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Anselm studies the priest in front of him, trying to gauge how he's been coping with the events of the past few days.
He decides to address the matter directly. What about you, Father? This can't have been an easy time for you. How have you been holding up with what's been going on? I guess it seems that there's trouble following us... and I apologize if we've given that impression, but we too are being swept along with what's happening just as much as everyone else. We're going to be staying here for some time, and if there's anything I at least can do to help out I would be glad to. I may not have the same knowledge of the Church as you do, but I'm sure that two members of the clergy can help one another, regardless of how we approach our work. The offer is completely genuine. He feels that the month he'll spend in Ravengro will not be entirely occupied by either his current investigations or helping Kendra cope, so perhaps he can help out here and maybe learn a thing or two about the town at the same time.
Quietly taking in everything around him, Anselm breathes a sigh and a prayer to Iomedae before opening his eyes and turning to Drake. I believe, sir, that investigating crimes of these sort is your specialty? Where do you suggest we start? I agree with Stefan that discretion will probably serve us well, here, until we have greater resources with which to pursue whatever did happen to the Professor. What have I gotten myself into? Some undead, yes, but the Whispering Way? Where do we even begin to look at this? Bringing himself out of his thoughts, Anselm stands up more straightly, trying to present a more resolute appearance. He's a bit too rigid, a bit too stiff.
Not much of a holidays person myself, but will be seeing some friends who are in town next week and doing the usual stuff (Wednesday game or just hanging out, maybe Thursday game). Generally don't expect to be busy like I was in November for a while. Happy holidays for those who observe! And for those who don't, enjoy the weather. I know I am. :D
Sighing more in his own mind than aloud, Anselm takes a breath. I must apologize for some of the harsh words of my companions. Recent experiences have been stressful for all around. We all responded to summons for the Professor's funeral, and did what we could with what happened earlier. I understand that you care a lot about everyone here, and it's your job to make sure everyone is safe. I apologize if my friends here gave the impression that we're trying to take that away from you; it couldn't be further from the truth. Taking a breath, Anselm pauses for effect. He is an officer of the law, deserving of respect... we have no idea what he's been through. Is there anything we can do to help out, once we have a spare moment? I realize that things have gotten a lot more complicated and harder for you here since we've arrived, and I know that we can better serve the townsfolk working together instead of against one another.
Looking at his fellow heirs, Anselm gives a bit of a sigh. He addresses the scared gravediggers, trying to put on an air of confidence. I'll join you this evening, if only so that there's someone here armed and trained in dealing with such things. He looks pleadingly at the rest of the group, I believe I heard a few volunteering to spend the evening under the stars, just in case? If something does happen, we can send these fine folk here to get help. I'm sure they'll want to get to safety quickly anyway, and I don't want to get in the way of that. All that said, Anselm will join whoever goes to Zokar's for now to get something to eat. Preferably something hearty, with starch and meat. He'll stand watch after his meal, hopefully taking shifts with whoever joins.
Glad you're back on your feet, Lucendar. Being sick is pretty terrible. That said, I'm going to have decreased availability a couple days this week. Tomorrow night is a local monthly tech meetup and Thursday is the annual company Christmas party. I'll be able to post possibly at 1200 EST tomorrow and late evening, and then late evening again on Thursday. This is in addition to the game I usually run on Wednesdays. Busy week for me.
Anselm frowns a bit at Stefan and shakes his head. It's a sad day when a man can't travel unassailed. I have some spare coin if you want a roof over your head tonight. It shouldn't be more than a few gold, I'd think, plus maybe the same for a good meal. Don't worry about getting it back to me; there've been enough troubling things today that I don't want you to worry about being in debt on top of everything else. He smiles and tries to gauge Stefan's reaction. You know, come to think of it, I don't quite think I've had a chance to formally introduce myself to everyone. Anselm. Anselm Burtold, of Westcrown, he says, Cheliax. The latter he says with a bit of resignation. He absentmindedly grips his holy symbol, obviously trying to distance himself from his home nation and its well-known state religion. It's something of a cliché, but I do indeed wish we were meeting under better circumstances. I would very much enjoy supping with you all tonight, to discuss the day's happenings and perhaps to reminisce.
Anselm furrows his brow at Grimburrow's words. No undead sightings, yet they come in force at Lorrimor's funeral? Deeply concerning. Deeply concerning indeed. He nods to Kendra, quietly. We did what had to be done. I'm relieved no one was seriously hurt. The day is somber enough as is. He is taken a bit by surprise to learn that he was personally mentioned in Petros' will. Perhaps one last lesson, Professor? With raised eyebrows, he nods again. Of course I will attend the reading. Though I think, he says, nodding to Drake, that I shall find my rest out here under the stars. But first things first... there's still much work to be done today. The burial, first, and then I'd like to speak with the sheriff as well. Anselm falls silent, a dark and pensive look covering his features. Too many coincidences here...
As the leader falls, Anselm gives a heavy sigh, sheathing his sword and shaking his head slowly. This man speaks true, he says, nodding to Mortimer. This is far worse than some upset townsfolk, and requires immediate attention. If we weren't here to stop them... He purposely leaves the consequences for everyone to consider on their own, pausing to try to recall what sort of situation could cause such unrest.
His thoughts and the cold of the morning besides produce a shiver in him, one he tries to hide at least from Kendra. Mustn't have her worrying about us as well. He nods, and turns to Kendra. Are you hurt, my lady? We can address that if so. Otherwise, I would suggest you head home for now, where you should be safest. Despite his words, the thought occurs that the daughter of Petros Lorrimor might be more inclined to employ more agency in her affairs. Here's hoping she's smart enough to stay out of trouble if she does want to get involved.
I looked at it differently, actually: the zombie leader was thinking "I've been around for ages and even though you're up there in years for a human you're still just a whelp" Also, for what it's worth, I have not done anything with age penalties for Anselm. His age is strictly a flavor thing. I don't think I've ever seen those rules actually invoked (most games IME tend to die long before the PCs have to worry about similar fates), but if you want to, I'd prefer he not have any penalties and am fine adjusting his age down appropriately. First combat was pretty exciting, and I promise I will be more careful with movement in future. I just finished a roll20 game myself, so I should really know better.
Taking things in for a brief instant as his newfound companions move in to help him dispatch the leader of the assault, Anselm feels the holy power of Pharasma's blessing come upon him. He recalls his education under Lorrimor and Rutilus, that all divine powers come from the same source. His mouth twitches upward in a smirk as he swings hard at the walking Pharasman heretic in front of him. Stand strong, fellows! And I'm not young! If I were, you might have had this day! As his swing falls, he has a disturbing thought. Are we condemning Petros to the same fate...? Best not to dwell on it...
As his blow falls on the creature Anselm takes another quick scan of the graveyard turned battlefield. I guess this isn't what you intended, Petros, when you taught me what you did about the undead...
Watching the battle unfold before him, Anselm sees an opportunity to strike at the fleeing filth and takes it.
Slicing into the walking dead before him does not make him any less eager to destroy the heretical abominations, but it does give him a brief moment to reflect on what's going on around him. He's grateful to be surrounded by such competence. Clanging metal and screams break him from his reverie. Taking a quick look around he sees the sword-and-shield leader still directing things and quickly moves up in front of it. He mouths a prayer to Iomedae and Pharasma, taking on a look of stern determination.
I'm going to agree that I don't think publicly organized PFS is for me. Political intrigue, horror, and other themes interest me far more than combat ever will, and since most scenarios are written around beating a big bad, focusing on roleplay tends to get in the way. Of course, this won't stop me from running the scenarios for a group of friends where I think they'll be fun for the group in question. I roll using a dice tower for my Friday games, the players see all rolls openly. I'll be honest. I don't see the appeal of a dice tower. I've seen them used and I just don't get it. Is it to prevent your dice from getting away from you? I use GameScience dice exclusively, and I don't have that problem. They stop rolling rather reliably, and are still pretty random.
Lost in his thoughts, Anselm wasn't paying as much attention to his surrounds as perhaps he should have been. Got to kick that habit... it'll get you killed. For a few seconds all he can do is stare as Father Grimburrow takes a grievous wound. The thunk of the bolt into his chest snaps him out of his thoughts, quickly enough to avoid the attack of the zombie in front of him. To arms indeed! And as if we had any reason to doubt Lorrimor fought the undead, instead of supporting them... Anselm draws his sword, says a prayer to Iomedae, and swings at the filth in front of him, gritting his teeth.
Re: RP in PFS scenarios, when I play with people I don't know, the game tends strongly towards the murderhobo style that PFS is rather infamous for. I've actually had someone I'm playing with say, and I quote, "I hate roleplaying". If PFS didn't severely penalize players for leaving in the middle of a game, I would've left that table then and there. And, similar to your experience Gregorious, I ran some modules for some good friends and we did more roleplaying than anything else. It was insanely fun (with a lot of indulging in silly roleplay), but we also needed three sessions to complete a scenario. Re: house rules, all of this is really good reason to be careful with them. It's harder than it would appear to do game design really well. I don't really do any house rules in my games because of the high entropy involved in doing so. In addition, rules are supposed to be tested. By introducing new rules, you're testing them as you play with them. I'd rather have a finished product that's been tested and poked and beat up a bunch. I was in the D&D Next playtest but lost interest because I want to see the finished system instead of a bunch of iterations that constantly change things. 's a personality trait that expresses itself in my professional life, too.
With the slow gait of a man deep in thought, Anselm steps up to address the assembled. He leaves his hands at his sides, more for lack of what to do with them than anything else. He takes a breath to speak a few times, but doesn't appear able to conjure words. With his eyes closed he takes a few breaths, and then addresses everyone. Everyone here today certainly would call Petros more than a friend. I am grateful not only for his friendship, but what I learned from him both formally and not. I can say with absolute conviction that he was certainly not a necromancer or anything near as foul as the townspeople claim. From Petros I learned, both in the classroom and on the battlefield, more than I ever thought possible about the undead. First among these lessons was his hatred of them. He pauses here, closed eyes aimed at the ground as he shakes his head. The incident at Lastwall taught me more than anything else that Petros is no friend of the undead. Anselm pauses and takes a breath, eager to focus on more pleasant things to brighten the somber mood. Without truly realizing it, he brings his hands together in front of himself, clasped together with palms facing upward. Yet my relationship with Petros was not solely focused on such dark matters. He was my teacher for many years, and under his strict tutelage I learned the true meaning behind my calling. I thought, after my time with the Church was finished, that I knew everything there was to being a servant of Iomedae. I'll only excuse such hubris by saying I was young and foolish. His mouth twitches upward in a bit of a grin, and he continues. Sure, I might have known the specifics of how the Church spreads its message and the doctrine, but applying that knowledge was something Petros taught me. Under his wing I learned true respect and love for the other good faiths of Golarion. I was... a zealous young man. Yet untempered zealotry only meets equal opposition. Humbling though it was, my time with the Professor left me a better man than I would otherwise be. I know everyone else here has a similar story to tell. Let us share and carry forth these happy memories. He smiles at those who make eye contact, nodding before he cedes the audience to whoever comes forth next.
More appalled than anything else at the shameful display of the superstitious townspeople, Anselm holds his tongue instead of risking making things worse. Years of practicing his faith taught him that people have to want to change for change to happen, and these backwater farmers seemed to have their feet as firmly planted in the ground as their crops. He tried to bring his thoughts to something more pleasant, or at least more accepting. He gives a nod to the Councilman. I suspect you and I will be getting to know one another quite well, if our first interaction with the people here is any indication. He turns to the Detective as much as he can while holding the coffin, and wonders how much he knows of the Professor's studies regarding the undead. He seethed silently at the accusations of the townspeople, knowing (and assisting) firsthand in Lorrimor's quest to eradicate those foul beings. I thought the professor's work was well-known. Evidently not to the folks in the backwater. Finally, he nods. I agree, Detective. Those who lack courage tend to act when they're not observed, and I don't see it as unlikely that they would defile Petros' final resting place while cloaked with the night. I volunteer to stand watch this evening given the present and very real threat. We should see what measures the local Church of Pharasma has in place for this sort of thing as well--I am certain they care as much about grave disruption as we do, at least in this instance. He tries to give a reassuring look of strength to Kendra. Everything will be fine. You have my word--and my sword if things go truly out of hand, may Iomedae forbid it.
About a week ago... Anselm had scarcely finished morning prayer when the messenger found him. The messenger said his parcel was of great import, carried personally from Ustalav. The country's name put Anselm's greying, short hair on end. Ustalav... what a cursed land. The faithful of Iomedae know it well for the part it played in the Shining Crusade. Anselm tried to put such horrors out of his mind as he graciously thanked the courier and opened the letter. He was immediately grateful to have a chair. But... why... Initially suspecting the letter to be a fake, Anselm remembered the wax seal on the letter: the official seal of the Church of Pharasma. The letter was indeed genuine, and the man he had defended from the undead, from assassination, from other evils besides had left this world. He set the letter down and returned to the altar, this time to pray for safe passage of the soul of one of the most important men--nay, friends (at least in his mind) he had ever known. Through the rest of the day Anselm maintained a taciturn manner. He followed his order's requirements, but kept to himself and said little more than was required. The journey would be long, but at least it would give him time to reflect on where he had been and who he had become since working with the Professor. This morning... His travel indeed afforded him the opportunity to think and reflect. He spent much of the journey in quiet reflection and prayer, both to Iomedae and to the Lady of Graves. His reflective mood was retrospective, as well, bringing him back to his childhood. His thoughts centered on Rutilus, the priest who inducted him into the The Inheritor's church. He was merely a youth with some talent at the sword, then, or so he thought. Rutilus brought out talents and abilities Anselm never knew he had. Growing up in Cheliax is an odd act of doublethink for most citizens. They publicly praise Asmodeus, even if in the secrecy of their home they worship other deities. Anselm felt at home in the Iomedaean church, at once able to express his distaste for Asmodean ways. The Professor, as well, nurtured skills and talents in Anselm he never knew he possessed. These were more practical in nature, and often his lessons had no plan. The Lastwall Incident, as he referred to it, stood out in his mind. It was his travel in Lastwall that turned Anselm's focus most specifically towards eradicating the undead, and his studies to that end which brooked such unrest as he approached Ustalav. But this was not the only incident his thoughts spent much of the journey mulling. The masked Red Mantis assassin entered his thoughts and even his nightmares once or twice along the journey. Despite being successful in the land of the waking, Desna's realm proved more harrowing for the Paladin, as he failed again and again to save the man who had taught him so much. Anselm shook his head. No use focusing on the past. What's done is done. Petros would want me to stay strong, now more than ever. And his daughter... He tried to maintain an aura of serenity and calm as he exited the carriage. He strode up to Kendra, knelt before her and took her hand in his, gently pressing his lips to it. My lady... I can only offer my condolences and an ear if ever there is anything I can do to ease your heart. Scant moments after he finished speaking those few words, he heard his name. He looked up, and realized he was summoned to be a pallbearer. He held Kendra's eye for a long moment before nodding, silently offering a prayer, and heading off to fulfill perhaps his last duty for his teacher and friend.
Take your time, Lucendar. Do what you need to do. Moving is a pain in a number of ways. @Anselm Burtold - Initially, he was probably furious at Anselm, but mostly at himself for his failure. That resentment died out quickly, as Anselm was just someone who happened to be there to protect the professor, and wasn't really an enemy. The injuries inflicted by Anselm were extreme, but he does not hold Anselm responsable for that - after all, it was an occupational hazard. In the past years, after becoming a follower of Sarenrae, Gregorius has begun to feel grateful to Anselm, for it was that defeat that changed his life for the better. I'd say that fight was the only time they ever met, and he thinks Anselm probably never thinks about that - or at least not as often as he does. I'm not sure Anselm would so quickly forget. As you know, the Red Mantis guild fancies quite distinct garb and gear. Perhaps if you had a mask on during the fight there wouldn't be any recognition except perhaps in your voice. At the least, the sawtooth blades would prompt a "Where have I seen those before?", if not something further.
Have been thinking about how to play Anselm. The previous PbP gives some examples but there exists an opportunity, I think, for a greater investigation into who he is and how he'll react to different situations. He's got a good Wisdom score, which I tend to look at as experienced in the ways of the world but perhaps not so much when confronted with the horrors that lie in wait for unsuspecting adventurers. Sure, he's seen a few things here and there... but the true extent of what can happen outside of a city's walls remains largely unknown to him. As such, I'm favoring a certain naïveté regarding the sorts of things a Paladin would otherwise be able to stand up well against. Yes, a Paladin is an obvious choice for this AP because of what we'll be facing, if the player's guide is any indication. But that doesn't mean I have to be perfect and completely resolute against whatever terrible thing I come across. Being imperfect, and even broken, generates conflict, and conflict is at the core of good storytelling. With this naïveté--even innocence, to a degree--comes a chance to grow, something I greatly look forward to pursuing. The hero who is never shaken by what they encounter is not very interesting.
My goodness, yes! I've wanted to get back into Carrion Crown ever since the PBP I was in died. This is the character that I built for it, one Anselm Burtold whom I've grown to miss quite dearly. I can definitely post daily, more frequently in the evenings and rather more frequently on the weekends. Edit: we didn't get very far, only this far: as far as the memorial service and the funeral. You can look at this thread and I fully understand if you don't want someone who's played before, even this little tease of the AP that's left me wanting so much more.
Clearing his throat a bit, Anselm tries to convince the man of their good intentions. Ahem, yes. My companions and I are friends of the Lorrimor family, and would like some time to privately offer our respects. With the stress of travel and the events earlier, we haven't yet had an opportunity to do so.
Nodding with a frown and furrowed brow, Anselm sets off. His pace is not quite so determined as when he walked to the Church, as though something was dogging his step. One thing to go through a graveyard without permission... quite another to do so in a graveyard attached to a church of Pharasma... but is there a better way? After a few paces he turns back to make sure his new companions are coming with.
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