Character Concept: Griff "Doc" Torres

Griff was early in life seduced by the life of crime via regular visits to the seedy underbelly of the city. His father was a cleric of the God of Justice and his mother died in childbirth. His father took regular steps to remind Griff of this, clearly upset that it wasn’t the other way around. Griff did not start out as a bad apple, but his father’s poor treatment of him (emotionally) certainly did not help when Griff was offered the chance to steal the things he wanted: money, baubles, the occasional kiss. During his father’s missionary trips into the rough parts of town, Griff made certain to sneak off and find or start his own trouble. When one day Griff returned to find his father dead in a puddle of his own blood, Griff’s first thought was not remorse, it was of freedom.

At the ripe age of 12, Griff joined the local organized crime ring and began to learn from the best the city had to offer. How to pick locks, how to steal from a person’s pockets without them noticing, how to blend into your surroundings and stay out of sight (or out of mind) be it in public or in the shadows. Indeed, Griff was very good at this. What he did not excel at was fighting with a blade. The longer and heavier the blade, the more clumsy he was with it, it seemed, the shorter the better. Even then, he couldn’t be as fantastical as some of the dancers in the guild, wielding two blades at once and shredding their foes into fine ribbons. So he practiced, and practiced, and what he couldn’t make up for in swordplay, he found he could make up for in guided, precise strikes to vital parts of the body. Gradually his sparring lessons were traded in for reference books on anatomy, how the living bodies of creatures worked, the similarities between all creatures with blood in their veins and skin to rip open and expose it to the world.

At this, he was very good.

Years went on, Griff aged. Friends came and went, sometimes killed on a job, sometimes “removed” from their employment. Sometimes Griff was the blade behind the removal, to him it was just another job, and the guild paid well. Then there was Diltmer. Diltmer had shown up close to the same Griff had, all those years ago. Growing up as an only child, Diltmer was the closest Griff ever felt to anyone else, and the what he figured a brotherly relationship would be. Playful competitions, rough-housing, sparring, joint successes and failures, wooing of women on their downtime, etc. Indeed, the two worked so well together that they were frequently sent on jobs as a pair, and they worked together like a well-oiled machine. That’s what made that job so difficult.

It was supposed to be a simple smash and grab, hit a nearby caravan outside of town, get everything that wasn’t bolted down, and meet back up in town to fence it off.The theft went off smooth, no casualties or wounded even, Diltmer provided the distraction, and Griff snuck in and did the rest. When they met back up, and while Griff was showing off the score, spreading half out for Diltmer to take to a separate fence is when Diltmer pulled a gun on him. “Whoa mate, what’re we doin’ now?” Griff was genuinely confused, looking behind him, thinking someone had snuck up on the two of them.


“They’ve got Natasha, Griff. I’m sorry, but they said it’s you or me.”

“Hells mate, we can work this out, we always ‘ave, where’d you get a gun anyway?” Griff took a step towards him.

Diltmer cocked the hammer back, “Sorry, old friend.”


The gunshot rang out in the alley, Griff felt the lead ball embed itself in his side even as he tried to duck out of the way. Thankfully, loud guns weren’t something they were ever trained in back at the guild, and the recoil alone drove the gun sideways in Diltmer’s hand. With trained ease, Griff’s knife found its way into his brother’s neck, gliding in with practiced precision, and exiting with a flick meant to sever any tendons it found along the way. Diltmer’s lifeblood began pouring from him, as Griff had seen so many times before. The gun fell to the ground with a clatter, and Diltmer shortly behind him. Griff caught him and tried desperately to hold a hand to the gaping wound he had inflicted, watched as his best friends life faded from his eyes, his last words a gurgle of blood caught in his throat.

It occurred to Griff during his endless walk back to the guild, his hands covered in the blood of his brother, that perhaps this is what all the other mark’s families had felt like after he had been through. It occurred to him that for all the knowledge he had in ending lives, he held very little for saving a life. Indeed, even moments ago he had no idea how he could have stopped the bleeding, only knew how to cause more.

He returned to the guild that night, the blood just beginning to dry on him, and went to his boss. He explained the situation, demanded to know why he would set the two against each other. His boss stared at him, angry. “You daft fool, why would I sic my two best on each other? Who the piss is Natasha?!” The two of them sat down and had a genuine discussion after that. One of vengeance, one of the future, and one of role changes. Griff had had enough of the killing, he wanted to help now instead. His boss told him he was wasting his talents, Griff told him he simply wanted to repurpose them.

Given a small stipend, he went to the Temple of Healing the next day and began training, when he had a sufficient base to perform first aid effectively, he returned to the guild and began treating field injuries, and the other rogues began to call him “Doc”. It was a moniker Griff quite enjoyed, and he prefers that to his real name these days. Long days and nights full of studying and first hand experience have netted him more experience as a medical practitioner, as well as some ability to heal magically, when his medical skills cannot help.