Name: Leon Smith, though there is a sneaking suspicion that last name isn’t really his.

Age: 30

Appearance: Leon comes in around 6’3” and has a decently muscular build. He’s got a nice face, if you go for the rugged boxer kind of thing. He’s got a strong square jaw, a slightly crooked nose, and next to his left eye is about an inch long scar. Despite all that his green eyes still are calm and endearing. He keeps his hair short as a function over form decision. While his wardrobe is fairly average, the observant will notice that he constantly wears a pair of brown leather gloves.

Concept: Leon is all too well versed in the supernatural. As it would turn out growing up in the backwoods of Oregon can lead you into a whole life affected by it. As a child it was just little things, out in the distance: A wandering light or a whisper on the wind. But as Leon grew more perceptive he was finding traces everywhere. He could identify footprints, discern what was a screech owl and what was something from beyond, or sometimes rarely he’d spot things that others denied. Soon enough he was certain there was something much bigger out there. It wasn’t just his skills increasing. It was getting closer. The last nail in the coffin was when, in the middle of the night, the family dog was killed. Everyone was certain it was just a bear or maybe another dog, but upon closer inspection Leon discovered a finger inside the dog’s mouth. A long gray boney finger. Leon burned it to be on the safe side. He was always on edge from that point.

People worried he was going paranoid from living out here, that something was wrong with the boy. Now he needed proof. Leon set a plan into action. Convincing his parents he was going on a week long school trip he headed off. The first couple days were spent following the traces as best he could. When he found the footprints again he knew he was close. He followed stalking closer. Eventually he found himself drawing near to an old cabin, probably used by a hunter in the open seasons. The tracks led inside. Thinking through the options, Leon hid then threw a rock to bust a window. After the glass shattered there was a cry of pain. A person. Leon was stunned for a moment. Had he just made a massive mistake? Had he really gone off the deep end? He wanted to run up and apologize but in the back of his mind, he knew he must be right. The rock was really too small to hurt anyone, or at least wound someone. If there was a person they’d come out the door in three, two, one.

What came out of the door was anything but human. A bleached white monstrosity that smelled like rot. It’s body looked like a distorted corpse with extremely lanky limbs, long clawed fingers and toes, and a mouth large enough to swallow a turkey whole. It screeched a high demented sound, somewhere between a cry of pain and a rage filled roar. Leon fumbled around for an arrow while the monster was still displaying. He notched it and took aim. When the arrow was let loose it seemed to just appear in the monster. The thing staggered around confused. Leon let another fly. Again it sunk deep into the monster. The thing staggered and fell. Now was the only chance. He sprint up and pulled out a silver knife, something he had procured from a flea market months back as his concerns grew. As he closed in on the monster it began to get back up. Leon lunged and stabbed the monster in the back, and again, and again. He continued until his arm didn’t have the strength to pulled the knife out again.

He looked down and saw the shredded corpse of a man. There was no proof, but Leon didn’t need that now. He just needed to run.

===

Leon tried to move life on from that point. He left Oregon. Found a job. Found a wife and had a child with her. Even then no matter where he was he couldn’t ignore the signs of “the beyond” as he began to call it. That constant strain on his mind and the worries it caused began to ruin the marriage. He knew he needed help, but he didn’t turn to a therapist. He dug deeper. He found others like him. He found The Sunday Group. It didn’t put everything together like Leon wanted it to. It didn’t make the things he’d seen any less terrifying, and it didn’t ease him when he was informed his wife had died in a DWI. It gave him one thing. A certainty that cursed or blessed to see these things, he had to acknowledge them.

Now he’s been here years. Somehow still able to pass for sane and still raising his daughter. If you asked he’d probably say she’s the only thing keep him that way. He’s done his best to teach her about the darker side of the world without taking her down the same path.

Powers/skills: Leon is definitely no slouch when it comes to physical capabilities. He took a bit of karate when he was young, but he mostly just retains the grabs and how to throw a good punch. He did grow up hunting and is used to both firearms and bows. Technically he’s much better at archery, but being as it’s much less convenient he carries a pistol as a sidearm. He carries a suitable variety of ammunition for his pistol: blessed, silvered, and even a couple special bullets made out of australian ironwood essentially stake bullets. He also always carries his silver knife, a simple eight inch blade with an antler handle.

When it comes to “the beyond” Leon’s become extremely perceptive to it. Those little oddities that don’t add up jump out to Leon. Admittedly, he is sometimes held back when something normal happens, but he doesn’t know how it works. He’s a paranormal detective not a scientist.

As useful as that experience is it doesn’t help with the more dangerous aspects of the job. Leon’s taken some precautions of the magical variety. He wear a duster which is thoroughly covered with protection runes. They normally are invisible, but in the presence of magic they tend to flare up and give the coat a resistance to magic. This still leaves it open to basically everything else though. Heck a stronger man with a switchblade could probably stab through it if they wanted.

The other and probably far more important is Leon’s practice with totems. Finding himself with limited talents or patience to learn how to cast spells Leon instead found the ability to make totems. The art was all over the world each with useful differences and better focuses for each one. Already a fan of woodworking Leon indulged himself in the true depth of totem craft. Now he doesn’t leave home without them. Everywhere Leon spends a lengthy amount of time has a handful of totems scattered around now. Warding totems, energizing totems, totems that protect the mind, totems that bring good weather, and more.

Leon can’t say for certain that all of the designs he’s studied actually work, but there a good few that he has proven. A native american pacific one that guards doorways, a south pacific totem that projects a sort of spirit shield but disintigrates after the shield fades, and a warding totem from australia that does as it says and wards off bad spirits.

Writing Sample:

Picking the lock to the window was easy enough. The interior of the abandoned office building was stuffy and thick with dust. Manny slipped the cloth he kept in his back pocket up to his mouth, breathing in slowly as he looked around. His sharp eyes caught the trail immediately, dust having been wiped clean on the floor, leading to a trail that led toward the fallen ceiling of the break room. He placed his foot on the counter, and kicked off with a leap to grab a hold, and haul himself up onto the 3rd floor. He held his breath throughout, so as not to groan and give away his position.

When he pulled himself up, he didn't move quickly or anxiously. He knew if what he expected to be here was here, it would be much quicker than him unless he was prepared. He knew it would toy with him if he was slow, which gave him an edge. Manny wrapped his jacket around his right arm, holding a vial at the end of it. His other hand slipped the safety off his M1991 .45 handgun, and he moved with a practice silence across the floor, though the ruined wood creaked every so often.

The slabbering noise in the other room was loud enough to drown out any small creaks however, and Manny casually, slowly stepped through the open doorway to view a scene out of a horror novel. Grey and smooth, putrid flesh covered the hulking figure as it nuzzled its face into the open chest cavity of the still-warm corpse. Wet sucking noises filled the air as the ghoul fed, its back-bone protruding out like a reptilian spine.

The claw marks on the opposite rooftop had given the beast way an hour ago. He'd been sufficiently prepared. He'd learned long ago not to call the police. Nothing but red tape and lawyers.

"Hey bitch," he called. With preternatural speed, the Ghoul yanked its head up and turned, only for its face to be covered in shattered glass and holy water. With a screech it leaped at the doorway instantly, but Manny had already moved. Summarily blinded, it hit the side wall and screeched more in pain. Manny stepped back into the doorway and fired his weapon, punching 4 holes into the beast before it croaked, and fell dead.

Before he left, he slipped on his gloves and fished his hands in the corpse's wallet. He'd notify the police of the death, of course. But he'd take some cash for his trouble. A man had to eat, after all.