Board Game Illustration Generator

Sali: Builds anything in seconds ranging from walls to cannon walls that cause more destruction than the Buster Call. HE IS A BOY BTW Mojo: A woman with a bow and arrow, she uses 4 special attacks, 1 of them summons 1000 arrows to shoot at her opponent at once, the second one does the same but with 1000000 arrows. The third can make an air slash with an arrow. And the last boosts all her attacks to make them WWWWWWWAAAAAAYYYYYY stronger.

black sesame ramen

I am multiracial on a different level. My father, Alexandre Matthieu, had Haitian and Brazilian descent through his mother and had French and Jamaican ancestry through his father, while my mother, Maria, was of Paraguayan, Costa Rican, Japanese, and English descent through her mother, and Italian, Dutch, and Spanish descent through her father. That makes me multi-racial on a different level. Not only that, but I have Italian citizenship by birth. I have ancestors from Europe, South America, North America, and even Asia! I might even be from Africa, so there’s only 1 continent I’m not from, and that’s Australia. But Australia’s a country, not a continent, right? Don’t believe what the scientists tell you. Anyways, my sister (Nika) and I are Paulistas. It means we’re from or live in Sao Paulo. At least, we lived in Sao Paulo. See, Nika and I had a problem. A big problem. We were junkies. I don’t mean 10 pills a day druggies. We were some crazy addicts. But, eventually, Nika had a near overdose. “Man,” she said, “I think our addiction is too much now.” “Maybe you’re right,” I replied. “I guess we should stop.” Nika nodded. And so, we decided to start our sobriety plan. But that was easier said than done. A few days in, the withdrawal-induced breakdowns began to happen. Of course, we expected them to happen. A couple days later, Nika suffered an overdose because she withdrew. She woke up at the Albert Einstein hospital in a panic. Although she would have many other relapses, her overdose somewhat opened her eyes up to the serious dangers of her addiction. After that, we decided to get away from Brazil where the distractions were, and we moved to New York City with our kids. Well, we kind of moved back to New York. I was born on May 23, 1994, in Milan, Italy, while Nika was born on February 7, 1998, in New York City. Following our father’s incarceration and our mother’s death, for our safety, my dad’s youngest sister (Daria Tamara Cruz) sent us away to Sao Paulo, Brazil. She said that although it wasn’t much safer there, no one would be out to kill us or kidnap us because my father and grandfather were good friends with the Sao Paulo criminals. And, so, we left New York for a new home: a home we were quite unfamiliar with. And here we were, almost 10 years later, at the front door of my dad’s older sister, Amanda Alexandria Maria de las Mercedes Brodeur Tavares. My father always talked about how much he resented his sister because of how she treated him and Tia Daria. I heard him constantly vent and cry to my mother about it. I had heard such things about Tia Amanda that it seemed like she was a cold-hearted person. But time had passed. Maybe, just maybe, her heart had changed. “Who the hell are you?” she said. “We’re your nephew and niece,” I said. I then picked up Anthony and Angela. “And these are your great-nephew and great-niece.” Angela waved. “Hi,” she said sweetly. Amanda rolled her eyes. “OK, so? You want a cookie?” she said with a baby voice. I was shocked by Amanda’s bitterness. “Amanda-” “Let me guess: you need my help as usual?” “You didn’t even say goodbye when we left!” snapped Nika. “We need your help. We’re trying to rebuild our lives.” “Good luck.” Nika then began to get desperate. “Look, you don’t have to take us! At the very least, just take the kids!” Amanda rolled her eyes and laughed. “Why would I help you? You are the children of Matthieu!” “But-” Nika tried to speak but Amanda interrupted her. “Now get lost or else I’ll have you arrested for loitering!” “But Aman-” “GET LOST!” Amanda then slammed the door in our faces. As a result, we had to spend the night in a motel with our last remaining money. Nika and I woke up at 4 in the morning annoyed and tired. We then picked up Anthony and Angela and began our lives homeless. After a couple days and with $6.25 to my name, we decided to go to a restaurant to see if we could get some fries and chicken nuggets. A woman walked up to me with my head down in distress. “Antonio?” I couldn’t believe it. It was my Tia Daria! We shared a hug and talked for some time about my life in Brazil. She then asked me about Tia Amanda. I contemplated for a second. I realized that telling her that Amanda kicked us to the curb would mean that the family feud fire would only grow and likely spread. I remembered my promise to my sister, son, nephew: “I promise that this family won’t be fighting anymore.” That meant that I couldn’t be fighting with my aunt the same way my father had fought with her, and the same way my grandfather fought with his siblings. Which meant that I would have to lie to Tia Daria. I [obviously] felt guilty about lying to the woman who saved my life, but at the same time, it was a white lie. It was a lie I made to protect my family. So, I told her that we didn’t go to Amanda’s house at all. And then, Daria said that we’d go talk to Amanda. Great. I tried to convince Tia Daria to not go talk to Amanda, citing the family feud. But she said that she hadn’t talked to Amanda since my father’s death, and that it’d be nice to catch up with her. I prayed that Amanda had calmed down. But she didn’t. She had practically been saving her anger for her little sister. We arrived at Daria’s house early in the morning. I thought Daria would knock on the door composed, but she pounded the door. It was as if she had the intent to knock it down like she was an FBI agent entering the home of a corrupt businessman. An angry Amanda came down the stairs and opened it. “WHAT?!” she snapped. “Alo, Amanda.” “What do you want?” replied Amanda. “What I want is to know what’s the matter with you,” demanded Daria. Amanda cackled. “What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you?! You comin’ up to my door at 7 A.M. like you a federal official! So, what’s the matter with you?” “OK,” said Nika. “Let’s just calm down here before-” But the two sisters began bickering. Finally, Anthony had enough. “STOP FIGHTING!” he screamed. By this point, half of the neighborhood was watching. “Great,” said Amanda sarcastically. “EXACTLY like our childhood! Humiliating me as usual!” Daria pointed a finger at Amanda. “You have no right to act like you weren’t a jerk to me, either.” “Yeah, I do. I was Dad’s favorite. He loved me more than you and Matthieu combined, because Matthieu wasn’t anything.” “Yeah, maybe your bias is right. But he certainly was a better person that you’ll ever be.” Amanda looked at Daria straight in the eyes. And, without hesitation, she grabbed her and threw her into the bushes. Then, she ran down the stairs and began to beat her little sister, screaming any insults that came to mind. Nika ran down the stairs and pulled her aunts apart. The two took some time to catch their breath before Amanda finally said, “They aren't stayin’ here, and that’s that.” She then rushed up the stairs and slammed the door. She then came back outside with a stool. And so, we took off running. Amanda was a rich girl; thanks to the inheritance she got from her father and from her business. Clearly that made her think she was a better person than her little sister. So, she lived in a rich person’s home in Jersey City, not too far away from her Long Island hometown. Daria had never been like that; she wasn’t superficial, greedy, and Daria Tamara Cruz Brodeur Tavares certainly wasn’t materialistic. Even though she was a millionaire because of her hard work (and it helped that she got inheritance money), she lived in a simple house in Bayville, Long Island, about 30 miles away from Manhattan. That house was her childhood home. While Amanda had an 8-bedroom house with 6 bathrooms, a tennis court, and a built-in theater, the house that Anderson Christophe Antoine Brodeur brought way back in December 1980 was a 6-bedroom house with 4 bathrooms, a backyard that acted as a soccer field with a massive family room and basement. The houses were similar, yet it seemed like the older house had more love in it than hatred. Daria got Nika and I a job at her restaurant. I wanted to be recording music instead, but I had to take what I could get. While we worked our butts off, we watched Amanda’s wealth grow and grow. Amanda grew up to be just like her father: a star central attacking midfielder. At just 18 years old, she left Massachusetts and went all the way to China to win the World Cup with the United States, making 9 goals and an assist along the way and winning the silver boot. 6 months later, she graduated college as the all-time top scorer for the Harvard Crimson. She then played soccer until 2009, with 709 goals and 191 assists in 891 appearances, cementing her place as one of the greatest female footballers of all time. By the time she retired, she was already rich but added to her net worth because of her entrepreneurship and the fact she was practically a supermodel. However, there was a catch in Amanda’s life. She was a playgirl. Amanda had 4 husbands and had yet another fiancée. In total, she’s had 8 men she’s called a boyfriend. 4 she married, 2 of them were just boyfriends, and with 2 she broke off an engagement. She’s also a HEAVY smoker, and no one can really do anything about it. Not only that, but she also has an addiction to having affairs. Sometimes, she’ll flat out kiss men in broad daylight, whether in a relationship or not. Yeah, she does live fast. She was the present day Talulah Bankhead. No, scratch that. She was the present-day Gloria Swanson. A femme fatale. When she threw us out, she was going to marry some ex-linebacker named Lance Anthony Scott. He played for the New York Giants from 1996-1999, the Green Bay Packers from 1999-2001, the Oakland Raiders from 2001-2002, the New York Giants (again) for just 2003, the Buffalo Bills from 2003-2004, the New York Giants (yet again) for 2005, the Denver Broncos for 2006, the Giants between 2006 and 2008, and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for just 2009. I always knew that Amanda and Lance weren’t going to last, because Amanda has a bunch of trophies while poor Lan has just 1 Super Bowl ring. But back then, Amanda was with Lance A. Scott. II. TALES FROM BKNY & THE STUDIO OK, so I didn’t live in Brooklyn. Let’s get that straight. Tia Daria would never have let us live in Brooklyn, New York. Until Nika and I could get back on our feet, we lived in Bayville. But my life restarted for real over there. I met Rashawn Tre’von Garner while working at one of Daria’s stores in Brooklyn. He was ordering a salad, apparently. He was trying to “watch his weight” so he could live to see his success. I have to respect that. Rashawn and I did some talking, and I tagged along with him and his cousin DeMarcus Tyrone to the former’s recording studio. What I didn’t realize, though, was that they recorded music in Trenton, New Jersey, 70 miles south of Brooklyn. Apparently, Rashawn & DeMarcus were born in Trenton but moved to New York but stayed loyal to their record producer (Donald Charles “Donny” Duke). After about an hour, Donny saw me sitting around and asked me to “drop a verse.” I assumed he wanted me to freestyle or something. The last time I freestyled was when I was a kid in New York. But I tried anyways. 6 minutes later, I was signed to Duke Class Entertainment. You know how Lionel Messi got signed to Barcelona because of a napkin? Well, you could say that Anthony Tavares got signed to DC Entertainment over a crumpled-up piece of paper. I went back to New York City with a new job. Between April 2013 and July 2014, I recorded my first studio album Anthony PAULISTA’S Tales, because I would start recording with the stage name “Anthony Paulista.” I released it on September 13, 2014. People would say that fate had it that both Ready to Die and Anthony PAULISTA’S Tales would be released on the same day 20 years apart. Maybe fate did have it that way, because the album was an immediate success, and it (like Ready to Die) put the East Coast “back on the map” or whatever they say, and I, Anthony Paulista, became the face of the East Coast during the 2010s. Which meant that I didn’t have to live with my aunt anymore. I moved Niki, my son, and my niece out of Daria’s Bayville house, and almost moved to Staten Island. Then I remembered my aunt Amanda, who moved all the way into the city and stopped talking to Daria. That’s why I decided to move a half mile away and stay in Bayville, much to Daria’s joy. This would be a good place to end my story, but, of course, I can’t do that. Because a LOT more happened. A lot more that I don’t want to talk about, but if we’re doing my biopic, we have to. III. HOUSE OF BRODEUR Whenever you get rich, you’d better start watching your back more. That was a quote made by my grandfather, the [not-so] great Anderson Christophe. Was he right? Yes. But he wasn’t very right as a person, hence why I hesitated to take his advice while he was still here. Anderson Christophe Antoine Brodeur was born on November 15, 1955, in Kingston, Jamaica. He was born to Andre Richard Samuel Henri Antoine and Mauricette Cleopatre Brodeur, Haitian-born immigrants who would leave Jamaica 9 months after he was born. Anderson’s father almost got work back in Haiti, but the deal fell through. That’s a butterfly effect that worked in favor of the Antoines. The Antoines moved to Jamaica, Queens, New York in August 1956, and, on June 30, 1957, Anderson’s brother, Richardson Leonard, was born. They lived like a “normal” family for some time, but then Samuel and Mauricette adopted the daughter of a now-deceased friend of the latter. Her name was Nadia Angela “Anja” Hoedemaker Paul, now Anja Antoine Brodeur. When Anderson and Richardson began fighting, Anja would become the former’s “favorite,” which Mauricette didn’t like. She wanted the brothers to stop fighting (ESPECIALLY Anja, who couldn’t stand that she was now part of the fight), but neither Anderson nor Richardson liked that. Eventually, one day, the fighting went too far when Anderson found out that Richardson put a hit on him (OK, it’s not his fault. I’ll explain everything later). And when Anderson found out, he went into a fit of rage. That was the final straw. Anderson packed his bags, took his pregnant fiancée, and got out of New York. However, he promised to stay in contact with Mauricette and Andre Richard. “What do you mean?” a gangster friend of Anderson said. “You still gon’ keep in touch with that traitor?” “I know what I’m doing, Merv,” said Anderson. “Look, I’m gonna kill him.” “Then let’s do it!” snapped Merv. Anderson laughed. “Man, you crazy! If we kill him now, we’ll be primary suspects. I want to keep in touch with him. Form a bond with him. He’s obviously going to have enemies that aren’t us in the future. When he does, we act and get away with it.” Anderson used his index finger to tap his brain. “You got to use what’s up here, fool, or you’ll get caught.” Merv, although hesitant and angry, nodded in agreement. Anderson eventually changed his name to Chris Andre to shorten his long name. Anderson finished high school with his fiancée (Ally Tavares Allard), and on November 30, 1973, Amanda Alexandria Maria de las Mercedes Brodeur Tavares was born. Then, in January 1974, the 18-year-old Chris got signed to play with Ajax Amsterdam. In his first 50 games for the club, he scored 50 goals and made 16 assists, which earned him a move to Arsenal Football Club. He played just 21 games for Arsenal but scored 4 goals. However, he made up for the goals with 15 assists. This caused his position to be changed from left winger to central attacking midfielder. This also earned him a then-record move to Bayern Munchen. The city of Munich would be the birth city of my father because his father would spend 6 years at Bayern, winning 1 European Cup, 1 Intercontinental Cup, 1 Bundesliga, and 1 German Cup, scoring 6 goals and being the joint-top scoring in the European Cup that he won. In total, in the 300 games he played, he’d score 250 goals and made 40 assists. In the summer of 1982, at the age of 26, he got a move to Liverpool (which was the city where my aunt was born), where he’d win 1 league title, 1 League Cup, and 1 Charity Shield in his first season. In 55 appearances, he’d score 37 times and made 12 assists. However, at the end of the season, he’d twist his ankle. No biggie, right? He’d be out for a week and then come back. Wrong. In 1977, Chris won the Ballon D’Or after scoring 52 goals in a single season, but it was close. However, in the 1983-84 season, all eyes were on him. Everyone thought that he would win the Ballon D’Or. He then got injured in the first game of the season when he tore his anterior cruciate ligament. As a result, he was supposed to painfully watch as Liverpool won the League, the League Cup, and the European Cup without him. In 1984, he had a minor comeback after scoring a goal in the UEFA Euro 1984 (which France, whom Chris had opted for as a nation to play for, would win). However, when he got back to Liverpool, he got injured again. He was told that he wouldn’t be able to play for a year. His return was further delayed with hip and ankle injuries. Finally, Chris returned to training in November 1985. However, by then, he’d lost all his motivation after seeing Liverpool as runners-up in the European Cup. And it didn’t help that he now had a Percocet and Vicodin addiction. Finally, when Chris realized in a December 1985 match that he’d lost all his pace and stamina, he ended up collapsing to the ground in tears. His friend, Michael Barclay, noticed him. Seeing the dejected Chris, he had him substituted. That December 1, 1985, game would be the last time that Chris Andre ever played football. The next day, he announced his retirement at just 30 years old. After that, Chris began to pop pills even more. Even when his knee and hip went back to normal, he still did drugs. That’s when his now-wife, Ally, realized he was a junkie. And she didn’t want Andre to “upgrade” from Vicodin to HEROIN. As a result, 2 months after Chris retired, she and Michael organized an intervention for Chris. Now, Chris, being an addict with no intention of stopping, was obviously upset. He ended up “respectfully declining” and patiently put Michael out of the house. The second he did, he lunged at Ally and began beating her in the face. Poor Ally. She repeatedly begged him to stop. About 3 minutes passed, and finally, Chris stopped. “I ain’t goin’ to no rehab, and that’s that.” He then punched her again, and Ally let out one last cry of agony. Chris never really was the one to beat his wife. At least not regularly. But after Ally tried to ship him off to rehab, he changed. He’d now beat Ally occasionally. He’d beat her over spilt milk. He’d beat her if dinner was too hot. He'd beat her if dinner was too cold. Eventually, he’d just beat her for the thrill it gave him. And it had to be a good thrill if Ally was on her best behavior, and he’d still beat her. Following the injury, Chris took his family and left Liverpool for Los Angeles, where his father-in-law (Giacomo Paolo “Gio” Tavares) was. Gio got Chris a job as his assistant, where Chris’s painkiller addiction would worsen. Eventually, Ally’s worst fears came true, and Chris would begin drinking and taking cocaine. Finally, in Gio’s basement, he suffers a near-overdose. His mother-in-law (Vincentine Alexandrine Allard) found him there, struggling to breathe. Chris begged Vincentine not to tell her daughter, but Alexa didn’t listen and told a shocked Ally anyways. As a result, Ally and Chris’s relationship worsened. It was now the summer of 1986, and Gio decided to tell Chris a secret. “I’m a secret crime boss,” he said to his son-in-law. “Really?” Chris said, not believing Gio. “Really,” replied the latter. “I run a secret racketeering, prostitution, drug dealing, and laundering business at night.” “Good for you,” said a bitter Chris. “Look, Chris,” said Gio. “I want you to run some hotels and warehouses for me here in L.A. and in Vegas.” Chris groaned. “Yeah, great.” He had no intention of going back to work. He seemed perfectly content being a drug addict and regularly binging alcohol. “Before you say no, you should know that the hotels are with $10 million.” Chris almost choked on a pill. “Really?” Gio nodded. “Yeah. The thing is, though, I need you to be reliable.” He snatched a bottle of pills out of Chris’s hand. “Which means no more pills.” Chris felt dejected. Would he really have to give up drugs? But then again, 10 million dollars? How could he say no? “So, are you in?” Chris looked at Gio eagerly. “Yeah!” Easier said than done. The withdrawals that Chris faced were crippling, yet he kept reminding himself of the millions of dollars he would get and the fact that he’d be able to provide for his family again. Eventually, after a month, as promised, Gio put Chris in charge of the hotels. And, another month later, Chris Andre moved his family out of Gio and Alex’s house and into his own house in Malibu. Chris had continuously told Ally that he was just working at the hotels. She had no idea that he was secretly importing drugs into L.A. to distribute, and he intended to keep it that way. So, was it too bad or too good that Adelia Claire-Celeste Angeline “Addy Angeline” Reinders was about to cross his path?