Basics
Name: "I have no name." If he had one, he doesn't remember, and anyone that might remember it is a bit difficult to contact at the moment, what with all the mystery around him and such.
Aliases: Campfire stories in the Sandlot told of him alternately refer to this ghost of the desert as The Marked Man, The Scarred Man, The Burned One, The Phantom of the Shifting Sands and some other phrases. Some cheeky souls (no pun intended) have taken to calling him 'Crispy'; shortly after accompanied by a suspicious glance over their shoulder.
Gender: Although it has never been determined precisely; witnesses to his actions describe him as being decidedly masculine in figure and voice.
Age/Date of Death: Indeterminate, but his height, voice and style of dress put him anywhere from his late thirties to his early fifties.
Species: Rather shockingly, given his track record, a damned soul.
Voice: A middling baritone, worn with years of use, abuse and smoke inhalation, and a hint of a Southern accent. Well-spoken and usually a man of few words, when he speaks, it's because it's important. He imparts sage advice and occasionally quotes scripture, but in terms of regular conversation you would be hard-pressed to pull more than a few words out of him unless he speaks first. (A/N: I know you're gonna hate me for it, but it's Johnny Cash. I honestly couldn't think of any voice that fit aside from the one that was used for this character's inspiration, and that would basically make him that character with a different personality behind the voice, so the other voice that came to mind was The Man in Black himself. I mean, I know I would shit a brick if I heard this guy coming after me.)
Equipment: He has been known to pull many things. From varied accounts, it can be determined that he is in possession of:
A Tactical Vest, strapped to which is:
-- A handgun, although it has only rarely been fired.
-- A hand-assembled wrist launcher akin to a compact crossbow; fires darts.
-- Two kukri, of differing shape and form, presumably obtained from the dead or cobbled together from scrap and wire.
-- Scriptures of varying age and condition.
-- A crudely assembled crucifix, made from two bent pieces of scrap metal and some bailing twine.
-- A flint and steel.
A Leather Medicine Bag, containing:
-- A pouch of red brick dust.
-- Basil leaves.
-- Mugwort.
-- Sage.
-- Wormwood.
-- Peyote.
(A/N: All of these are ingredients in various hoodoo mythology; with the exception of peyote. Basil and sage are wards against evil spirits, mugwort and wormwood grant safe travel. A line of red brick dust across your doorstep/entrance of your current residence will prevent evil spirits from entering. Peyote is peyote and makes you trip balls. The effectiveness of these elements in Hell is debatable at best - and by that I mean it all depends on the Word of Nannyhap.)
A Belt First Aid Kit, containing:
-- Antiseptic wash.
-- Ace bandages. (Gauze tape, basically)
-- Band-Aids.
-- Gauze pads.
-- Styptic pencil.
-- Sterile needles and thread.
Appearance
Mannerisms: He strides with a purpose, this one. His every movement is slow, deliberate, practiced. His body language screams "Don't mess, or you'll be disemboweled", and he can back it up. Even when completely at rest his body is tense, on edge, poised to strike. When he speaks, he makes small gestures with his hands and head, almost unnoticeable to anyone but an astute observer. The only times he seems to truly relax are the rare occasions when he sleeps, and even them he seems like a time bomb, or a crouched tiger. On the rare occasion when he does not perceive a threat in the immediate area, he will relax a bit, maybe even close his eyes.
Wardrobe: Simple and pragmatic. He wears a white button-down shirt adorned with some ornate stitching over a light-gray turtleneck, with a tactical chest rig worn over that. His waist is covered by worn out flared blue jeans and a leather belt with an ornate novelty buckle in the shape of a bull's-head. His feet are covered by snakeskin cowboy boots. This appears to be the only clothing he owns, and over time the wear and tear has shown through in many places; mostly the jeans. It's not a stretch of the imagination to assume that he would merely pick new clothes off the dead. He doesn't seem to be the picky sort.
Strengths:
-- Wisdom of the Wasteland: Looking at this guy, you can tell he's been around the block a few times. He knows the Sandlot somewhat well for a damned soul, and this knowledge isn't something to be passed up lightly.
-- Guide Figure: If you look new enough, he's more than happy to help you out and will stick by you until he thinks you can handle yourself.
-- Herbal Supplements: That medicine pouch isn't for show. As long as he can keep it full, he has ready access to a supply of herbs that can potentially be used as temporary wards against demons, depending on how weak the new demon is and how potent the ward is (it varies day to day; this is Hell, after all, wards can't be consistently powerful on a Demon's home turf).
Weaknesses:
-- Generalist: Not being skilled in any one area of the martial arts is a good and bad thing. He's a fairly proficient melee fighter and a good shot when he has to be, but he isn't highly skilled in either one. There are better swordsmen and marksmen out there, without a doubt. Which leads to...
-- 'Strategic Covert Retreats': Otherwise known as ducking the person he's traveling with. He has no qualms with leaving someone to die in favor of his own life if the fight gets to be too tough or if the situation is hopeless. Actually...
-- Mysterious: He tends to drift... A lot. One can wake up in the morning to find him gone and wander for hours or days at a time, only to go to bed and find him back the next morning. This can be problematic for the intervening hours.
Other: To be filled in later.
Personality*
Demeanor: He isn't very open to others; although he understands the concept of team play he doesn't so much understand the one called 'friendship'. Everyone is equal in that everyone is a weapon to be trained and unleashed on the Sandlot; no-one is treated differently regardless of age, sex, race, creed or any other defining traits - he survives, and he helps others to do so, nothing more, nothing less. He doesn't speak often, and usually imparts cryptic advice akin to some sort of shaman or spirit guide. He doesn't have moods; rather he seems to be in a consistent state of tranquility, even when in combat he is level-headed, cool-hearted and calm. He never raises his voice, never seems to become annoyed; although he has been known to have something of a sarcastic wit at times. He doesn't share information about himself, ever - when questioned he casually deflects the inquiry or just flat-out doesn't speak until the point is made that now is not the time for show and tell, nor will there ever be a time for it. And when it comes to demons, he'll humor them to a point - but when manipulation starts to come into play on their end, he will gladly cast the first stone, either by ritual or by steel.
Attitudes: What you see is pretty much exactly what you get. He doesn't really express any sides other than the one he shows to the world. He has no desire for advancement, nor power - he just wanders.
Likes: Either he doesn't like anything or isn't telling.
Dislikes: See above. Although he has a distaste for demons or especially aggressive/questioning people.
Quirks: He will occasionally pick at the loose edges of his bandages.
Flaws: He tends to abandon people a lot, regardless of how long they have traveled with him. He has an incredible distaste for succubi. Also, strangely, he doesn't partake of the hearts of those he kills. He either removes and discards them or gives them to those around him. Unless in dire straits he won't eat another heart.
Life Before Hell
The Marked Man... Who knows anything but him? Theories abound as to how he's arrived; from a firefighter who formed a pact with the devil to a manic assassin to a spirit born of the hopes and dreams of the damned souls to some sort of spirit guide sent by the Lord on High.
How You Ended Up Here
"I was not, then I was." This statement is followed up by a narrowing of the eyes and a slight shrug. "Is that not how you arrived? The details of are little importance. But we waste time and energy standing here asking useless questions; we have to move before our enemies are upon us."
General History
What is known is that he has been here, in the Sandlot, a long time.. He has no one home; encounters with him are primarily at random, although tales of him have been circulating for many, many years with no definitive origin date - not even a specific year. It is also known that he is heavily burned, hence the bandages - but the source of this scarring remains unknown. He has traveled with many a man and woman, acting as a guide until they have consumed enough hearts to pass the barriers around the Sandlot, then leaving in the night to find another person in need of his guidance.