Name:
Erol Fahd Hassan
Sex:
Male
Age:
Twenty-Eight
Race:
Human/Ignorant
Rank:
No need.
Date of Birth:
?/?/2022
(They don't exactly know when he was born since they don't keep records of births and stuff.)
Place of Birth:
Sudan

Appearance:
Standing at a looming six foot seven inches, he can easily intimidate and is happy to oblidge. Broad shoulders, though broad from muscles, his arms likewise, Erol's appearance is over all "well built". Comes from vigorous training, and intensive self-disapline-- but what else is a guy to do? Nothing, which is why he's spent his time sculpting his body to the best form he could possibly achieve. The bend of skin across his middle proudly displays his abes, and working down you can see his muscles shiver with anticipation even as he walks.

Smile? Not possible, the only thing close to a smile are the lines across his forehead that he makes everytime he scowls at people. After all, they were ruining his day, they deserved a good eye beating when he walked by. Know why? Because you were either staring at him because of his height, or because he was black. You Americans, you still don't get it. Walking through Ohio-- you'd think he was a celebrity. A mutated, severely disfigured celebrity by their glances and whispers. Whatever, he'd only answer them with a small sigh that pushed past his large lips.

More detail? Alright then, how about the collection of tattoos that dances down his left shoulder, to his elbow? It's true, he'd succumbed to some American traditions, such as anything to do with needles. Piercings, and tattoos intrigued him, though god know's why. He was probably a masochist, it went nicely with his main course of sadist... Scars? He bared only one, his only means of shame. One across his back, though how he got it would have to be ripped out of him by death.
Nope, that's a lie.
He'd never tell anyone how or why.
Never.
Not even if you threatened to shave his afro.

Personality:
Personality? I'm sorry, but such a ridiculous thing is not here. Personality could easily lead into emotions, so I suppose his "personality" is cold and ruthless. Well, he is unforgivably rude, and unforgivably straight-forward. Should you ever ingage in a conversation with him you can count on either being offended or pissed off, if the two are different enough. He was raised, built, and thrives on survival. No matter what, everyone in Sudan is as such. Their animal insticts are more than that now, though you could say he refrains from the companionship bit. People irritate him, jokes are a waste of time, and your ruining his air. One less person is one less person to battle. Him agains the world, and that will never change.
Unless the world is destroyed over night but he miraculously survived.
Then things would be just peachy.

History:
(ooc. Okay, so since we don't really have a big info thing about each country after the big economy crash and such, I'm making up A LOT of stuff. I hope this is okayyyy.)

He was born in Sudan, a country that has always been in the middle of genocides, and violence. Revolutions were ordinary, having your mother raped was customary, watching your sister go into the city to whore herself and get money was expected. The men grew up to take care and multiply, the rebellious grew up to fight the government. It was a cycle that had only been disturbed by everyone's decent into the forboding pit that many called poverty-- while it effected great civilizations, like England and America, in obvious ways, it sent Sudan into a vortex of hell. The country had literally gone from bad to worse over night. The violence escolated, the government fell, people became savages quite literally. The people were broken, resorting to primitive tribes and setting territories. If someone threated your land you killed them, if they gave you an odd look you killed them. That was that, though the means of killing were as primitive as they had gotten-- after all, they could no longer afford semi-automatics or machine guns, which disappointed a lot of people. While the people's tongue ached for blood, their souls ached for religon, for a cruch to depend on. New gods were created, new religons-- all of this had happened in his life time, and it had left him cold and ruthless.

-----

"Erol, they come. Prepare, we can not loose our land," His uncle said to him, ruffling the mass of hair atop his young nephew's head. Big black orbs looked up at him, and he nodded, though he said nothing. The uncle watched him run off, puzzled by his silence. Only just this week Erol had been so self-contained, last month he'd been eager to see blood as much as he had. The boy confused him, as much as his brother had, the boy's father. Like father like son, yes? The Hassan family had always been odd. Running outside, he waited for the boy.

Erol didn't come, he was crouched on the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs in the back of the hut, waiting for the event to occure. It was suppose to happen today, but he wasn't sure if they'd keep their promise. Rarely was a man's word weighed more than his weapon. Sighing, he closed his eyes, listening to the campfire before him crack-- and like wise he heard the crack of a skull, and then the scream of his eldest sister, and his Uncle's mistress. Feet ran, and the metallic smell of blood came to him in waves; Erol felt he would be ill, but then a hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up, looking down at him with harsh eyes. "Boy, we've done our part, you've done yours. The deal is done." Nodding, he watched them leave, the lanky figure that was Erol, starving and nearly incapable of movement watched them run in their heard. A heard of murderers, though he stood alone. A traitor? No, a survivor. Walking back into the hut, Erol crouched like he had before, the remains of what were corpses behind him, as well as gold worth two hundred american dollars and food. Their deal was indeed done.

------

And so started the spiral of murder, ruthlessness, and self-centeredness that we now know as Erol. His life didn't vary much from what was just explained, though he'd had more than one "odd" adventure in his lifetime. In the end, sick and tired of the idiotic people in Sudan, he decided to go for a bigger fish. America. Walking for ages, hiding onto a ship, and finding himself in America he now works odd jobs in big cities-- though his primary objective was to kill the men who had destroyed his country and also the world. From the news, from the papers, from the radio, it all talked about how the world was suffering. People needed to repent for their sins. Erol was determined to be their unjustified executioner.

(ooc. Yeah, I kinda gave up at the end. xD Sorry >_<')

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Role Play Example:
Can I just say refer to Jek's posts. xD
'o' I am not lazeh at allz.

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