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~Personal Info ~
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Designation: Father Connor Braden O'Clery
Call Name: Father Conn
Cycles past: 32
Sex: Male
It's in the blood: White
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 180 lbs
Hair: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Physic: Father Conn cuts an imposing figure, being rather tall, and standing in a way as to make him seem even taller. He is, however, rather slight, although he's not without muscle. Despite the end of the world, he does his best to maintain a clean appearance. He is always dressed in typical priest garb, although he has swapped his slacks out for jeans and his dress shoes out for a pair of hiking boots.
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~Dig a bit Deeper~
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~Dig a bit Deeper~
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Occupation:Before the End, I was a Priest. Now, I am a servant of God, and a soldier in His army.
Loyalties:Newbs
I can't help it! No one. My mission is my only concern.
It's fun:
☆ Praying
☆ Preaching to those who remain
☆ Reading my Bible
Thanks much:
♡ Having clean clothes
♡ Having a moment alone with God
♡ Finding others who have not lost their Faith
♡ Finding people I can trust at my back
♡ When I find people to join me in prayer
No way:
☠ Those who have lost their way
☠ Being caught unawares by the Fallen
☠ Being unable to feed my flock
☠ Not having a flock to tend to at all
☠ The Devil. Obviously.
What the hell:
× Being Taken and becoming one of the Fallen
× Losing my path to Heaven
× ... Honestly, my greatest fear is that... that the fact that I'm still here, on Earth... means that my soul is already Lost.
Can't Change It: I am, in a single word, devout. I place my faith in God and believe that He will guide me. In regards to my treatment of others, I am kinder than most, although it pains me greatly to say so, both because it sounds immodest and because I wish it weren't so. But, while it may sound like a brag, I assure you it is not. I believe in helping others, and in giving everyone a chance, both at salvation, and to right their past wrongs (which may be the same thing, in some cases). But, I am not pushy. I have sought my solace in God; I understand that others have abandoned Him, as he feels He abandoned them. While I would love to change their minds, I satisfy myself with being there for them if I can and hold true to my belief that, if they are alive, there is still hope for their eternal soul.
History is set in stone: I was born in a rather seedy part of town, in less than desirable circumstances. My father was a drunkard, and an abuser, and was one as far back as I can remember. According to her, he wasn't always that way. When I was a baby, he was wonderful. A model father and husband. But not long after I turned three, he lost his job, and depression set in. He took his pains out on my mother. But, she never let him lay a hand on me. When I was eight, he tried, and that was the night that she left him. After he passed out (she always said he fell asleep, but I know he was passed out drunk), she packed our bags and we were gone. She made a call at the pay phone on the corner, and my grandfather picked us up. I never saw my father again; I read in the paper that he died when I was 22. Perhaps it's shameful, but I didn't feel anything for him. No sorrow at his passing, no regret at not trying to find and help him.
I hadn't seen Grandda since my father had taken to drinking, so I didn't remember him at all. I always thought that he'd cut my mother out of his life, and me along with her, but apparently my father had been the one to cut the ties. He wanted my mom dependent on him. Grandda was all too happy to let us into his home. I was enrolled in a private Catholic school at his request, and while attending, I found God. I was only eleven when I made the decision to become a Priest, a decision that my family wholly supported. I studied hard, and was top of my class in school. I then went to Seminary School and excelled once again in my studies. After graduating, I was scouted by various churches in the area, and took a position at the very same one that was affiliated with my old school (which my family attended). I was one of three Fathers working at that Church, the youngest, hired to relate to the older children and teens. I enjoyed my job thoroughly, and was proud to say that I changed a few lives. Boys who decided to become priests, or who simply found God under my guidance. Girls who wanted to be nuns, or found their faith. It was the most wonderful feeling to know that I touched them so.
My life was quiet, without much to report from the time I was hired, since I spent all of my time and effort working for and with the church. Then, the news stories began, and the congregation panicked. Our Head Priest, Father Doyle, opened the doors of the church to as many as we could fit, and then we sealed ourselves inside. The sounds of the dead devouring those less fortunate could be heard, but we were safe. And I was unsatisfied. Father Doyle, a rather progressive man, of a rather scientific bent, believed it to be some sort of bio-terrorism, created and spread by man. I was of a mind that, even if it was made by humans, it was by the hand of the Devil. He had used those scientists to create that abomination so that he could raise an army of the dead. This is the end times; I know it in my very soul.
As a man of God, it is my sacred duty to battle the Fallen. I know that; I can feel it. God's will is in me and I will do His work. I left the Church quietly, in the dead of night. I left Father Doyle a letter to inform him of my decision. I do hope that he was understanding, though of course I'll likely never know. Having grown up in the sort of neighborhood I did, and always wanting to protect myself, I did learn to shoot a handgun, and always kept one on my person (registered, of course) to protect myself. I try not to use it; the sound draws them, and I've only so many bullets. I have a small knife and a baseball bat which I found after leaving the church. I've still not quite gotten a handle on how to dispatch the Fallen, but I'm improving. It is my sacred duty, after all.
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~Combat info~
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~Combat info~
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Main Weapon: A Baseball Bat. You'd think it was my backup, but it's far more efficient, and I don't have to reload it. It'll break eventually, but I'm sure I'll find a replacement somewhere. Secondary Weapons: A small 9 mm handgun, with two and a half clips, and a small knife.
Strengths: I'm very calm and collected, and while I appear slight, I am quite strong.
Weaknesses: At times, I get lost in thought, and am easily distracted. I also suffered from a broken hip as a small child, and as such I have a slight limp and don't run very quickly.
Combat style: I try to be quiet and sneaky, since I'm not very fast or agile. If there's a large group, I try to simply avoid them altogether. I'd rather go hungry for a couple of days and wait for them to move than risk a large group following after me.
Supplies:
My Bible
Rosary
Holy Water
My Crucifix
Assorted Canned Goods x 7
Oatmeal Bars x 13
Flask
Stovetop Water Boiler
Lighter x 3
Matchbook x 4
Blanket
Change of Clothes x 1
Coat
Bandages x 3
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~In addition~
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~In addition~
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Themes: Carry On, My Wayward Son
Vehicle: None
Others: N/A
