Zhufor, Butcher of Troy

[Zhufor]

Code:

- Behind the Mask -

Name: Hero
Age: 18
RP Experience: Not enough to count on one hand
Activity Level: If participating in a thread, then everyday

- The Character -

Name: Zhufor (zuu-for)
Order: Seraphim
Loyalty: Neither heaven nor hell
Member Group: Fallen angel (demon)

Appearance:

A: Angelic Pure Form:

wall.alphacoders.com/wallpaper.php?i=114794

Due to Zhufor's origins his pure form can be compared to a doodle: hasty and unfinished. And obviously the biggest difference between him and his heavenly brothers is his "dark complexion", for his skin smolders and flakes like a dying ember. A mockery of a halo floats lightly above his blackened head. His eyes are burning white circles, searing and wild, while his brow is permanently furrowed in anger. Zhufor has no hair to speak of in his pure form and his wings are decayed and waxy. You should not let his appearance deceive you however, for the only thing truly broken about Zhufor is his sanity. His pure form is nothing but wild vitality and unchecked power, more akin to a force of nature than anything fighting for Heaven or Hell.

B: Angelic Perfect Form:

s210.photobucket.com/albums/bb71/cloudfighter_88/Blood%20angels/?action=view¤t=BloodAngel.gif&sort=ascending


Pretty self explanatory if the link works. By this time Zhufor had developed enough of his own personality to actually grow skin. With his perfect form, Zhufor loses his sorry excuse for a halo, but gains ruthlessly powerful wings: strong enough to crack concrete and snap bone. Zhufor is clad in a rune-inlaid set of crimson armor. Baroque and blood splattered, he wears a thick breast plate and both a set of gold inlayed pauldrons and vambraces. As you can see the scythe makes another appearance. Over the years Zhufor has never let his scythe leave his side and has come to call it Flesh Ripper. Possessing magical properties, Flesh Ripper can alter the length of its handle and the angle of the blade - so much so that the blade can be propped at a 90 degree angle - similar to a spear.

C: Human Form:

www.picturesdepot.com/celebrities/128/brad+pitt+in+a+suit.html

Zhufor's human form is finely carved. Put together with slabs of muscle, his entire body a weapon, honed over the ages of man for a single bloody purpose. In his worldly form he keeps his fair colored hair very short. He favors clean, sharp clothing, but nothing too restrictive in case of emergency. His face is rugged and handsome and can be described as neutral, in other words he has a good poker face, neither sad nor happy.

Personality: Zhufor is courteous if not a bit short tempered. He is dark humored and sarcastic, often oblivious of other people's feelings. Although he is lazy, Zhufor is opinionated and once he sets his sights on a goal there is little in the way in altering his course.

Zhufor is terribly prideful through and through. He walks with a tangible aura of confidence, despite his past. He fights with an insatiable fury often preferring to prolong a fight just for the sake of it, reveling in the ecstasy of adrenaline and carnage.

One thing to remember though is that Zhufor is no petty criminal or mass murderer. He does not commit senseless killings if he is bored And although he runs a "tight ship" Zhufor disregards rules that are not his own and can be a brutal and messy butcher. reveling in the ecstasy of adrenaline and carnage. Having been stripped of everything he has ever known - Zhufor takes anything he can get, making him quite a pleasure seeker.

Likes
Fighting (this includes thumb wars)
- blood (both his own and his enemy's)
- being under-estimated
- comedic banter
- getting drunk
- any sort of stimulation now that I think of it, take your pick
(music, sex, feeling fly like a G6, anything really)

Dislikes (hate is a better word)
- manipulation
- cowardice
- mutilation after the fact (desecration or just poor sportsmanship)

Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
- Fighting can only ever invigorate Zhufor
- and almost un-paralleled combat expertise
- can manipulate the blood of the weak-willed or dead
- the usual super human angel/demon bullshit

Weakness
- a scythe is not always the best defensive weapon due to it's single edge and general unwieldy-ness (sometimes overcome as explained above)
- its hard to take on the world. I.E. Zhufor has no allies to speak of
- rash in decisions
- needs a constant source of blood to stay peak performance. A minimal loss can result in a crippling out come. (not while fighting however)
- will fight a losing battle, for that matter he would create a lost cuase
- obviously lacks the raw power of the archangels/demon
- has abandonment issues


History: For all intents and purposes, Zhufor was a mistake. His story starts where another ends. Sariel, one of the archangels of heaven, was to be his birthplace. He was not created with some pre-divinated purpose. He was spawned from the life blood of Sariel, as he lay murdered by his traitorous brethren during the battle for heaven. The rage of Sariel's death throes giving Zhufor strength and meaning while Sariel's final words, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" - breathed life into this abomination.

We already know the angels loyal to god cast out their brothers and Zhufor would've shared their fate had the vanguard of angels scouring the heavenly plain not discovered him surrounded by the mutilated remains of fallen angels. The heavenly host did not trust this creature at first, chaining him up like a dog. But away from any real battle field, Zhufor proved to be as stable as any of the purest angels. But Zhufor was spited by the other angels, regardless of his deeds.

Zhufor gad had enough. He demanded Michael to acknowledge him for the warrior he was and have him complete a task worthy of his skill. (Robes can only be washed so many times anyway)

Zhufor was sent to wrap up a mess the pagans had gotten themselves into. The thriving greek city states shocked the Mediterranean by launching a warfleet bigger than the world had ever seen, with only the complete destruction of Troy in mind. The queen of Sparta, Helen had run off on an affair with the prince of Troy, Paris. Unbeknownst to the Greeks, Helen was just the human form of the infamous succubus, Anna.

Zhufor was commanded to come back with Anna's head or not at all.
So he joined the chaos of war, going by the name Achilles. On the blood flooded beaches of Troy, Zhufor butchered his way through phalanxes single handed only stopping to rest, laying in the mounds of dead. He couldn't stop himself. He was pulled by some terrible instinct to keep going and going. He personally be-headed a village of farmers who had surrendered out side of Troy's walls. His men now followed him only to avoid being added to the beach spanning gave sites. This day was different though as the soldiers did not gossip about Zhufor's blade, for the wildly popular general, Odysseus had just developed a plan to finally rip out the heart of Troy. It had been ten years now. Ten years since Zhufor was commanded to end the trojan war. Instead he prolonged it, added to the bodycount and in the eyes of heaven, betrayed god's will.

The legendary day was at hand, the massacre of Troy would soon commence. Night had fallen and the troops inside the Trojan Horse had just opened the gates. . . but Zhufor was not present. To the Greeks, Achilles' epic died with him on the sands when some soldiers found what they thought was his body just outside the walls of Troy with a single arrow in his right heel.

That morning, Zhufor had been watching the sun rise out on the beach, trying to clear his head of the bloodlust that now wracked his mind when he was pulled in by the tide and wrenched down to the bottom of the ocean and imprisoned in a heavenly cage, still considered useful on judgement day. For more than half the ages of man Zhufor has been rotting in his prison, occasionally moved by a strong current or underwater volcano, utterly forgotten by all but the eldest among the angels.

On the day of the arrangement Zhufor and his fun box had drifted to the bottom of the Long Island Sound. (convenient I know)
The creation of the hellmouth caused warps in Zhufors prison allowing him to escape and unleash his anger on Chorazin

Roleplay Example: Sergeant Faruthriel, leader of an Eldar Jet-Bike Attack Squadron, careened along side the fractured glass domes with her squad, the smooth lines of the jet-bikes cutting through the spore-choked air. The blood-splattered designs on the walls of the domes blurred into one, still the loathsome, winged Tyranids, kept pace in hot pursuit. Faruthriel banked sharply, as the telltale sound of buzzing indicated another volley of flesh-eating, black-shelled beetles spewed from the vile Tyranids�s weapons. The beetles, each as big as a baseball, are the living ammunition, feared by all. The beetles use their pincers to grab hold of the body and slowly eat their way to the brain of their unfortunate victims.
Was it lack of skill or bad luck? It was hard to say. It was not an unnamed soldier who was hit. It was Faruthriel�s childhood friend, Lherian, second in command of the Eldar squadron. He convulsed as a pair of black-shelled beetles tore into his back. The squad watched in horror as his jet-bike flew into a ditch and then was gone from their view as a living tide of Tyranids clawed their way over Lherian�s dying body.

As her friend lay dying on the ground below, Faruthriel shouted sharp commands to her squad, racing through the soaring arches of the city. �Bank and open fire,
cousins! On my mark!� she ordered. Fear was etched in her voice. The squad banked sharply, pinwheeling around and stopping dead, to face a cloud of fanged maws and leathery wings.
�Now!� shouted Faruthriel. The air filled with minuscule blades, shot from the jet-bikes� cannons. A split second later another sound filled the air, the shrieks and cries of dying Tyranids, as the Eldar�s shuriken-rounds sliced into the juicy bodies of their pursuers. Black blood spurted from the Brood of Tyranids, as their tattered bodies plummeted from the sky.
For a moment, hope flickered in Faruthriel�s chest, only to be snuffed out by the loud clap of wings, as a Tyranid the size of a tank dropped in their midst. The monstrous creature lashed out with its bladed limbs, cutting through bone and metal alike. Before you could say �Oh, crud,� three of Faruthriel�s squad members were savagely butchered by this enormous, big mama of a Tyranid. Faruthriel panicked, slamming her jet-bike into reverse. The beast whipped its bulbous head around, still gnawing on the rest of Faruthriel�s squad. With a scream, the beast projected a bolt of incandescent light from its jaws. Had the destructive bolt hit its target, Faruthriel would have been vaporized, but it missed. The resulting explosion�s shock wave almost knocked her off the jet-bike. Without looking back, she leveled out and sped over the doomed landscape.

Below Faruthriel, pockets of Eldar resistance buckled and gave way to the sheer weight of screeching, stabbing, alien Tyranids. Tears of anger ran down her face. Blinking them away she thought, how could this be happening? She hunkered over the dashboard and drove faster still, turning the Tyranids below into a blurred mass of claw and carapace. Suddenly, three scythed-armed beasts leapt into the air before her. With a spray of gore, the Tyranids smashed against her bike. She corkscrewed downward, plowing into the ranks of Tyranids. Before she had time to crawl clear, Faruthriel was grabbed by a Tyranid twenty times her size. She flailed in desperation. Forget the training. Forget noble heroism. With one sickening crunch, her part of this story was over.

[Azrael]

Accepted. I really think you'll do well here.

~ Azrael