Name: Zande Khanda
Epithet: The Vulture
Age: 32
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 195 pounds
Boxing Reach: 84.5 in
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Weapons and Equipment- Two three kilo bearded sparth axes with snap button sheathes for fast access, a weighted serrated knife with a foot long blade, two seven inch steel karambit knives, a blowgun and eight darts with inland taipan venom, three one-ounce leather pouches of spitting cobra venom, rubber soled boots with three eight inch steel claws on each foot, steel chestplate and spiked pauldrons, steel shinguards, underclothing made from dragonhide (like an extremely tough form of steel chainmail with no gaps), a trained pet vulture acting as a spotter, a black steel war mask, and reinforced fingerless iron gauntlets imbedded with cast iron bird skulls.


(The axes "Hot Steppa", slang for Free Criminal, & "Jancro", slang for Vulture)

Appearance- Zande is a tall, lean man whose musculature is best likened to that of a starved jaguar. The dense, tube-like muscles adorning his long arms and legs allow him to exude a great air of physical prowess despite his wiry look. Unwashed dreadlocks hang over lurid, amber eyes whilst high cheekbones accentuate his abnormal jaw muscles, the feral aspect pushed even further by his sharpened teeth and fingernails. He wears the skulls of recent victims upon his belt and is never without his clawed boots and tribal mask. A skull and crossbones is sewn upon his cloak.

Physical Abilities/Skills- Zande's untamed strength is far greater than his appearance would suggest, albeit reasonably less than that of a formidable professional weightlifter. He can bench 350 and run twenty-five miles per hour on average. His most impressive traits consist of his incredible biting and striking power. He hits like a lumberjack on PCP, and never neglects to train his jaws by chewing through blocks of wood and chunks of rubber, rendering him capable of chomping through an unhusked coconut in seconds. As he was raised a jungle wildman, he can scurry up and down obstacles with contemptuous ease and move with a silent swiftness comparable to his native brethren.

Personality~ Despite appearing as an unabashed murderer 24/7, Zande comes off surprisingly chill. He'll greet strangers with nods and smiles, share food and drink on a whim, and help out passersby who seem in need. He affords everyone his good humor and generosity- even his victims, although his generosity doesn't extend to letting them live. He prefers to make friends with those he hunts, as Zande is actually emotionally sensitive beneath his harsh exterior.

He takes rejection badly, can't stand being the brunt of insults, is prone to nightmares over innocuously silly things (he has an incredible phobia of cats), and in general sways between being a relaxed, cold-blooded manhunter, and a manic depressive schizophrenic depending on how others treat him.

In battle, he blooms with a black passion which transmogrifies him into the killing machine that he is, a demon-brained predator who relentlessly chases down his prey. His psychotic rushdowns are legendary for both the consistency of their success and for their ability to force most opponents into a defensive lock, the threat of his wild axes preventing them from counterattacking or fleeing, bullying and grinding hapless opponents right into the ground until their shield and willpower crumples beneath the onslaught.

Background- In the darkest depths of a savage jungle wilderness, shrouded in dread Congo mysteries beneath a sky of eternal blackness, there existed a tribe of maneaters. One would think that there would be no bottom amidst the depths of their depravity. Yet, a young boy native to this landscape of monsters found it. The word "bloodthirsty" is often thrown about. However, no other description of Zande holds so true. He was exiled from his village for exceptional reasons and became a freelance mercenary and bandit leader, feared across the land. He's a cannibal and a headhunter, who seeks to further his reputation by collecting the skulls of formidable opponents. What about the rest you say? All the bloody details of his life? Nay. He has accomplished many feats, but a story like that of Zande's is monotonous in its repetition. He travels, he trains, he kills, he sleeps. Why worry about the details, bwana?


Looking out from the entrance to Zande's lair. The inside is remarkably large, yet with so little elbow room.

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