IC:
Name: Milar
Alias: None.
Age: appears to be 28
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 145 lbs
Weapon: Able to use most weapons, but carries non on his persona. If in need, he creates of long sword. The blade its self is double edged, and on the flat of the blade, there is the symbol of the vine of thorns. The hilt, is long, meant for two hands and laced with gold.
Ability: Milar has the power to create. Anything that he can imagine can become reality. He can uncreate--but only things that he has created.
Special Abilities: Trained in almost every form of weaponry. Near photographic memory.
eyes: Blue with golden trim
hair: golden blonde
skin tone: pale; nearly white
clothes: Tight leather pants fitted him--a pitch black that shone when he moved, and an elegant shirt of pale cream. It hung loosely, tied up at the front, and styled quite a lot like a peasant shirt. Dark boots, and a single gold bracelet finished the outfit.
other special appearances: unnatural beauty, a small tattoo in the shape of a vine of thorns on his upper left arm.
personality: Calm, collected, charming, serious. Sometimes distant.
Quirks: Because he is so serious, if he tries making a joke, it usually isn't funny; or comes at a very inopportune time. A little too vain with his looks at times; obsesses over his hair.
history:
Because of his powers, Milar is much older than he looks. Being able to re-create himself over and over again, has given him much time to live, and more time to learn.
He grew up in a small town in Italy--even then, he stood out. Pale white skin and hair the color of the sun--almost impossible for a person in Italy. But he was a good child who loved learning. And so, instead of getting a normal job--one that required brute strength and no wits-- he became a scholar at the age of thirteen.
It was then that his powers came to him. It was nothing horrible, really. It just -happened- one day. "I wish," he had sighed softly, quite depressed, "that there was something good in the house to eat..." And then, plain and simply, there was. Quite a lot.
It took quite some time--and a lot of odd things popping up that he hadn't really wanted, but thought about anyway--to master his powers but he did. His family, fearing the thought of being shunned, kept his powers a secret. They did eat better, however.
Years passed, and Milar, who was easily the most wise and knowledgable in the city, decided that it was time to leave--to go and learn of new things, in new cities.
And so he left his lovely town it Italy, and wandered the globe--he could create money when he needed it--his objective, to learn. Decades passed, and when he got too old, all he would have to do was recreate himself, and then destroy the old one. Life was endless for him, only because he willed it to be. Through the years, his accent that had once nearly bled with Italian, was gone, leaving behind a crisp tone that was unrecognizable.
But after years and years of this, he grew bored. The world was maturing. Perhaps it was time to play. And play he did. He learned the ways of women, liquor, and eventually even love. A woman, with soft, soft lips, and beautiful dark hair. Mischevious eyes, and kind humor. He loved her with all his being--he married her.

And then: tragedy. He could create life, yes. But it seemed that only his own was able to be duplicated. And so, his beloved wife grew old, and there was nothing he could do to recreate the happiness he once knew. He kept her bracelet--one he had given her as a gift--and has not taken it off since.
Stricken by loneliness, and angered sorrow over the fact that he could not get his experiments to work, he was greeted one day, by a man. A man, who promised knowledge in exchange for assistance. Assistance, he said in a soft, and honest tone, that would be nothing compared to gaining the knowledge of how to recreate another human being using his powers. The man's name? Nathaniel Essex.
Dispite all his learnings, Milar eagerly accepted. He worked for the man for years. And years. And years. He knew now, that he would never get the correct knowledge, but quitting for Essex was not an option. And so he gave up all his false hopes, and stuck with it, if not for fear of being experimented on, than out of boredom.