The Alpha and Omega
Crude and somwhat vicious, he does right by the fastest means availiable.
Magic Talent: 16
Base Hit Points: 79
General EP : -6
|DR II||Quarterstaff||2||63||+2 DR|
|SOCIAL SCIENCE||Oratory/Rhetoric||1||84||Influence people by speaking and speech making.|
|GENERAL CLERIC||Light||1||85||60-watt light bulb.|
|GENERAL CLERIC||Learn Heal||1||85||+10% CC, +10% LR, +2 healing die.|
|HEALING||Simple Healing||3||84||Heals 3d6|
|HEALING||Healing Touch||3||84||Heals 2d6|
|HEALING||Anti-Shock||3||84||Remove stun. 1/2 KO time.|
|HEALING||Bodily Healing I||3||84||4d6+4 healing.|
|HEALING||Knit Fracture||3||84||Heal fracture.|
|PRAYER||Prayer III||3||87||+100% SPP, +20% CC|
|PRAYER||Bequest||3||87||2*Prayer DoMs with CT=3|
Public Speaking, Music, Art, Astronomy, Law.
There’s something I’d like to say before we die, just so that we’re clear.
I was born on a small farm, just outside the Holy City, as a worshiper of the Holy Hand. I was a little kid though, and they were big damn heroes. I didn’t understand what was really going on, I just loved their shiny armor and the big swords and muscular arms. I always thought that they looked really cool and fought crime, which wasn’t completely wrong at the time. I actually joined the church hoping to join them, and I did at 16. Once there, I fuckin dominated that place, they just couldn’t handle me. Top of my class and everything, graduated from some elite bullshit at the age of 21.
I was a righteous warrior of The Hand through and through, until it mattered. My first raid, ten of us against 150 of them, I broke down. See, those numbers don’t work when everybody knows how to fight. We were just told to clear out a heretic encampment, and to leave none alive. Nobody told us it was civilian. I refused, and was almost executed on the spot. Fortunately for me, nine well equipped and experienced hands can cut through 150 innocent people in about 10 minutes, and so I was dishonorably discharged with my head intact. My former squadmates, of course, took offense to this, beat me to what they thought was death, and left me to die in a gutter.
I awoke in the temple of Father Franklin, a healer and ardent pacifist, who took me in and taught me the ways of Peace.
He washed out and became a simple priest instead, focusing all of his efforts on mastering the arts of healing, but also promising himself to do whatever he could to stop the efforts of the Holy Hand.
He fights by whatever mean necessary, including peaceful and nice means, to bring about a better world. He sees himself as one soldier in the grand legion of a higher power, and intends to earn his way up the ranks. He avoids violence and heals whatever wounded he can find, even those that opposed him if he believes that they can be redeemed, and he is quite optimistic in these judgments, with one exception. If this puts him into conflict with allies he will usually assert a higher moral authority and condescend a bit, but he is generally still a good guy.
He was born just outside the Holy City, and began his life as a worshiper of the Holy Hand, not so much as religious icons as superheroes. As a kid, he always thought that they looked really cool and fought crime, which was relatively accurate at the time. He got into the church hoping to join them, and he did at 16. Once there, he trained hard, and rose to the top of his class, impressing all those around him with his willingness to work through any amount of suffering.
However, after observing a raid on a heretic camp firsthand, and seeing what the Holy Hand was becoming, he developed a more pacifist leaning, and became disgusted with the organization. He worked unsuccessfully for only a few days to try and change the direction of the Hand from the inside, but he decided quickly that such efforts, were pointless. He washed out and became a simple priest instead, focusing all of his efforts on mastering the arts of healing, but also promising himself to do whatever he could to stop the efforts of the Holy Hand.
To this day his status has been marred by his overt distaste for the Holy Hand, and they are the only people that he will willingly harm or kill, as he sees them as universally and irredeemably corrupt. He is now 34, and as a result of his stance, still only an assistant priest at a small church on the outskirts of the city.
Since the adventure started, he lost even that much, as he was arrested on the street, by the Hand of course, as he tried to calm a riot. He was able to escape execution only by joining a motley crew of semi-mercenaries, who have tested his morals and resolve since their very first moments together, as each seemed tuned to a specific part of the world that he found wanting. Their journeys have tested him in ways not even his ordeal with the Holy Hand could not, but in such a way that his courage and compassion have shown through, at least in his eyes. Though he won’t admit it, he loves the thrill of combat, and the excitement of adventuring, and the feeling of defeating truly objectively evil creatures.
Although he initially only stayed with them to avoid execution, he has grown quite fond of his fellow travelers, and hopes to keep them alive for as long as he can, although not even his optimism will allow him to think that this could last forever…
Some time has passed, and Greg has changed. He has grown accustomed to combat and death. Though he has yet to take a life himself, he has aided in the taking of a great many, and is no longer disturbed by that fact.