Bartholomew

Outside of the castle grounds stood a weathered old man by the name of Bartholomew. On account of the king’s advisors, he was once a respected butcher and wiseman within the realm. It wasn’t until tales of dealings with dark creatures that he was exiled from the land.

“No good can come of his return, my lord.” A sniveling aide said to the king.

“A foul wind has blown him back across the Erg to us. We would be fools to let him enter the keep.” Another councilor said.

The king looked on in curiosity. He hadn’t met the man, but saw the strength that his weary limbs still possessed. The exiled butcher had the look of a man who balanced on the cusp of darkness— and yet— did not dip into the reservoir of depravity. Or so the king hoped. He had need of darkened men. The fate of the realm depended on it.