Father Asher Anderson's page

Tall and lanky with no bulk to speak of, Asher has the slightly disturbing proportions of a man stretched by a torture rack. Coupled with his dark clothing and intense grey eyes, he can come off somewhat foreboding. This impression is heightened by a vague unnatural air hanging about him, primarily owing to his complete lack of hair; the priest suffers from what Wikipedia tells me is called alopecia universalis. The condition renders him totally bald. Asher's head is a pale dome, devoid of even eyebrows or eyelashes, making him appear all the more stark and severe. The hairlessness might lead the observer to expect an older man, but instead Asher's features are smooth, rendering his age ambiguous and only adding to his unsettling aspect.

On a more positive note, the priest is soft-spoken and (in his civilian life at the very least) carries himself with a quiet confidence; coupled with the dependably steely gaze and his clerical white tab collar adding a certain authority, Asher typically comes across as... well, as a priest: stern, but only becomes he wants what's best for you.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum,
adveniat regnum tuum..."

"Somebody get this crazy bastard offa me!"

The legionnaire tried to fight off the strange chanting man, tried to move away from him, but it was no use; the wound was too deep. She'd taken a hit as her squad had moved to engage the... she'd didn't even know what to call it. Looked like a god da*n movie monster. Certainly not what the briefing had described. Everything had gone to sh*t and now she was separated from her squad, lying bleeding on the street. She could still hear her teammates' gunfire in the distance. And then this freak shows up.

"Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra..."

"Shut the fu*k up and get away from me, you AAAH...!"

Pain. Trying to kick the stranger had been a poor idea as the open wound cruelly informed her via fresh waves of searing agony. The legionnaire was in no state to do anything but pass out. She might have done so already had it not been for her alarm at seeing this bizarre man. He'd appeared almost as soon as she fell, which convinced her that he'd been surreptitiously following her squad for God knows what reason. And if that wasn't suspicious enough, there was his appearance. Tall and lanky with no bulk to speak of, he had the slightly disturbing proportions of a man stretched by a torture rack. Coupled with his dark clothing and intense grey eyes, he came off very foreboding. This impression was heightened by a vague unnatural air which hung about him, perhaps primarily owing to his hair: he was completely bald. His pale dome of a scalp reflected the streetlight while even his brow was devoid of hair, making him appear all the more stark and severe. Did he even have any eyelashes? The hairlessness should have indicated a man in his older years, but instead his features were smooth, rendering his age ambiguous and only adding to his unsettling aspect. Of course, all of this could be forgiven had he just behaved in any way like a normal person, rather than holding her down and ominously chanting in what she could only presume was Latin.

"Let me go... Just let me go. Please. I need..."

The thought had slowly emerged to the legionnaire that this could be how she died. The bleeding wasn't stopping. Her comrades were busy fighting for their own lives. She could die here, on a dingy street corner with an anonymous maniac holding her down. That was no way to die.

And fortunately, this was not to be the case.

"Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris,
et ne nos inducas in tentationem,
sed libera nos a malo.
Amen!"

As the man's intonations concluded, his hand lit up with radiant light that put the dull rays of the streetlamp to shame. It looked like sunlight. Felt like sunlight too, as the legionnaire could feel the heat emanating from him. She jerked in panic as she expected to feel pain too, as the man laid his hand upon the open wound. But instead there was nothing. No pain whatsoever, in fact. The wound stopped aching altogether, and when the man's hand gradually stopped glowing and he removed it, she could see why: there was no wound. Where there had been a gaping gash seconds earlier, there was now only smooth skin. There wasn't even a scar; only the blood remained as evidence of there ever being an injury.

While she was still inspecting herself in wonder, the man relinquished his hold on the legionnaire and stood up. She looked at him again as he retrieved a pistol from an inner pocket and silently offered his other hand to her to help her get up. It was then she saw one detail of his dark dress that had gone unnoticed up until now: at the neck he wore the white tab collar of a priest.

"How did you...?"

"Praise the Lord. And pass the ammo."

-----

It has been said that Portland is the least religious city in the US. How appropriate then that it is home to Father Asher Anderson, who, until recently, could be said to be among the least religious priests in the US. Despite being brought up in a god-fearing household (or perhaps because of this), Asher would not identify as a Christian until much later in life. A bright but typical teenager, he latched onto a rejection of faith as a means of rebelling against his parents, as all teenagers must. School life was also difficult, as despite having a good head on his shoulders, said head was rather out of the ordinary: an autoimmune disease rendered him completely hairless. Children being notoriously cruel to anyone different, young Asher had few allies in his early life. At eighteen, his parents not being willing to fund any higher education for their wayward son, he joined the US army, more so out of a lack of personal direction than patriotism. There he underwent basic and then infantry training, eventually being deployed to the Middle-East.

Travelling has a curious effect on some: many never feel a sense of national identity, the quirks, virtues and vices imparted on one by their 'natural' surroundings, until they visit a foreign environment. Just as the chameleon is undetectable in its own habitat, a person's cultural baggage may be invisible unless contrasted against a different culture. Asher felt this effect strongly whilst deployed, and was especially struck by how significant the Christian faith was to his own identity. No, he still wasn't a believer, but he noted how much of his morality was directly informed by Christianity. Charity, respect and goodwill for one's fellow man, forgiveness, the rejection of riches, love... every value he held dear, was willing to fight for, were all those the Christian church espoused. With a thoroughly un-Christian environment acting as contrast, this became obvious.

Asher's Mid-East tour turned out somewhat anticlimactic as he never saw combat there. What he did end up seeing a lot of was the good book; Asher spent the uneventful days at the army base reading the Bible in its entirety. He found much of it very agreeable; Joseph's life, for example, acting as a parable for how intent should trump the letter of law appealed to him. Other parts of the book were harder to swallow; turning women into salt pillars ain't cool.
On the whole, however, Asher had much less trouble reconciling the vengeful Old Testament deity with the more modern benevolent view of the Christian God than most. After all, he still believed in neither. Despite a growing fascination with the faith, Asher remained wholly secular. The Bible was in his eyes nothing more than a collection of ancient allegories and fables, not to be taken literally. But then, why should this matter? What did it matter, he questioned, if Methuselah really lived to the ripe old age of 969? These were good parables, good moral lessons that could guide people to a fulfilling and harmonious life. They lost no value in being fiction rather than fact - what they had to teach remained true. So taken was Asher with the ideas of Christianity that he decided upon a career after leaving the army: he would become a priest.

With his tour of duty completed (and not a moment too soon as he was slowly earning the nickname 'Preacher' among fellow soldiers), Asher returned home where, after working menial jobs for a few years to build up some savings, he entered the Roman Catholic University of Portland. The academic life agreed with him, but truth be told the young man almost felt like he'd gone from soldier to undercover agent. Here he was, learning divinity from master theologians and even making friends at the local parish, whilst ostensibly a heathen. Asher still had no faith. He wanted to help people and fervently believed that the Bible's lessons were the key to happiness and contentment, but as for belief in an omnipotent benign creator? No, just as everything else in the book 'God' was simply a metaphor, a symbol of everything good in the world, just as his nemesis Satan represented all that is evil. Asher told no one of his secular thoughts, fearing how they would be received. And one Masters degree in Divinity later he then joined seminary school, after which he could finally call himself Father Anderson.

And this is where the troubles began.

Father Anderson was well received by his local flock, strange appearance aside, and Asher himself was happier than ever before. Yes, he was essentially living a lie, heathen priest that he was, but what did it matter? He was helping people lead more fulfilling lives and that was enough. But his life was to take another strange turn one late evening when he ambushed a grave robber desecrating the local cemetery. The ghoul had dug up a grave and made off with his prize upon being startled by the cleric. Asher gave chase but halted to help a young bystander knocked unconscious by the fleeing perpetrator. The culprit was never found.
This is what the preacher told the police, and to his great shame it is all a lie. Asher could not bear revealing what really happened because the truth is infinitely weirder and far more terrifying. The truth is that he saw two figures in the graveyard that night, not one. The first had been a cloaked man, standing by a grave speaking, or rather orating, in a language utterly unknown to the priest. This person had not dug the hole the police later witnessed. In fact, there had been no need for digging. For a second figure emerged from the ground, out of the grave by the other's feet. Asher had not ambushed the two, but rather cried out in shock at the sight. Neither apparently wanted to be seen by anyone as they both fled, the second mud-covered figure bizarrely bestial in pace. The cleric, frankly frozen in fear, had only followed upon hearing a scream as the two exited the cemetery, to find an innocent bystander lying on the ground. Except while the ambulance crew would later determine that the young man had only suffered the most minor of concussions, this was not what Asher had found. When he arrived, it was to find a person utterly savaged, bite and claw marks indicating an attack by a beast the priest could scarcely imagine. Asher immediately phoned for help, and was then left with an obviously swiftly dying man, simply waiting for help to arrive. With the meager medical training he had received in the army, Asher tried stemming the poor man's rapid blood loss with his bare hands, fully aware that this was useless.

This moment was the turning point for Asher Anderson. Because it marked the first time he truly prayed. Despite his vocation, Asher's faith in Christianity was purely philosophical. He believed in the moral virtues espoused, not in any man in the sky. But people pray for two fundamental reasons: either out of reverence or in desperation, and it was the latter the priest was feeling now. With no other options, he prayed for the life of the innocent bystander like he had never prayed before.
Nothing can describe the atheist priest's surprise as the wounds beneath his clutching hands began stitching themselves together.

This is where we now find Father Asher Anderson, a man in turmoil. The cleric's entire world has been turned upside down as he now knows that not only are miracles real, the divine has chosen to act through him. Why him over any other, genuine, priest is the question that hounds him, as well as the matter of what he is to do with this power? Asher has refrained from telling anyone else within the church about his newfound abilities, partly out of fear and sheer unwillingness to be a modern-day prophet and partly out of a need to get a better grasp of his position first. The man still only wants to help others, and is deeply confused about how best to utilize his gift.
But the graveyard incident made one thing clear: there are dark forces at work in Portland. Asher has taken to skulking about the city at night, slowly learning of the mystical side of the world and the factions that seek to control it. Like a pseudo-vigilante, he has tried to help where possible, but now realizes that he can't get far alone. Desperate for an outlet for his power, Asher seeks like-minded individuals to help protect the city.

For he is a shepherd. And the good people of Portland are his flock.

Asher Anderson
Male Human Cleric 1
30 Years of Age
LG Medium Humanoid (human)
Init +4; Perception +8
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Defense
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AC 17, touch 12, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor, +2 Dex)
HP 9/9 (1d8 + 1 Con)
Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +5
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Weapon: dagger, -1 attack, 1d4-1 damage, 19-20/x2 crit, slashing or piercing
Weapon: big bore revolver, +2 attack, 1d10 damage, 20/x4 crit, bludgeoning & piercing
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Statistics
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Str 9 (-1), Dex 15 (+2), Con 12 (+1), Int 12 (+1), Wis 16 (+3), Cha 14 (+2)
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 11

Feats: Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot

Traits: Seeker [+1 Perception, class skill]; Reactionary [+2 initiative]

Skills - (4 points + 1 FC; armor penalties not included):
Diplomacy +7
Heal +7
Perception +8 [3 class + 3 mod + 1 trait + 1 rank]
Know (religion) +5
Sense Motive +7

Skills - background: Profession (priest) +7, Know (history) +5

Languages: English, Latin
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Wealth
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Adventuring Gear: scale mail, revolver cartridges (20)
Coin: 4 gp
Other: holy symbol (wooden) x2
Weight: 35 lbs.

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Special Abilities
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Class: Aura (LG): Channel Positive Energy, 1d6, 5/day, DC 15 [10 + 1/2 level + 2 Cha + 2 Heroism domain]; domains (Heroism, Restoration)
Racial: Skilled [+1 skill point per level]

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Spell-like, extraordinary or supernatural
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Touch of Glory (Sp): You can cause your hand to shimmer with divine radiance, allowing you to touch a creature as a standard action and give it a bonus equal to your cleric level on a single Charisma-based skill check or Charisma ability check. This ability lasts for 1 hour or until the creature touched elects to apply the bonus to a roll. You can use this ability to grant the bonus a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Wisdom modifier.

Restorative Touch (Su): You can touch a creature, letting the healing power of your deity flow through you to relieve the creature of a minor condition. Your touch can remove the dazed, fatigued, shaken, sickened, or staggered condition. You choose which condition is removed. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Wisdom modifier.

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Spells
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0th: Create Water, Light, Mending
1st: to be determined