Not sure if I went to "out there" with this char but thought I'd post up what I wrote anyways, lol. Hope ya like em-feel free to criticize though.
Name: James Lancer
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Appearance: Standing at just under six feet tall Lancer by no means has any real intimidating features to speak of aside from an ever present scowl on his thin and gaunt face-oh, and the dead shriveled black appendage that is his left hand, but that's not technically “his.” He also sports a rather hooked nose that appears as if it has been broken once or twice in his lifetime; his beady hazel eyes now forever staring at a slightly crooked sight. Despite his seemingly constant (and probably dangerous) rate of coffee consumption he constantly looks worn out and tired, “bags” beneath his eyes being a daily occurrence. Finishing off the dismal appearance of his facial features is his shaved head and oddly maintained 5 O clock shadow-although in truth his haircut is just an attempt to do something about the six inch bald spot on the back of his head.
For the most part he wears an peculiar mishmash of well fitting blue jeans and some nondescript T-Shirts he cycles through each week along with the same beige overcoat day in and out; he's also almost never seen outside of his old school pair of black leather Doc Martins. Despite the fact that his clothes fit rather well it is still somewhat obvious that beneath the thrift store acquired clothing is a somewhat thin, almost frail, figure.
Skills: Lancer has quite a bit of knowledge (both practical and nonsensical ramblings) when it comes to the occult: a skill acquired through both study and first hand experience-no pun intended. He is very much a walking catalog for deciphering “all those weird symbols” and “what the hell does this *insert deadly ancient artifact* do?” moments. His most useful (and if he was to be honest, the only reason he's not dead) trait is his left hand-the old withered and rotten appendage being far more than some sickening party conversation.
In most occult circles his hand was referred to as “a hand of glory”, although in Lancers opinion there was nothing glorious about it. The gnarled looking black fist is capable of a few neat tricks though, most of which simply boil down to unlocking doors with ease. Unfortunately the damned thing very much has a mind of its own-and it can be a very, very, bad hand. Lancer himself has never killed a man...his left hand though, well, that's a different story completely. Because of this he normally keeps his left hand wrapped tightly in a fist with gauze, often times claiming to be a burn victim.
Personality: Pessimist. Short. Angry. Pointed. Scathing? These are words “friends” would use to describe Lancer-and that's them being polite. Whether or not he's a “bad guy” is really more a matter of opinion but most can unanimously agree that well intentioned or not he is “a complete and total dick.” All that aside he is a rather driven man, although his focus tends to often become borderline obsessive. Not much of a “team player” his interests tend to lean towards the pursuit of knowledge and things that specifically effect/benefit him. It takes quite a bit for Lancer to truly care about someone in any real way; and even then he is quick to verbally tear into them-his best of friends dish it right back however.
History: Growing up in America every little boy and girl is taught that “knowledge is power”, a creed James Lancer lived the better half of his life by. That was until he learned over the course of one particularly eventful scholarship funded year abroad that knowledge truly can be power-he was also quick to learn however that some knowledge was even more than that, some knowledge was both horrific and destructive...and then some knowledge, well, some was just plain evil.
Needless to say it was impossible to return to his normal life: just the thought of sitting through who knows how many more years of school to get his doctorate while now knowing hidden truths were just laying out there just waiting to be unearthed-or worse. That fact combined with his newly acquired hand was enough to make him simply drop out of school all together much to his parents chagrin-up until this point in life he had been a straight A honor roll type student, the type of child that was expected to grow into an adult that would go on to do great and important things. Instead he spent the better part of his 20's like some sort of Fox Mulder wannabe-often tracking down obscure and wild rumors that rarely resulted in anything more then adding to his accruing debt.
Luckily(?) he found himself in one of those classic situations where he “knew a guy who had a brother who was friends with the son of a woman” who had apparently been having family troubles. Unlike most families though that argued over the TV channel or what to eat for dinner this poor womans family had been dead for years but still showed up for dinner each night, trailing with them the rot and decay of death-basically they were terrible dinner guests and she wanted them gone one way or another. Of course by the time Lancer had made his way halfway across the country and finally reached this woman whom he really wasn't sure even existed the whole event had been wrapped up and swept under the rug. He did get a name out of the rather grateful woman however; she was more then happy to tell him that Blackfield Consulting had quickly and quietly solved her problems.
Now with a name to track down Lancer wasted no time looking into the company that apparently specialized in the very area of work he had been fruitlessly chasing on his own. Maybe they were hiring?
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Appearance: Standing at just under six feet tall Lancer by no means has any real intimidating features to speak of aside from an ever present scowl on his thin and gaunt face-oh, and the dead shriveled black appendage that is his left hand, but that's not technically “his.” He also sports a rather hooked nose that appears as if it has been broken once or twice in his lifetime; his beady hazel eyes now forever staring at a slightly crooked sight. Despite his seemingly constant (and probably dangerous) rate of coffee consumption he constantly looks worn out and tired, “bags” beneath his eyes being a daily occurrence. Finishing off the dismal appearance of his facial features is his shaved head and oddly maintained 5 O clock shadow-although in truth his haircut is just an attempt to do something about the six inch bald spot on the back of his head.
For the most part he wears an peculiar mishmash of well fitting blue jeans and some nondescript T-Shirts he cycles through each week along with the same beige overcoat day in and out; he's also almost never seen outside of his old school pair of black leather Doc Martins. Despite the fact that his clothes fit rather well it is still somewhat obvious that beneath the thrift store acquired clothing is a somewhat thin, almost frail, figure.
Skills: Lancer has quite a bit of knowledge (both practical and nonsensical ramblings) when it comes to the occult: a skill acquired through both study and first hand experience-no pun intended. He is very much a walking catalog for deciphering “all those weird symbols” and “what the hell does this *insert deadly ancient artifact* do?” moments. His most useful (and if he was to be honest, the only reason he's not dead) trait is his left hand-the old withered and rotten appendage being far more than some sickening party conversation.
In most occult circles his hand was referred to as “a hand of glory”, although in Lancers opinion there was nothing glorious about it. The gnarled looking black fist is capable of a few neat tricks though, most of which simply boil down to unlocking doors with ease. Unfortunately the damned thing very much has a mind of its own-and it can be a very, very, bad hand. Lancer himself has never killed a man...his left hand though, well, that's a different story completely. Because of this he normally keeps his left hand wrapped tightly in a fist with gauze, often times claiming to be a burn victim.
Personality: Pessimist. Short. Angry. Pointed. Scathing? These are words “friends” would use to describe Lancer-and that's them being polite. Whether or not he's a “bad guy” is really more a matter of opinion but most can unanimously agree that well intentioned or not he is “a complete and total dick.” All that aside he is a rather driven man, although his focus tends to often become borderline obsessive. Not much of a “team player” his interests tend to lean towards the pursuit of knowledge and things that specifically effect/benefit him. It takes quite a bit for Lancer to truly care about someone in any real way; and even then he is quick to verbally tear into them-his best of friends dish it right back however.
History: Growing up in America every little boy and girl is taught that “knowledge is power”, a creed James Lancer lived the better half of his life by. That was until he learned over the course of one particularly eventful scholarship funded year abroad that knowledge truly can be power-he was also quick to learn however that some knowledge was even more than that, some knowledge was both horrific and destructive...and then some knowledge, well, some was just plain evil.
Needless to say it was impossible to return to his normal life: just the thought of sitting through who knows how many more years of school to get his doctorate while now knowing hidden truths were just laying out there just waiting to be unearthed-or worse. That fact combined with his newly acquired hand was enough to make him simply drop out of school all together much to his parents chagrin-up until this point in life he had been a straight A honor roll type student, the type of child that was expected to grow into an adult that would go on to do great and important things. Instead he spent the better part of his 20's like some sort of Fox Mulder wannabe-often tracking down obscure and wild rumors that rarely resulted in anything more then adding to his accruing debt.
Luckily(?) he found himself in one of those classic situations where he “knew a guy who had a brother who was friends with the son of a woman” who had apparently been having family troubles. Unlike most families though that argued over the TV channel or what to eat for dinner this poor womans family had been dead for years but still showed up for dinner each night, trailing with them the rot and decay of death-basically they were terrible dinner guests and she wanted them gone one way or another. Of course by the time Lancer had made his way halfway across the country and finally reached this woman whom he really wasn't sure even existed the whole event had been wrapped up and swept under the rug. He did get a name out of the rather grateful woman however; she was more then happy to tell him that Blackfield Consulting had quickly and quietly solved her problems.
Now with a name to track down Lancer wasted no time looking into the company that apparently specialized in the very area of work he had been fruitlessly chasing on his own. Maybe they were hiring?