blew against his immovable fixture, causing the white bandanna that covered his forehead to blow behind in symbolism of the dichotomy that was the difference between Sam and the town below. If it weren't for the drugs he'd probably leave. Everything in him was telling him this just wasn't worth his time. Then he took his first step forward, and then another. His solid black shirt tightly fit to his round, athletically cut arms, that no doubt matched his marine blue denim and just as black Vimberis Hunting Boots gave him a look of stylish intricacy he honestly didn't try too hard to achieve. With every step closer to the industrial city his hands crammed in their pockets showed outlines of rings lined along all but his thumbs and his wrists imitated as much, or atleast his left wrist did. Four golden bracelets of different origination, one lined with diamonds, another with rubies, one with intricate runic writing outside and inside of it, and another with a dragon's head. When it came down to aesthetics, Sam was unmatched. Though none of that mattered when he arrived and realized: THE HOMEBREW FESTIVAL?! “Oh fuck yeah you know I'm enterin'!” Sam made mention to a bystander near the edge of town where the last steam engine in Alterion roared. “Last place I had a drinking competition was Arkadia Prime...let's just say they don't know how to take a joke...” “Trust me, I know the feeling.” a deeper, resolute, though harmless (to Sam's judgement) replied. “As a mercenary I live for events like these. Any chance I get I'm kickin' back a few.” “Eh? Disgusting!” Sam spat, whipping his hands from his pockets and motioning for the regular black haired pedestrian to back the fuck up. “Smoking medicinal herbs is way better than destroyin' ya' liver for no reason dawg! I'm only tryna' get down for the competition!” The mercenary, though slightly bigger in stature, was covered in light tactical armor that most wouldn't pray tell to if they weren't actually looking. “What brings you to town?” Sam then inquired, crossing his arms along his chest with a glance back to admire the Wild Rose in her outdated beauty. “The festival of-course. Couldn't miss something this great on my ventures.” “In your tac' gear?” There was a brief pause. A modicum of hesitation. “Of-course, can't go anywhere without some protection right?” The mercenary was still and poised to strike. If he were telling the truth why so defensive? Anyone with any real insight would have made those stout observations out the gate: Sam on the other hand was far less flexible. “...worrrrd. Shit don't let me get in yer' wa-hey!” he gawked, realizing the mercenary had already made a hasty stride out of the station and into the depths of Tekwell. Just as he was exiting the area with his boots leaving a noticeable tread below he gave himself enough reason to still the moment for observation. His Diamond Mind Discipline was loosely a translation of what he'd learned in Oo'xora, Fudoshin. Relative seconds were able to be stilled in ephemeral glasses of stilled frames where from his own position he could observe and better prepare himself for whatever came after. Outside of competition and in a moment like this, perfect, in a brawl, not so much. Though the few seconds he had to give himself more insight to the above average mercenary that walked off into the distance was all he needed to make a series of determinations. The BREAKERS were notorious for their legends heralded through a span of time that no one quite understood. One of them, Sam, had finally made his way into Tekwell and per chance found his first and only lead. A lead that...walked away and disappeared shortly thereafter. No matter. No need to give chase either. More importantly, where the fuck were the people he was meant to rendezvous with? At this point, did it matter? Scoffing in delight his determination bled through his demeanor just as his hands slipped themselves back into his pockets and stared at the patrons that walked to and fro at the station. A few moments later and he was gone. Where? Into the damn city of course!
  11. Sam

    Lyric Talk -- Literally

    Like a bad doctor I ain't got no patients (patience).
  12. Sam

    Valucre T1 Tournament Lounge

    I had an idea on the dimensions but I wasn't entirely sure and was actually gonna talk to you prior, but because of how late my post was already I kinda just threw it up. It's cool though do you lol.
  13. Sam

    Valucre T1 Tournament Lounge

    My bad, when I quoted his post, I actually meant this part: "That..still makes no sense to me. You still have to create the fireball before tossing it. Do people pull them out of thin air and sling them at others?"
  14. Sam

    Valucre T1 Tournament Lounge

    Which is actually INSANE to me because that was one of the first things I learned when I started T1 fighting lol. Interruptions and timing.
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