[@FallenReaper][@Tearstone] Done :P If you guys want any previous interactions (Outside of Lost Haven) feel free to pm me, that goes for anybody else. He has been about for a while so there is that too.

[b]Character you have created:[/b] Gabe Alexander
[b]Alias:[/b]  The Reaper

[b]Speech Color:[/b] [color=f26522] Orange[/color]

[b]Character Alignment:[/b]  Walking the Line

[b]Identity:[/b]  Secret

[b]Character Personality:[/b] Gabe is a very personal man. Over the years he has grown accustomed to staying by himself to prevent those from growing attached to him, and more importantly to prevent him growing attached to others. He still hurts from missing out on his life, he lost everything when he was changed into the monster he now is and can never get rid of that. Before that, and in the few times he has actually conversed with someone since what happened he is still a caring individual. Caring for the weak, wanting to help them be all they can be. However he holds no quarter when it comes to those who prey upon others. With any prolonged interaction, it is obvious that he is not used to dealing with people since the day he changed and became a man.

The Grotesque has it’s own personality. However, all that Gabe knows about it is that it tends to hit everything. However at this particular point they have rarely coexisted, his other form never being needed. This may change, as the beings he faces have slowly been becoming more and more powerful. Soon may come the day when the two of them need to resolve their differences.

[b]Uniform/costume:[/b]  


[hider=Costume]
[img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/29fdede5dd0d0828f640d9cc87552868/tumblr_ne8auqJG5P1stn26zo1_1280.png[/img]
*This is his current one, may change as his arcs advance*
[/hider]
[hider=Supernatural Form]
[img]http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/skulduggery/images/0/0f/477px-Grotesquery.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20100904160028[/img][/hider]

[b]Origin Info/Details:[/b] 
[hider=Origin Story]
Gabe was born in the west, the Wild West. In the mid 1800s, 1852 to be precise. In crazy times, even then men and gods almost co-existed however the level of interference between the two was infinitesimal. However it still existed,  beings with power still existed. Gabe, wasn’t one of them. Son of a Sheriff he grew up in the small town of [i]Fortitude[/i].  The town itself had little crime, everybody knew eachother. Got along well, treated each other fairly. Many were just trying to make their way in life. Like many towns there would be the occasional ruffian however he never truly understood why this time got nicknamed the “Wild” west, in his opinion crime is far more common in the modern era. However he grew up living a normal childhood, or as normal as possible as the son of the Sheriff. While the kids treated him fairly there was an always keen eye on him, both to live up to his old mans reputation as well as to keep him out of trouble or to stop people using him against his dad. Though this wasn’t easy, he earned his dads requirement to help other people, those who couldn’t help themselves or just needed an extra pair of hands. From a young age he would get involved in fights, sticking up for the little man to beat down the bigger man. In his mind they deserved it, they were causing pain so he would stop them. Even if he had to be the one to cause it. It was after one of these times that Gabes father taught him his most important lesson.

[i]”I protect people, and yes sometimes I hurt others. Though one day someone will hurt me, because you reap what you sow. I don’t want that life for you…”[/i] The young boy just nodded at the time, and then ran off to go outside to chase his friends. The meaning at the time shaped him but also was lost on him. However as he grew older he began to understand it, he still wanted to help people. However he couldn’t hurt people. If he hurt people how was he any better than they were? He eventually grew into a young man, studying the best one could in the west. Hoping to one day becoming a lawyer, to ensure that those guilty of crimes were punished. However that is when things went awry, and his life took a dramatic change. One that would shape his entire life, and in some ways the world, for days to come.

The train he was on, was derailed. Later discovered on purpose, he remembered the fear and the panic as the train come off the rails. People were thrown out of their seats, tried to grab onto loved ones and possessions as the carriages tumbled and rolled. He remembers waking in the wreckage, his entire body ached. He could barely move, looking up he saw a robed figure and then he once again drifted into darkness. He awoke in some form of cavern, screaming. He could see body parts strewn in a corner as people enchanted in a circle around him. Managing to turn his head he noticed his arms were not right. They were grotesque and scarred. Though on noticing a birthmark on his right arm he noticed they were his. It was patchworked, they were cutting into his arms and inserting liquid. Muscle mass, all the time enchanting.

All the time he spent screaming in agony, till he eventually screamed himself hoarse. Days, he presumed. Turned into weeks. Until they were finished. He didn’t hurt anymore, he didn’t register the pain. Just hatred, pure and utter contempt for what they had done to him. Then they eventually went to stab him in the chest, however while he screamed in agony he did not die. Removing the dagger, the wound closed itself and he began to change again. Screaming in pain his bones shifted, grinding and growing. His entire body convulsed until he stood there, bandaged and broken. Eight feet tall, and covered in more muscles than seemingly possible. The worshipers looked at each other in wonder, they had finally done it. They had created him, what they did not count on him was that he would not be grateful. He let out a roar that shook the cavern, and that is the last thing he himself remembers, before he woke up near the edge of town. Waking up and walking towards it he was immediately outcast. Nobody recognising who he was, just the abomination. He turned to flee, and knew hate. More hate than he had ever know. His life was gone, ruined. Never again would he truly have family, friends. 

He eventually came to grips with who, what, he was. Remembering what his father said “You reap what you sow” he picked up a scythe and a .45 from a farm (Technically stealing) and vowed that he would make all those who hurt others pay for what they did, by either facing the pain he had faced or being put to death. For the first couple of years his look changed, until he adopted the black trenchcoat in association with Death and the Reaper himself. His alter ego, the… grotesque beast appeared a couple of times more often in his first couple of years as the self proclaimed Reaper. However he soon learned that this beast was not off him, it was something else. It hurt without caring, it did not fight for justice as he did. It was a mindless beast and he did his best to control it, keep it contained. 

Obviously, over the hundred or so years he became skilled, in the art of killing. Staying hidden, even thievery to keep himself fed and clothed (Though only from those who deserved it). The hardest thing was keeping up to date in the ever changing world, and as more and more beings arose with powers that rivalled his own it became harder and harder to keep the beast under control, keep him from appearing.  Though he still roams the land, no longer on horseback. Keeping with the times upon a motorcycle he continues to search for those who cause injustice, trying to put them down. Several times however he has encountered other heroes who don’t always agree with his methods for getting the job done. Though he has been at his job so long, it is his way. He barely speaks only to sentence those who face his judgement, preventing himself from forming attachments for as when someone lives as long as he does it becomes problematic and a reason he especially avoided instances such as the war, largely to prevent becoming a pawn in a politician's hands but also to not form close bonds with other people. Now he heads into Lost Haven, hearing about the events going on. 

It was time people faced his judgement.[/hider]


[b]Hero Type:[/b] 
Supernatural

[b]Power Level:[/b] 
City Level/World Level


[b]Powers (Be Specific):[/b] 
[hider=Normal]
[b]Healing Factor:[/b]  The only ability to manifest itself on him in his regular state he possesses a healing Factor that allows him to heal from any wounds (Short off complete and utter destruction). His limbs also retain life if they are removed for a short period of time in which he can re-attach them (Including his head) however if too much time passes, or they are moved too far away he loses them. He can force himself to regrow them however but such an act takes time and is excruciatingly painful. He can however be killed, if he is completely destroyed, his head is removed and kept in a confined space though he is also susceptible to the cold which limits his healing factor.[/hider]
[hider=Supernatural Form]
[b]Healing Factor:[/b]  His Healing factor is transferred over when he completes the change, his skin is also harder to pierce by most but the rarest metals. 
[b]Increased Senses:[/b]  Sight, hearing and smell are all improved. Hearing is improved to the heightened to the point where he can use his hearing as his main sense and even navigate via a form of sonar. 
[b]Improved Muscles:[/b]  They make him faster, stronger, more nimble, for his size. Which post transformation has him 8’8”l, so he is not incredibly nimble but nimble for his size.

His Supernatural form can be incurred for two reasons: As a reflex in the rare situations where his life is in danger (such as under cold attacks), when he is experiencing extreme pain that he can’t even function properly or willingly he can change form. However he cannot will himself to change back.[/hider]


[b]Attributes(Normal):[/b] 

[b]Strength Level:[/b]  Normal Human

[b]Speed/Reaction Timing Level:[/b]  Normal Human

[b]Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort:[/b]  Normal Human (However healing factor lets him regen faster)

[b]Agility:[/b]  Normal Human

[b]Intelligence:[/b]  Average

[b]Fighting Skill:[/b]  Mastered

[b]Resources:[/b]  Average

[b]Attributes(Supernatural Form):[/b] 

[b]Strength Level:[/b]  100+ Tonnes

[b]Speed/Reaction Timing Level:[/b]  30mph

[b]Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort:[/b]  4 hours

[b]Agility:[/b]  Average

[b]Intelligence:[/b]  Below Average

[b]Fighting Skill:[/b]  Trained

[b]Resources:[/b]  None

[b]Weaknesses(Normal):[/b]  No real abilities past his healing factor, still feels pain, extreme cold slows/stops his healing factor. [i]really[/i] bad at the whole social aspect. 

[b]Weaknesses(Supernatural Form):[/b]  Rare Metals, intense cold, being outthought

[b]Supporting Characters:[/b]  None Alive.

[b]Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:[/b]  See above.

[b]Sample Post:[/b]

“What brings you here stranger?” He just ignored him, a lot of people asked. Few people wanted an answer, few people cared. Many complained, but who listened in the end? The man would either want to cause trouble or was genuinely interested. Gabe wasn’t, the [i]Reaper[/i] wasn’t. This was the worst part of the persona, he remembered when it was easy to blend in and move between cities without being seen. Sadly he was yet to find a vehicle that could survive that trip and with the amount of crime these days he couldn’t afford to be slow.

He simply shrugged. “Oh come on man, with a get up like that? Whatchu a hero?” He shrugged again, ignoring the patronising tone. This man had already chosen an opinion of him, had already decided a course of action depending on that conclusion. He just shrugged. Then felt the hand on his shoulder spinning him around. “You’re just a wannabe aren’t you? Hiding behind your mask. Thinking you’re so great, causing trouble. Tearing peoples houses up! Destroying churches! I mean come on, what’s that about? The Lord is our hero. He will save us. We don’t need no abominations here-” Great, a religious type. On the bright side that saved the mans hand from becoming severed from his wrist. He sighed as he raised a hand and flicked a button on the lower side of his helmet as the visor lifted showing his scarred and twisted face.

[color=f26522]“Ain’t no room for God on this Earth son-” [/color]The man let go of his shoulder, in obvious disgust and at a loss of words. [color=f26522]“- Christ ain’t coming till it’s clean.”[/color] He put his visor back down as he straddled his bike, and turned to the man in shock again. [color=f26522]“And I’m not quite done yet.”[/color] With that he kicked the engine to life and took down the road.  The signs for Lost Haven overhead, he could see the city's silhouette against the sunset. He let out a slight chuckle. [color=f26522]“Hell, I’ve barely started.”[/color]