Zakras was not some child who had a loving family and some cliche
disaster killed them and left him cold. No, Zakras has always been a cruel
thing. He was the one who would torment the other children, cutting their
flesh and watching as they weeped so softly and the blood pooled at their
feet. Zakras' folks were blind to his ways, they tried to pawn off their
love and affection with material objects. Of course, Zakras kept these
things. But they held no meaning to him, not some family heirloom or
personal possession. Not that he would care if they were. But he saw what
his parents were trying, and it spurned a deeper hatred within him as the
years passed. Eventually, on just a regular overcast day, Zakras butchered
his parents while they slept and then, with the sudden quiet and peace, lay
down between them, soaking in their blood. Afterwards, he decided to leave
and find what else would spark his interest, most likely more blood.
Description:
A large brute of a man dressed in animal skins and covered in dirt and
filth stands here with a look of grim determination upon his face. An
untamed mass of black hair hangs limply to his shoulders and across his face
while gray eyes stare fearlessly from behind a large and crooked nose. A
thick neck has been adorned with a necklace of what appears to be the skulls
of small children. He is built like a small giant with muscles bulging from
every part of his body and his wide chest and forearms are covered in thick
coarse hair.
