Vincent Morrow’s fall from grace in the medical world was swift, total, and his own damn fault.
He would’ve ended things that same night if he hadn’t been headhunted into an exciting new career — in the black arts. Then there was the matter of pulling a certain sword out of a certain stone and being declared earth’s destined protector, but he’d rather you didn’t mention that. The obedient path of mystical tradition isn’t the one for Morrow. The Holy Grail made a great sink — it just needed a hole for the plumbing and a rubber stopper in the bottom — and earth’s vampires, zombies and other superfauna are just patients to him, victims of unknown illnesses waiting to be treated.
It’s a sick world. And Dr. Morrow serves it with both hands — one in magic, one in medicine — as earth’s Sorcerer General. Earth’s Witch Doctor.
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