Krazy Kards^™ fantasy storytelling, entertainment & collectables, for use with the Champions of the Galaxy Wrestling Game

One of if not the best wrestlers in the galaxy, Sammael had done it all in his time in the business, multi time tag and singles champion in to many feds to list he has lasted longer then a lot of his peers. But eventually there comes a time when the skills start to lessen and the body begins to break down. This is what happened to Sammael whether it was true or just in his head but this prompted Sammael to make a drastic decision, he needed to find a way to retain his current abilities and grow even stronger in the process.

He first looked at medical solutions but didn't like the idea of taking drugs to juice his system or radical experiments using gene splicing or other techniques. Then after losing badly one night he had a moment of clarity (or was it insanity?) watching the main event that preceded his match pitting Danny Sage against Tzimisce of the Vampire Nation. What if he could get one of the vampires to agree to turning him into a vampire? He thought of the possibilities and it made him smile realizing that Vampires grow in power as they age not decrease. Then in a secret meeting with Carmilla of the Vampire Nation he struck a deal to have both he and his woman Salem embraced (turned into vampire).

Other members namely Blood Rose, Tzimisce and Bloodstorm disapproved of the turning due to Carmilla not asking permission from the Nation to embrace two such high profile athletes. Carmilla has since been told that until the Vampire King accepts them into the Nation they do not have it's protection. Sammael now with an even larger ego walked away from Carmilla and told the Nation he doesn't need protection cause he's "Still Better Then You"!

Much of Salem's early life stays off the record beyond this: she hails from Dallas, Texas, with southern swagger, a mean streak, and no patience for anyone who treats a valet like window dressing. She was brought in at Sammael's side and soon revealed as his woman—not a prop, but a partner who learned the politics of every locker room he walked into. She managed his wars, barked orders at ringside when tempers boiled over, and made it clear she could throw hands the night any rival promotion decided the Morning Star traveled alone.

She had real misgivings when Carmilla offered the embrace. Trusting the Baroness of Blood meant ancient debts, Nation rules, and a hunger that never clocks out. Love and ambition tipped the scale: Salem took the bite to stay even with Sammael and to sharpen every tool she brought to the ring. The nights after changed her—faster reflexes, colder instincts, and the hard lesson that the Vampire Nation would always want them on a short leash. When Sammael walked away from Carmilla's protection and told the Nation he did not need their permission to be dangerous, Salem did not hesitate; she followed him out the door and kept walking.

She remains one of the NAWC's top female wrestlers—high-flying when the moment calls for it, vicious in the clinch when it does not. New chapters of their war have redrawn the map: she has stood with Sammael alongside Danny Sage and BellaDonna as Bad Blood, an uneasy alliance that keeps the women's division on edge because she and BellaDonna still despise each other between bells. Rivals circle, former Nation allies watch the door, and every challenger learns the same lesson: where Sammael goes, the witch follows.

The wrestler known as Calm has trained in Aethran martial arts and submission techniques from an early age to compensate for his lack of size (by Aethran standards). Calm also contrary to Aethran beliefs is a pacifist and had to escape Aethra with his mate Serenity to avoid being persecuted to the fullest extent of Aethran law. Not much is known how he got off Aethra and where he went and Calm has not been one to divulge such things to keep the people who helped him safe from future prosecution from Aethran Authorities. During his time in hiding he kept training and also became active in local wrestling federations where he wrestled under a mask to keep his skills honed. While some have now questioned why would a pacifist wrestle, Calm says he does not see wrestling as combat, but rather as a sport to compete in.

Serenity carries herself like winter sunlight—cool, aloof, and absolutely sure of her footing without tipping into arrogance. On Aethra she was marked the same way Calm was: two souls who chose pacifism in a culture that worships conquest. When the law turned its eye toward "re-education" and worse, they fled together; she has never named the routes, ships, or friends who hid them, and she never will.

In exile she drilled beside Calm daily—forms, breath work, falls, and the small cruel details of submission chains—until their bodies remembered calm as a weapon. She sees the ring as sport, not war, yet she does not apologize for the violence she unleashes when a bell legitimizes it. Her strikes are clean, her aerials almost lazy until the last heartbeat, and her patience in a clinch unnerves opponents who expect a "valet" to blink first.

Now that Calm has stepped into the NAWC, Serenity walks every step with him: cornering his matches, reading tempers at ringside, and carving her own path in the women's division with the same discipline she used to keep them both alive off-world. Where Calm offers mercy first, Serenity offers warnings—then SILENT LUCIDITY and THE STORM when warnings expire.

The Dreadling is an alien-engineered predator made possible by the scientists of Jarros—once the sharpest minds on Alaara, first to perfect cloning, then to birth the war-beasts they named Dreadlings. Those original titans were so feared that trying to erase them helped sink the planet into twenty years of civil war; when the smoke cleared, most of the world believed Jarros and its monsters had been wiped clean.

History disagreed. The Deep Lands stirred first, then whispers became footprints: Jarros survivors returned—smaller now, the tallest yet catalogued barely past four foot two, their genelines scarred but their arrogance intact. They brought a single Dreadling with them. It is not the continent-shaking horror of the old wars; it is leaner, stranger, and still learning how much violence fits inside a modern ring. What it lacks in legendary mass it repays in speed up the ropes, a choke-lift that feels like a hanging storm, and the patience of a thing built to finish feuds.

The Dreadling entered the Contest of Champions and drew Skarnheim's Krel Carnifex in round one—and lost. Jarros did not forgive the insult. Their scientists scream metrics into data-slates while their handlers point the beast toward Krel and toward the Butcher, promising retribution until either Skarnheim blood pays interest or the NAWC learns what a "lesser" Dreadling can still do when the leash slips.

This masked man known as Demascus has begun appearing with the members of the Unholy recently and looks the part as a member of this psychotic group. Some things that are known is that he debuted by escorting what turned out to be the son (Michael) and wife (Josephine) of Azriel (or is it Azrael?) to the ring during Xaphans match against Keth Vale. During the match Josephine looked like she broke away from Demascus and she grabbed a chair and slid into the ring and looked like she would blast Xpahan but at the last second blasted Vale several times busting him open.

Two weeks later Michael made his in ring debut against Keth Vale and Michael was escorted to the ring by Demascus, but before the match could start the arena lights went out and a circular fireball engulfed the ring and Michael. When the lights came back on Michael was gone and all that was left were scorch marks. Vale and Demascus then began brawling until security broke them up. Demascus has now been sent to weed out the truth and he looks to destroy any who could have the answers to the whereabouts of Michael son of Azrael whether it be Keth Vale and the Marauders or even the Inquisition.

Krel "The Skurge" is a massive, corded humanoid who claims the broken skylines of Skarnheim—Alaara's whispered "land of giants"—where he grew up small for his bloodline. Out-sized at every family scrap, he learned early how to cut angles, use leverage like a lever through stone, and make bigger cousins pay for underestimating him. By sixteen he had left home to chase wrestling for real money and real distance; by twenty-one he still bled inexperience, but he no longer bled for free.

Tag glory came beside Korin the Death Knight as the Crimson Guard, a war-painted tandem violent enough to seize the NAWC Universal Tag Team Championships. When the team fractured, Krel discovered the cruel math of singles: scouts wanted a monster headline, not a skilled giant still proving his name. Years in the Sanctuary tempered his footwork and his temper until Skarnheim tapped him as its entrant in the Contest of Champions. He ran the table on doubters and reached the final—only to meet Brinson Faust of Aquala on the night the stars lined for someone else. The loss stung; the respect he earned afterward did not.

The NAWC welcomed him back with open arms, and the tag ranks remember what he can do beside the Butcher when nations want wreckage on a schedule. Contest posters still bill him as Skarnheim's Krel Carnifex—a name Jarros will not forgive after their reborn Dreadling drew him in round one of the Contest of Champions and limped home with a loss. Now the weapon walks toward him again, promising retribution against Skarnheim blood. Krel answers the way he always has—straight ahead, with OFF WITH YER HEAD, EXECUTIONER'S SONG, and the Skurge Breaker waiting for anyone who mistakes patience for fear.

For more than eight years Chief Jay IceVein has been a banner for his people in Zenteria—Earth-born roots on Alaara, drum-slow pride, and a handshake that means something in a territory where treaties are written in dust and blood. He stacked regional belts, sold out tribal halls, and three separate times marched deep into the Contest of Champions only to finish second, each silver medal a different lesson in heartbreak. Crowds know the freeze in his eyes before a chop; kids still copy the way he paints war paint like frost creeping down charcoal skin.

The old wounds are names: first Halfmoon (Sam Moon), then Ciber Naught—rivals who beat him in the Contest and on the battlefields of Alaara's civil war when giants chose sides and Zenteria paid interest in young men's ribs. Bad blood kept Chief Jay outside the NAWC glass while Sam Moon ran council tables and television alike; exile was never official, but it felt like policy every time a contract "vanished" on the fax machine.

The door opened when Councilman Swarvak of Aquala took the reins—not out of charity, but calculus. Swarvak enjoys the optics of letting a Zenteria war chief stalk Cygnus Rising's allies from inside the company, tying up Ciber Naught and Sam Moon with challenges they cannot ignore. Chief Jay takes the bargain without pretending it is honor: he gets the big lights, the national television wars he earned, and the chance to remind Goldsboro that ice still cuts. When the bell rings, BLOOD RUNS COLD and the Ice Driver are sermons delivered at ring level.

With no press conference and no glossy hype reel, the Council of Wyrms began arriving to the arena under new escort: a figure fans only catch in fragments of hallway conversation—sometimes called the Dragon Elder, sometimes Kagirinai, titles overlapping like smoke. He lists his home as the Celestial Heavens on the card; what that means in plain oxygen is anyone's guess, but cameras hate him—lenses wash pale, microphones pick up static when he leans too close.

At ringside his presence does impossible arithmetic on the Wyrms' temper. The drakes of the Council fight sharper when he nods; they pull punches they do not remember choosing when he lifts a palm. Rivals swear time stretches near his corner; doctors find no rule broken. Managers complain anyway, because wins and losses should not hinge on a man who is not even supposed to be in the match.

As Zargon hunts dragon prophecy and the Council braces for war, Kagirinai has become the hinge the office cannot sanction and the locker room cannot ignore—the quiet promise that heaven still backs the Wyrms, and that any night he appears is a night the drakes fight like their myth depends on it.

Prince Kieryu like Chief Jay is a leader of his peoples and also heir to the throne. Kieryu like much of his peoples past is shrouded in guarded secrecy. Thought to be descendants off Andromedans who fled their homeworld when it was attacked by Aethran Millitary forces years ago (whether it's in the recent past decades or even centuries it is unknown and the peoples of the Deep Lands those few you can find won't say).

Prince Kieryu and his royal guard emerged from the deep dark forests of the Deep Lands when their fellow countryman Chouuju returned to Alaara following his capture a few years earlier by a Neptunian Zoo Keeper. Kieryu welcomed Chouuju back and the two struck up a fast friendship. Chouuju even began teaching the prince about wrestling who surprisingly took to it very easily. When the Contest of Champions rolled around all expected Chouuju to represent his country but instead it was the prince who represented them. The prince had a tough draw pulling defending champion Ciber Naught as his first round as he lost in just over thirteen minutes. Since the Kieryu and Chouuju have begun teaming together and look to make a mark on the tag team scene.