Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot's page

"Father, you said you were with the Watch!" Darius gasps, pointing towards the gates. "You have to do something, order them to let those people inside!"

Are the zombies targetting the commoners deliberately, or simply because they're in the way of the Parliament entrance?

Maybe if we got them to move aside they wouldn't be in danger?

<Huff, Puff>

<splish, splash>

<Huff, Puff>

"Oh, good, they've slowed down...no, they're off again..."

<Huff, Puff>

"Stand aside for The Watch! You, with the sword; we can discuss this later, if any of these creatures are still standing..."

Safe!

Two posts, just to be sure!

A scrawny, hollow-cheeked young woman rises from the cobbles with strings of vomit dribbling from the corners of her mouth, which she wipes away with her ragged sleeve. She staggers, as if drunk, to stand between a group of the undead, who make no move to attack her. As the sounds of alarm commence, from the centre of town, she motions to the group to follow her.

Despite this, none of the others make an attempt to accost her or block her path, which strikes him as odd, considering the circumstances. Perhaps she was not the cause of the danger, despite her obvious necromantic abilities? If that were the case, she could prove useful once the true malefactor was run to ground?

A holier Inquisitor than he might kill such as her on sight, or attempt to extract the names of her accomplices on the rack. While many deviants are more than deserving of such treatment, how many honest scholars had to suffer the same fate?
What on Earth was she thinking, leading a troupe of walking cadavers through the streets? It was simply asking to attract a mob of torch-wielding, frightened citizens, to put her to the stake.

The exhortations of the Malleus Malleficarum ringing in his head (“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”), he sets off after her, keeping a wide berth from her pets.

“Let us hope I am not seen cavorting with a servant of the damned”, he thinks to himself grimly. “I must have taken leave of my senses”.

Thomas quickly administers the last rites for the fallen priest, though he stumbles over some of the words due to his lack of practice and his hurry to perform the service before the man breathes his last.
The grip on his hand tells him that the words were heard and understood before the hand goes limp.

He looks up to see a large Northerner, waving a greatsword in the air, and calling for others to follow. Several other survivors pick themselves up, dust themselves down, and look around.
A slight young man steps out from behind a cart, fumbles in a satchel, and stoops to retrieve a mace from a dead Watchman, before jogging ahead to join the swordsman. A grubby street-urchin stands over the body of a rotting girl. An even dirtier fellow, possibly an Underdweller, grasps his staff in both hands with clenched knuckles.

Did I see Pariah's 'snack'? Either way, I assume I see the quiescent zombies standing around her, and the way they follow her from the square?

I rush to the side of the fallen priest, drawing a handaxe as I go.
I may be too late to save him, but not for want of trying.

"You shall not mar his flesh!"

The axe hits the walking corpse, but not at the spine that I had hoped, but at the shoulder-blade, not hard enough to cleave through bone. I squint in anticipation of the fount of blood, which does not fly. Instead, black pus spatters my cheek, and leaves a trail like a snail-track along my arm.

The corpse turns its attentions to me, and a tug of war ensues, as I grasp the haft of its spear, but fail to prevent it from driving the blunt end into my forehead. I stumble over littered pots with my adversary in a clumsy dance, pressing down with my weight to hold it under me, across the planks of the stall with the spear across its neck. Not needing to breathe, the creature reverts to instinct and leaves go of the weapon, dragging its claws across my visor, twisting at my helm, which stays on, though the leather straps chafe behind my ears. Several more strikes of the axe follow through, the first breaking through the clavicle, causing the left arm to drop, limp. The next blow, unobstructed, drives sideways into the spine, and the scrabbling talons relax their grip.

Is the priest alive? If so, some healing may bring him back to our side...

Assuming I don't get jumped, I will need to gather together with the other survivors.

(Thinks)"Where is the guiding hand behind these foes?"

I'm adding bits to my profile as I go, in snatched moments at home.
Apparently I can't seem to amend profiles at work, despite being able to post normally.

Age 36; I'm assuming I'm not a 'typical D&D adventurer'.

My avatar looks a bit more haggard than that. Oh, the weight of things man was not meant to know!

To the marketplace I go!

I take in the swirling melee, and hold up my warrant.

"To me, Watchmen! To me! Drive these vermin to dust!
Put away your clubs and staves!
Grab cleaver, axe and sword! They feel no pain!
Sever their heads and tendons!"

Know (religion) DC15: (d20+12=19)

Grant +1 attack bonus (untyped) to allies.

Hmmm; I have no wish to hurl myself into danger alone. Maybe accompany a squad of guardsmen, assuming my letter of introduction has already been seen and stamped with some form of warrant or badge of authority...

Are there any watchmen nearby, within the building, or others like me, recently arrived for an interview? If not, I will attempt to catch up with the disappearing messenger, since he may know where to round up others.

If I can't find him, then I'll pace once more round the building, looking for such folk, before venturing outside, taking the opportunity to hum a reminder to myself of the Litany Against the Grave-Touched.

Feel not empathy, these beings from Hell,
Pity them not, for they are but a shell...

Whoops; I was waiting for an e-mail reply.

I've checked out the wiki, and seen the setting info, and started writing the backstory on my profile. It may change slightly, as I add a sentence here or there, but for now, it's enough to say that, in keeping with the common theme, he's got an unfortunate past, a grudge on his back, a mystery to solve, and little to lose.

No problem; I'm at work, but I'll dig up Heroes of Horror tonight, to see if there's a 'darker' variant divine caster.

Archivist. I seem to remember they might fit the bill. Dunno what source they're in, though.

Funnily enough, they're in Heroes of Horror.

LOL

I've given them a read, and they look interesting. I don't know if I'd play one in a standard game, but this looks like as good a time as any to playtest one.

Effectively a divine caster with a spellbook, I'm intrigued that they're not limited to the cleric list. They have some inspiring abilities as well. I also like that they don't have to specify a deity to follow, since this makes it easier to fit whatever background you come up with, polytheistic, monotheistic, or nihilistic.

I'm up for this. I'll get thinking on a backstory. Some details of the setting may spark some ideas.

I like his expression; sort of "Oh, no, not again!".