Post by Dr. Gabriel Moreau on Sept 15, 2015 23:12:17 GMT
Name: Dr. (Captain) Gabriel Moreau
Archetype: Physicians
Observation: 20
Firearm Accuracy:15
Melee Weapons:40
Detect Lying:40
Forgery/Detect Forgery:40
Pharmacology:40
Anesthetics:40
Diagnose:40
Heal:40
Botany/Zoology:40
Psychiatry:40
Surgery:50
Bio: The Moreaus owned three dozen negroes on their plantation just outside New Orleans, affording Cavendish Moreau the opportunity to send his second son to the finest medical college cotton money could afford. After four years at the Medical College of Louisiana, Dr. Gabriel Moreau had hoped to spend his days as a country doctor, wiling his days away in the clubs, treating southern aristocrats in the city and living off his family's estate. Gabriel had received top marks in his classes, but he was typically more insightful than industrious. He had steady hands in the operating room, but no real urge to contribute to the latest medical journals. Perhaps after the war was over and Moreau could visit the schools of Boston and New York, or perhaps Paris...
Of course, the silly war did not end as Gabriel had expected, and 1962, the Union took New Orleans, along with the Moreau plantation. The young medical man was now both homeless and unemployed. Gabriel was inevitably drafted, and served almost ten years on the frontline, saving and ruining lives with the same knife. The battles in Louisiana were long, repetitive, and often pointless. Gabriel still dreams of the black soldiers his unit killed, especially a young buck he was sure had been on his father's plantation. He would never be sure though. He had never really looked at them as people before then. He did not even think of himself as racist, not really. White man's burden and all that, old sport. But they bled and cried and hollered just like any of his white brothers in uniform.
Upon receiving an honorable discharge, he decided to head West to mark a quiet stake. He had considered seeking out family members, perhaps his older brother who may have survived the Capture of New Orleans, but somehow, he was not sure he could face him. He had no interest in returning to a world of cotton and slaves and blood money. Besides, new settlements are always in need of a competent medical man.
Archetype: Physicians
Observation: 20
Firearm Accuracy:15
Melee Weapons:40
Detect Lying:40
Forgery/Detect Forgery:40
Pharmacology:40
Anesthetics:40
Diagnose:40
Heal:40
Botany/Zoology:40
Psychiatry:40
Surgery:50
Bio: The Moreaus owned three dozen negroes on their plantation just outside New Orleans, affording Cavendish Moreau the opportunity to send his second son to the finest medical college cotton money could afford. After four years at the Medical College of Louisiana, Dr. Gabriel Moreau had hoped to spend his days as a country doctor, wiling his days away in the clubs, treating southern aristocrats in the city and living off his family's estate. Gabriel had received top marks in his classes, but he was typically more insightful than industrious. He had steady hands in the operating room, but no real urge to contribute to the latest medical journals. Perhaps after the war was over and Moreau could visit the schools of Boston and New York, or perhaps Paris...
Of course, the silly war did not end as Gabriel had expected, and 1962, the Union took New Orleans, along with the Moreau plantation. The young medical man was now both homeless and unemployed. Gabriel was inevitably drafted, and served almost ten years on the frontline, saving and ruining lives with the same knife. The battles in Louisiana were long, repetitive, and often pointless. Gabriel still dreams of the black soldiers his unit killed, especially a young buck he was sure had been on his father's plantation. He would never be sure though. He had never really looked at them as people before then. He did not even think of himself as racist, not really. White man's burden and all that, old sport. But they bled and cried and hollered just like any of his white brothers in uniform.
Upon receiving an honorable discharge, he decided to head West to mark a quiet stake. He had considered seeking out family members, perhaps his older brother who may have survived the Capture of New Orleans, but somehow, he was not sure he could face him. He had no interest in returning to a world of cotton and slaves and blood money. Besides, new settlements are always in need of a competent medical man.
