- Joined
- Jan 5, 2012
- Messages
- 1,253
- Reaction score
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Elijah Castelle
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Age: 23
Species: Human
Force Sensitivity: Untrained
Faction: N/A
Rank: N/A
Height: 6'
Weight: 170lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Strength:
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Dexterity:
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Stamina:
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Intelligence:
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Wisdom:
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Charisma:
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The prodigy without a name, burning brightest until the last smoldering embers of his star incinerates him, Elijah. A name so sweet, carried on maiden lips with desire rife to know, to want. Craving for that last embrace, the kiss of wings cresting shoulders to spirit him away, always away. Never up, to the sun, for damnation struck a tad to quickly. Brought him from the gates of felicity to the ruins he now peruses. The scraps of a soul found wanting.
Asked: Did you know joy? The only answer his nascent mind could conjure came no. The very concept rippled down his spine in wakes too foreign. Reminiscent of a pale drama, drained of color and washed away in the tides of life. Crisp, the way a cigarette burned one's lips when clutched too long, its filter a cinder in hand. Scarring flesh, ruining it as only failure could ruin.
Joy came in leaps and bounds, a roller coaster lost to his youthful desires. A thing to be chased, lusted after and clutched tightly to chest. To heart, where the beating pulse promised stillness, a rapture he speculated and assumed, but to experience? Such luxury bereaved him. Aloft, distinct. Water through a sieve, filtered, cleansed until it reached its purest form. The height of perfection, yet still lacking.
For filtering such passions saturated his sieve with minerals. The moanings of a man who lost his family. Who took to a life not of his choosing. Meditated on moderation, control, until control was the only modicum of comfort spared to him.
Cruelty. Only cruelty could bear those forms. Ripped from the dying breath of a father who coughed blood onto an off-white collar. From the arms of a mother swaddled in widow-black, legs stretched and bent, contorted to smile one last time in her never seeing eyes; a debt passed from family to family, from father to son and son to his newest companions.
He was a dog, little more. Bark now, Elijah. Sit. Idle now at the door. But for all appearances, for all the propriety and worth of adolescent growth, the environment which weaned him from sovereign teat held the love of normalcy.
Asked: Did you bring joy? An answer yet to be had.
Name: Elijah CastelleAge: 23
Species: Human
Force Sensitivity: Untrained
Faction: N/A
Rank: N/A
Height: 6'
Weight: 170lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Strength:
██████████
Dexterity:
██████████
Stamina:
██████████
Intelligence:
██████████
Wisdom:
██████████
Charisma:
██████████
The prodigy without a name, burning brightest until the last smoldering embers of his star incinerates him, Elijah. A name so sweet, carried on maiden lips with desire rife to know, to want. Craving for that last embrace, the kiss of wings cresting shoulders to spirit him away, always away. Never up, to the sun, for damnation struck a tad to quickly. Brought him from the gates of felicity to the ruins he now peruses. The scraps of a soul found wanting.
Asked: Did you know joy? The only answer his nascent mind could conjure came no. The very concept rippled down his spine in wakes too foreign. Reminiscent of a pale drama, drained of color and washed away in the tides of life. Crisp, the way a cigarette burned one's lips when clutched too long, its filter a cinder in hand. Scarring flesh, ruining it as only failure could ruin.
Joy came in leaps and bounds, a roller coaster lost to his youthful desires. A thing to be chased, lusted after and clutched tightly to chest. To heart, where the beating pulse promised stillness, a rapture he speculated and assumed, but to experience? Such luxury bereaved him. Aloft, distinct. Water through a sieve, filtered, cleansed until it reached its purest form. The height of perfection, yet still lacking.
For filtering such passions saturated his sieve with minerals. The moanings of a man who lost his family. Who took to a life not of his choosing. Meditated on moderation, control, until control was the only modicum of comfort spared to him.
Cruelty. Only cruelty could bear those forms. Ripped from the dying breath of a father who coughed blood onto an off-white collar. From the arms of a mother swaddled in widow-black, legs stretched and bent, contorted to smile one last time in her never seeing eyes; a debt passed from family to family, from father to son and son to his newest companions.
He was a dog, little more. Bark now, Elijah. Sit. Idle now at the door. But for all appearances, for all the propriety and worth of adolescent growth, the environment which weaned him from sovereign teat held the love of normalcy.
Asked: Did you bring joy? An answer yet to be had.
