Anselm Ketterer

``Name;; Anselm Jacobus Ketterer
``Nicknames;;
``Age;; 46
``Gender;; Male
``Species;; Human
``Magic? (Y/N);; Y
``Home Country;; Republic of Luxur
``Sexual Orientation;; Straight

Appearance
At first glance, there is little to Anselm that would make him stand out in a crowd. A gray mouse, a slender man of indeterminate age, standing just under 5'8”, an inch shorter than he used to be, his back slightly bent and his bespectacled eyes largely downcast. His clothes seem slightly too big for him, as if they just don't fit, no matter how hard he tries. No one special as he just makes his way down the street, hurriedly walking, his eyes almost glued to the strange time-piece he's wearing, or staring at a torn out page containing nothing more than scribbled lines of gibberish to most onlookers. Nothing to see there. Most people who see him tend to have forgotten him before he has even passed by.

Those who look a little closer tend to see little different for a while, just a lined face, dark circles under the rims of a pair of round glasses, a mustache above thin lips, pointing slightly downward. He's obviously younger than he looks, stronger and healthier too...But nothing special. Only if you meet the eyes, crystal clear, with a burning, unblinking gaze is it that something strikes you. There's a kind of passion there, a burning intellect, a kind of creative spark that defines the world it looks upon. It's hard to pinpoint, but its there, a look that owns this world with a will to make it his. To incorporate it in his vision. The second thing you'd probably notice would be his hands, delicate, they seem surprisingly strong for such delicate fingers, dextrous and gentle. His work is obviously precise...The tools are surprising though. So many, scattered on his belt, in a bulky pack...Tiny ones, big ones...His clothes are oil-stained too, grease, rust-spots in some places...

And if you get Anselm talking, more than a few stammered generalities about the weather he probably hadn't even noticed before now, you'd find that though his voice is somewhat quiet and rusty due to disuse and metal-dust, it's warm, calm...Though that passion never leaves his eyes, sometimes appearing slightly...Mad...

Personality

``Likes;;
Building things, designing, improving and tinkering, reading, puzzling and discovering, the smell of oil, metal and grease and generally, things actually going as planned and not exploding. Has something of a fascination with insects.
``Dislikes;;
Being called insane (Even if it's somewhat true), getting too inspired, mobs (angry or not), people bothering him when he's working, loud noises (except if that was the point)
``Strengths;;
Vast intellect, eidetic memory and a broad knowledge, mechanical genius, getting “Inspired”, quiet.
``Weaknessess;;
Poor people skills, slightly paranoid and quite shy. Inspiration causes emotional and ethical detachment, leading to loss of self-control. Inspired creations are often impossible to understand and don't work at all, or fail spectacularly...Worse yet, they can work out just right sometimes.
``Fears;;
Coming to his senses after a long bout of Inspiration, finding his hands covered in blood and his latest project actually...Pulsing. Burning down his lab, again. Someone finding out about his talents and forcing him to build weapons.
``Secrets;;
The extent of his talents... and his madness.
``Personality;;
To most people, Anselm seems like a shy, withdrawn man, uncomfortable around people and crowds. Tending to keep to himself, he keeps his head down and goes about his business without bothering anyone, only asking to not be bothered in turn. He seems harmless, if somewhat out there. Dirty clothes, forgetful, not really completely with the program...Just another eccentric, too smart for his own good, too shy for his own good, but the work he does is good and even if sometimes jobs can take a little longer because he got lost in his books again, nobody tends to mind...

All of the above is the truth, as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. Though Anselm is generally what he appears to be, a smart, shy individual who prefers to be left alone to tinker in his workshop, he is far from harmless or just eccentric...Though he would truly like to be. He knows he is different, quite different and quite dangerous, wanting to keep people away as a result, paranoid because he has held on to the secret for quite a long time. He knows the best place to hide is in plain sight, so that's where he hides, hoping the Inspiration can remain hidden. Diffidently moving about outside, making bad attempts at small-talk when cornered, mumbling greetings and generally trying not to stand out too much...When working he's different though, more decisive, more focused...As if the bits that make him strange move back into order and get on with it. And when he gets inspired...It's best not to be around...

If one were to lure Anselm out, get him out of that paranoid shell of his, into something vaguely resembling a comfort zone and a relationship of mutual trust, the watchmaker would show a different side. Warm, gentle and caring, with a tinge of something of a cynical, black sense of humor and an endless passion for intelligent conversation...And maybe even some mad science to help with anything you need...Just watch your fingers.

``History;;
Anselm Jacobus Ketterer was born to a family of craftsman, members of many guilds with a name for solid, dependable workmanship and honesty. His father was a locksmith, his mother the daughter of a cooper. His uncles were bricklayers, blacksmiths, carpenters and so forth and his older brothers and nephews were apprentices in every trade imaginable. Even then, he was a quiet child, much given to thought and introspection. When he wasn't helping his father around the store, he'd sit and read...Or just look at the locks, tools and metal, lost in thought...His father was glad with such a son, one who didn't get into as much mischief as his older brothers...

As he became older, it became apparent that Anselm was very gifted mechanically, capable of fine manipulation, great eye for detail and a steady hand. His father apprenticed him to a watchmaker out of town, an older man, who's eyesight was slowly beginning to fail. The young man took to the education with gusto, embracing the work of spring, cog and screws eagerly. His first watch only had a slight problem with the lens (the glass had expended slightly after Anselm had set it), but his second was already a masterpiece. He finished his apprenticeship in four years, almost half what was customary and bought out his master in another four years, having already been doing most of the work for the year leading up to that as his master doddered around with clockwork toys. He picked up his father's old trade, locksmithing, then moved on to clockmaking, then on to glassblowing...Each step following logically out of the next, sharpening his talents, his watches becoming more and more complex, more and more perfect...But Anselm grew increasingly restless...

His breakthrough came close to his 30th birthday, though it could have been a few years before or after. He had sat, working on...Something. A clock, but not just any clock. On an idea just half-formed, Anselm had grabbed his tools and set to work, building, creating almost on a whim...And when it was done, it was a clock with four faces, 14 hands and no numbers...Or at least no numbers he recognized...Before he had even turned to key to wind up the spring, it came alive of its own accord and...Counted...Something. The bells went off, a cacophony of bells until he unwound the spring...The next day, as he took it apart, he saw it should never have worked...Or not in any way he understood. It was the first time Inspiration had grabbed him, dragging him kicking and screaming into creating things he didn't understand.

Today, the outbursts have grown stronger, less predictable, less uniform. Anything can be made, anything will be used in its construction...The drive that was once mere idea has now become more pressing, taking over more than just the imagination...Anselm is worried, about what it means, about what it makes possible, about what it costs. He comes out of his workshop more often, wearing the hidden fruits of his labor somewhere in his pack or clothes, looking for answers, supplies for the more esoteric ideas he's having...And just because he is growing more and more restless...He is a mole, blinking in the light of a bright sun, hoping that he can one day stare at it without tears...And see what is behind it.

``Anything else you'd like to add;;