You’ve served the church most of your life. You’ve kept away from the politics and power-brokering so many of your brethren seem to be drawn to now that the church is gaining influence. Instead, you’ve chosen to minister to the poor and helpless whenever the opportunity presents itself.
This has made you popular with both your flock and the other priests, as your lack of ambition means you’re no threat to them.
Sadly, it didn’t make you popular with the bandits who waylaid you on one of your trips to an outlying village distribute alms. They ignored your pleas and laughed when you explained the money you carried was sent to help the poor and infirm.
Heaven, however, did not ignore your pleas. A brilliant light blinded the ruffians, and a few raps from your trusty staff convinced them the error of their ways. You’ve since discovered you can lay on hands, curing wounds and disease, just like the saints of old.
You’ve been reluctant to bring these abilities to the attention of the bishop, as calling such attention to your blessings feels self-aggrandizing and prideful. Still, you know you’ve been given these gifts for a reason, so you travel the countryside protecting those you can and healing those you can’t.
You speak and read English, Latin, and Norse.