The Aasimar Cleric

Doran Finch was born in a small town of Pennyworth to a middle-class family; to Thomas Finch, a doctor, and Alisha Finch, a breweress. Sadly he never really came to know his mother however, as she died in a great fire when the brewerie she worked at went up in flames. This event didn't much change the dynamic Doran had with his father however, as he was above all professional, practical and pragmatic.

Doran grew up guided by expectations and strict discipline. Thomas always envisioned his son to naturally carry on his life's work, taking care of the business and the clinic he had worked so hard to build for them. As a result he started prepping Doran for the role from an early age, taking him with on his house visits as well as sitting him in front of books on medicines and procedures. Thomas did not take well to disobedience and rebellious outbursts, and Doran quickly learned proper manners and etiquette, much sooner than his peers. As a result he was a very well liked child among all who knew him, sparking other parents to utter such statements as 'Why can't you behave like Doran', heard in most social gatherings.

His childhood was mostly uneventful, spent largely with books and limited human interactions. As he grew older he started gaining more responsibilities around the clinic, even took care of some of the simpler cases himself. Life didn't throw any big curve-balls at his destined path even at the age of 26, when his father finally passed away to natural causes. As far as Doran was concerned it was all going as his father had envisioned, and without questioning much took over the clinic as per the request in Thomas' will. From there he worked as a full time doctor, healing townsfolk and passing travelers alike, and though his childhood didn't exactly arm him with the best toolkit for social interactions, he was generally thought of as a likeable guy.

One dark and stormy night he was woken up by shouts outside of his door. As he opened the door on the other side he was greeted with the sight of a horse carriage that was just barely still together, a four wheeler with one missing, and one horse pulling it with a vacant slot for another one next to it. A villager told Doran they had bursted in through the town gates and looking to be in bad shape, so he brought them to the good doctor. Doran walked out to the stormy scene and opened the carriage where three figures lay slouched on the seats. Two of them completely still, an older couple judging by how they were holding each others' hands, and the last one a young woman, shivering and clearly distraught and traumatized. It quickly dawned on Doran the couple was dead, covered in scratch and bite marks and blood-soaked clothes, whilst the lady needed immediate medical care. Ignoring her disoriented and incoherent mumbling the villager and Doran helped her out of the carriage and pulled her in. This was the first time Doran would meet his soon to be bride, Sara, who had been travelling with her parents and not heeding the warnings of moving about at night was attacked near Pennyworth. Sara had been living a nomadic life up 'til that point, but love kindled quickly between her and Doran and she abandoned her free-spirited outlook on life in exchange for something much homelier. So much so in fact, that it was only a year later the couple found themselves married, and after another passed they had a child together, a son, named after Doran's father as Thomas Jr.

For most of his life it looked like there was nothing surprising planned for Doran. The way he saw his future, he would live his days as a doctor and teach the trade to his son, as had been done in the family, befitting the times and customs, for generations. However not long after his 40th birthday it all came to a tragic end. First it was his son and not a day later his wife that fell ill and became bedridden. First showing symptoms of high fever and mild hallucinations, soon followed by the manifestation of burning hot festering blisters all over their bodies and difficulties breathing. For a couple agonizing days Doran did all he could to care for them, as well as trying to dig into all the books he had amassed and gathering knowledge around the town, in case someone had ever seen anything like it.

Sadly, no information of this mysterious ailment was to be found, and there was no time to leave the town and search information from outside sources with how fast the situation was deteriorating. Only a couple painful and tormenting days later both finally succumbed to their sickness and were laid to rest in a grave behind Doran's house.

This event changed Doran fundamentally, molding him into a cold, resentful and frustrated person. He shunned his duties as a doctor for the most part, closed himself and the clinic from the world and took to the road to clear his head. Filled with survivor's guilt he took it upon himself never to feel this way again and moved from settlement to settlement, village to town, finding out everything he could about every illness known to man.

One day his travels took him to a town called Ghoulcrest and after a solid rest at the local inn, he found himself downstairs in the bar, surveying the local selection of meat and mead. He didn't have to wait long to get company however, as a hooded figure in a long black robe sat down on the other side of his table opposite to Doran. The eyes of the stranger were emanating a peculiar faint green glow while the rest of his face was covered by the shadow formed by the hood. Doran didn't exactly feel like socializing, but the stranger quickly made an offer too good to refuse. He told Doran of a ritualistic spell that could solve all of his problems, although it required a sacrifice. Spells were nothing Doran had ever dabbled in but, although this cure-for-all seemed too good to be true, he didn't exactly feel he had much to lose.

For the same reason Doran never really cared to question any potential motives this stranger might've had for this sudden random act of kindness.

As such, following the instructions as written down on a piece of paper handed to him by this hooded figure, he set the stage for the ritual. First he required a blood sacrifice resulting in at least 3 pints of warm fresh blood, so he found and stole a goat off of a nearby farm. Although he had always been a firm believer in obeying laws, in this instance his innate lawfulness had to take a backseat. The second ingredient was a mixture of fairly commonly used herbs, easily procured from the local herbalist. And the last ingredient was some of his own blood, which he added to the mixture last, cutting his hand open and squeezing some blood to the mixing pot he had procured whilst reciting the incantation off of the instructions:

"Obligi animem meamus, fortitudem tuamus me, providi mihus numin meumi. I offer my soul, I ask for thine strength, provide for me my Goddess."

What followed was the first tangible religious experience of Doran's life. It was as if his mind was temporarily removed from his body, as if he was being yanked from the very existence to another place. His field of vision went dark, yet he sensed a presence. A soothing, calming, yet strict presence. Whilst still unable to see, the darkness and the silence was soon pierced by a dark deep motherly voice that demanded attention with every word she spoke.

"And what does an Aasimar require of me?" she asked, her voice causing every hair on Doran's body to stand up, as he felt streams of air blow past him everywhere.
".. An Aasimar... my lady?" Doran asked with a trembling voice, unsure of how to address this being.
"Don't take me for a fool. I know who you are. I know what you are. Out with it, Aasimar." she demanded with a deeper voice, such that could be felt in Doran's very bones.
In fear of angering the divine being Doran decided to cut to the chase. "I need to bring back my family", he said bluntly.
"Hahaaha!" Doran was now surrounded by dark, almost malevolent laughter. "So you wish to rectify your past. To bring back what is no more. You realize what you must offer in return, yes? You understand your very soul were to belong to me from the moment you die?", she continued, chuckling with anticipation, faint hints of excitement in her voice. "Oh such rare treats, Aasimar souls are."
"I don't care what's at stake. Just bring back my family!" Doran found himself almost shouting at the Goddess.
The air around him grew colder suddenly as the echoing female voice returned to its original deep and calm tone. "Few have been smitten for less. But you.. I find interesting. In you I see potential. But know that I can't fix that which is broken, I can only help you put the pieces back together. Do you accept these terms?"
"Anything. Anything for my family." Doran replied firmly.

"Within your belongings you’ll find a coin. This coin is a token representing our deal. Go back to your family, go back and lay your hand upon their bones, and when you do, hold on to this coin and call for me. Call for Diodea, the Goddess of Decadent Deals. You shall receive that which you bargained for.", she guided Doran as her voice became fainter and fainter, until it was no more than a whisper, which then also disappeared.

Doran found himself able to open his eyes once more, and felt a surge of energy inside of him. He was unsure of how to feel about what he just experienced, unsure of whether it was even true or not, but as he pulled himself back together and checked himself for any visible changes or damage, he noticed something had found its way into his pocket. It was a surprisingly weighty wooden coin, with a symbol of an altar on one side, and a scythe and a sickle crossed on the other. Doran looked at the coin trying to figure out exactly what it was he had just done, who it was he had just struck a deal with, but if this meant he would have his family back, it would all be worth it. He gathered his belongings and made his way back to Pennyworth for the first time in a couple of years. Upon his arrival back to his old hometown he quickly made his way to his backyard, dug up the coffins containing Sara and Thomas Jr. and opened them to find their skeletal remains. Without a moment's hesitation he placed his hands on them, lowered his head, closed his eyes and called out; "Diodea, I beseech thee, hear my plea!"

Ever the sceptic, part of Doran still felt it might've all been nothing but a hallucination, that it wouldn't work, that he came back and defiled the graves of his loved ones for nothing. He didn't dare raise his head, and a couple of minutes went by with nothing, until suddenly he felt something grab a hold of his hand. Doran raised his head and opened his eyes and he was met with another pair. A pair he hadn't seen in years. Sara was looking back at Doran, and although her expression was blank and emotionless he didn't care. He turned his head to the side to see his son, who was also looking at him expressionlessly. Doran understood something was different, that something wasn't quite right, quite as it had been, but he didn't care. He had his family back.

With his mood mostly restored Doran reopened his clinic and continued practicing medicine in the town. However when customers started coming in to the clinic, and they witnessed the no-longer-dead Sara and Thomas Jr. wandering about the house and staring blankly at them, it took no time at all for rumors to start spreading. And so, less than a week after Doran reopened, there was a knock on his door. He walked up to the door expecting to welcome another patient to his humble abode, but instead soon as the door flung open he found himself being yanked out by several men and cuffed. As what was happening started to dawn on him a horrified expression quickly washed over his face. The men holding him were wearing heavy plate armor, and the rest were surrounding his house with torches, wearing white long garbs. Sara and Thomas Jr. appeared at the doorway but they were immediately flung back into the house by some sort of a force emanating from one of the garbed men. Doran tried to free himself of his bindings, but found he was unable to break free of the grip of the men holding him down, who as a result of this forced him down on the ground to his knees. The garbed men proceeded to start chanting, as the flames on their torches seemed to take a life of their own.

"In the holy name of Atia, you'll be cleansed and you'll be judged. Go in peace."

The flames attached themselves on the walls, the windows and the roof of Doran's house and started burrowing their way deeper into it. In a moment of sheer disbelief Doran tried to gasp for air, unable to produce but the smallest sound of horrified yelling, as his legacy, his family and his life was burnt down.

The next few years Doran spent in a prison cell of Helmstead, a larger nearby settlement, under the suspicions of dabbling into necromancy; a practice that was viewed so vile and so evil it was widely banned to even study, let alone practice. All evidence for the act was, in the end however, mostly circumstantial and based largely on hearsay. Although suspicions remained, Doran had not exhibited any signs of contacting dangerous deities during his stay in the prison, and had acted as a model prisoner the entire time. For this reason, in the end, they had no reason to keep Doran locked up and they let him go.

Doran Finch was, however, nothing if not a patient man. Soon as he got out his next courses of action were well planned and methodical. A local farmer found one of its cows missing, the local herbalist woke up to her hut having been ransacked in the darkness of the night and Doran had come into possession of all the materials needed for his dark ritual once again.

"So, back for more?" the voice of the ephemeral lady rang around Doran's darkened field of vision once more. "But, pray tell, what more would you offer me? Your soul belongs to me already. What else might you have that intrigues me, Aasimar?"

"I know not what you mean by this moniker you've given me, but I do know I could be of service to you. Use me. Help me serve you." Doran suggested with conviction in his voice.

"So, you truly do not know? But to use an Aasimar? Very unconventional, yet, I sensed your potential before and it has indeed grown stronger.." Diodea's voice quieted down to a whisper, clearly weighing her options. "And what would you have in return?"

"I wish to learn. I wish to gain power. I wish to never feel weak and unarmed ever again. Necromancer, they called me. So shall they receive. A Necromancer such they've never seen." Doran said, with such hatred and resentment in his tone it made his own spine shiver.

A moment of silence passed, a moment that seemed to stretch on for hours, until she spoke once more. "So shall it be. I will make you my champion. I will make you my prophet, my acolyte. But as such, I accept nothing but your full devotion. Your commitment to me. I will unlock your full potential to my servitude. Now go, hone your skills, learn, experience and grow. But know, when I call for you, I expect you to answer". And with these as her parting words, Doran felt a sudden jolt of electricity and power coursing through his veins and his head was suddenly filled with sounds and voices. They spoke a strange language, echoing in his head like he was standing in a large vacant chamber. And suddenly an understanding of it took over, he could understand all of it, and it became clear the speakers were gods and angels. He was tuned in to some celestial conversations and just as Doran was getting ready to focus on a specific conversation his entire being suddenly got jerked backwards and he found himself back in his body. This time something was fundamentally different however, but it was hard to pinpoint what it was exactly. Or at least it was, until Doran turned around to see his shadow. His shadow, that now possessed a pair of large majestic looking wings. Doran quickly checked his back in shock, only to realize the wings only existed on his shadow.

The next few years he would go around, finding information about Necromancy from often shady looking locales and individuals, as well as learning through his prayer sessions. He was also tasked by Diodea with finding distraught or easily influenced individuals and convincing them to turn to his goddess for aid. After all, souls are the currency of heavens and Diodea's appetite for them is great.

Dr. Doran Finch,
The Necromancer

Date of Birth

13th of Leix

Year of Birth

611 AM 54 Years old

Gender

Male

Eyes

Pale green

Hair

Shoulder-length light brown

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Caucasian

Height

5'11"

Weight

180 lbs.

Known Languages

Common, Celestial, Infernal, Necril

Apparel & Accessories

Doran typically dons his dark cloak, indicative of his profession, underneath which he usually a long dark jacket, and dark leather gloves.

Important Belongings

Signet ring of the familyline, a memento of his father, as well as the holy symbol given to him by Diodea, his goddess.

Values

Some of the most important characteristics for anyone worth associating with, according to Doran, are honesty and integrity, as well as keeping their word, promises and deals. Very few things ruffle him the wrong way quite as much as pointless backstabbery and duplicity. He also values those who prove themselves to be productive and useful members of the society, rather than free-loading beggars wishing to get away with minimal effort. Though he has spent a lot of his time traveling alone, when he finds himself with traveling company, these are all traits he not only prefers, but rather requires.
Additionally Doran doesn't truly revere anyone, however those with actual power over other people are ones to gain his respect for having gotten to their position; long as it has been earned.
Finally, in terms of things he values, Doran's indoctrination under his father left a lasting imprint in the form of honor. Few things matter to him as much as his family's standing and reputation, and considering the events of his past and what that did to that reputation, he wishes return the Finch family name back to what it used to mean in the medicinal circles.

Despises

In addition to that already mentioned above, Doran feels particular disdain towards any acts of shadiness and rogueishness, especially when directed at him. Those that betray him or trick him are sure to feel his ire as he's not wont to stand still and let such transgressions simply slide.
Of course, due to his affiliation with Diodea and what The House did to his (undead) family, he also has great seething hate towards the clergy at large in the world. This is, however, something he tries to keep in check to the best of his abilities, so as not to get himself into unnecessary trouble or draw unbeneficial attention. Not always successfully, however.

Goals & Motivation

Dr. Finch is driven by a handful of motivators. First and foremost he wishes to avenge the — in his eyes — wrongful re-death of his resurrected family. Especially and particularly those directly involved with their deaths should be made to suffer.
Secondly, due to how he was treated afterwards, he's determined to secretly embrace the dark reputation he earned; aiming to become a force to be reckoned with, a wielder of such power the field of necromancy has never seen. And perhaps, one day, learn to truly and fully pull back his family from Requia's sea of souls.
And finally, as mentioned earlier, he wishes to re-establish and recover the tarnished reputation of his family's name as medical men.