Biography
- Extremely DM friendly.
- Character is malleable.
- Questions? Feel free to ask!
- Let's talk about something and nothing in particular.
- We'll create the next roman-fleuve together.
A veritable sea of sectarians stretched and surpassed the diminution of visual perception, ebbing and flowing with the undulating fluctuations of a hypnotic ocean tide. The consequent and frenzied tumult that emerged beleaguered the stage with the devastating impact of a tsunami upon a concatenation of archipelagos, ravenous rabble thirsting for more, bodies glistening with the sheen of activity in propinquity, their surroundings punctuated with an exclamation point by the potent mélange of alcohol and narcotics. These were no longer mere spectators, the foregoing fraternity of ne'er-do-wells, drunkards, potheads, and music aficionados having been metamorphosed into votaries by the shirtless, six-packed preacher's sermon. There was a discernible effervescence flowing among the horde, one that originated as a murmur of anticipation coalescing into a cacophonous conclusion once the inimitable sonic boom courtesy the persistent vibration of membranous tissue—or vocal cords—punctured their collective eardrums. Throngs of concert-goers supplicated in unison, desperate for a repeat performance that wouldn't manifest.
Why?
Because this was the end of Carson Walsh.
Mammoth metacarpals were clasped together in an appreciative gesture before his disciples, yet Carson harbored no messianic delusions of grandeur. Nomadic, vibrant hazels perambulated fastidiously over those gathered, memorizing every single face and subtle movement in an attempt to comprehensively savor the moment. Flawless rows of picture-perfect, pearly white dentitions—complemented by dual depressions into which subservient submersion was prospective—astonished by their raucous reaction. It was an ephemeral and efficacious injection into his bloodstream superior to any heroin needle; a resounding reminder as to why he'd decided to become a rock 'n' roll star during formative years.
A decade later, the preceding chapter reached its abrupt and ostensibly premature cessation. As for the subsequent one? Page unrelieved by decorative features; limits endless. The inscrutable and enigmatic and capricious crooner changed directions with the fickleness of a nor'eastern squall, never complacent with playing a song that droned on too long for a disinterested audience. Nobody realized this permanent sabbatical was on the horizon, nor would they've extrapolated Walsh's deceptively impetuous decision to abandon a successful and lucrative career during its apogee. Was this an egocentric maneuver? Not at all. There were legitimate reasons, ones rooted in abject tragedy and an enduring promise of friendship and brotherhood.
The rugged rocker reveled in the sonorous roar one final, transient moment before stealthily succumbing to the crepuscular shadows lurking backstage. Despite vocal protests from the onlookers, the only encore they received was strident feedback from the fallen microphone.
Why?
Because this was the end of Carson Walsh.
Mammoth metacarpals were clasped together in an appreciative gesture before his disciples, yet Carson harbored no messianic delusions of grandeur. Nomadic, vibrant hazels perambulated fastidiously over those gathered, memorizing every single face and subtle movement in an attempt to comprehensively savor the moment. Flawless rows of picture-perfect, pearly white dentitions—complemented by dual depressions into which subservient submersion was prospective—astonished by their raucous reaction. It was an ephemeral and efficacious injection into his bloodstream superior to any heroin needle; a resounding reminder as to why he'd decided to become a rock 'n' roll star during formative years.
A decade later, the preceding chapter reached its abrupt and ostensibly premature cessation. As for the subsequent one? Page unrelieved by decorative features; limits endless. The inscrutable and enigmatic and capricious crooner changed directions with the fickleness of a nor'eastern squall, never complacent with playing a song that droned on too long for a disinterested audience. Nobody realized this permanent sabbatical was on the horizon, nor would they've extrapolated Walsh's deceptively impetuous decision to abandon a successful and lucrative career during its apogee. Was this an egocentric maneuver? Not at all. There were legitimate reasons, ones rooted in abject tragedy and an enduring promise of friendship and brotherhood.
The rugged rocker reveled in the sonorous roar one final, transient moment before stealthily succumbing to the crepuscular shadows lurking backstage. Despite vocal protests from the onlookers, the only encore they received was strident feedback from the fallen microphone.
