Bartrum was a large man, with ham like hands and most of his fingers. His nose had that ruddy taste to it that let every man know he could hold his liquor and his lips were ruddy and thick as well, seen through the thick brown brush that was his beard and mustache. He could have been a handsome man, were he younger, leaner, and with an eye for regular bathing. 

Unlike most of the hunters, he hadn't grown up in the shadow of the Church, being instead from a small farming town through a northern gate in a land the Church liked to call the Shadow. The men and the unlikely woman who traveled into the Church's lands from the Shadow were larger than Green Wold men. They were hardy and rarely questioned overly much when told to harm or even kill. They made excellent acquisitions men, fanatic inquisitors, and had a piercing eye for death when it came their way. It made them likely to be utilized in the darker parts of the Church. Many was the man who after meeting with a Shadow man, found himself willing to do any and all to ensure he was safely in the bosom of the Church's care. 

Rarely, however, did they have lightness of feet. Bartrum had been known for his efficiency in execution of the heretic, his turn of the blade. Never did his axe hit twice and all the heads rolled, rather than dangled as they did with some of the less adept of the art. When he was asked, he made mention of the neck bones in a sheep and the Church magistrate went pale before offering the man a new position under Commander Rundall. 

He had been young then and Rundall had had two legs. Still, the Commander wasn't easily won over and being one of the Shadows hadn't set well between them. It was the work of many years of prooving his ability that led them to the place they were now. 

So when his Commander called for him, Bart lumbered over. Where the Commander could maneuver with crutch or without, as agilely as a dancer, Bart had the ease of a bear – slow, ponderous, and when given reason, quick as a cat turn on his prey which he would run down like a freight train. 

He brushed his hands over his wrap and sucked on his teeth as he sat down on the log alongside the chair Lurch had set up for himself. “Aye?” he spit into the fire and his spit sizzled on a red char. “Ser,” he added for good measure.