Cairyn Midore
Use may be fatal.
There was little Cairyn hated more than displaying weakness. He'd much rather ignore issue, smile a bit brighter than usual, and dare others to question him. It tended to work, most being a bit too weird out - or disinterested to begin with - to comment. For some time, he'd managed, masking injuries from poor ideas and unfortunate circumstances had been part of his itinerary since 'Sith' were a part of his vocabulary.
That didn't excuse the sheer amount of pain he endured each day. Ever since his lovely encounter with the Sith Empire's leader, the boy just hadn't been himself. His movements had turned just a bit more spastic, like a bout of electricity coursed through him every so often. Even without the darling armor that had made him so weak to lightning, he avoided it like the plague. Perhaps most damaging of all, however, had been the blows dealt to his hands. Time getting extremely well acquainted with joint cripplers had left his hands in less than perfect condition. Even months after the ordeal, there seemed to be a constant little shake, particularly evident in his left hand. Worse yet, once meager tasks such as wielding a lightsaber often ended with him in utter agony.
Such was the state that he was in now, wandering the streets. A small scuffle had ensued and Cairyn, being the child he portrayed, couldn't resist getting involved. The fight wasn't much, even if Cairyn was for the most part undisciplined in his skills, they were still developing enough that he stood a chance against others. Regardless, by the time he'd dealt with his enemies, both of his appendages shaking so much they could scarcely grasp his lightsaber, let alone a spoon. It was in this moment, the pain almost crippling, that he ran into the other. "Ope," came his gut reaction to bumping into the fellow. "Sorry 'bout that." If Cairyn was capable of sincerity, this was far from it.
That didn't excuse the sheer amount of pain he endured each day. Ever since his lovely encounter with the Sith Empire's leader, the boy just hadn't been himself. His movements had turned just a bit more spastic, like a bout of electricity coursed through him every so often. Even without the darling armor that had made him so weak to lightning, he avoided it like the plague. Perhaps most damaging of all, however, had been the blows dealt to his hands. Time getting extremely well acquainted with joint cripplers had left his hands in less than perfect condition. Even months after the ordeal, there seemed to be a constant little shake, particularly evident in his left hand. Worse yet, once meager tasks such as wielding a lightsaber often ended with him in utter agony.
Such was the state that he was in now, wandering the streets. A small scuffle had ensued and Cairyn, being the child he portrayed, couldn't resist getting involved. The fight wasn't much, even if Cairyn was for the most part undisciplined in his skills, they were still developing enough that he stood a chance against others. Regardless, by the time he'd dealt with his enemies, both of his appendages shaking so much they could scarcely grasp his lightsaber, let alone a spoon. It was in this moment, the pain almost crippling, that he ran into the other. "Ope," came his gut reaction to bumping into the fellow. "Sorry 'bout that." If Cairyn was capable of sincerity, this was far from it.
[member="Atlas Kane"]
