LeeRoy — Roleplayer Guild

Character you have created: Arthur Nolan

Alias: Might

Speech Color:f7941d

Character Alignment: Good.

Identity: Open

Character Personality:
Now that he's been able to attain some resemblance of his old life, Arthur Nolan has really settled down in personality. Though the might persona still exists, Arthur himself is the same gritty detective he was just a few years prior. He's got some latent resemblance of trauma from the event that granted him his power, but nothing that would leave him a non-functional member of society.

Might is a warrior at his very core, through and through a love of battle and conquest are his greatest loves. Nothing is preferable to a good fight, save for a good feast and drink with a friend. Though he loves throwing down the gauntlet and challenging the greatest heroes of all time, he doesn't enjoy killing. In fact, he absolutely abhors it. Refusing vehemently to finish anyone who he fights against, except in the most dire of circumstance.  Through hundreds of battles, he has become accustom to those who fight only to kill, those who fight for the blood sport. Though he doesn't sympathize with their blood thirst, he can understand falling into the miasma of blood lust. 

Might carries himself with tremendous confidence. Shoulders squared, chin held high, a grin on his chin from ear to ear, a long stride and a wide swing of his arms with every step. The sheer confidence that is shown simply by Might walking into a room is enough to give certain folks pause. Despite his incredible defiance of anything resembling a shy personality or even a slight hint of disbelief in himself, Might's stride does not show arrogance. Every movement is with a certain deliberateness, not with the intent to intimidate. "

Though looking at him, the way he carries himself. The way he walks, the way he talks, the way he fights, even the way he looks. It's hard to believe that all of this is a facade, Might is actually the persona of a man who lost everything that he was. Everyone he ever loved, everything he ever owned. Originally, Might was named Arthur Nolan. Arthur was a detective in New York City. He was a brilliant detective, and was far from retiring. He intended to work long into his life and maybe into his grave, if things turned sour. He was dedicated to law enforcement and bringing criminals to justice, no matter how much danger he put himself into. 

Since the events of the Pax Metahumana arc, Arthur Nolan has since returned to Detective Work. As he was able to convince the DMV that he was mutated by the event, and is now operating as a free agent. Able to use his identity, despite his remarkable and absurd appearance.

Appearance: With bronzed skin, so perfectly smooth that one could barely perceive a blemish upon close inspection. Hair as soft and springy as gossamer, with a crimson tone and soft curls that dance across the back of his neck and forehead. Barely covering the heads of his ears with their delicate thread ends. Might's eyes are as green as the brightest leaves of the olive tree, they seem to glow with a subtle verdant light. As though stars twinkled behind each of his irises. Standing just over eight feet in height, with shoulder width to match his great stature.

If you saw him unclothed, you would be awed by the absolute inhuman perfection of his musculature. Wholly unlike the body of a worker or warrior, each and every muscle on his body was perfectly crafted to each task they perform. From the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, it looks as if they were sculpted by a being that knew the function of every muscle and how they should look at the pinnacle of their fitness. 

So too would you be awed by the hairlessness of his body, save for a patch of pubic hair that would be visible just above the bridge of his underpant line. It too is the perfect crimson gossamer as the hair that crowns him. To go into detail about other unclothed parts of him would be inappropriate, but his hindquarters are excellently sculpted. Despite having a low fat distribution, his buttocks are full and round. Unlike other musclemen who have a distinct lack of a butt.

Might's face follows the golden ratio with almost no deviation from the standard line. There's a nearly unearthly perfection to his face, as though it were carved by a skilled sculptor into marble. This singular perfection is accentuated by a complete absence of blemishes on his face. Not even a single unclean pore, scar, or pockmark. There are slight creases in his face that serve to outline his features. 

His face has several features that are exclusively dominant traits. Detached earlobes, dimples, broad lips and his hair follows a widows peak. Though his hair color is a recessive trait among humans, Might is not actually a human. Among godkin and faeries red hair is the most common hair color, though the second most common is bright golden, followed closely by shiny silver hair.

It seems that the only flaws on his body are on his right arm.

The first is a massive scar on his right arm, running from the palm of his hand all the way up to his elbow. It is a lichtenberg figure. The sort of scar that forms when lightning strikes your body. It has grown and grown through numerous encounters with energy wielders. When in combat against a mage, or energy manipulator, it glows slightly with a crimson luminescence. 

The second is a series of numerous blade marks on the palm of his hand. They generally all follow the same angle, running from between his index and thumb down across his palm. This is from countless blade caught in his right hand, it's better to have a scar on your hand than a missing head.

Lastly is how Might dresses, though innumerable warriors dress in fancy garb and hefty armor. Might dresses singularly, with many versions of the outfit in his closet. Starting on his head, he has a golden circlet adorned with a square cut Titanite gem in the center. This central gem rises up above the crown of his head, sticking up over his hair. On his shoulders, he wears a fastened poncho-cape hybrid. The fasten hangs on his neck on the left hand side, and it hangs slightly over onto his right arm. It is a purely aesthetic choice, inspired by comic books that he read when he was younger.

The rest of his attire is rather strange, he wears a long tunic that runs down past his knees, only just crossing the threshold of his kneecaps. The tunic is made of pinstripe fabric with grey lines crossing down the white-blue fabric. It's fairly simple in design, and doesn't actually have sleeves. His shoes are high tied Greek sandals, open toed straps of leather that are wrapped around his legs up to his knees. When in battle, Might has become incredibly proficient at girding his loins up very swiftly. 

On his left wrist is a long bracer of steel and leather that wrap comfortably around his wrist and palm. There is an inscription on the iron plates on both the back of his hand and forearm. The inscriptions are in Arabic. The one on his hand reads: "Stand Tall." The one on his forearm reads: "Stay Resolute." He had them inscribed for appearances exclusively, they have no magical properties.

Origin Info/Details:
In 1986, former police officer and current detective Arthur Nolan began investigating the disappearance of two newborn infants. One male, one female, from a hospital in the East Harlem district. Newborns going missing is just something that doesn't happen. Rarely are there cases where babies are given to the wrong mother, but modern catalogs tend to prevent that from happening. But this? This was an intentional kidnapping. Even worse, there were very few clues. Save for a disgusting greenish-black tar-like substance that was on the floor leading away from the crib and down the hallway. It suddenly vanished once it reached the corner of the hall, and no cameras were installed in that particular corridor. 

Arthur collected samples and brought them to countless resources for inspection. To absolutely no avail, and the inspection fell into a cold case. Though Arthur never really gave up on it, he kept it on the back shelf of his office. Pinned beneath a book about serial killers and the cases of false madness to get out of life sentencing. It collected dust for over a year, until another case that seemed entirely unrelated emerged.

It was a murder in East Harlem, pretty close to the hospital where a year ago the infants went missing. It wouldn't have been pertinent to him, and in fact, would have gone totally under his radar if he hadn't been told that a greenish-black tar had been found at the scene. With the memory of the stolen children still bothering him, this was startling news. Two seemingly unrelated crimes committed a year apart and within just a few miles of eachother, with some unworldly evidence left behind. Something like this didn't just 'happen' there are no coincidences when it comes to criminal cases. Not in Nolan's experience.

The scene had much more evidence this time around, though they couldn't identify what strange substances were left behind. The tar wasn't the only material, there were what looked to be chunks of flesh and holes blown through walls by shotgun and blunt object alike. Whatever had left the holes in the wall had been large, clearly not human sized. Though it seemed to be shaped human enough, so the supernatural size was largely perplexing. A few wrote it off as the work of a very large man, but Nolan wasn't so easy to pass off the supernatural. It was strange to say, but he had enough faith to believe that some things hide just beyond the corridors that we walk down to avoid the horrors just outside. 

The investigation was far more intensive than the kidnappings, much to the frustrations of Detective Nolan. He felt as though a murder was bad, but two infants still missing to this day was so much more important in his mind. 

From the crime scene he noticed that the victim had been a middle aged man, roughly forty four or forty five, a man who had been once before admitted to an asylum for criminal insanity. He was only recently released, seeming to have been rehabilitated. It was a crying shame how soon after his release that he was murdered. Though he had an illegally obtained shotgun found on his property, it was used in defense of himself against whatever foreign entity assaulted him.

There were no footprints leading away from the crime scene, only that damnable tar leading away and into nothingness. With no living witnesses, and no other evidence, the case was doomed to fall cold once again. The detective's heart was deeply saddened, the only hope he had for solving this case was photographing everything. No slight disturbance was left uncatalogued. The poor madman had been beaten to death, obviously by whatever big beast had invaded his home. 

The Detective stumbled upon something during his photography. A dust-mark that was distinctly missing, like something had been on a shelf in his home and was gone now. He phoned the station and reported this, something like this couldn't be unrelated. Though the station brushed it off as a robbery gone wrong, and that's how the news reported it as well.

Even with everything logged and photographed, he was left with no real lead. It was another dead trail and he was forced to leave it on the shelf. Though with two cases, a kidnapping, a murder and theft. Somehow related by a trail of dark green slime. He wasn't sure he would be able to forget this case, something bizarre was happening and he was getting too old to deal with it.

It was another eighteen years before he was given any sort of hint towards that case. Detective Nolan was long past his prime, and was likely to retire soon enough. Grey had found its way into the corners of his hair, and his features were starting to sag from the stresses of dealing with criminals some twenty four years of his life. 

It was another strange case, a break-in at a museum in Norfolk, Virginia. Again, seemingly totally unrelated to the case. Why is this relevant? 

Because this time Arthur was involved.

He had been invited to the Museum just before the grand opening. It was a Museum of obscure oddities, a state funded Museum about the hidden history of the world. It was a cosmic level coincidence, the founder was an old friend of Arthur, and wanted him to be the first attendant.

The opening night was still five days away, and it was looking to be an immensely popular gathering. It was in every single paper, statewide and national. It was one of the biggest events announced in a long time. 

Arthur was invited long before the opening by his friend, and was being shown around at about 12 o'clock midnight. Weird hour, yeah, but nobody's gonna question the curator of an oddities museum about being weird. Y'know? 

During their tour, they went through numerous exhibits. Old simple machines that have features that predate the technological advances of that age. Ancient weapons with peculiarly pristine preservation. Among other things of similar caliber. Though one thing stood out among the rest. A totem, about one foot tall, five inches wide and long. It was a carving that seemed to writhe despite never actually moving. Recordings of the totem show no movement. It seems as though the strange carved patterns cause an optical illusion effect on human eyes. 

At least that's what folks explained.

The official story behind it was that it was used to trick people into believing that the holder had some form of illusory magic. Though this is unconfirmed, as the totem predates modern prehistorical evidence. 

As the pair were looking at the object and even passing it back and forth, they heard a crashing from the southern corridor. They put the totem back and called the police on the cordless, telling them of a break in. Detective Nolan had his gun strapped to his chest and armed himself, readied for the worst, and was suddenly plowed over by some monstrously large entity. It looked like a man but so much larger, and with skin as black as pitch and as leathery as the hide of an elephant. The curator was not so lucky as to not catch a glimpse of its face. It was perhaps merciful that he was so suddenly struck down by a swing of its arm, death releasing him from the horror he had witnessed. 

Detective Nolan screamed in anger and panic before suddenly unloading his firearm into the backside of the behemoth. To little effect. The beast spun on its heel and the flat of its hand met the side of his face, then suddenly blackness. 

When the Detective Awoke, he was in some sort of holding cell. Dimly lit by some phosphorescent light fixture, a smell of copper and ammonia washed over him as consciousness worked its way into his head. The smells that assaulted his nostrils were at least merciful in one regard, they concealed a much more demoniac stench that surely would have driven him mad if it were the first smell that met him when he awoke.

His cell was locked, but by a very poor device. A slide lock, and his arms were just thin enough to reach through. Though he popped his wrist out of socket just to unlock the door. It was perhaps not his wisest decision to delve deeper into the structure, instead of going higher towards escape. But some deep primeval curiosity drove him down, down and further down. 

Depths like these were unnatural, he had climbed so far that he had begun to believe that he had descended at least the height of the Eiffel tower. For he felt that he had been climbing for hours. No sounds but a distant thrumming that felt as though a pressure were driving itself into his ears. The only smell was the gradually worsening copper/ammonia mixture. And he could see nothing but the dim phosphorescence of the strange light fixtures as he descended. 

What felt like an entire day's journey came to its zenith upon his descent's conclusion, he was met with a massive amphitheater. Innumerable figures loomed just beyond the gateway he had entered through, some as large as the one who had assaulted him. Others far greater and more horrifying. Their faces indescribable, they lacked every natural sensory organ that most everything alive on Earth bears. Instead they had strange star shaped faces, ropey protrusions adorned with strange feathery growths. Two horn-like structures that split down the middle and seemed to gyrate rhythmically, it seemed like these were the source of the thrumming. As their mouths moved in unison the deep booming roar finally clicked as a vocal sound, it was chanting. Though it reverberated up the winding staircase as a distant thumping, it was actually some sort of ritualistic chant in an unknown and unspeakable tongue.

The scene assaulted his senses in such a way to near drive him to madness. All of this had happened suddenly, Three humans stood among the beings, and one was lying prostrate on the ground. It was a blond haired, blue eyed, pale skinned and thin bodied woman. Heavily pregnant and actively in labor. The detective looked to draw his gun, but found the he had been disarmed. Looking around, he tried his damnedest to find a suitable weapon, but he could only find a long metal pipe that looked like the remnants of whatever old water system used to be in place here before it was converted into whatever kind of hellish ritual chamber it is now.

As he grabbed the pike, the droning chanting stopped. Two human voices touched his ears. Though they were somehow more horrifying than any of the noises of the abominable horrors around him. First was the woman, whining and bellowing as her labor was painful and arduous. The second? A man. An old man whose voice was raspy and dry with decades of age prying at his throat. His words? "Ah, we have a guest." The three men turned towards Detective Nolan as his heart stuck in his throat. Horror above horror, he had been caught. He hadn't noticed the altar behind the three men and one woman.

Again his grating voice spoke. "We know of you, you saw the trails. And you saw one of our children." The elder waved his hand in gesture to the circus of horrors around them, this old man had referred to them as children. It was as though he were mocking the detective by even referring to them as anywhere near human. "And now you get to bear witness to the end of all things."

If his heart wasn't racing before, it was without a doubt at this moment beating faster than even the fastest of drummers could even dream. 

"With the sacrifice of a child so pure, I shall be given infinite power. I shall destroy this world and build anew, in the image of our myriad gods." The old man raised his hands overhead and a strange luminescence erupted from his fingertips, a beam of light fell down upon where he stood and statues of indescribable horror loomed behind him. Now faintly illuminated by the pillar of light. "In a few moments, the child will be born. By the blood of the child born of pure souls, I will be granted power unattainable. For the gods have accepted me as one of their own!" He held aloft two statues, one he had seen before. The strange statue that had been in the museum, and another similar statue. Shaped more as a cube than the previous rectangular one. It was the source of the light, and seemed to be some sort of conduit. 

What he was saying was madness, nobody was inherently pure. Even the Detective had his vices, how could someone give birth and yet be pure? He had to ask, though his throat felt so dry and ached painfully out of fear. He choked the words out breathlessly, but managed to get the question through. "How? How is this baby different from just a normal baby?"

The old man gave pause, the only sounds in the air during this haunting silence were the woman's birthing cries. "Because, Detective, the infants grew up alone. Away from all vices." It clicked. The theft, the kidnapping. It was all part of this, one of the three men standing there? Was one of the infants stolen eighteen years ago, and so was the woman lying on the floor in labor. The detective hadn't noticed the other two men holding one man's arms behind his back, nor did he notice his legs chained together and his mouth bound by rag and rope. 

"You! You monster you forced them to breed!?" The old man only cackled at the detective, the mob of beasts seemed to join in on his laughter. With the whole audience of laughter echoing through the air, it was a wonder that the detective even heard the baby's first cries. It was swiftly grabbed by one of the men standing beside her, and brought to the altar where the old man stood. 

The detective's feet felt like cement blocks, his arms ragged and his breathing stunted. But he moved. Time seemed to slow for him, the old man was handed the infant and with one swift motion, he struck it dead with the square statue. The beam of light suddenly grew brighter, but somehow Arthur was already up the stairs leading to the altar. The old man's face grew in horror as Arthur leaped into him, clubbing him with the Pipe and frantically grabbing for the infant. 

The statues fell beside his feet, somehow landing perfectly upright. The beam of light shone down upon him and the baby died in his arms, its early death brought him to frantic tears. The detective fell to his knees with the infant held tight against his chest, when suddenly he was seized by what felt like an enormous unseen hand. He was raised upwards and his vision faded to blackness before being replaced with a cyclopian beast of unimaginable horror. 

Arthur screamed and cried, his powerlessness was tangible. Behind the beast that held him aloft were countless other beings. All with ropes of light thrust towards the hand that grasped him. They spoke unintelligible babbling words through their mouths, seeming to deliberate among themselves. Though Arthur remembers none of this, his mind mercifully drifted him into madness for the time he was away from his own world. With a short time of nodding and babbling, they seemed to have come to a conclusion. 

With a moment of absolute blindness and madness, the ropes of light flooded past the hand of the leviathan beast and down Arthur's throat. Flooding him with power unimaginable and nigh-infinite, blackness overtook him and he awoke shortly in the room where the ritual had taken place. His body felt youthful, more youthful than it ever had in his entire life, before he had time to take stock in his appearance, he was assaulted by the numerous abominable horrors that awaited him in the ritual chamber.

It was like a dream, suddenly he was strong enough to cast them aside like they were down pillows. They splattered here and there, their flesh surrendered to his strikes. Eventually, he had cut down every single one of them. Refusing to allow them to retreat, and eventually he felt tired. As though his power was waning,  but he was still able to trade blows with the horrors. It was hours till he had finished them off, and found that he two other men had been trampled, with the woman and man still unharmed. 

Arthur had killed the old man with his swing, and he felt no regret for what he had done, it might have saved the world as we know it. But what he did feel regret for, was not having found the kidnapped boy and girl sooner. Whatever horrors he had been chronicler to were now over, but they would be deeply scarred by this nightmare.

When he managed to get them to the surface, he was loathe to find out that he had become someone else. Someone who looked perfect in every regard. Though he was thankful that he was at least handsome, nobody would believe him if he said that he was the fifty three year old detective in a new body. On the nearest payphone, he called up the station and reported anonymously that he had found the two missing children from eighteen years ago. He told them to do blood-work on them to see the proof they needed. 

The detective fell into a miasma of depression. He left behind his wife of twenty years, his family and friends, and even his job. Now broke, homeless, and under an entirely new identity. He was lost, without purpose.

Till, at least, he found a comic book on the sidewalk. Abandoned by some hapless child.

The rest of the story isn't important, you can imagine what happened after his discovery of the comic. Though he was forced to commit to some odd jobs to earn himself a living for a while. (And to afford his costume of choice.) He eventually became a career hero under the name Might.

With the events of the Pax Metahumana arc, Arthur has gotten his old identity once again. Allowing him to legally perform detective duties, rather than illegally.

Hero Type: Other/Equalization

Power Level: Cosmic Level

Powers:
Constant:
Perfect Senses: Imagine the acutest senses possible, far outstripping that or normal men. Eyesight to see accurately up to the curvature of the Earth, hearing to pick up a mouse's footfall from a full room away, strong enough nose to be able to pick up the smell of dried blood in the next room, and fingers delicate enough to manipulate a hair into a Windsor knot. Tastes are also intense for him, he's able to detect a single grain of salt in a dish that is said to be unsalted. This is less important, however.

The Right Hand of God: Might's right hand and forearm are completely and utterly indestructible, the flesh may part and the skin may crack but it will never yield or break. It is his only defense against weapons, bolts of energy, beams of heat, and a long list of dangerous abilities that would spell death for a man whose only real ability is physical equality. Might doesn't use weapons, since his physical ability is entirely variable. Whatever weapon he used would be in danger of breaking if he fought against a god-like being, or would risk being too heavy if he fought a normal human. So instead, his arm is simply a shield against offensive forces. It is capable of contacting any physical, metaphysical, quantum, etc concept or object. So long as he has the intent to strike, he will make contact with it. 

Air Walking: Might cannot actually fly, instead, he can walk and run on the Air. The powers that were granted to Might were given to him with the ideal of perfect equality on the field of battle. To be able to walk on air gives him the ability to fight on the exact same level as those warriors who can fly. Air Walking is the only real advantage that he has over a normal human in an engagement of fisticuffs. On the other hand, flight is only useful if you're faster than a human being. Though he can catch himself in the air, preventing himself from dying from most fatal falls.  So that's a plus. It has also given him an amazing proficiency at dive bombing people from the air.

Outside of Combat:
Perfect Physical Ability: Might can yoke a train and pull it on its rails, lift an entire oak tree or run miles without tiring for a moment. With nobody to fight, he is simply a perfect human being. With abilities that are just beneath the limits of totally and wildly superhuman, he demonstrates an unnatural ease in every single task that he undertakes. He's capable of a majority of spectacular human feats. Horse riding, ballet, instrumental talent, etc.

Inside of Combat: (Dictated by a verbal Challenge or an outright assault on his person or the opponent's person.)
Absolute Equalization: Might is known as Might for one reason, and one reason alone. There are none who are more mighty than Might. Because Might is exactly as strong as he needs to be. Don't misinterpret this. This isn't to say that he's stronger than everyone that he ever fights and that nobody even compares to him in physical ability. This is untrue. Might is exactly as physically able as the person or persons he is fighting. 

Let us spin up four scenarios to explain how Might's Equalization works. 

If Might were fighting Bruce Lee, Might would be exactly as fast and strong as Bruce. He would be able to fight him at the exact same strength and speed level. However, he does not duplicate his martial arts. Might is not able to equalize Martial Arts.

If Might were fighting Superman in Space, Might would be able to equally trade blows with Superman. Hold his breath indefinitely, run at the same speed that he could fly, and fight exactly as long as Superman. However, he could not duplicate his ability to fire lasers from his eyes or breathe ice breath. He cannot duplicate supernatural abilities.

If Might were fighting Jean Grey, Might would be exactly as strong and fast as she is. However, she would be able to assault him with her psychic ability and leave him completely helpless. He cannot emulate psychic ability.

Now for the fourth scenario and the most important. 

If Might were fighting Sentry, Hyperion, Shazam, and Steel. Might would be exactly as fast and strong as the four of them combined. Able to fight the four of them on exactly equal footing. However, this is still a four on one fight. Might cannot multiply his body. As well, they all have abilities and equipment that give them advantages over him. If he were to defeat one of them, he would lose their strength and speed from his ability. As well, if he has an ally on his side, he loses the ally's strength and speed from his total strength and speed.

It is not a perfect ability, though it is good at what it does. And what does it do? It makes sure that every fight is fair.

Out of Combat Attributes:
Strength Level: 12 tons
Speed/Reaction Timing Level:  40 mph speed/70 mph reaction
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Indefinite
Agility: 5x Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Trained (Judo and Standard Firearms)

In Combat Attributes:
Strength Level: Contextually Varies
Speed/Reaction Timing Level:  Contextually Varies
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Contextually Varies
Agility: Contextually Varies
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Trained (Judo and Firearms)

Resources: Minimal
Standard Police Firearm, Left Hand Guard, casual wear, and The Might Costume.
Weaknesses: Though Might is technically among the most powerful entities possible, simply due to his ability to match the physical ability of the person or people he is fighting, he has one massive disadvantage. Might is not invincible, nor can he duplicate non-physical ability. This leaves him at a tremendous disadvantage against people who rely solely on their martial skill, magical ability, and even technological advances. What seems like a totally unassailable ability is easily torn down once one steps back and objectively looks at his set of abilities. With his right hand, he only slightly offsets the disadvantage of range and power by having a tool to prevent himself from dying. Other than that, he can't cope with unusually adverse abilities. If he fights a normal human being, he actually grows weaker than his usual base ability. Even with The Right Hand of God, he is not immune to certain effects such as Electrical Manipulation and pain, so too does it have the disadvantage of being on his right side. Attacks from the left hand side of his body cannot be blocked as easily as forward or right facing assaults.

Supporting Characters:
Jiang Chao - The Owner of the Laundromat that Might works at. Father of Yong and Husband to Min. Getting along in years, but still a hard worker. He's a Chinese immigrant who started from nothing and now runs his own business. It's decently successful, though only recently has it started actually gaining any substantial profit since Might joined on. Calls Might Golden-Boy.

Min Chao - The wife of Jiang, she's a sweet woman who Jiang worked hard to bring to America. She remained faithful to him, though she had a very hard time living while he was away. China wasn't particularly easy to get by in without a husband to support her and their child. Calls Might Strongman.

Yong Chao - The young son of Jiang and Min. Rather estranged to his father, since he was away for sixteen years of his life. He isn't lazy, but he isn't a particularly hard worker. It's to spite his father for being away so long, Yong was forced to find a job at the age of twelve to help his mother. Since he came to America he has become engrossed in American culture. Honestly hates Might, is the only person who calls him Arthur.

Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:

Sample Post:  From the streets of Manhattan island, Might was an idle watcher of news-stories and captor of criminals. There wasn't a terrible amount of crime fighting that he could do, despite his fantastic ability, he's unable to get to and from crime scenes as fast as say. The Flash. It's one of the major drawbacks of being an equalizer, something that he has to deal with. Though he does have the height advantage, being able to walk on the air gives him a couple heads up. Especially when it comes to fleeing purse snatchers, so being a Street Level Hero is right up his alley normally. Especially since he can catch and subdue any normal human before even initiating combat, so that's nice. 

Honestly, the past few months have been stressful. The news hasn't been very good as of late, especially with the Demon invasion and the current coverage of the crazy scientist who decided that the world needs to evolve. "It's lunacy, y'know? Not long ago I was a perfectly sane human being, and now the world went to hell and back. Almost literally. Might spoke somberly to the universe itself, since he didn't really have anyone of import to actually speak with. It had been far too long since that fateful day, though he knew all of these crazy events weren't interconnected, he always felt bad for even having powers. He felt as though it were his fault, as if some sort of chain reaction started with him.

Crazy, he knows, but a guilt complex is a guilt complex.

The man sighed and resigned to sitting up against the wall of the building he was floating next to. The air is actually a very comfortable seat, fun fact. He spoke to himself back and forth, trying to rationalize all of the craziness of the past stretch of time. "I couldn't help but wonder what sort of wild world we live in. Little Ulster's renovation. Followed by that damnable invasion of-" Might paused for a moment, frowning slightly at the wording. "Followed by that damnable invasion of the damned." He felt as though it were redundant and unnecessary, sometimes redundancy is necessary. It is not necessary when you're carrying on a conversation with yourself. 

Again he sighed, knocking his head against the wall lightly to give himself a little jarring. Help wake him up a bit from his funk. "What if I joined up with another hero somewhere, y'know? Maybe I could be useful for once, instead of sitting in Manhattan and being worthless while the other heroes go out and save the world from cosmic horrors and demons."  There really was no way he'd be able to fight cosmic horrors alone, you see, and even he accepts that. Just because there isn't anyone who can out-punch him, doesn't mean everyone can be beaten by punching. 

Whatever persona he may put on in the public eye, Nolan knows exactly the limits of his ability. Even now, with the ability to trade punches with the Gods themselves, he couldn't even survive a rifle round outside of combat. And you don't get to issue a challenge to someone a mile away, that's just not how it works. Might needs help, and he knows that he can prove to be helpful as well. All he needs is someone to give him a chance.
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