The Razor's Edge
Hiding near the town of Tempton, Bartholemew has remained hidden for decades. His mother told him several times that he was to remain separate from the “other livings.” As his family traveled, mostly at night, from place to place within the Golden Plain, he became more and more restless. He would see people in the distance and want to discover more about them.
Twice, the Tiefling group came upon wounded from recent Orc attacks, but the cheiftans always urged them onward. “We’ll only be blamed for any damage done. Keep moving.” Those words burned deep inside Bartholemew. He wanted so much to break away to help the poor souls that were doomed to their fates. Perhaps he could change fate itself.
One day, while traveling past a group near Tempton, he did exactly that… he broke away from the group, shrouded in their usual garb of cloaks and robes, and charged two orcs that were attacking a farmer and his wife.
Once dispatched, the farmer begged Bartholemew for his family. “Kill me!! But please, spare my family. My wife and children are all I have, and we’ve done nothing to you.”
Bartholemew smiled and sheathed his sword. “I mean you no harm, friends.”
“GO! Leave us! Just don’t harm us.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I am a friend.”
“No… you are an evil beast. No tiefling has ever brought good news. Go, please. Leave my family alone. We don’t want the danger that your kind brings.”
Bartholemew stepped away slowly, still trying to understand why they wouldn’t even thank him for his service. When he turned, the Cheiftan was standing far off, his staff held out horizontal to the ground. Bartholemew knew he had crossed a line that he could never cross again… The cheif had just banned him from ever returning to the Tiefling way of life.
He was on his own, now – lost between a world that would no longer accept him, and a world that hated his because of myths and lies and fears of the unknown.
“Cheif! Please! They would have died had we not intervened.” He pleaded across the distance.
“Not we…” The cheif’s deep, stern words echoed through the trees. “You.”
And with that, Bartholemew was on his own. For years he traveled the road between Tempton and Veluna. He’d even managed to make a few friends within the walls of the Church of Berronar Truesilver, learning the healing arts, and cleaning their vestibules for a meager salary to survive.
True to his mother’s word, Bartholemew has been blamed for many of the vile things that have been happening lately to the south and east of Tempton, but Bartholemew remains hopeful. He’s fought for decades many evils that have come out of the Iron Wood, hoping that one day, the people will see him as their protector, not their tromentor.
Some day…. some day.