Bertram Moffett

Bertram Moffet

“I’ve seen dogs lick cleaner wounds than what was done to Bertram’s name. And yet he walks like a man who still owns it. That’s either courage… or madness. Maybe both.” — Sorek Redmarch

Bertram Moffet was once a promising young noble, betrothed to Cornelia Bordella in what should have been a powerful and prestigious match. But something shifted behind closed doors, and Cornelia was abruptly promised to Duke Wilhelm Vogel instead. What followed was the stuff of whispered scandal and tragic songs: Bertram, guided by love or desperation—or both—snuck into the Bordella estate and spent a single night with his true love.
He was caught. Her brother, Ponzio Bordella, challenged him to a duel and took his eye. Bertram lost more than sight that day—he lost his bride, his honor, and his place in court. Cornelia was quietly shipped off to the Monastery of the Celestial Veil, and Bertram retreated to the frontier, choosing exile to protect his family from retaliation.
And yet, despite everything, he never grew bitter. His good nature endured where his fortune failed. He’s no schemer—on the contrary, Bertram always looks faintly surprised to be caught in one. That authenticity has earned him quiet allies, including Lady Nienor Allarson, who saw fit to knight him on his own merit.
At Fort Stormarrow, the past came calling once more. A second duel with Ponzio cost Bertram his other eye, but this time, he severed Ponzio’s leg, earning not just vengeance, but a kind of closure. Both men have since recovered, though Ponzio’s pride may limp longer than his body.
The king used Ponzio’s convalescence as a reason to dispatch royal healers to the Bordella estate—and with them, a soft inquisition. What they found was... off. Records not quite in order. Staff missing. Stories rehearsed. It seems something was covered up, and House Bordella may be hiding more than a broken engagement.

“Bertram Moffet? That simpering little disgrace cost me a duchess. Do you know how rare it is to find a Bordella maiden unspoiled and politically viable? And he ruined it—for what? A night of panting poetry and clumsy romance? I would’ve had Cornelia seated beside me at court, bearing sons with strong claims. Instead, she’s rotting in a cloister, and Bertram’s out there bumping into furniture like a tragic bard’s cautionary fable. I’d hang him for the insult alone, if I didn’t find his life punishment enough.” — Duke Wilhelm Vogel

“The Ballad of Bertram the Blind (and Other Ill-Advised Decisions)” As sung, slandered, and scribbled by Thaliel Thornquil

“Once upon a wine-soaked midnight, a second-rate suitor with a hero complex—one Bertram Moffet, yes, *that* Bertram—decided to play the role of tragic lover. The problem? He was built more for lukewarm tea than grand romance.” — Thaliel Thornquil, "Scandals of the Swordbelt, Vol. III"

Let us recount: a soft-hearted noble with the self-preservation instincts of a stunned sheep was betrothed to Cornelia Bordella—a girl whose bloodline is matched only by her ability to cause catastrophic political fallout. Things were going well (if you define ‘well’ as boring and compliant) until Bertram, in a moment of “passion” (read: complete delusion), **snuck into her bedroom like a low-rent balladeer.**
What followed? A duel, of course—because when you betray the Bordellas, there’s always a duel. Ponzio Bordella, big brother and full-time hatchet with legs, promptly **removed one of Bertram’s eyes**, thereby upgrading Bertram’s depth perception to “symbolic only.”
Our noble idiot slunk off to the frontier to grow a beard and pretend he wasn’t crying into his saddle every night. Meanwhile, poor Cornelia got locked in a monastery like some overly dramatic stage prop—because nothing says “solving a scandal” like burying the girl and blaming the boy.
Years pass. Time heals all wounds—unless you’re Bertram, in which case it just sets you up for **Round Two**. Fort Stormarrow. Another duel. Another eye. But this time, Bertram gets a leg in return. Not metaphorically. Literally. Ponzio’s.
Naturally, the king (who probably forgot who Bertram even *was*) used the moment to send his little spies into the Bordella estate, and lo! What do they find? Secrets, lies, and more inconsistencies than a halfling’s tax report.
So now Bertram, blind as justice and twice as tragic, wanders the court like a ghost of bad decisions past—*honorable*, *gentle*, and completely out of place in a world where love is for fools and power is for those willing to stab their brother-in-law in the atrium.