Post by Deleted on Jul 2, 2014 12:04:44 GMT -5
 Astor salvatore twenty-nine muggle-born Avian Dreams shopkeeper 14", Hippogriff feather, Alder LIKES: The rush of strength which arrives during fights/adventures, a sense of safeness and security, flying (an obsession) and large predatory birds, justice and fairness, protecting others in reckless regard for his own safety (unintentionally, just naturally), the color white, reading, writing poems in his private journal, the Italian virtuoso Einaudi, several quirky OCD habits DISLIKES: Seeing pain, a sense of being helpless or grounded, neutrality in the face of crisis, swimming BOGGART: A white goshawk lying bloodied on the ground; chest ruptured, wings torn and talons broken. MIRROR OF ERISED: A world without crime and injustice/rare glimpses of Madeleine PATRONUS: Goshawk ABILITIES: Legilimency, Animagus (White Goshawk) PERSONALITY: Naturally, Astor is extremely pensive in solitude, although he could force himself to appear outgoing in small groups. Since the tragic accident of his former lover, however, he has become much more unreserved and much less somber. He tries to avoid being alone, for his past depression might creep in during those pensive moments. Throughout his life, he has been emotionally stable (patient and self-controlled); he has also learned to be cautious and highly observant of his surroundings. MOTHER: Lenore Belle Leftwich FATHER: Julius Neruda Salvatore SIBLINGS: None PETS: Shay, a Black Goshawk HISTORY: I was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea As a little boy, Astor needed help to sleep. Being his precocious self, he was constantly haunted by how little space he was occupying in the world; how insignificant and fleeting life was. Most nights, the thought used to bid him nightmares. Naturally, he knew that there was no use to speak of his grim thoughts to his parents; they would simply wave him off, or worse, deem him strange – and do even stranger things to convince themselves otherwise. At night, his father needed to read him to sleep; both of them had a knack for poems and the dreamy things they could conjure. Astor would gaze outside his window, towards the roaring seawater and lonesome stars; imagining those forgotten places, forsaken things and forgiven faults. He drowned himself in those words of the night, delighted his little self until his waking daydreams dissolved into darkness. But we loved with a love that was more than love – I and my Annabel Lee; He wandered off, too far from the familiar shore. A large white bird, with wings shining as snow and eyes darting as arrows; had flown across the horizon into the warm woods, at the other side of the sea. Astor trailed it until the darkness enshrouded him, stepping quietly on broken branches and lifeless leaves; unaware of its shrill calls shooting out between the trees. Presently, his mere natural instincts guided him towards the creature, whereupon a startling reality came upon him as a shock. The predator was viciously eyeing another creature, a presence as little and harmless as him, whose back was facing his frightened stare. Hastily, Astor stepped towards her in reckless abandon of his own safety; ignoring the dewy-eyed fear substantiating in her young face. Wanting to lead her away from the predator, he had barely turned his back towards safety when a searing sharpness burnt his back, striking him down towards the ground. It had been waiting for him to be distracted, swooping down with a sharp cry. Warm fluid began to tingle down his spine, every drop fighting against the coldness of the atmosphere. He heard a scream. An arm barely kept him steady as they broke into a run back towards the shore. They flew as fast as they could, not keeping an eye on their backs, for fear of what they would see. Astor almost collapsed when they got out alive, but he was alive. He directed her towards his house, where the kids could get their pain checked. Upon waking up, Astor saw through his blurry eyes, that the girl was crying by his bed; the girl who cried tears of pearls, whose eyes were the shade of blue-grey he had never seen. Her name was Madeleine. With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. He left for Hogwarts and got sorted into Ravenclaw, while her letter never came. But it mattered not; because she was his best friend, who had always stayed with him through time, and who had gladly reveled in his joys and victories. His parents were extremely proud, although not more proud than relieved; relieved that their little boy was strange, yes, but for a concrete reason. Even though there was no telling how his magical abilities affected his perceptions. Yet, it was time for Astor to make his own choices, to embrace his magical abilities. He learned them quickly, though he was not as quick at making new friends. Every summer, every winter; he would return home to her and recite to her the things which he had learned. They played by the edge of the water, picking up seashells and gazed at the starlit midnight sky. He spoke to her in poetry and rhymes, which would always make those smiling eyes twinkle with curiosity. Then drifted the wind in the door. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; It was his last year at Hogwarts, a cruel reminder to slam his familiar life shut. During summer, he went home as always; expectant to be with Lena and her lingering kisses. She never came. As the curtains rustled in the cold breeze, he sat alone beside the mangled and bullet-hollowed corpses; thoughts gyrating as his entire life emptied and painted itself red, left to dead under the moonlight dust. He was unsure of what to do, and if he knew what to do; he was unwilling to do it. Astor simply felt sad and scared, as if he forgot the name of his lover. He was angry and confused, lonely and helpless. For the first time in a long time; his insignificance whispered once more, and the terrors bid him their greetings. He locked himself away for hours, days, weeks. He kept there several days, until the ravens came to ravage the remains and he had to bury those dead under the huge waves. He tried crying, forced himself to; but high walls had been built around his defenses, that no amount of tears could overflow his heart. It was the hardest thing about loss: knowing that his entire being was created to let go and move on, that somehow he would learn to hope and survive with the oblivion within; on and on, until his days would end. He laughed at the cruelness of hope. Depressed and desolated, Astor knuckled under the burden of his trauma. For days and nights, during that summer; he would walk out towards the shore and pick up all the seashells he could. He would throw each out into the sea, each with a loud thump; only to see them lying on the shore by the next tide. He found redemption and it floated past him. He wished he had stayed, stayed with his parents and his lover; but how was he to know the odds of them being raided by an inhumane band of murderers? In an attempt to defy his fading memories of them, as foregone as they were bound to be; Astor began writing his journals. Astor never did know the reason why it happened, but he knew damn well what he was about to do. He was going to hunt them down, them and the rest of them; and demand a holocene of reasons from their bloodied paws. The painful truths had numbed his sentiments towards self-preservation. It had rewired him into a being incapable of witnessing injustice and helplessness, and pain; into a being who endlessly sought life from rushes of strength, which he found from protecting the weak. Upon graduation, he relentlessly trained himself to be a warrior. So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. He shut her off, away in the depths of his ocean. He left their kingdom of comfort and went to live near Hogwarts; the only place he could still call home, fighting to find the reason for his being in the savage world. Of all these, he never told anyone. Rather recently, Astor found a nice spot in London – Avian Dreams, which had always teemed with customers, within the shrill calls and shed feathers of assorted bird species. He met Winter, the owner of the place; and immediately took liking of her affinity towards the winged creatures. Somehow, he found comfort being near them; and he settled to being its shopkeeper as his day job – while his nighttime pursuits involved some crime hunting and deadly combats. hey guys, my name is Janice! and I am rocking it at twenty years old, role-playing for roughly zero years - so i'm pretty chill with anything. i'm in the GMT +8 time zone, and hail from Indonesia currently in Singapore so how about that! currently my character looks just like Henry Cavill or so i am told! I found y'all at I stay here now and that's pretty awesome isn't it? I currently have other faces on here known as @niennaryou @emilfelipe @renanthegaea, so hit them up for plotting! anyways; peace my dears! |
@winter
