STAFF: Dr. Allen Raker<br/><br/>Specializing in biochemestry and medical gene therapy seemed to have been a mistake. Every grant or loan offer he'd turned to laughed at his theories and scoffed at his testing proposals. Years of working odd jobs to keep afloat didn't seem to be doing him any favors either. An eviction notice seemed to be the final nail in his coffin. Oddly, it seemed as though something were attatched to it. An envelope. "The Shelter for Lost Lambs?" he muttered under his breath. He crossed the barrier that was his home for what seemed the last time. Promises of research specimens, experiment oriented atmospheres and provided living expenses danced in his head like a siren's call. Days later, saying his final farewells to his possessions, landlord and thankfully bills, Dr. Raker found himself in front of Monster Mountain castle. "This place doesn't look so bad." He commented, recalling village warnings and rumors about the place.<br/><br/>Allen was a modest man in many ways. While tall, he did not tower over anyone and while it was evident he worked out it wasn't overtly obvious. Standing at about 6'1" he wore half rimmed glasses over his hazel brown eyes. Light brown hair only barely sprouted an inch from his scalp. An average sized, upwards angled nose sat above severely chapped lips. Apparently the stress had driven him to habitually biting said lips. He wasn't exactly in mountain gear. He looked more like a suit-esque guy going in for a meeting or an interveiw, briefcase replaced by a duffel bag. Glancing about in a concerned manner, "I wonder if I was supposed to wait out here for someone?"