James Gabriel

*It made no difference to Michael, walking out of the rain. He had been maintaining an area where the rain did not reach around himself ever since the water began to fall. He looked out from the cave mouth, cross legged inside it, and pondered as he always did. The world was fascinating, even for one who changed it. For, even though Michael had always been able to change it, sometime drastically, he could never create in the way the world did. Only the simplest of his changes could be made permanent and then those would still go once he died. He could only manipulate, he had never actually created matter, especially anything living.*

((Sorry I haven't been here, didn't realise it had been so,long since my last post. *hugs MP* But I'm back now!)) *Awaking from a deep meditation, the mere thought of leaving from someone downstairs stimulating him, Michael unfolded his legs and stood up. Looking around, the young man tried to remember where he was. An Inn, yes, that was it. He had travelled into the town with the ones he was observing. They were downstairs and he was awake, which meant they intended to leave. As the group exited the building, Michael did the same, but he took a less conventional ruite. The fabric of the Inn wall parted, allowing him to walk straight out. Instantly closing behind the controller of reality, it gave him a surface on which to cling. Moving forward quickly on all fours, Michael followed the group, well aware they knew he followed. Leaping from building to building, travelling on a vertical plane, the man easily kept up and, as they left the town, he jumped down onto the floor where he would walk among them for a while. Where was the harm in that?*

*Watching inquisitively from the trees as the guard stopped the group, Michael smiled. He hated this kind of delay. Maybe something could be done to spark it off... Maintaining his grip on the lack of himself he produced, Michael made a minor change to the world around him. Little things could grow, as he knew from experience. The ground beneath the guard's left foot became slightly slippier and he stumbled. Michael knew this would be seen as aggression. That was what he wanted, to watch the ensuing fight and judge those he followed.*

*The burial scene was a difficult thing to miss, such a gathering of hatred, fear and guilt, along with other feelings, was like a beacon to those who felt it. The seromony brought a single tear to the eye of the being who perched, frog-like, on a branch of one of the many trees that made up the forest. This was a feat that would not, under normal circumstances, be possible, but the cloaked figure was made incredibly light by some unknown force and his balance was almost perfect. The tear that formed ran down the pale cheek of the youthful face, leaving a trail of red behind it, as though the droplet was of blood. By the time it had reached the bottom of the face, the tear had left so much of itself behind that it now ceased to exist, the only mark remaining being quickly wiped away by a crimson sleeved arm. This was not the time for emotions. That beast was still to come, the one that had been left behind. Michael had spent a great proportion of his life cleaning up after this monster and he saw no reason why he should stop. Those beasts, as soon as they rose from the ground, would find out the hard way why this world was not for them. Obviously, this wouldn't be a lesson they lived to teach to any others of their kind.* Hmmm.... *Michael's attention turned to the other beings he could feel among the trees. These were not like the normal humans who carried out the burial, they had more... potensial. The figure took, from standing, an unnaturally long jump across to another tree. His landing made no movement or sound and the tree stayed as it was before. Seemingly he had made no difference at all to it, as though he didn't exist. The fingers of the youth were quite obvious now. Each one was elongated into a large claw, which he was using to grip the branch. It seemed that he didn't leave everything up to his abilities. From here he could now see the three figures in the forest below and hear them speaking, but he did not know what to make of them. Only time would tell how useful they would become. For now his form dissappeared, his abilities concentrating on making Michael totally undetectable. For even reality has a weakness.*

Name: Michael Background: Michael is a confusing subject to those few who know of and study his existence. He is thought to be a Mortis, one of the earthly soldiers of the death god Mortir, but this has yet to be proven. The boy is a lot older than his late-teen look would suggest, haivng been around for almost a century now. His past is a mystery and one that he hardly ever speaks of. Attitude: Michael does not take anything seriously. His fighting style reflects this, being a strange form of dancing. He is a bit of a charmer who's abilities are definately not used to their full power, which is lucky, as if they were then whole galaxies could crumble. Physical Appearance: Age - ??? Eye Color - Emerald Hair Color - Jet black Skin Color - Pale Skinned Height - 5' 11" Weigh - 140 lbs Clothing - Quite tight crimson trousers, a white ruffled shirt and a crimson long sleeved jacket. The jacket is tailed and the arms arm ruffled. (think matador) Special Abilities/Strengths: Michael's abilities come almost entirely from his control over reality. The theory is 'he thinks, therefore it is". With enough concentration he could alter almost anything. The boundaries of physics are crumbled by this youth. He has been known to twist bridges so that those standing on them fall off the bottom and he often travels through vortexes in reality from one place to another. Michael is not built like a normal human. He may look the same but, being a Mortis, his body is kept working by his soul alone. This means, on average, that he is more resilient to pain and has partial regenerating skills. Weaknesses: Flame: Fire seems to be a problem for Michael, though it is not known why.. Blood: Michael has a hate for people who are just in it for the fighting and those who are so headstrong as to put others in danger. His rage is often very clearly displayed. Transformations: None: Michael has no transforming ability to speak of, though in theory his abilities could allow this. Weapons: Knives: In the ruffles of his shirt, Michael keeps a variety of knives which are his only weapons. The only special abilities these seem to possess are unbreakable strength and being there when he needs them 0_o Special Attacks: Again, none to speak of.

My attempt at getting in :) *This couldn't be happening. Had anyone ever managed to play so many games in a row without winning as Plazzain had? He seemed to come back from even the worst circumstances and still whoop those who played him. Indeed, anyone who did play Plazzain in this most recent game would have to have been mad, or confident. One player, however, was not either of these. This man was drunk, and that did, in a way, kind of make him both. Wang got up suddenly, if not fluidly, tipping the table in his hurry. His mind was not as it was supposed to be, the larges amount of liquor he had consumed made sure of that. It had been a long time since Wang had been sober in fact. This came from the belief that the best way to cure a hangover was to get drunk again. It worked, in a way. Where Plazzain specialised in gambling, or so it seemed, Wang specialised in drinking. This was what he did, and it was encouraged by his master, Brad Wong, in the teaching of Drunken Martial Arts.* "You!!" *The accusing finger was pointed at Plazzain clearly, even if the arm was swaying with the rest of Wang. The drunk man's second hand was holding a cup, which, after he had spoken, was raised to his mouth and the contents tipped in. A lick of the lips followed before Wang spoek again.* "You.... are a cheat! Young rabbit, and those shiny things should be mine now." *He tries without luck to reach for Plazzain's winnings, not even being sure where they are in his stupour. In his eyes his reach was right and it seems to him that has he made his moves, the money moved away.* "SSSSTEAALING! Magic coins. You slip coins into our purses then make them return to you. Bad man." *He raises an eyebrow. Though his speech is strange, there is a certain element of sanity behind that mask. This man is probably not as crazed as he wants to appear, though why he puts forward this pretense... no-one can be sure of. Again he makes a grab for the coins, this time flying across the upturned table, trying to land where he thinks the pile is. Again he misses by far, seeing his goal walk to the other side of the table. Shakingly, Wang stood up again, a confused frown on his face. Reaching into a pocket of his red karate gi-like outfit, the drunk man quickly produced a revolver, pointing it as best he could at Plazzain, then at where he now believed the money to be, then back to Plazzain.* "Diediediediediedie... die?" *His finger pulled on the trigger but no noise was made. Wang didn't seem to notice, he pulled the trigger again and again, until it had been 'fired' six times in total. With a happy smile on his face, the man walked over to the bar. Obviously, he believed his gun barrel had contained bullets. In his mind Plazzain was just a mess on the floor now, blood leaking from his wounds. Beyond all doubt, dead.* "A guiness if you would barkeep, I'm drinking for two." *Everyone in the bar just stared. All this commotion had ended rather strangely and abruptly.* Please note, this is not the character I will be using and I am applying for the Reality/Light spot :)