Here's mine. Hunting sounds like fun.

[hider=Baghead][b]Name:[/b] Baghead
[b]Age:[/b] Unknown
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Species:[/b] Human
[b]Rank:[/b] Huntsmen

[b]Personality:[/b] Baghead doesn't associate much. But from what others of his profession have garnered, he's a hunter through and through, just one who hides his face. Those who know the older story of the Bagheads could easily compare him to those who came before - though many would contest they are all one and the same. This [i]particular[/i] Baghead comes across as solemn, but not against conversation. He'll talk with rasp, and tend to come off as a little cocky, with a hint of sass and morbid fervor present.

But to those he calls allies, he's much more open and cooperative. Never enough to divulge who the man [i]under[/i] the Bag is, however. After all, Baghead is an amalgamation. The Bag is the one who thinks, speaks, and controls. The man, unknown and unimportant, merely serves.

[b]Other:[/b] It is wondered if there is only one Bag, or if there are several who operate on their own. The Holders intentionally keep this information as obscure as possible, to aid in their work.

[b]Appearance:[/b] Baghead, as his moniker implies, wears a bag over his head. Burlap leather, old and dusty, with two small holes plucked around the eyes, and a ragged rope slung around the neck like a noose. His other clothing consists of an old, brown fedora resting on his crown, a much more modern-looking but equally filthy leather trench coat reaching down to his knees, a white collared shirt, and black dress pants and shoes.

[b]Equipment/weapons:[/b] Baghead carries few things on him. A silver hatchet, a heavy revolver with varying custom bullets for varying opposition, an old magic-detecting bauble, and a scant few other items including a wallet and a phone - but those belong to the man, not the Bag.

[b]History:[/b] The tale of the enigmatic Bagheads is an old one indeed. Not so old as to surpass the likes of inhuman kind, but old enough to be known to them. In towns and villages, cities and states, there are scores of people who detest nonhumans, and would see them eradicated.

But some would rather work under the cover of guises to that end, to secure their own personal lives, to act without remorse and hesitation. They would give themselves up to something else entirely, purely out of hatred, or fear, or vengeance. Most people cannot fight this menace, let alone face it. But the Bag? The Bag is without fear. The Bag can kill with ease.

You see, the Bag is not just some mundane leather sack. It is an old testament to the human desire to slay those who would treat them like cattle. It is an entity of its own, and the individual who dons it is an individual no more. They are merely the host to an ancient animosity, moving their body, and doing only what they have pledged to do, while their human vessel gets to live in bliss and forgetfulness after their charge is done, with the promise of a material reward granted to them by the Bag's old confidants, the Holders.

This man, whose identity has been cast aside under the influence of his ghastly visage, came to New York City as word of its inhuman activity crept outward. When the Bag is satisfied with its work, it will relinquish itself to the Holders once again, and the man will be free. But until then, it has elected to cooperate with the local huntsmen population, who may not share its macabre thinkings, but will certainly possess the same simple goal.

To kill monsters.[/hider]