Reposted because it was leaving a useless shadow in the New Characters section of the forum.
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Name: Steven Gregory Thomson

Nicknames: Steve

Gender: Male

Canon: Japanese spirit worship

Desended from what god? Not desended from any god. Steve was a normal human, who was imbued with the power of wood by the Dragon Tsu-Seirei

Relationship to god: Tsu-Seirei imbued him with the flexibility of bamboo, the solidarity of oak, and the timeless wisdom of the ancient redwood. Or at least, he tried. Steve is stubborn, lazy, and impatient, so Tsu-Seirei has to keep an eye on his impetuous avatar at all times, lest he get distracted, and do something stupid. To this end, Steve has a direct telepathic connection to Sue (as he is fond of calling him), which allows Tsu-Seirei to impart advice and wisdom to his minion. Despite this, Steve usually ignores his master's advice, and manages to do something stupid.

Main Power: First and foremost, Steve has the discipline of the living plant, which allows him to bend and shape anything made mostly of wood or plant matter (he could mess with an axe haft, but not the axe head) to his will, shaping it into nearly anything, so long as it's shape is simple (he couldn't uproot a tree and turn it into a wagon, for example).

Secondary Power: Secondly, Steve may shape the earth in which the plant resides. Therefore, he may shape dirt and soil as he may shape wood. This power has interesting implications if he could find an open patch of soil in say, downtown detroit.


Appearence: By most accounts, Steve is pretty ugly. His skin is smeared with dirt (not offal, or other filth, pure dirt, such as you would find in a garden) Which will not leave his person, although he's tried to scrub himself clean many many times. Ironically, dirt has a habit of falling out of his sleeves and pant legs, and copious amounts of dirt fall from his clothing when it is removed, but more always seems to replace it, as if from nowhere. His face, what can be seen of it beneath all the hair, is round and pudgy. He has a large rounded nose and thick eyebrows. His brow is heavy, and often furrowed. His hands are large, hairy, and dirty, with thick leathery fingers.

Height: Steve stands about 6' 0", or 6' 1" with his boots.

Build: Steve is a bit thick in the middle, but he has the look of a winter black bear, and is also clearly a strong man.

Hair color and style: Steve's hair is deep brown and curly. It is also filled with more dirt, along with twigs and leaves, the leaves being of many seasons. They may fall out or be pulled out, but as with the dirt, more always replace them. His hair is also quite long, reaching down in dreadlocks to between his shoulder blades. His beard is also long, and stretches to the middle of his chest.

Eye color: Steve eyes are a deep, leafy green.

Skin color: Light tan, with lots of brown dirt smears.

Age apearing: Steve is about twenty four, but he quit counting. According to him, it's counting the years that makes you old, just as it's drinking, fighting, and gambling that keeps you young.

Other distinguishing marks, features, clothing: Steve usually wears a pair of fingerless riding gloves, along with a worn Carhartt Jacket, a faded pair of jeans, and black combat boots. A large, worn combat knife hangs from his belt, the guard just level with his fingertips. The bottom of the sheath has a small metal ring in it, which has a shoe lace strung through it and wrapped around his thigh The sheath also has a small, rectangular pouch on the outside of it, in which rests a sharpening stone. In contrast to the rest of his outfit, Steve is fond of wearing a pair of gaudy, faux gold framed mirrored sunglasses. They're quite fancy (for a crappy elvis knock off) and Steve is quite attached to them. Steve doesn't have a home, but lives out of an old motorcycle, complete with leather saddle bags and deep rumbling engine.

Personality (Write at least two paragraphs): Steve is a very happy man, and he's never happier than when he's around people who enjoy his company. To his dismay however, people tend to shy away from him after they see him shape something, so he keeps moving. Tsu-Seirei will often tell him to be more subtle, but Steve won't have it. To his mind, it isn't worth hiding what he is to fit in. However, Steve isn't one to show off his powers. He just uses them as he sees fit to use them. Other than that, Steve is stubborn, loud, opinionated, generous and loyal.

Habits: Despite the futility of trying, Steve bathes often, and tries hard to make himself presentable. When inactive, he'll take the small stone from his sheath and sharpen his knife. Once he's satisfied with the edge, he'll clean his sunglasses. He also tends to use his powers to what Tsu-Seirei ( and most other people) would consider an excessive amount. He also likes to drink, a lot.

Other Personality information: Steve tends to be rather friendly, and is more than willing to help out with odd jobs or the like (especially if it wins him a bath and a night on a couch in a warm home). Knowing his own strangeness, he tries hard to not to judge, and looks at each individual with an open mind. That said, he trusts his instincts, and won't be talked out of a gut feeling about someone.

History: Steve's life was pretty normal before Tsu-Seirei came along. His father was a veteran of the Vietnam war, and moved up to Canada after he was discharged. There, he met Steve's mother, who owned a small in in an even smaller town. Her brother in law owned a garage just up the way, and Steve's father spent much of his time up there working on his bike, tweaking this or that. Steve grew up around that bike, and knew it's ins and outs like he knew his own hands before he was old enough to ride it. He was content here, but bored. He hoped more than anything that something exiting would happen to him before he got old. One afternoon, he was splitting firewood, and suddenly his vision clouded. There was a flash, and then he was in a bamboo forest. The peace was shattered when a massive dragon slithered up from the earth in front of him, uprooting and toppling many stalks of bamboo. As it drew it's tail free of the hole, the earth settled back as it was, pulling the dislodged bamboo along with it. The dragon bent it's sinewy neck down to bring it's car sized eyes level with his own. It's skin was like a wet mossy tree in appearance, but it moved like normal flesh. It's horns were as great branches, twigless and covered in leaves of brilliant colors that blew and shook, though there was no wind. It's claws and fangs were like giant white thorns. The dragon's voice was like the grinding of one stone against another "I have chosen you, Steven Gregory Thomson, Son of Matthew Thomson, to bring my will to your continent. Cities grow too large, men are too many, and nature suffers for it. You must undo the development of my lands, And return man to his proper place." With that, the dragon roared. It's breath was hot, and flecks of earth as well as twigs, roots, and leaves of all seasons pelted Steve. They clung to his flesh, and the force of the blast threw him onto his back, into the deep snow. He suddenly found himself home, but unlike before, he wasn't at all cold. At this thought, he heard the dragon speak to him in his mind "The pine cares not for the seasons of the earth, for it is ever fair in sun as well as frost" Thoroughly shaken, but also exited and hopeful, he ran back in the house and did his best to explain what he saw to his mother. She was clearly worried for him. When his father came home, Steve told him what he'd told his mother, hoping for a better result. His father looked just as worried as his mother, and told him to go take a shower, which he did. But for every twig and leaf he washed out of his hair, and all the dirt he scrubbed from his skin, there was always more. Eventually he got tired of bathing, dried off and went to bed. Over the next few days, Steve went to the shop with his father, and tried to be normal. He wore a hat to hide the leaves, and no one thought twice that a man was dirty in an auto body shop. The deception fell apart quickly though. He went to a barber to have his hair cut, and the barber found he could not cut his hair, as even a single strand simply dulled the scissors. later that week a sign over a tavern broke, swinging down at him. On instinct, he reached out his hands to block it, and found that the sign bent around him. He pried his hands free, and stared at them in wonder. He touched the sign again, and did his best to restore it's proper shape, then went inside to tell the owner his sign had broken. The next morning, his father shook him awake gently, and led him to the garage. His father's bike had been packed for a long journey. He turned to his father with a questioning look, and felt his father place his old service knife and the bike's keys in his hand. "I don't know where you can call home son" His father said, "But it isn't here" Steve was confused, and a little sad. He then heard the dragon's voice again "Go. If he does not want you here, then it would be unfair to both of you if you stayed." Steve nodded at this, and hugged his father. His father hugged him in return, and when he drew back there were tears in his eyes, along with a big smile "I'm proud of you son, I want you to know that. I'm certain you'll find a place for yourself." Steve smiled weakly, walked over to the bike and grasped the handle bars. He walked it a ways down the street, started it, and drove off into the night. That was six years ago, and today Steve finds his place is on the open road.

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"Hail to the King baby"

†The Profaner walks. Minds will be freed, faith will be broken†