Starlance
FourtyTwo
DClassified
Name- Razar the Choppa
Roles- War Crier (War Boy/Speaker)
Path- Red with splatters of Yellow mixed in there
Equipment- Razar likes to keep himself light, wearing black cargo pants, with red patches sewn at his knees, and his signature bandana which is always wrapped around his face. He also wears a pair of hard knuckle engineer gloves and straps across his chest for two holsters at his back. This is for his precious weapons, Senor Slice and Mr Cleave. The axes are made with metal plumbing pipes for the handles and buzzsaws that have been cut in half for the axe heads.
There's also his new bike that he found just after meeting with the group which he calls "Reaver." He doesn't know why it's familiar to him but the name stuck.
Personality- There are no better combination of two words to describe 'Razar the Choppa' than "Fucking" and "Crazy". He talks to his axes, who he considers personal friends, and is always looking for the next glorious fight. However, as much as some of the lesser estranged survivors would like to admit, Razar does have a method to his madness. While he's violent, it's towards those who deserve it. Anyone or anything that dare to harm the crew he's running with will be met with the blood curdling war cry, taunts and screams of Razar before meeting the bloodied edge of his axes. He's been known to attacking the same dead bodies for three days before someone managed to snap him out of it.
History- Razar doesn't know much about his early life, and even if he did, he wouldn't think of telling you anyways. One thing has always stuck in his mind for as long as he can remember. How to fight. He actually started off as a War Boy under a faction called the "Skull Reavers". It was there he was taught how to fight and how he learnt to become brutally and efficiently vicious in combat. However, it was in a raid that he was torn away from the group. A storm blew straight into the party on the way back. Fortunately, the vehicle he was riding in was only on the edge of the storm. It wasn't enough for it to be thrown across the desert like a toy, but it was enough to stop it being sucked into the maelstrom.
He was the only survivor from the crash, and with no direction to go, he just walked. There was nothing else for him to do so he walked. No matter who he came across, he wouldn't stop trekking across the sand. He only ever stopped when he had to, or if someone tried to challenge him. One time he saw a couple of scavengers about to kill an unarmed woman and child. His scream ripped through the air and he charged straight at them, screaming taunts and obscenities throughout the entire fight before laughing as he walked off, the blood and viscera dripping down his axe and dripping into the golden sand.
The endless loop of wandering and fighting like that and warped his mind even more, and it wasn't until he came across this new group that he found a family. He proved himself to them, and proving that he was adequate enough to help himself and others, Razar had a new purpose. His mind wouldn't recover, but he didn't care anymore. He now had people to run with, fight with and ride with now that he's finally found a bike.
