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

Ciber Naught the undisputed leader of the "GSF", Ciber Naught has made many enemies notably the lizard tag team called "Cygnus Rising" and Sam Moon and his "Alien Alliance" Team. A decorated former Sergeant in the Goldsboro military he led an elite Special Forces unit which he now commands in the NAWC. He is still a brawler and a power wrestler who has a lot to prove to himself and to the members of the "GSF" in the coming months. He first lost a major event called the "Contest of Champions" to a wrestler he could not believe could beat him, Brinson Faust of the country Aquala. This upset was the first time in over a decade that the country men of Goldsboro didn't control the Alaaran Government since the end of the planet's Civil War.

Only to add more insult to Ciber Naught and his group of wrestlers, Sam Moon has finally sent more competition with the long awaited debut of his son "Halfmoon II", up to the NAWC as well as Manta another powerful wrestler that is determined to take Ciber Naught's spot as the Goldsboro Champion. For the next "Contest of Champions", Ciber Naught has a lot on his plate this year and is hoping that with the help of verteran's Assassin X and the Hangman's progression in the ring that his own new finisher he can help hold off the outside forces and regain everything that he lost and believes is rightfully his and no one elses!

Assassin X's background is very sketchy. Promoters file him out of Goldsboro, Alaara, but his true home—if it sits on any chart—stays off the record. He has been moving bounty-hunter guild work on and off Alaara for years, trading in rumors as much as results, so investigators find ledgers and aliases before they find kin. It is said he is a real assassin in more than name; nothing has ever stuck in a courtroom. What is on the books is the guild he runs with his associates and a long employment history for Ciber Naught that has circled back to the NAWC: Ciber has retained him again, alongside the Hangman, to clear the enemies crowding the Goldsboro camp inside the company.

A-X still carries a private code of honor: he prefers to work a contract face-to-face and straight up, and will use a hard sneak or a short ambush if that is what it takes to get a mark to look him in the eye. He never stacks jobs—only one contract at a time—and he does not walk away until the terms read complete. A martial-arts foundation shows in a patient, cruel dismantling; he would rather break a body down across a match than rush a sloppy finish. His name stays on the open market, too: the highest bidder can always buy a night, and even with Ciber paying the current tab, A-X is never deaf to the next payday.

The Hangman from the ever popular Parts Unknown! When the Hangman is asked where he's from he just pulls the noose on his ever-present rope tight and walks away. He works for the same guild as Assassin X and was brought in to help A-X with Ciber Naught's enemies. Not much of a talker due to the special hood he wears that helps him filter the air. He must wear the mask due to overexposure to an unknown chemical that has poisoned his lungs.

The filter in the mask helps him adjust to the air that could be lethal to him if it was removed. Hangman always carries a rope with him to the ring and has a tendency to hang his opponent with it, getting him disqualified. He is a power wrestler with deceptive agility for a big man.

Within the same bounty-hunter guild that backs Assassin X, the Hangman is the enforcer Ciber Naught leans on when a problem needs to be solved in the building, not negotiated on the airwaves. The mask keeps him in the match; the rope and his power style make the finish a foregone conclusion when the night is his to close.

Ron Grayson is one of the most exciting, dynamic flyers in the world, though he has bulked up as of late so his moves have more punch to them; he can also be as dumb as a post. Opponents try to make fun of Ron, but Ron laughs with them, not realizing they're laughing at him, not with him. He follows Chad's instructions without fail and is extremely loyal to him.

Half of American Pride beside Chad Hillsman, Ron treats every NAWC stop like a home game: flags, hand-slaps, and a grin that does not fade when the crowd turns on him. Where Chad maps the match beat for beat, Ron supplies fearless air offense—springboards, dives, and top-rope gambles that can steal a show or backfire when he misreads who is friend and who is foe.

What Ron lacks in street smarts he makes up for in stubborn heart. He believes in American Pride with childlike sincerity, and that earnestness has won the team honest friends in the locker room—and painted a target on his back for heels who love to twist his trust. In tag wars he will throw himself into a breakup first, eat the cheap shot meant for his partner, and still climb the buckles hunting his Shooting Star if Chad says the window is open.

Chad Hillsman hates anything that is not American, including a lot of the wrestlers standing across from him. He is the ultimate ultra-nationalist, and he does not mind letting crowds, promoters, or cameras know it. He hits hard and fast to make up for the team's lack of size, cuts the ring in half like a veteran, and calls the shots when the bell rings. His past is still mostly off the record, but his present is loud: he left Earth for the NAWC hunting gold and respect for the flag he drapes over every interview.

Beside Ron Grayson, Chad is the brains, the mouth, and the emergency brake on American Pride—the partner who decides when to pour on speed, when to stall, and when to let Ron fly. He trusts Ron's loyalty more than he trusts most people's intelligence, and he repays it by taking the cheap heat himself so Ron can keep the babyface shine. Opponents who mock Ron quickly learn Chad keeps receipts.

In singles or tags he wrestles with beltway bluntness: stiff lariats, blunt knees, and a Hillsmanline that answers disrespect in a hurry. When the fight needs a statement instead of a statistic, he folds bodies with STARS AND BARS—a Samoan drop that lands like a closing argument. Chad does not need the galaxy to love him; he needs it to remember that American Pride does not ask permission to show up last and leave standing.

Sammael—early billing also read Sammeal on imported Earth posters—is a heavy metal–loving, hard-living sort who grew up half-deaf on the Misfits and Glenn Danzig. He is not the strongest man in any locker room, so he compensates with vicious agility and a high-impact style built for highlight reels and emergency rooms alike. Sammael fears nothing and no one and will do anything to get over, including calling out TWF legend Kindred while safer talent stayed quiet. In his late twenties he already moved like someone who expected pyro every night.

He fell hard for wrestling as a kid and stayed long enough for the obsession to feel like faith. His training was essentially years of getting his ass kicked in flea-market tents and small halls across Earth—cheap canvas, crooked refs, honest pain—until he learned how to pop a crowd without a script and how to protect a partner when the money was short. When he finally bet on himself and went solo, the road pointed toward the TWF.

That path landed him in a feud with Kindred that proved he belonged on posters, not just on flyers taped to bar windows. Promoters branded him Hell's Technician because he works limbs like a mechanic chasing a rattle, softening everything ahead of his Mourning Star STF / Regal stretch—a finisher as stubborn as his playlists. From those early wars forward, Sammael treated every locker room like a proving ground: spotlights optional, respect mandatory, volume always at eleven.

Brinson Faust is a powerful, four-armed menace in and out of the ring. The extra pair of arms give him more leverage, grip, and striking angles than most foes can plan for; on the mat he blends raw power with surprising agility for a man his size. He can shift the color of his skin to match his surroundings—handy in a brawl when he does not want to be seen until the last second.

His full file is still thin, but whispers in circles close to the ancient Alaaran exiles who produced Chouuju place Faust in a related bloodline neither man has been eager to name. They have yet to share a program of consequence, and whether they will end up allies or opposite corners is an open question. The record is clearer on his credentials: the Aquala brawler from Thrika is the Contest of Champions winner who upset Ciber Naught—a result that ended more than a decade of Goldsboro control of the Alaaran government and made Faust an overnight prize and target.

When the old team splintered, Manta, Faust, and Syllyla reformed as Alien Corps in honor of Manta's late teacher, while Belroc and Sekada held the Cygnus Rising name. The rivalry between those two camps has only grown hotter. Faust has thrown his full weight into taking Cygnus down, still angry that the glow of that Contest run left him slow to read a friend's pain, and he refuses to pretend Commissioner Mangus is anything but a Cygnus legend with a front-row seat to the NAWC rulebook.

The wrestler known as Stone Mountain has not even hit the five-year mark, but he has already lived a career's worth of noise. In WZW he made a huge splash—literally—on night one, and within two years he was a multiple-time Heavyweight Champion. When he left WZW to see the rest of the map, he took the indy spaceways by storm, barnstorming smaller feds throughout the galaxy, picking up gold and leaving wreckage behind him.

By the time Maxwell Sidious called, the All-Planets championship on his résumé had already turned industry heads. Sidious signed him to a long, exclusive deal and slotted him straight into Sidious's own former place in the Sidious Squad—a statement booking if there ever was one. Stone Mountain is a genuine box-office pull: few workers match his blend of raw power and, for 6'7" and 335, almost unfair agility. When he climbs high, the STONE MOUNTAIN SPLASH has closed title reigns and put opponents on the injured list with equal frequency.

In the NAWC he has lined up beside Slim Jenkins—two men who were sick of being sidelined and ignored while the spotlight hunted fresher faces. The partnership is a dare to management: pass them over again, and find out what happens when the building finally gets the thud it pretended it did not need.