"The universe is mental."
Reality, The All, as it is seen and believed, is a creation of the mind; an individual experience. Color is an illusion, time a state of mind, and life, only one form of being. Hot and cold are just two poles of the same experience. The universe is mental, and that being true, it must be subject to the laws of the mind, of creation, and of created things. If it is possible to change one's mind, one's imagining, then it must also be possible to change one's reality, or even the mind's and imaginations of others; to contain the mist of being and shape it, as one might an opinion or a mood. With such a state of mind, comes danger. Absolute control is required to prevent utter disaster. A single wisp of imagination or a single train of thought entertained one instant too long could change the very face of existence, The All itself.
What kind of person would it take to achieve such a state of being?
Bayes Cabral was born the son of a sheep farmer in England in the year 1916. He spent many of his early days following his father as they herded the sheep all over the green mountain plains in the spring time. He loved the work, and the sheep and it wasn't long before he was herding them himself, spending long, sunny afternoons watching the sheep graze and the seasons change.
He was a thoughtful lad by nature, and his time alone outdoors made him more so. Which was good, because his mind was plagued with questions. He sat among his flock and wondered why the sun rose in the day instead of at night when the light would be useful. He thought about why a bird jumping off a cliff was called "flying" and "falling" when a person did it. He devoted serious attention to the question of life, the universe and everything, but fell short as "everything" to young Bayes went about as far as sheep and their grazing habits and the hills.
In short, Bayes was the type of person, who, given enough time, would have figured out the underlying plan to reality and everything between. And lord knows he wouldn't have stopped there. He would have gone on to find the answer to far more important questions like, "where shall we go for dinner tonight?" And "where are the scissors?"
But Bayes was not given enough time. Or perhaps, he was given just enough.
The rise of machinery and factories made it harder and harder for cottage industries like his father's and they began to struggle. They were obsolete, and so it was either change or die. Bayes was apprenticed to a toolmaker at the age of eleven and sent away from home, his way of life, and his father.
Even before Bayes left he knew he would miss the sheep and his father terribly, but he was optimistic. Tools were something useful. Everyone needed them and he would feel important making them. He did not look forward to the change, but at least he did let it hang over him. He spent his last few weeks at home happy and without distraction.
Tool making did not suite Bayes and neither did his new master. The work was not so much hard, as unending and his master did not tolerate unwillingness in his pupils(of which there were several) and he gave no slack. All the carefully ordered thoughts of Bayes's mind were shattered by the ceaseless din of his work. Even when work was halted at midday, the noise did not end. His peers talked, and joked and laughed while they waited for their supper to be brought to them. He longed for the endless silence of the hills and the pleasant solace of his own mind. He would to go sleep each night tired, empty, and full of dread for the next day.
Bayes spent a long, miserable year with the toolmaker in the city before he could stand it no longer. His mind ached and his thoughts were slow and he knew he needed to get away, to shed the web that held him. He awoke from a dream of hills and sheep and still air. He went to the window and looked out at the moon, glowing like the memory of love lost. Bayes opened the window and climbed out.
Bayes fled tool shop and the town and no one saw him go. No alarm was raised, no call came in the night and so Bayes found himself sitting alone on a softly wooded hill some more than a mile above town. The night was chilly but he didn't feel it. He let his bare feet dig into the grass and he leaned against a tree, trunk slightly groaning under the occasional wind.
He let his mind go.
Thoughts flooded in, not everyday thoughts, different ones. He thought color and light and if he closed his eyes he was touching a star. More thoughts came and they were all backwards.
Bayes did not know for how long he sat there, back up against the tree and arms held tight about himself, and he did not realize when he was no longer alone. A voice startled him, not because he didn't expect to hear it, but because he didn't expect to hear it that way. The normal way.
"I think you have come here to find me," said the man, standing a small ways down the hill and leaning on slightly on a cane made of wood so dark it almost seemed a trick of the eye in the night.
"Yes," said Bayes. "I think I did."
Bayes stood and followed the man. They walked for what seemed like a long time, over fallen logs and up and down rocky hills before they came to a small cave with a wide mouth. In front of it a fire burned on top of an earthen mound. The stranger stopped and sat down beside the fire.
"My name is Hermes Trismegistus. Some prefer to call me Simon. Please, sit."
Bayes sat and watched the fire and so began his long study with the strange hermit. He learned many things. About plants and herbs and rocks and animals and the sky and the world hidden below. He learned how to take the thoughts out of his mind and how to keep the right-side-up and forward. He meditated and many years passed, although it felt like days.
For a lifetime he trained with Simon, and then it all ended as quickly as it had began. One day he realized he was alone in the cave, and in his mind. He tried to reach, to send like he'd been taught, but there was nothing there. He felt time again. He could see the sun and watch it move and he was very hungry. He tried to remember when the last time he ate was, and couldn't. He couldn't remember much at all. He remembered the things he'd been taught, he remembered learning them, but he didn't remember how. Like he'd walked through a door without opening it. Like the words of a song stuck in his head but not the tune.
He stood up and left the cave. A tree grew next to where he stood and he plucked a bright fruit from its new branches and took a bite. He heard noise coming from further up the mountain and he walked toward it. There were men there, cutting the trees. But they did not have axes, instead the used machines, large ones that made lots of sound and smoke. One of the men spotted Bayes watching them and walked over.
"You lost, mate?"
"What year is it?" Bayes asked, eyes locked on the wretched machines.
Elemental Control, Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, and Earth.
Able to meditate and heal himself of grievous wounds over time.
Able to teleport instantly so long as he prepared the ground beforehand with a ritual. Can only do this once per ritual.
Small healer factor that prevents him from aging, but does nothing else.
I'm sure ill think of more stuff and edit this.