I'm a little late to the party, hope I've made it on time XD 

[hider=Dr. Lucian Dexter][b]Name:[/b] Dr. Lucian Dexter

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Age:[/b] 32

[b]Appearance:[/b]
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An average 5"10 with an average build, Dexter has the look of an academic who spends entirely too much too time indoors reading books. This is an accurate statement, though the darkness around his eyes and unnerving lack of visible emotion might lead you to wonder exactly what manner of texts those might be. His near-black hair is a little long, perhaps, but neatly cut and kept; his green eyes reflect the clinical detachment of a particularly well-read snake. That is not to say that he appears off-putting at first glance, for his looks are clean-shaven and immaculate, his clothes well-tailored and elegant, and his conversational skills well-honed and observant; more that his manner and bearing give the impression of a man who has seen much in his years, and in response has learned to ruthlessly seperate his emotions from his intellect.

[b]Bio:[/b] The youngest of three sons born to a sculptor and a midwife, his family was well-regarded and lived in a small but well-appointed home that overlooked the square at central Yharnam. A quiet child, he rarely spoke and seldom indulged in childish play, preferring instead to read both books and the behaviours of those around him. This particular combination of past-times gave him a rather different view of the world than that shared by his family, peers, and other townsfolk. After all, many of them seemed to have little concept of the world that existed outside the immediate bounds of the city, and to think nothing of the... 'Peculiarities' of its inhabitants. For what finer place could exist than the very home of blood ministration, seat of the Healing Church? It drew people from far and wide to be cured of their maladies, and Yharnam prospered all the better from it. 

Dexter, however, was unsettled by the growing reliance on the Church and rising swell of zealotry that seemed only to accelerate as he grew towards adulthood. It felt, to him, rather 'improper' in a way that few others seemed to appreciate. The children his mother helped deliver were healthy and fair, but increasingly strange. The works his father produced began, over time, to change; from cowled and godly martyrs, to forms that, although resembling that of humans, were strangely-proportioned and subtly twisted into unnatural parodies of pained supplication.

And so, he decided to escape in a manner befitting a young gentleman - by going to university. No, not to Byrgenwerth, despite his parents insistance, but further North, where the mountain air was cool and clean and blood was only blood. It was an excellent escape, all told; and when his academic course finished he took another, and when that finished, he used his new doctorate to take tenure and teach others. He lost himself in the cold formality of modern medicine and workings of the human mind, and found that his strange past in a strange place was an unexpectedly valuable resource of practical experience in his chosen fields. Most did not have what it took to look inside the mind of another; quite literally, for dissection and study were the cornerstones of the fresh new field of neurology.

He still sent letters back home, like any good son would, and quietly pitied the postal clerks who had to deliver such missives; and for a time, received letters back from his father. He became rather artful at constructing reasons to delay his return indefinitely. Eventually the correspondance seemed to dry up; a relief, all told, for the content of these letters had become increasingly erratic, and fraught with mania and bad news. Ramblings of beasts and blood, fire and sickness, and no way to be sure where fact began and fiction ended, or whether either existed in the first place.

When his father died a day after he turned 30, it was Dexter's lawyers who carried the news to him - and that was the last he heard from any of them. No word ever came from his mother or brothers; perhaps, they blamed him for not rallying to the old man's deathbed. Perhaps, he thought, they were right to blame him. And, with that, he was free of Yharnam's shadow forever.

... Or so he thought, until his father wrote to him once again. Perhaps 'wrote' is the wrong term, for a page of indecipherable glyph-like scrawling marked with blood and filth could hardly be construed as meaningful discourse, but - that was undoubtedly the old man's signature. Of course, he was dead, so that meant only that someone back at that blasted city was set to play cruel tricks on him, to prey on his mind and cause him to question himself. And that absolutely. Would. Not. [i]Do.[/i] It was, he decided, time to be done with that place, and all who festered within it.

And so, fifteen years after taking his leave of Yharnam's particular brand of ill-favoured madness, he set off to return to those cobbled streets and gaslit alleys to the place where he was born, determined to finally sever all ties; and by gods, would he give someone quite a stern talking-to when he got there!

[b]Personality:[/b] He is calm and calculated and rigidly 'sane' to the point where it might just be the mark of his own brand of madness. He rarely laughs, and has not shed a tear since he was too young to form sentences. That is not to say that he lacks emotion, or compassion, or basic humanity - only that it would take a particularly stressful turn of events to bring any of it to the surface.

[b]Occupation:[/b] Lecturer in the fields of neurology and psychology.

[hider=Family:]
Father - Morton (deceased)
Mother - Lucianne (59)
Brother - Morton (known as 'Morty') (38), married to Sarah (37), father to Lucy (14)
Brother - Daniel (36)[/hider]

[b]Equipment:[/b] Carries a black doctor's bag that contains some useless textbooks, a sandwich, and a small bonesaw that is most commonly used to carve chicken (though he won't admit it if you ask him, and will insist it is an important tool that should be treated with care). 

[b]Other:[/b] Detests his given name, as he was named after his mother which seems rather unfitting for a man. Despite being an eligible bachelor with pleasant looks and a comfortable salary, he has no romantic ties. Nor does he have any close friends, preferring to keep things at 'acquaintence' level or lower. He is left-handed, physically fit, and lacks any fighting skill at all. He does, however, have a keen eye for anatomy and a good deal of expertise in dissection and surgery.

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