Anselm was always the last one chosen for anything that required lifting, climbing, or carrying. At the academy they joked that a strong breeze could knock him over — and they weren’t entirely wrong. What he lacked in muscle, however, he more than made up for in mind. Books were his true weapons, and he wielded them with a precision that left instructors both impressed and slightly unnerved.

Now barely out of his studies, Anselm travels with little more than a worn spellbook, a simple staff, and the quiet certainty that most problems can be solved by knowing more than everyone else in the room. He tires quickly if forced to walk too far or haul his own gear, but place a complex magical theory or an ancient cipher in front of him and his focus becomes almost frightening.