Aboard the Anchor's Bane
Former Quarter Master
Bertram stands at around 6 feet tall, with well kept hair that is usually pulled back into a ponytail that hangs out from the back of his hat. His attire usually consists of his iconic tricorn hat, black duster that rests over his dark armor, and his trusty magelock on his hip. One look at him and anyone could see that he probably wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a brawl, but the truth is: what he lacks in strength he makes up for in speed.
Bertram stands 6 feet tall with a whispy, blue flame-like aura around him. His eyes burn with unholy energy beneath his tattered tricorn hat. He glides effortlessly around the battlefield, his greatcoat flowing behind him, glowing with the same translucent flickering flames around the edges. He wields his precious Dual Wraithlock as well as a second that belonged to Tyson before his tragic demise.
If there was one thing that Bertram had known his whole life, it was that he was destined to be a Gun Mage. His father and grandfather had both been members of the illustrious Order of the Amethyst Rose in service of the crown and Bertram followed suit as soon as he became of age. Due to frequent training sessions with his father and grandfather, Bertram was leagues beyond other fresh recruits, and while he did have a certain pride in that, he did not let himself slack. He had taken it upon himself, as a third generation Order member, to uphold and even surpass his predecessors.
When King Rynnard died and the Order was disbanded, he joined the rest of his brethren in their eternal mourning, but like many others with him their sorrow was overshadowed by lust for vengeance.
When the Khadoran invasion finally began, members of the order jumped to action, protecting their home and loved ones, but in vain. Bertram’s father was killed away from home in the early days of the invasion leaving Bertram and his aging grandfather to defend themselves and their family.
Bertram’s grandfather was a man of Ordic decent, but had lived in Llael for several decades, establishing a family, and even maintaining his roots a bit by raising horses. His prized horses were those he brought with him as a young lad, the graceful and swift Cardovar horses. They had been fighting a small guerrilla war in the nearby town when they saw smoke rising from back home and ran to investigate. The Kadoran army had swept around and had begun marching through the pastures, slaughtering any in their way. Bertram and his grandfather could only watch in horror as their home was burned, family still inside. While Bertram was transfixed by the horror of what was happening, his grandfather noticed a small detachment headed their way. While both on horseback, they would never make it to cover before the barrage of riflefire tore them apart. Bertram’s grandfather grabbed onto him, shaking him, “Bertram, you have to get out of here, we’re the only ones left now, and I’ll be damned if I let those dirty reds finish us off.” Saying this as tears welled up in his eyes, “Go, make it to Ord. I’ll hold them off and distract them so that you can make your escape,” he patted Bertram’s horse on the snout, “And you take good care of him Sabre.”
Those were the last words he heard from his grandfather, any others were drowned out by he roar of his magelock, firing explosive shots into the Khadoran ranks, sending them into a brief panic before focussing their fire on him. Bertram has no idea how many his grandfather was able to kill, but it was apparently enough to halt their advance and give him the time to escape. Now in Ord, he has maintained connections to the Llaelese resistance movement and has been gathering any information or resources he can to aid them. He has been scouting potential recruits, gathering funds to send back and aid his countrymen, and has even ran a few assassinations. Though he doesn’t partake in the more cautious and covert approach that other Order members take, his methods are effective, almost always managing to hit his mark, no matter what gets in his way.