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post #33 of (permalink) Old 05-21-15, 05:41 PM Thread Starter
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Originally Posted by Farseer Ulthris View Post
Name: Zsavo Verak

Age: 115

Homeworld: Nostramo

Physical Appearance: Possessed of the Geneseed of Konrad Curze, Zsavo has the pale flesh and obsidian eyes so typical of the Night Lords Legion. In terms of other features, much of his head is bald, save for the top of the scalp which is woven into a top knot; his face is very gaunt and his almond-shaped eyes are sunken, appearing near enough like that of a corpse. To further enhance his terrifying appearance, Zsavo has had the skin of his high cheekbones peeled off to further expose the bone beneath and has a fanged skull grafted to the forehead of his skull. His teeth have been filed to a point. so as to further convey a predatory appearance. In terms of height, he is about the height of an average Astartes, yet he is comparatively slim...making him resemble a power armoured scarecrow.

Armour Appearance: Given the dark specialisation of the VIII Legion, it is fitting that the Night Lord adorn himself in a style of Mark V power armour that conveys terror and despair. To begin with, the plating is coloured in the distinctive blue and lightning strike pattern adorned by members of the legion; much of his armour is adorned with the skins of Human adversaries in a twisted robe. In recent times, after the Drop Sight Massacre, he has managed to peel off the face of a Raven Guard Marine and has stapled it to his breastplate. The helmet itself is adorned with a plume woven together from the teeth of slain opponents, Human and Alien alike which can be bound when stealth is imperative; the brow has a silver trim that curls around into horn-like structures on each side. The gauntlets are tipped with claws, with skulls embedded into their palms and etchings of bone into the fingers. His leg plates have skeletal hands embedded into the ceramite whilst his back-generator is adorned with spikes.

Personality: A man born and raised within the Underhives of Nostramo, Zsavo Verak was shaped by the deadly dregs of that night-shrouded hellhole. Out of necessity, from the very moment he could hold a blade or a gun, he had to kill in order to stay alive. As those years went by, that necessity turned into a passion for ending lives. The Night Lord categorises a kill in two areas; a slow death and a swift one, each offering their own satisfaction to Zsavo. A swift death is considered an artful practice, striking the right place to ensure a life’s end; slow deaths grant the thrill of watching the target writhe in pain from their fatal wounds and burns, witnessing their blood paint the floor in the colour of life itself. A trophy taker, he will always claim a memento from a noteworthy kill. Every time he crosses paths with another being, he calculates numerous ways in which to kill them as an intellectual exercise; it is only matter of being allowed to do what his twin hearts call for him to do.

Though his love for killing is well known, the Nostraman holds other personality traits that ensure his usefulness to the Legion. To begin with he is loyal to his Battle Brothers to the point of never calculating their deaths; the Night Lords are one of the few beings who’ve accepted him for his infatuation with the art of the kill, given that such a thing suits their tactics. Complimenting this is his patience; Zsavo knows that waiting is vital in ensuring victory. Furthermore, it is vital in ensuring that the kill is made and adds to the pleasure once the blow is landed. In battle, he makes use of underhand and traditional terror tactics of his legion; fear does add to the sweetness of the kill and has acquired it as a taste. He is also possessed of a dark sense of humour that mocks the fear of death possessed by many, and how they will do whatever they can to stave off the reaper. He holds some disdain for the lesser men of the galaxy, but ultimately cares not; in the end, death will come for them.

Marine Class: Legion Veteran

Background: The son of a Pleasure Servant who finally succumbed to the risks of her employment, Zsavo was born and raised within the Zarrus Underhive on Nostramo. 7 years after his birth, his mother would ultimately take her own life, as is the fate of many of Nostramo’s citizenry who can no longer take the pressures of their night-shrouded home. Having no other family within such an uncaring environment, the Night Lord-to-be was forced to raise himself, scavenging from the Upper Hive’s waste and taking what he can from the few market stalls that sold foods. Zsavo would continue living in such a manner until the time of his 10th birthday would come. Whilst on a scavenging run, he would find his usual spot had been taken by an older man. As he began to do his usual ruffling, the stranger drew a rusty blade and threatened to plant it into the boy’s eye. Angry that this man would take from him that which kept him alive, the boy drew a heavy lead pipe from the dumps and proceeded to cave the stranger’s skull in. With each swing, he could feel something awaken within him…yet before he could realise what it was, an Enforcer stumbled across him pounding the stranger’s head into a bloody pulp, forcing Zsavo to run away. In due time, at 12 years of age, he would find himself another victim; feeling the call again, he descended upon the elderly stranger and opened his throat up. Watching the blood flow from his latest kill’s wound, Zsavo felt alive in that very instant, as though he had found his very purpose in life…and he knew where he could get more of it and not be condemned for being himself. Days later, he handed himself over to a recruiter for the Night Lords Legion.

Training proved very brutal for Zsavo and his fellow recruits; the physical trials were something he could endure, yet it was the mental training that proved most taxing. Given that the Night Lords were the masters of drawing upon fear as a weapon, it would feature heavily in the trials of the Aspirants; if they could not handle the very tools of the legion, then they weren’t fit to bear the blood of Konrad Curze. In his case, Zsavo greatly feared ostracism for being a man who took great delight in death and feared no longer being able to enjoy killing. The legionaries assailed him with images of scorn from other beings, of monsters trying to strip him of his joys and tried drive him to madness in every single session. In due time, these tests transformed into confrontations of his misdeeds before being taken in by the Legion. Zsavo had vowed to channel his sins for the good of the Night Lords, so that they may triumph over there enemies and spread fear into their hearts. When the time finally came, the Hive-wretch would soon ascend to the ranks of the Legion as a Battle-Brother.

Given his mastery of the arts of the assault, Zsavo would be assigned as one of the infamous Night Raptors of the Legion; as a member of this murderous coterie, he would find himself finding the slaughter he so longingly desired. Where ever he and his squad went, murder and mayhem would ensue…yet it seemed the killing alone would eventually no longer be enough for the Night Raptor Using his favoured power sword, the Blood Dice, Zsavo would carve a bloody swathe before those who dare stand before his Battle-Brothers…yet a time would come when he would eventually become the Sergeant for his detachment of the Night Raptors after the campaign known as the Winnowing. Under his command, his particular branch of the Night Raptors started growing more subtle; stalking their foes before launching in screaming at the top of their lungs, savagely butchering their enemies in battle. With each noteworthy kill, Zsavo’s armour would come to be decorated with the skins and bones of his slain foes; when the Night Lords were declared rogue, it barely registered on the Night Raptor Sergeant’s mind, for all he cared about was the hunt and the kill, sweetened by his duties to the Primarch. When the battle of Isstvan V came, that was when his defining moment would come. During the Dropsite Massacre, he would lead his Night Raptors in striking at a vulnerable part of the Raven Guard’s stealth formation. Led by a Captain, the Loyalists would fight well against their foes; Zsavo was determined to claim such a kill. Whilst the Raven Guard was occupied, the Night Raptor calculated that this was the right time to strike and attain his kill. Just as the Captain was about land the killing blow on his fellow Night Raptor, Zsavo hacked his power blade into the Loyalist’s back, perforating both of the Marine’s hearts. As he fell to the ground, ecstasy flowed within the Night Raptor’s soul as he had killed a worthy being. Taking the flaying knife from his belt, Zsavo proceeded to flay the Raven Guard Captain’s face off and nail it his breastplate. It was for this opportunism that attracted the attention of Captain Xendrak, who saw not only a killer, but one who was willing to take his time to get it when the opportunity arose. Sensing his chance of killing near enough on his own terms, the Night Raptor accepted Xendrak’s offer being a part of the Fourth Company’s First Claw.


Volkite Serpenta
Power sword: Known as the Blood dice, possessed of a thin, curved an serrated blade.


Frag and Krak grenades
Bionic Right Arm
Here it is, I hope it fits well.
Looking good Farseer, please correct your spelling mistakes with the Captains name though: Xandrek not Xendrak. Just need to change the A and E around in your posts.

Sorry for taking so long to get back to you defense.

There is no way the Night Lords let alone the Imperium, allow themselves to be bogged down for 60 years fighting orks. Change your age from 4 to 9 when you kill your first man aswell. Also there would be no 'chaos' uprisings in the Great Crusade.

Change all of these then ill have a look at your character again.

Already, you exalt me for my triumphs, When I ask only that you remember me for my treacheries

Victory is nothing more than survival.
It carries no weight of honour or worth beyond what we ascribe to it.
If you wish to grow wise, learn why brothers betray brothers. - Khyron, First Grand Master of the Eighth Brotherhood.
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