E X O D U S --on tainted wings--

[Tempest]

EXODUS
LOGAN CAMPBELL

AGE
Who knows. [looks late teens, early twenties]

GENDER
Male

SPECIES
Angel
ALLEGIANCE
I don’t care... as long as I can see you bleed.

RANK
Whatever.

---

APPEARANCE
Exodus stands at the height of six foot, one inch, having a scraggy, scarecrow like build that doesn’t look like it carries the strength to hold up the wings he possesses. True enough, he looks skinny and malnourished, but he eats like a pig, and has tremendous strength feasting in those stringy, knotted muscles of his, that look big compared to the size of his waist. His skin is not exactly pale, but has a fluidity of that of chalk sitting on water, though is still flushed a deep peach colour, a reminder of his semi human days on earth. If we look at the Angel without his clothes, we see numerous scars from battles, wars and experiments, the most prominent those being on his face, back and arms.

Like a Phantom’s mask, a burn mark covers the left hand side of his face; it travels down the front and back of his neck, splitting at the top of the spine to arch into the arms. From the wrists up, his skin glistens with the old burn marks, flushed a bright white colour from his years being ‘dead’. Yes, that is right... The lush, pink red burns that coated scarlet in his system were bled out to dry, leaving behind an ivory mask, the colour of bone. These strange markings continue along his wounds – all his scars depicted with a lush, bone white, contrasting against the colour of his skin.

Originally, his eyes were both a rich emerald, dazzling, mysterious. However, ever since the experiment, the left one had burnt away, along with the rest of his face. In replacement for his eye, or lack thereof, the guy that managed to kill him through this feat gave him a ruby sphere to plop inside it, aiming for him to become a mere puppet. Well, we all know that did not happen now, don’t we? His hair is a deep, jet black, hanging loosely and scraggily over his head, untamed, semi unwashed and jutted over the tips of his shoulders. Where the burns end at his scalp, the colour proceeds into the hairline, shocking the viewer with a third of his head flushed with white hair, following the burns on his skull.

His normal attire consists of a plain, white tee shirt, and a pair of light blue faded jeans. He works on simple necessities, and does not overdo his clothing at all. Boring trainers cover his feet when he can be bothered, otherwise, he goes from place to place barefoot, loving the glass against his soles. A crucifix hangs shoddy and silver around his neck, the only decoration he sports apart from several hoop piercings in the top of his left ear. His wings are similar to that of a magpie’s. Being the main colour of black, with white pattern, but instead of flashes of blue, there lay occasional feathers of red. More often than not, you will see blood stains on Exodus’ clothes, most likely from a recent kill.

PERSONALITY
-so. I can’t put his personality into a description, therefore, I am providing you with an rp sample.-

As promised to Genesis [damn the stupid bitch to hell], the abomination skirted the borders via the no man's land between the city gates. Angels were everywhere it seemed, and even when blood called the most, there was always someone there to stop him. First it was Genesis, then there was Ayumi. He had left his blind love[?] behind, for her to return to her home and so they would not get suspicious of her frequent, long excursions into the neutral lands - so now, finally, he would get the blood so long denied to him. A wicked grin salivated over his jowls. Of course, he would play with his food first.


The snow felt soothing beneath battle hardened feet, biting into the hard nail through the dry, encrusted blood. His whim told him to cross the city, get back to the humans, where the real fun could begin. His green eye flashed purposely, the red one reflecting the white rays of light from the snow encumbered ground. Ayumi had rid his shirt of previous blood, from himself, from Aphelion, from that human whelp, amongst others who he had toyed and ripped the life from. His legs and chest however still clotted together with the varying of reds, making the skin shine an ungainly hue in the cruel glare of the powder lining the world.

His tresses sported a dim, muddy black colouring, not much to look at from one side, but when he turned, and you saw that soft, nauseating sharpness that formed and white mask, downy in texture compared to the other half of the brute's face - this was due to BLISTERING BURNING BRANDING. This harsh symptom also coveted his shoulder blades and right leg, though gave him no disability. His right eye had shrivelled away under the heat of the surgery, and he was left with a solid ruby ball.

This was Exodus.

His blood broiled with the need for flesh. Oh, he had eaten. But there was no fun in prey, was there? You need a carnivore, a predator, something that will fight back. Thats what eases the lust, the need. As he rippled his shoulders, attempting to force his endless hunger to wait, he snapped his head round. All of his body followed, immediately falling into a crouched position, belly scraping the cooling snow, and then he crept forwards.

The brute's eye scanned the area below. A large river, flowing strong, and a wolf, probably a Shifter - here Exodus licked his chops savagely - doing what? Jumping? Either brave, stupid, or a extreme sports junkie, the male concluded. He watched with a sadistic grin formulating upon his dry, cracked lips. Raw, grazed flesh entered his nostrils, and a pressure rose erotically within his system. That coppery scent, so wonderful, lustrous, he could feel his own pumping inside his ears.

Before the spotted brute could stop long enough to pant, and before he spoke, Exodus sprang from the foliage and skidded neatly down the hillside, wings strewn behind him, stopping a metre from the base. His toes dug in the soil for balance, giving the wolf a cat like grin.

Hope nobody saw that.

His voice was as soft as gravel, purring with a nauseating power that could chant cobras from their sleeps. He looked at Aijan with his green eye, not meeting him with the mask just yet. A mostly Scottish accent penetrated the air.

'Oh, ho, laddie. I saw every little thing...'

He murmured seductively as he twisted, propelling himself from his spot at the base of the valley wall, muscles contracting, so that his hands were ready to pin the other down, so he could take a scrap of flesh with him, drawing his knife out on command.


HISTORY

Experiment File Name; Exodus 3.1563 Name prior to experiment: Logan Campbell Gender; Male. Age at time of capture; Estimated at nineteen years Area of capture; unknown – presumed Scotland Hair colour; Mud black. Eyes; Green. Height; 6’1’’ Identifying marks; None. Analysis; Good temperament. However, needs watchful eye. As captured later than other experiments, he has not as much faith in us than we would have liked. Not much tame, but is willing, if reluctantly to come when called. Pleasant mannered. Close to Experiment Genesis 3.1562. As protective as a brother. Experiment; Branding over left side of face, ear, eye. Also down both shoulders, arms and upper back, down towards the left hand. Unfortunately, right eye burned away. The orb has been replaced, with a ruby ball. Wolf under sedation. Significant signs of distress, much less trusting. Otherwise in good health. Experiment successful. Time since capture; 2 years.

This file is all that is left of Exodus' old life, of which, he could not remember much of. He remembers the pain of the burning, the blistering branding across his face and body, remembers his foster sister, Genesis.... remember's killing the man for doing that to her; then dying. Well, at least he thought he had died - one of the more experienced scientists that were using the humans and demons as experiments held a way to get him back to life, to make him a little Night Pupper. However, this did not go exactly to plan... He ended up as an 'Angel' leaping back from one can only guess was heaven, but was a damn sight worse than he had ever seen, and killing the rest of the workers.

All the acts of muder he was comitting dragged his more gentle soul into a pit of fire and passion, feeding the flames and tending his hunger. Now, all he wants is vengeance, a warped and twisted fate. Honestly, he could not care who he was employed by, who his enemies or friends were, as long as he got what he wanted when the world was put to a certain, definate way. He just wanted a bit of peace...


ATTRIBUTES
Like some hellish version of Cupid, Exodus carries a silver bow and a set of matching arrows. The flints are sharp and deadly, mad from shrapnel, nail, bone or random pieces of stone or metal, and are fledged with owl feathers – fresh by the looks of it, since a dark, red liquid clings to the base much like glue. The whole instrument looks as though it has been oiled, or shined with blood, giving off a faint, reddish hue.
He carries a knife, with the handle in the embodiment of a wolf, curling at the top to snarl at the opponent. The blade itself is actually quite clean, but the handle is stained with finger marks, prints and indentations of where a bloodied hand has gripped it. Normally, the knife is stuck in the waistband of his jeans, under his t-shirt and against the coxes. He also carries a pair of thumbscrews, and some random nails. I don’t think you want to know why.
Like all Angels, he carries a certain ‘aura’ about him. His own consists of deep purples and reds, like a fresh bruise, and has a soft, slurring glow to it. His wings, as aforementioned, are made like a magpie’s, consisting of white and black colourations, which splotches of red within them instead of blue, and span accordingly to handle his lithe body.