Zarun Black (Jonathan)


Zarun Black stands at a total of five feet and nine inches in height, discounting the height added by the horns that protrude from the top of his brow. His skin bears a color like most tieflings, being a more earthy color akin to the very rust in which he had come to associate with his surroundings in Numeria. His face is a hard and angular face, a strong jaw and pair of pointed ears framing a mouth usually set in a myriad of mirthful expressions with a hint of malevolence in his tone. His eyes are naturally a pair of black pits in which two yellow serpentine pupils nest within, given to glowing or even smoking when the tiefling is given to moments of extreme excitement or anger.

The horns that extend from Zaruns brow are colored like ivory, though that may have been how they once were, but now bear a dusting of red from the local wastes and rust in which he had crawled, climbed and swam through. The only other discoloration to them is in the shape of scorch marks along the tips of his horns, extending nearly halfway down their length before stopping. A similar scorching is found along Zaruns fingers, palms and lower legs.


Zarun Black began his life in the company of one of the many families that barely were able to linger in the wastes of Numeria, his father a demon who had impregnated his mother in some foul deal that he had never learned the results of. What Zarun did receive was his own name and a unstable life of scavenging for food and escaping danger whenever a group of more than two people were seen upon the horizon. His mother had spent some time teaching the young tiefling about the dangers of Numeria, the radioactive waste that littered some areas, the precious star metals that lay tucked away in unexplored caverns and pockets of the local landmasses, and of the dangerous machines that sometimes wandered aimlessly and attacked whatever they encountered. She taught him to fear these things, to clutch the simple pistol that she had managed to scavenge for him by the time he was old enough and strong enough to wield such a weapon.

But Zarun was different from his mother, displaying a slow building temper towards the countless threats that littered the wastes, and how fragile their lives seemed in such a hostile place. Eventually, the young tiefling decided to strike out on his own one fateful night, where in which he managed to come upon a single lone human camping not too far from where his family of two had nested for the night. He watched the human for some time, cautiously making ever step he took a slow and painful approach, making no attempts to rush his ambush. Eventually he overheard the human, speaking to themselves in exasperation about their work for the League. The Technic League, the people his mother had long since blamed for all of their problems. After taking his time approaching, Zarun eventually sprung into action, drawing his pistol and taking careful aim, and with the luckiest of shots, shot the man through his chest, and quickly killing him with barely a grunt to follow the report of the firearm. He looted the man without a second thought, acquiring all kinds of items he had no real understanding of what they were, and making off with them. But he returned to find his mother gone, their camp disturbed and riddled with signs of a struggle. He found his mother nowhere near, an searched for hours. Eventually, Zarun came to terms that he was by himself…

A couple years passed with the tiefling living his life on his own, scrounging and scavenging spare parts for his pistol, bullets and any sort of weapons he could carry on his back if they weren’t broken, and especially those he found valuable enough to sell to passing traders. Around his third year of solitude, Zarun met a ghost of the past, the brother to the League agent he had killed years ago. He recognized the man because his striking resemblance to his first victim was uncanny, the two almost exactly alike in features. When the man had asked if Zarun had met anyone similar to him, the tiefling was caught off guard, and the man quickly began to understand the nature of the tieflings nervous behavior. Especially, upon holding him at gunpoint, he discovered his siblings firearm tucked away in Zarun’s bedroll. But before the agent could kill him, the man was riddled with a trio of bullets, and a fight quickly broke out. Three strangers lept out from cover, pistols smoking, and drew blades while they charged towards the agent, Zarun drawing his own pistol and shooting into the mans back before joining the fray. The agent was soon killed, and Zarun held at gunpoint. He eventually learned that the strangers belonged to the Scrappers, one of the many gangs that existed within a locale area known as Scrapwall. They told him of the dangers he would face if he remained out on his own, and that if the Technic League had already lost members to him, or suspected him of it, he ought to join up with them given that in numbers they had a better chance of dealing with the rare lone agents of the League that ventured out that far.

From there, Zarun joined the Scrappers, aiding in their short range excursions into the wastes to gather scrap metal, salvage parts and hunt down any local League Agents that were found nearby. Soon enough, Zarun had developed a small reputation for his work with the firearm, and his ability to withstand stepping onto or enclosing small explosives in his hands thanks to his fire resistance. This behavior developed in the habit of Zarun understanding his natural resistance to the bitter cold of winter, electrical dangers and the fires generated from his work with gunpowder. All of which only seemed to encourage his somewhat reckless behavior while working, and the development of the scorch marks on his hands, feet and horns, and thus his newly given surname Black. But Zarun felt that even with the excitement of the life of a Scrapper, and the fulfilling sensation he felt when firing rounds into the unsuspecting back of a Technic League Agent, he found himself aspiring for far more than simple living with the littlest of revenges.

And it was on one faithful day, that he encountered a group that would change his life. Nearly ten years into his life amidst the Scrapers, he encountered a newly risen group consisting of men and women of all different shapes and sizes known as The Lords of Rust. They proclaimed their leader a God by the name of Hellion. Zarun observe the rise of the new, and most powerful, gang within Scrapwall. He saw before him incredible people, clerics worshiping Hellion, giant people who wielded weapons the size o the tiefling himself, and much more. Their aggressive stance and approach to acquiring power within Scrapwall and usurping it from the other gangs left Zuran infatuated with them, and especially so with an Orc woman amongst them by the name of Kulgara, who wielded a strange weapon of spinning blades and a terrifying roar coming from within it. Zarun strove to join the Lords of Rust, but found it difficult to impress them, let alone even earn the right to join. It was around this time that he met Minerva, a half elf who had joined the Scrappers not long ago. She seemed to share in his lack of love for a basic life amongst the Scrappers, and the two concocted a plan. Zarun sought to become a member of the Lords of Rust, and win the respect and fear of even the champions among them, and Minerva sought to find new and incredible technologies that weren’t simple piles of scrap.

With a plan in mind and a pact to aid one anothers goals as long as they aligned, Zarun joined Minerva, and set off towards a town that held potential, following the trail of a rumor that something strange was happening within the town, and if the two had any bets to place, the League was behind it. And if the League was behind it, then a good deal of technology might be available, and with it, their ticket into joining the Lords of Rust and beginning their rising careers.

Zarun Black (Jonathan)

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