An attempt at a Barbarian

Name: Meee Angor
Race: Half Orc
Class: Barbarian

Stats:
10 -> 17 (13)
10 -> 16 (10)
10 -> 12 (2)

Str: 22 (17 + 1 level + 2 race + 2 item)
Dex: 12
Con: 16
Int: 10
Wis: 10
Cha: 10

Class Powers:
Rage (+2 hit, +2 damage)
Animal Fury (bite attack at -5 hit, 1d4 + half strength)
Lesser Fiend Totem (gore attack at -5 hit, 1d8 + half strength)
+1 other defensive power

Feats:
L1 Power Attack (-2 hit, +6 damage)
L3 Weapon Focus: Greataxe or Falchion (+1 hit)
L5 Furious Focus (ignore power attack penalty on main attack)

Traits:
Killer (+ damage on crit)
Heirloom Weapon (+1 hit)

Gear:
+2 strength item (4000)
+2 weapon (8000)
Some +1 armor

To hit:
+6 BAB
+6 Str
+2 rage
-2 power attack (except on the first attack)
+1 heirloom
+1 weapon focus
+2 magic weapon = +18/+11/+7/+7

Weapon damage:
+9 str
+3 rage
+6 power attack
+2 magic weapon = +20 (plus conditional crit damage)

Secondary damage:
+3 str
+1 rage
+2 power attack = +6 (plus conditional crit damage)

Math against AC 20:

Full round attack (power attack):
Greataxe:
+18 (1d12+20) = .90*26.5 + .05*(.95*82.5 + .05*26.5) = 27.835
+11 (1d12+20) = .55*26.5 + .05*(.60*82.5 + .40*26.5) = 17.58
+7 (1d8+6) = .35*10.5 + .05*(.40*23 + .60*10.5) = 4.45
+7 (1d4+6) = .35*8.5 + .05*(.40*19 + .60*8.5) = 3.61 == 53.475 DPR

Falchion:
+18 (2d4+20) = .80*25 + .15*(.95*52 + .05*25) = 27.5975
+11 (2d4+20) = .45*25 + .15*(.60*52 + .40*25) = 17.43
+7 (1d8+6) = .35*10.5 + .05*(.40*23 + .60*10.5) = 4.45

+7 (1d4+6) = .35*8.5 + .05*(.40*19 + .60*8.5) = 3.61 == 53.0875 DPR

Surprised at how close the two weapons are, though this could change at slightly higher levels with different feats and abilities.  Anyway, 5pm time.

Oops

Having slept on the concept, I'm suddenly reminded that this is basically 3.5 rules, and you still have to do dumb arcane shit like confirm critical hits, which for the sake of accuracy requires adjusting my calculations.

Full round attack (deadly aim + rapid shot):

+14 (2d8+26) = .70*35 + .05*(.75*73 + .25*35) = 27.675
+14 (1d8+13) = .70*17.5 + .05*(.75*55.5 + .25*17.5)  = 14.55
+9 (1d8+13) = .45*17.5 + .05*(.50*55.5 + .50*17.5) = 9.7 == 51.925 DPR


I don't think I've missed anything else in terms of just an expected DPR calculation versus a generic AC 20 in point blank range without any other modifiers or buffs.  (Excepting the loss of opportunity attack damage, but that's way too situational to guesstimate.)

Late edit:  Manyshot doesn't allow crits on both arrows, DPR adjusted down.

Experiment 1: Archer

Bored at work, limited web access.  I mentioned last night to Mike that there seemed to be way more optimization tweaks for ranged combat than melee, so I'm going to attempt to build the most twinked-out ranged and melee characters I can because 1) I'm bored and 2) it'll help familiarize me with the mechanics of Pathfinder, the gritty combat details of which I didn't dig too deeply into while building a cleric focused on healing and social skills.  Going to limit this to 6th level (sticking with E6 guidelines) and only material available on the SRD, going by the same character creation guidelines used for Norben (25 point buy, level average wealth, two traits).

Shooty McShooterson
Fighter 6, Archer subtype
Race: Human

25 points:
10->17 (13)
10->16 (10)
10->12 (2)


Str:  16
Dex: 22 (17 + 2 human + 1 level bonus + 2 Belt of Dex)
Con:  12
Int: 10
Wis: 10
Cha: 10

AC:
Not like it matters, but:
+10 base
+5 armor
+1 armor enhancement
+6 dex
= 22

Feats:
H1  Weapon Focus: Longbow 
L1  Point Blank Shot
F1  Deadly Aim
F2  Rapid Shot
L3  Point Blank Master
F4  Weapon Specialization: Longbow 
L5  Precise Shot
F6  Manyshot

Traits:
Killer (+3 damage on crit)
Heirloom Weapon (+1 hit)

Gear: (16000)
Belt of Dexterity +2 (4000)
Heirloom Composite Longbow +2 (+3 Str rating) (8700)
Mithral Brigandine +1 (2250)
1050gp

To Hit (assuming within 30ft):
+6 BAB
+6 Dex
+1 Archer
+1 Weapon Focus
+1 point blank
+2 magical longbow
+1 heirloom longbow = +18

Damage:
+3 str
+2 magical longbow
+1 Archer
+1 point blank
+2 Weapon Spec = +9

Conditionals: 
Deadly Aim: -2 hit, +4 damage on all attacks
Rapid Shot: -2 hit, extra attack

I don't know what the average monster AC is supposed to be for level 6 parties (and I can't find it in the SRD) but skimming the CR6 monsters, let's go with about AC 20.

Full round attack (normal):
+18 (2d8+18) = .90*27 + .05*84 = 28.5
+13 (1d8+9) = .65*13.5 + .05*43.5 = 10.95 == 39.45 DPR

Full round attack (deadly aim):
+16 (2d8+26) = .80*35 + .05*108 = 33.4
+11 (1d8+13) =  .55*17.5 + .05*55.5 = 12.4 == 45.8 DPR

Full round attack (rapid shot):
+16 (2d8+18) = .80*27 + .05*84 = 25.8
+16 (1d8+9) = .80*13.5 + .05*43.5 = 12.975
+11 (1d8+9) = .55*13.5 + .05*43.5 = 9.6 == 48.375 DPR

Full round attack (deadly aim + rapid shot):
+14 (2d8+26) = .70*35 + .05*108 = 29.9
+14 (1d8+13) = .70*17.5 + .05*55.5 = 15.025
+9 (1d8+13) = .45*17.5 + .05*55.5 = 10.65 == 55.575 DPR

I want to stress test the matrix in a spreadsheet (which astoundingly I can't access here...no Google docs, no Office, no nothing) but I think that for the max DPR rotation with everything turned on, trading away +hit for more +damage won't pay off, especially not on the 1-for-1 basis I'd get from going to a strength item or going strength heavy at the initial stat allocation.

Anyway, here's a quick crack the ranged character, and 55 DPR seems like a good number.  Plus, he has some other useful benefits, like being able to shoot without provoking AoOs and having a ranged disarm/sunder.  Anyway, it's 5pm, going home.

WAT

The Pandora artist bio for Bonobo is incomprehensible.  The song (Black Sands) is nice, though.

Traits

I had initially dismissed Pathfinder's traits system (IIRC introduced in the Advanced Players Guide, but it's in the online SRD) as typical splat content, bonuses for the sake of having extra stuff, kind of like the regional feats of various 3.5 campaign settings. 

When considering Norben's creation, I discovered that selecting skills helped me plot out some character background and flavor.  I didn't really formulate a firm concept of his silver-tongue nature until I pondered including Bluff in his skill list.  Similarly, choosing not to throw ranks into Appraise helped me flesh out some details of his hucksterism: The true price of trinket-ish goods are wholly irrelevant to his pursuits and merchant operations.  In this sense, walking through the numbers of character creation became beneficial to the creative process of developing a complex character personality and motivations.

And now I'm having a similar experience with the traits system.  Reading through it more thoroughly, I think it can provide some flavor benefit to the character creation process without influencing game mechanics too heavily.  The flavor text of the traits are hit and miss, but I like the following for Norben, if we end up using them:

Under Siege:  In order to maintain your devotion to sun goddess in a hostile kingdom and stay alive, you and your fellow worshipers developed a complex system of hand signs and facial gestures to identify yourselves as faithful in the Cult of the Sun Goddess.


Benefit: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Bluff and Sense Motive checks. One of these skills (your choice) is always a class skill for you.


Power of Suggestion: People trust your words over their own eyes.
 
Benefit: You may make a Bluff check to make observers believe that an object in your possession is actually a different object entirely. The DC for the check is 20 for items of a similar size, shape, and color (such as a glaive and a quarterstaff). Items of a different shape, size, or color raise the DC by 5 for each dissimilar aspect, or more if the dissimilarity is extreme. This deception lasts 1 minute; if the item is still in view, the observers may recognize their error unless you make another bluff check.

The Under Siege trait, thematically, fits considering Norben is a missionary from a foreign country, sent to convert the wrongly-faithful.  In a realm full of people who don't take kindly to being told their angels aren't gods, it could be useful to have some kind of coded body language to identify allies.  And getting bluff as a class skill is gravy.  (Fast Talker is an alternative if the flavor of Under Siege is too ridiculous.)

Power of Suggestion has obvious huckster benefits.

Well played, Hulu

Your "There was an error on this page (500 error)" screen has an embedded clip of the extended Homer Simpson "D'oh" montage.  But you just had to make me watch an ad first, didn't you?

Norben Fletcher: On Paper

I'm creating him within Pathfinder rules because, absent other input, it seemed to be the direction the e-mail thread was ultimately heading towards.  It's easily converted back into standard 3.5 if necessary.

Name: Norben Fletcher
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Alignment: CG
Size/Gender: M
Age: 33
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 245 (in the Friar Tuck fashion)
Hair: Shaved
Eyes: Brown

Stats: Using the 25-point buy system since it seemed closest to what we used to deal with previously, can be modified if shifting to lower point tiers or if a rolling system is permitted.
10 points: 10 -> 16
5 points: 10 -> 14
5 points: 10 -> 14
3 points: 10 -> 13
2 points: 10 -> 12

Str:  13
Dex: 10
Con: 12
Int: 14
Wis: 18 (+2 human)
Cha: 14

Comments: I wrote myself into a difficult bind, where the character concept relied heavily on charisma-based skills, which meant neither Cha nor Int could serve as dump stats (and indeed ended up becoming the secondary and tertiary stats instead).  This totally ruled out starting at 20 Wis, forcing me into a more diversified stat allocation.  Str at 13 to qualify for certain combat feats and carrying capacity, 12 con because I'm taking the extra skill point instead of HP each level, and 10 Dex as a dump (and ideally he'll be running around in plate eventually, so only missing out on one AC).

HP: 9
AC:  17 = 10 + 5 armor + 2 shield
Fort:  3 = 2 base + 1 Con
Ref:  0
Will:  6 = 2 base + 4 Wis
Speed: 30 (30 base - 10 armor + 10 Travel domain)
Init: +0
Melee attack:  +1, 1d8+1
CMB: +1
CMD: +11
Languages: Common, Celestial, 1 tbd (are Infernal and Abyssal going to be combined?)

Skills with ranks:
Bluff: +7
Diplomacy: +6
Heal: +8
Knowledge (Religion): +6
Sense Motive: +9
Spellcraft: +6

6 skill ranks:  2 base + 2 int +1 human +1 favored class

Feats:
Combat Casting
1 tbd

Domains & Abilities:
-Travel Domain, Trade Subdomain:  +10 base speed
-Silver-Tongued Haggler (Su): Whenever you make a Bluff, Diplomacy, or Sense Motive check, you can, as a free action, grant yourself a bonus on the roll equal to 1/2 your cleric level (minimum +1).  (7/day)
-Healing Domain
-Rebuke Death (Sp): You can touch a living creature as a standard action, healing it for 1d4 points of damage plus 1 for every two cleric levels you possess. You can only use this ability on a creature that is below 0 hit points. (7/day)
-Channel Energy (Su): Channeling energy causes a burst that affects all creatures of one type (either undead or living) in a 30-foot radius centered on the cleric. The amount of damage dealt or healed is equal to 1d6 points of damage plus 1d6 points of damage for every two cleric levels beyond 1st (2d6 at 3rd, 3d6 at 5th, and so on).  (5/day)

Spells:
Orisons: 3
1st level: 2+1 (longstrider, CLW)

Gear:
Scale Mail (50gp)
Heavy Mace (12gp)
Heavy Wooden Shield (7gp)
Backpack (2gp)
Bedroll (1sp)
Winter Blanket (5sp)
Chest (small, 2gp)
Flask (3cp)
Flint and Steel (1gp)
Lamp (common, 1sp)
Belt Pouch x2 (2gp)
Trail Rations x6 (3gp)
Shaving Kit (15gp)
Tent (medium, 15gp)
Torch x3 (3cp)
Holy Symbol (silver, 25gp)
Cleric's Vestments (5gp)
Traveler's Outfit (1gp)

This adds up to 140 gold and change, which is right on for the listed average starting gold value for clerics.  If this number is bumped up significantly, I'd consider upgrading to splint or banded mail first, then a cart and mule for heavy hauling.

Traits:
Under Siege
Power of Persuasion

Norben Fletcher 7/7

"Please sir, have mercy sir.  You're a man of the faith, sir, how could you..."

Darkness had settled over the landscape; what little could be seen was illuminated by the stars above, or the few hearthfires burning at the farms in the valley below these foothills, with Tresco a bright orange dot in the distance.  The bandit couldn't see the inky blood slowly dripping off Norben's macehead, or the two bodies that lay further down the slope, but he knew they were there.

"Bloodhound.  You ever own a bloodhound, child?  Good huntin' dog, loyal.  They look lazy, but you get'em out in the field, they'll track anything.  You give'em the scent, they'll run it down.  Surprisin' speed.  Agility.  Endurance.  Fine animal, bloodhound.  Don't ever stop until the prey's caught."

The bandit was trying to crawl away backwards, ankle twisted and probably broken after stumbling over a tree root during the uphill chase.  "Have mercy...angel of mercy, please, sir.  I beg you, I'll stop, I'll quit, I'll..."

"You hush boy.  Angel o' Mercy.  Pshaw.  Boy I walk in the Light of the Lord, may his radiance warm my soul for eternity.  Don't speak at me about angels.  There's only one path, boy, and that's to walk in the glorious Light.  To shun it is to invite the darkness into your heart.  Bet you got some demon in you right now, son."

"B-but you can't do violence under the Light!  Man of faith!  Please!"  He crested the top of this particular hill, treeless and with a good view of the valley.  Good lookout territory for bandits.  "Boy, you turn your head up, you look up.  You look at the sky.  You squint and you look real good n' hard."  Norben could vaguely make out the silhouette of the bandit performing as instructed.

"You see any light right now, son?"  By the time the bandit peered back down, he caught a glimmer of starlight off the head of Norben's mace, held high, charging forward.

Norben Fletcher 6/7

A stiff breeze stirred a small whirlwind of dust about his boots as he strolled into Tresco proper.  The morning was still yet early, and most women of the house were about, hauling washwater from the well or the day's bread from the local baker.  It was a curiously large village for a farming community - and what village wife doesn't do her own baking? - but that just meant foot traffic would be better for his sermon.  He finished off one of the sweet buns he'd been gifted earlier, licking crumbs from his lips as he tucked away the final treat back into a pouch.

Scanning the town square for the first time, he slowed his gait, walking alongside the periphery to observe some of the locals.  Most of the traffic seemed to be heading to and from the town well, but that also meant that particular space was also the muddiest; spilled water mixed with the worn dirt there.

*snap*

Lifting his boot, he sighted the small gray-white stone he'd stepped upon while he wasn't minding his direction.  He lifted his foot to check the damage to the soles, then bent down closer to the rubble.  Two small rocks, the dize of the joints on a man's thumb, oddly shapen lay pressed into the ground.  It seemed that one was a crudely carved head, something with pointy ears, and the other half was probably the oval-ish body with stubs for legs.  He'd have picked it up from the path, but he caught a faint glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye.  Something disappeared between a row of thatched housing, shaded by the angled light.  He pursued casually.

******

"Darlin', I'm not gonna hurt ya.  Man o'the Lord I am, good n' true.  Look here, just so happens I have this delicious sweet bun here..."  The child's eyes grew wide as she grabbed the meal from his hands, biting ravenously.  Through tears in her tunic he could count individual ribs; this wasn't a case of gluttony he'd have to lecture for.  "Child, where's yer ma and yer pa?  Shouldn't you be workin' the chores at home?"

Around mouthfuls of bread, "Lookin for work, sir.  Da died some while back, and my ma, she used to be a farmhand, used to raise horses.  But sir that farm sold their horses to a merchant that came through town early in the summer, then my ma had nothin' left to tend, so they told her to git.  Ma says she's tryin real hard, sir."

"Well darlin', tell you what, I'm a man of the faith, but I'm also a merchant.  Conn-a-sir of the fine arts.  Couldn't help but notice I ruined a fine scupture out in the square."  The girl shyly pulled four of the poor soapstone carvings from her one functional pocket.  They appeared to be amorphous four-legged animals, obviously the work of a child with a lot of time to kill and no resources for proper baubles from a merchant.  "I'll pay you for the one I done broke, and for those too.  Four gold coins each, and no talkin' me up."

******

He sinched up the small pouch holding twenty five golden coins and handed it over to the grinning youth.  "Now you run home and you stay there 'till yer ma comes home, and you show her, and you say the preacher man bought your statues.  You don't tell anyone else about this, m'kay?"  She nodded, adding "You be careful, sir.  There's a thief about town.  Men been volunteering for the night watch, but they ain't caught'em.  Might think you have money, sir."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin'."  Norben smiled, standing and stretching beneath the rising sun.  "Ain't no thief can hide under the Light.  Tell you what, I have another five gold coins, all for you, if you do me a small favor.  After you run home, you hide yer money.  Then wherever you get these rocks from, you find ones the size of yer fist.  You bring as many as you can get into town, you pile them up against the well over in that square.  Somebody asks what yer doin', say nothin'.  Secret between you 'n me."  She nodded and scampered off.  Norben would have to wait to setup his pulpit.  Under thatched shade, he started rooting through his many pockets and pouches, looking for his best pipe as he strolled the outer alleys of Tresco.  "Ain't no one can hide."

Norben Fletcher 5/7

"Sir, I said sir, this child is under the protection of the Light.  You will release him until he's had his confession."

The larger afternoon crowd filled its ranks from the mothers who had laundry to wash in the morning, farmers done with their chores sent into town for supplies, and other local folk who'd heard the preacher was back after some months.  They pressed close, some elbowing their way through onlookers to get nearer to the table to get a look at the thief.  A gaunt, dirty youth - past his adolescent years but not quite a man - shielded himself behind Norben's shoulder.  His left arm was being tugged by an older, grizzled man in studded leather and a leather cap, club at his side hanging off a firm tanned belt.  Some of the men in the crowd were shouting encouragement; volume was quickly rising, and Norben knew the dangerous strengths of a mob.

"Now Constable," he began, speaking quietly enough that the audience would need to hush to hear.  And they did.  "I understand this young man has committed sin in Tresco.  I understand that the letter of the law says he should face punishment for his crimes."  The young thief was the only person present to glance over at the pile of fist-sized stones that had been heaped up against the village well.  "However, he's given himself up to the lord.  The Light above has caused him to see the sin of his ways, and he just wants a chance to explain.  Surely the wise Constable's heart isn't so black to allow this child a chance at redemption."

"Now look here, preacher.  The Angel of Justice is the patron of Tresco, and I can't rightly let this boy - this thief - slip by without the Hall deciding his fate.  Wouldn't be right.  I'm a religious man, and my conscience says this boy needs t'answer for his crimes."

Norben frowned plaintively at the gathered crowd as they murmured support, some nodding silently.  "Angel o' Justice."  *yeah*  "'bout two weeks back, I passed through a town called Westshine.  Farmin' town jus like this one here.  Folks there caught a thief, jus like this child here, stealin' livestock.  Know what they did?  Prayed real hard for him, made'em pray too.  Said Angel o' Mercy wouldn't abide by punishment."  *justice here - yeah*  "So which one's right?  Which one walks the path o'the Lord?"  *.....*  "Son, let me tell you what for," he spoke to the Constable, turning back away from the placated villagers.  "This boy look like a Demon to you?  Think he wants to do you an' yours harm?  The Lord's light shinin' on him right now, showin' me he's good inside.  Game himself up, didn't he?  Right here in the square, walked right up, told everyone himself.  Are you a bettin' man, Constable?  I bet this boy's tryin' to do right by someone, might be in some trouble you don't know.  Should hear him out, outa the goodness of your heart, shouldn't you?"

"But the Angel of Justice says..."

"Boy, I'm a servant of the Lord too, you wanna worship me?  You worship the deacon that runs that chapel down the road?  You gonna listen to one facet of the gospel an' ignore the rest?  I don't see no angels here.  You ever see an angel?  You ever see an angel?"  *no...nuh-uh..*  "Well alright then.  Know what you do see?  Ever'day?  Those suns up there, the light of the Lord, ever'day, shinin down on you, giving you sustenance, light, life, warmth.  Settin' the path of the righteous is the Lord's and his alone.  The rest of us just walk it.  You got that?"

*But what about the Angel of the Heavens up there with him?*

"You folks don't even know the gospel, the proper one," he chastised, frowning again, drawing silence.  "Imma tell you.  Back before there even was light, there were only four things.  The Earth, our ancestors, darkness, and the Demons.  They walked the surface like us, tortured us, slaughtered us, bathed in our blood.  For centuries they bred us for their pleasure, 'till one day, one man stood up.  One man, heart o' gold, said no, this isn't right.  He fought back, tought men how to fight, how to hope.  Tought them dignity and faith and honor and community.  Showed them how to make cities, how to defend themselves.  Well this made the Demons rightful angry, and they warred, Demons 'n humans, for decades, till finally the Devil himself crawled up from the blackest pits of night.  This man himself fought the Devil.."  *Devil?*  "The Prince of Demons, ma'am.  So evil just looking at him can turn a man's soul black.  But this one man, he had the Light in 'em.  He fought the Devil across the Earth for weeks till finally he push'em to the edge of the Earth, to the final cliff, end o' the world.  But the Devil fought hard, and the only way he could push'em off was to take a blow himself.  Devil's black finger ripped through him, took out his guts, but it left enough opening for the man to land a final knock that sent the Devil falling into the Void where he belongs.  Man fell down on the edge of the Void, bleedin' t'death, until one woman who'd followed him all those weeks found him, wrapped his wound, held'em tight right there in the night 'n sang to him.  She cried and she sang to soothe him knowing he'd die right there.  When he'd spilled his last drop of blood, the Light tore out from his chest.  The First Light, they called it, an' they saw the Earth for true.  It burned so bright it melted the skin right off the Demons, and they ran back underground.  Folks, the Daylord was born anew, and he ascended to the sky so he could illumine the whole Earth.  Man was free to live, and the Light of the Lord kept the men from sin and inviting the Demons back into their world."

*But the other sun..*

"Ma'am, that's the light of Love.  That woman who sang, who was there when the Light came to be, well she got blinded.  She lived the rest of her life without again knowing the Light's beauty.  When she finally passed, the Lord took pity on her, an he brought her soul up to the heavens with him, so she could see the Earth from up high.  Now together they dance the sky for eternity, the Lord's sun and that little one, that's the little bit he gave over to her.  Ain't no angels about it, ma'am.  That's husband an' wife up there."

Norben let the crowd whisper amongst themselves, neighbors and friends arguing or confirming their opinions on the story he'd just told.  There were some stifled tears, primarily from the womenfolk - that story always got'em.  The Constable had released his grip on the thief, opening his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted.

"It's my pa, good sir.  I did it for my pa.  He's sick somethin' fierce, he's...well he's a cutler, but he'd taken a job from...well, those Bloodhound Gang toughs up near the hills.  Said they'd pay good money to sharpen their swords, and he didn't have a choice, but he didn't want the folks to know he'd taken a job from the Bloodhounds.  Constable'd see him in the gallows.  Well pa did the job, but then they just stabbed him, right there in the house.  They took off laughting, n' he was bleedin', and I couldn't tell anyone 'cause then I'd have to say what happened.  I wrapped him up best I could, but there was so much blood.  And they never paid, and we didn't have any money, and we needed herbs, and he was cold so I took some blankets, and some food, and..."

"Child, I'll take it from here.  You see, this boy ain't got the Demon in him.  He maybe stole some of your food and blankets, but he was doing it for love, for his pa.  And your Angel of Justice would'a seen him and his pa hanged.  That's not the way of the Lord.  But you can atone, folks of Tresco.  Boy, you take some big men, you go run to your pa, carry his bed out into the Light.  Tresco will know both justice and mercy today, and will also come to understand the love of the Lord."

******

Everybody not working a field was circling the small dusty road outside the cutler's thatched home.  A pallet had been placed out of the lengthening shadows, supporting a pale man in his red-stained clothes.  He hadn't even been changed or washed.  His breath was raspy, the wet gasps of a man approaching twilight.  It seemed that he'd taken a stab in the thigh, but without proper bandaging it was allowed to bleed out, likely infected by now.  It was a miracle he'd survived this long.

"Child," he began, speaking to the aged father laying below him, "a soul must be cleansed before it can pass to the Lord.  You have sin you must atone for.  As such, this is not your time.  I call upon the blessing of the Daylord, as his radiance shines down upon this body, to reject this soul, to restore this flesh.  The Tears of the Lord cleanse you..."  He laid one hand down on the man's chilled forehead, the other pulling a tiny glass vial from his pocket and flicking off the waxed cork.  "Tears of the Lord replenish you.  Tears of the Lord fill your veins, become your blood and flesh, slake your fever.  You shall not know death today.  You shall not know death.  You shall not know death!  Be healed and drink of his Light!"  He poured the meager contents of the vial over the exposed wound as the light overhead seemed to concentrate over the pallet.  Dropping the vial, he clutched his dual-disc emblem hanging off a silver chain from his nexk.  A beam of effulgent splendor encapsulated Norben and the dying man for but a moment before it became a circular wave of raw energy, pulsing out through the dozens that had gathered to witness the scene.  When the light faded, the washed wound was now whole.  Reverent whispering spread through the assembly; the tailor's small finger cuts had mended, Old Brin's aches and pains had subsided just slightly.

"Those who worship the Lord and only the Lord shall know his Love.  He watches over the faithful."  Norben smiled, slyly pocketing the spent vial again, as he looked out onto a suddenly adoring crowd.  "Let us praise Him."  He turned his face skyward, opening his palms to the sun and began chanting.  "O Lord, blinded by your light, yet I see.  Warmed by your sun..."

******

"Now child," he hushed, opening the lid on the wooden box he'd left behind in the square, faithful that none of the many deposited coins had been taken during his absence.  "You listen good.  It's between you and the Lord to find forgiveness, it don't happen just one day 'cause I say so.  You take this money and you do right by your pa.  You pay back everyone you done stole from and you apologize.  From the heart, mind.  If you don't mean it, they'll know.  You settle up your debts and get some food in your pa.  And you stay away from those Bloodhounds, y'hear?  Agents o' the demons, they are.  Sneakin' into town under the cover o'night, secret business.  They come back you say no, scream bloody murder 'till they go."  He spared a quick glance to the horizon; he'd little time left before he needed to be back on the road.  He didn't want to have to sing the Dusk Song here in town and be stuck for the night.  Hastily he stacked ten golden coins and an uncounted pile of silver and copper on the otherwise cleared table.  "You take this and you walk in the Light, son."  Any price was worth that look of dawning conversion.  Another soul had been saved from the Demons, and perhaps a few more besides.

Norben Fletcher 4/7

Norben sank down upon an old oak stool, pipe already lit, lazy sweet smoke quickly filling the room with a haze illuminated by the mid-morning sun streaming in through this home's one window.  The steel plates of his armor reflected the angled light, piercing the shadows of the otherwise dim room.  He was in an unfamiliar house, with a tiled roof and enough furnishing to suggest a well-to-do local craftsman lived here, or perhaps a landowner who didn't do his own farming.  Something metallic dropped to the floor unseen in another room, and Norben scooted his stool closer to the doorway and its cracked frame.

A man in his youthful years, tall but dirty in torn leathers, came running around a corner, halting dead at seeing Norben blocking the only exit that didn't involve jumping through glass.  He scanned the walls, panicked, looking for another option.  "Have a seat, boy.  Don't worry, I won't hurt you.  This isn't my home."  He took another puff from his tobacco, then gestured with the pipe-stem towards another stool across the room.

"Look, I wasn't...I mean, I'm not...I wasn't going to take anything important.."
"Mmhm."
"Hey, don't turn me in.  I want refuge.  Yeah, those folks'll hurt me."
"Darn straight they're fixin't hurt you.  Son, you seen that pile of rocks they're stacking by the well?  They're gonna strap you to that thing and stone you to death.  Make an example outa you."
"What?!  I don't want to die, I just...I just needed some money, I needed something.."
"What you need, child, is salvation.  Now I ain't gonna turn you in, boy.  I turn you in, they kill you, you ain't learned nothin' and the Devil has another soul.  What you need is forgiveness, and you'll only find that if you give yourself up and beg mercy."
"How..how do I do that?"
"Imma leave you here.  You steal or you don't, ain't nothin but between you and the Lord.  You pray real hard.  You go look at those rocks, feel how hard they are.  If you think you can let the Lord purify your heart and light your soul, you come find me in the square this afternoon.  You might just live to see tomorrow, son."

Norben took one final breath off his pipe before hauling his packs up off the floor nearby, slinging the straps over one shoulder, leaving the other arm free to tap out the spent tobacco as he exited the cloud haze.  It was time to lift this burden off his shoulders.  He walked to the village square, waving to passersby and shaking hands as he sought somewhere to set up shop.

Norben Fletcher 3/7

"You mean the Ankathan Prayer Stones.  Powerful holy artifacts, sir.  Probably shouldn't even be out on this table, t'be honest, sir.  Church'll be rightful angry to see them gone.  Here, let me just..."  "Now wait, just a minute."

Norben smiled warmly as the village mayor picked up one of the soapstones, round face squinting as he examined it closely.  The carving was indeed quite crude, something a child might have done in a spare afternoon.  "Looks like a dog.  Why would a dog be a holy artifact?"  One of the many rewards of the Lord's vestments was the image of authority and earnestness.  "It's a wolf, sir.  The Ankathans...do you know the Ankathans, sir?  A sect of the Lord's faith on the other side of the continent.  Their trial of passage to become of the clergy is to send their acolytes into the wild without shelter, where they sleep under the Lord's protection during the day, and pray all night holding one of these stones, rough and unhewn, straight from the mines of their tallest mountain.  They hold it hard and they pray harder.  Then, one night, they feel the might of the Lord channeled through the stone, through their bones, through the Earth itself.  They sense forest animals put there by the Lord to protect them, animals that hunt the Demon and his agents.  The next morning, those stones are transformed sir, transformed into the images of the guardians.  When you pray at sunset, you hold that stone, the spirit of that wolf will guard over your house until the Lord's awakening.  Do you have any children, sir?"  He removed the stone from the mayor's thick fingers, before the man could damage the goods unwittingly.

"My daughter, she..."  "She'd sleep more soundly with this stone by her bedside, I would think.  But like I said, it's a high holy artifact, I couldn't possibly imagine letting it go for anything less than a substantial donation to fund another church mission to Ankatha."  He again affixed a welcoming smile as a nearby onlooker, dressed finer than most of the other matrons - perhaps she owned the bakery - begin weighing her coinpurse and slipping between the light crowd to his tableside.  The repeated sound of gold dropping onto felt-lined wood made him beam.

"The Lord bless you, child."

Norben Fletcher 2/7

"May the Lord bring me a pack mule 'fore this day is over."  He flexed his arm above his head, trying to stretch the muscle that had the worn leather brace covering his armor's collar digging into it every other step.  His back ached under the weight of the scale plates, a necessary while traveling alone; even servants of the Lord were set upon by brigands on the country roads.  An ebony lacquered box was tied high on his traveling pack, seated immediately above his bedroll and portable tent.  Below this, a larger sack carring the majority of his personal belongings hung from the canvas straps that looped through the armor.  Off his belt, a heavy steel mace hung from a leather loop, always at the ready should bandits or agents of the Night set upon him.  He was told that wandering the back country was safer before the fracture, but with war came pockets of lawlessness, especially this close to the border.

"Mornin' preacher!" someone called from the fields lining the hard dirt road.  Norben realized his arm was still skyward.  The farmer probably mistook it for a wave.  "A blessed mornin', child.  How far to the nearest village?"  As per ritual he'd woken before sunrise, so he could shave in time to recite the Prayers of Dawn as the Lord's light crested above the horizon.  It had only taken ten minutes afterwards to break camp and repack his belongings.  Yet still, by the time he rejoined the road and had gone a quarter mile, the farmers were already deep into their daily chores.  Blessed were the men who toiled under the suns' nascent rays, but these were not his flock.  Farmers had no time or energy to spare for impurity.  "'bout two miles straight down, preacher.  Tresco's the name.  Finest bakery south of [name tbd when I have e-mail access]."  Towns like these tried hard to differentiate themselves; self-promotion was common.  Norben noticed that this particular farm grew wheat, figured they were a main supplier.

"Child...children," he corrected, noticing four farmhands popping up amongst the amber stalks, "may the tears of the Lord nourish this land."  He reached into a small pouch on his belt, tugging free a thin glass vial with a waxed cork.  He emptied the clear contents into the air, shaking the vial as he recited, "May His light give us strength.  May His warmth give us joy.  The Daylord smiles upon the shepherds of the Earth, the greensmen, keepers of his garden.  You will know his purity and be cleasned of sin.  Your aches shall dull and your harvest shall be bountiful.  Praise now the Lord's might," he intoned, casting his face and both open palms to the sky.  Each farmer dropped his tools and took the supplicant's pose, and together they prayed.  "O Lord, blinded by your light, yet I see.  Warmed by your sun, my heart knows only the sacred fire.  We walk in your hallowed path, awaiting the Reckoning.  May your illumination light the way."

A moment passed in restful silence as he pocketed the empry vial, then one of the younger boys, deeply tanned and shirtless, asked "Tears of the Lord?  Sir, I've been to the chapel, but I don't..."

Norben raised his hand, calling for silence, which swiftly came.  He suppressed an amused grin, instead adopting the airs of gravitas.  He spoke in a lower, more reverent tone than the early prayer.  "The most holy priests of the Lord, the most pious and devout, in their sunset years begin to feel the call.  They are moved to wander the land, following the path of the suns, praying through the nights without sleep.  For weeks they travel, eating only what the Lord sees fit to provide along the way, drinking only where the Lord has placed a stream.  This is a pilgrimage, boy.  Only those who have never known sin, who reject their Devils absolutely, survive.  Those that do arrive at Quen'slar, an ancient monestary, housing the holiest texts and the most sacred relics of the Lord.  There they study and pray until they come to know the Lord as they do themselves.  Some return to our lands to impart their wisdom upon the clergy, some live the remainder of their days in that monestary.  After one of these priests passes into the heavens, the next morning, there is a day rain.  The clouds are pierced by pure white light as the joyful Tears of the Lord fall upon the Earth.  Some of these tears are collected and sanctified, and distributed throughout the faith as the holiest of holy waters.  And now the Tears of the Lord nourish your fields.  You shall know his love this harvest."

Lambent smiles creased the farmers' faces, the youngest once again reaching to the sky.  "Praise the Lord.  Bless you, sir.  Please, won't you come sit for a meal.  Bess was baking early this morning.  Please, do me the honor of gracing my table."

"I'm afraid I must reach the next village before the midday services.  Perhaps I could take something small for the road..."

*********

Finishing one sweet bun leisurely, so as to not welcome gluttony into his heart, he wrapped the remaining two in the checkered cloth Bess had refused to let him leave without.  These both were stuffed into a beltpouch before wiping at the crumbs on his lips with an armsleeve.  Sated, he strolled with a happy gait over the small wooden bridge spanning a brook that hardly seemed wide enough to require crossing.  "A blessed morn' indeed," he mumbled to himself, kneeling down at the far bank of the brook to refill his empty vial.  He refit the cork, then was back on his way to Tresco, ready to fight sin in His name.

Norben Fletcher 1/7

Even performing this task for the hundredth time, he was surprisingly pleased with the efficiency of the design.  His heavy scale mail served as the base, hem flattened to rest evenly on a level surface, such as the hard packed dirt here in the village square.  He'd wanted to setup closer to the central well, for the better foot traffic, but spilled water left patches of mud he'd rather not plot around.  His simple mace hooked onto the mail's collar, head planted on the dirt, standing vertical.  Leather straps, wrapped around the flat butt end, tied around the two armholds on his large, circular wooden shield bearing the painted crest of the Daylord.  From a lacquered wooden, hinged box he removed a carefully rolled tablecloth, recently dyed yellow.  He unfurled the cloth, then draped it over the makeshift table, tattered ends kissing the ground and hiding the structure from public view.

"Thank you Lord, for this cool summer morn," he mumbled privately, wiping beads of sweat from his shaved scalp with the cuff of his white surplice.  Despite the breeze, hauling his wares and the exertion of the setup still left him winded and flushed.  The deep-stained box was then placed atop the stand, lid opened.  It contained variegated curio:  Small glass vials of a clear liquid, short white candles set within a tin base, a beaded necklace, a small latched iron pot the size of a man's palm, a plain copper ring that seemed to need some burnishing, four polygonal quartz stones, a wooden Sunrod, and six identical small bronze hand-bells.  In a normal goods store this display wouldn't garner much attention, but when delicately placed on display at a stand in the middle of the village square by a man proudly bearing the dual-disc emblem of the Holy Order of the Daylord on his chest, curious eyes wandered close.  Norben opened his mouth to speak, but then paused, flashing an embarrassed smile to the assembling crowd while fishing into a pocket of the traveling garb he wore beneath his holy vestments.  He withdrew four small soapstones, carved crudely into animal forms that could be bears or badgers depending on how judgmental you felt like being, and mixed them into the display of wares.  Now, finally, his good works could begin.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the blessed village of Tresco, it is an honor and a privilege to be able to minister upon you the Song of Dawn," his baritone voice carried across the square.  He knew the chapel priest here was the somber type, so he played up the evangelical timbre to his speech.  "The great Lord has spoken to me in the night, when I wandered the roads lost, with darkness so thick it choked me, when midnight howl of the Devil preyed upon the living, and he whispered in my ear, and he shielded me from the night, and he pointed his finger, and he said 'Tresco, my child.  There you shall find sanctuary, and you shall bring upon them my Word, and you shall bring to them gifts of the Earth, and through their devotion I will protect them from the Demon inside each man.  I will forgive them their sins.  You will sing the Song so that they shall know my radiance, and allow the light to cleanse their souls of the blight.'  Ladies and Gentlemen of Tresco, I am Norben Fletcher, Father Confessor of the Holy Order, humble servant of the Lord, a simple preacher here to bring absolution and pennance, to offer the relics of the faith, and accept donations on behalf of the Pontifex in order to continue spreading the light of the Lord."  Here he closed the lid of his felt-lined box, the one that carried the curio here from his last village, one index finger trailing along the top to indicate the small slot designed to accept coin.  The devout approached first to espy his goods and the quality of his vestments, but his interests were amongst the stragglers; men casting nervous glances towards his assembled crowd, paces stopped in confusion and mixed intentions.  Sinners.

"You!" he barked suddenly, pointing through the crowd to one such downcast man who looked suddenly quite imperiled.  "Your shadow belies you.  Approach and confess your sins to the Lord."  A sly smile touched Norben's face, anticipating silver.