Darth Eversor
Burning Forever
Name: Kelghast "Ylvaris Desman"
Rank: Dreadguard Tribune
Faction: Galactic Alliance
Species: Unidentified
Homeworld: //*9K//1
Age: N/A
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 170 lbs
Eyes: The eye that sees first is the one to behold knowledge.
Hair: An extension of genetic makeup that is either lost or retained. Trivial.
Skin: N/A
Force Sensitive: Force Dead
Alignment: Death is equal, death is free, death is nature.
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Strengths:
-77*/I: Even the strongest man can be made to fall upon his knees. What that limit is exactly is not to be known until one can look into the eyes of their killer and feed on their traumas. Bullets can pierce any man's flesh, but to claim the mind with the sharpness of the tongue and the evil within one's own self is to achieve dominance. Turning the most bold into a disabled child needing the care of your hand is victory in itself.
-86*/P: Destruction through physical extension is a privilege most species use on a whim. The primal drive to harm someone with only your hands is a feeling most would describe as enraging and consuming. To become the beast that lies dormant shows only the nature of one's desires. Death is death, flesh is flesh, war is war. It's much more simple to see blood and brain matter spattered from a gunshot.
-99*/R: The silence of nightfall and the dancing of shadows is a beautiful thing. It's crossing into a world where the wind creates a white noise that dampens ears and makes even the most resilient and finely tuned deaf to the dangers that lurk just behind their own silhouette. A world of spirits that do not creep in the light, but meet with the dead that allow the light to separate spirit from body.
Weaknesses:
-1*/Q: The mind is a tricky sort of thing. It acts like a poorly built computer that cannot transfer information correctly at times and has mishaps that cause meltdowns. The brain, however, is a finely designed specimen. Genius birthed with consciousness and free will.
-0*/K: Life grants terminal illness. Terminal illness gives way to the decay of bodily function and drive. Many have issues and disease that plague their skin, organs, or even their bones. Each illness is a mark.
-11*/V: The eyes that gaze into the void of the blackness witness shapes morph before their eyes. The inky stains beckoning the loners into the free fall of spiraling madness that cannot be escaped. Only the most vigilant and cunning can outplay and hold the cards to the clarity that will free the third eye.
Appearance: (See Picture)
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78twf0CH-Cw
A fear years ago, a storm hit this place. It killed the people, left and right. Houses were split open, and you could see necklaces hanging from the branches of trees. People's legs and neck bones were sticking out. A lot of people's fathers died, and were killed by the storm. I saw a girl fly through the sky, and I looked up her dress. Her skull was smashed. And some kids died. I've walked these streets over and over and I see something new each time. The trees cling to the corpses and belongings of the past like thieves greedily grasping treasures from their wildest dreams. The windows of homes shattered and left in disrepair, reflecting a kind of loneliness. This place never recovered, but yet I still feel them. The ghosts that have their voices carried on the breeze, but it gets drowned out in nature's scorn leaving only a weak whisper to be faintly registered by the ears. I feel their anger, their loss, their silence.
This town isn't completely hollowed out, however. I see the ones that survived run from me and hide behind the nearest debris or object they can find. Whenever I get near them I can smell the stench of piss and filth, and I can taste the pungent flavor of devolution. They walk like the people once did, but their mannerisms suggest decay of the rational mind. I see them scavenge through the broken houses looking for substance. They feast on the rotten remnants of a once truly civilized place. They drink and bathe in the contaminated waters where corpses were never moved from. I like to watch their daily routines and characteristics, but then they begin to stare. I stare back.
They treat each other like animals and try to breed like them too. There aren't many women, but what's left is taken by the men that are the strongest and most determined. I watched two of them kill one another over a womb; however, I don't think they care much for procreation. They just want the feeling. The price of lust and flesh is something these people die over, and it entertains me to some degree. They don't even waste the bodies, I don't think. I never see them laying out in the open for more than a couple of hours. They never seem to investigate anymore out of hunger.
One of them gave birth today. But the biological father saw it as another meal.
Life is beautiful. Really, it is. Full of beauty and illusions. Life is great. Without it, you'd be dead.
Just like they are now.
