It's time for my favorite kind of filibuster: the character sheet filibuster! Though it's not
long by my standards, of course.
Name: Immanuel Jade, or Max Yang where the former provokes distrust.
Physical Description: he reminds you of a dusty, overly ambitious beggar who has come upon a dead nobleman and stolen his clothes, which have proceeded to age poorly in his keeping ever since. And then, as he tips his unusual hat and opens his toothless, grinning mouth to speak, you see but a great black expanse, and perhaps beneath his words even sense an unintentional menace. You resolve to keep an eye on him as you go about your shady business in the vast desert, and occasionally in the midday sun you see his shadow flicker, or the wind suddenly change direction for a second as he speaks. Animals flee at his touch, and perhaps you would, too - you keep a respectable distance from him this entire time.
Job: he is in his own words an expert you do not expect, a speaker to the unseen, a middleman for an unknown that is often called upon all too lightly.
Personality: you find him unusual at first, suspicious right afterward. Seemingly dependable, often professional, and always ready to converse about seemingly nothing at all, overflowing with some form of unearthly delight that you find ominously infectious. There's something about him you don't like, and when you ask others about him they will know exactly what you're talking about, but their words fail as to what that might be. They do, however, advise you not to ask him about it, having worked with him in the past, for while they cannot quite describe the symptom, they can attest that to his allies Max Yang will tell in no uncertain terms the cause. This evidently has failed to put them at ease.
Biography: you, however, have never mastered the mercenary art of asking no questions. On your third outing with Mr. Yang - seeking oddities in one of Orinost's less dangerous areas, ever a popular and incredibly illegal (for one of your employer's means, of course - legality is often a question of personal influence in the Empire) business these days, you ask him what's wrong as the other twenty two men and seven women of the expedition comb through the blasted ruins of a military outpost. He asks you to specify in oddly good humor, and you stammer a moment, feeling vaguely uncomfortable in asking a man why he's so terribly strange. He helps you with some suggestions - the flickering shadow he mentions first, then an oddness to his speech, and even a peculiar hollowness to his eyes that you up until now had failed to notice. You nod and he continues to smile, then asks you if you know what a fury is.
Truthfully, you do not. But you know roughly what it does (or some examples of what it can do, at least), and say as much. He notes that this is a very good answer, so he will reply with one of his own - in the simplest of terms, he ate a fury. An ill-advised act by his own admission, but not one he regrets.
You ask him if that's, er, literal. The eating part, you mean. He says it is not, but it is close enough to easily understand the idea without an education far beyond your means to attain. You frown at this, and he laughs, saying he never quite completed said education either, so you need not consider this to be flaunting his status. And while eating the fury does seem to have given him the power to work miracles beyond the ability of the common man, it does have a great many downsides. The oddities, you say, completing the thought. He says yes, but the real rub, he says conspiratorially, is the troubling thing about exploring new horizons in magical technology - there is nothing to expect, and virtually anything is possible.
The best part about the Far West, he says after a moment's silence, right after its lack of regulation, is that it is sparsely populated. This sets his conscience at ease, he explains, for there are only so many that can possibly go with him when the time comes and the stars align unfavorably at last. You give him a serious look, and he tells you that this is usually the time when one takes a few steps back. This may even increase your odds of survival should the mentioned time be anywhere within five minutes from now and the result adhering close to what he thinks might be normal. You uncomfortably follow his advice, and he gives you another of those toothless grins. The rest of the trip proves uneventful, and after this outing your cooperation with the man fortunately ends.