Bartholomew Yon Wauter
Bartholomew Yon Wauter was born, in the 1040s, into the prestigious Wauter family, known for their long lineage of rulers over the harsh and unforgiving island nation of Arsema. From a young age, he was groomed to take over the ducal throne, receiving the finest education in strategy, politics, and the ancient traditions of the land. However, Bartholomew was not content with merely ruling over Arsema; he was driven by an insatiable hunger for power that surpassed the mere mortal realm.
As a child, Bartholomew showed an unusual fascination with the darker aspects of Arsema’s history—tales of ancient curses, forbidden magics, and lost cults. His tutors dismissed these interests as childish curiosities, but Bartholomew pursued them in secret, delving into the ancient tomes hidden away in the deepest vaults of the ducal library.
By the time he reached adulthood, Bartholomew had become a charismatic and cunning leader, beloved by his people for his sharp mind and iron will. Yet, beneath the surface, he was growing increasingly obsessed with the idea of transcending his mortal limits. His rule was prosperous, and the nation of Arsema flourished under his guidance, but this only fueled his desire to secure and expand his power by any means necessary.
It was during this time that he first came into contact with the Theósastrikíseikónas, a legendary book whispered about in the darkest corners of Ceryniotsklesu’s folklore. The book was said to contain the knowledge of the ancients, magics that could bend reality itself, but it came with a price—those who sought its power risked losing their very humanity.
Undeterred by the dangers, Bartholomew sought out the book, eventually finding it in the ruins of an ancient temple deep within Arsema’s frozen wilderness. With the book in his possession, he gathered a group of loyal followers, those who shared his thirst for power, and began to practice the dark arts contained within its pages.
The spells they performed were unlike anything Arsema had seen in centuries—unnatural storms, plagues of darkness, and visions of terror that left even the bravest of men quaking in fear. Bartholomew’s power grew, but so did his ambition. The more he tasted of the dark arts, the more he craved.
His ultimate act of desperation came when he decided to use himself as a sacrificial host, in 1100, for a Yonmial, a demon-like entity of immense power mentioned only in the most obscure passages of the Theósastrikíseikónas. The ritual was complex and dangerous, requiring the blood of the innocent and the essence of the darkest night. Bartholomew’s followers watched in awe and terror as he completed the ritual, the air thick with malevolent energy.
When the ritual was complete, Bartholomew was no longer merely a duke or a man—he had become something far more sinister. The Yonmial had fused with his soul, warping his body and mind, transforming him into a devil-like entity, the father of darkness. His once noble features became twisted and grotesque, his eyes burning with an unholy light, and his voice echoing with the whispers of the damned.
Bartholomew Yon Wauter, now more demon than man, turned his attention to the world beyond Arsema, seeking to spread his darkness across the lands, enslaving or destroying all who stood in his way. His reign of terror was only beginning, as he set his sights on remaking the world in his own dark image, driven by the insatiable hunger for power that had once been his greatest strength and now was his eternal curse.
Bartholomew’s transformation into a Yonmial host marked the beginning of a terrifying reign over Veumand, where his dark powers and insatiable hunger for control reshaped the world. His conquest was swift and brutal, as his newfound abilities allowed him to overcome any opposition.
As the Emperor of Veumand, Bartholomew ruled with an iron fist, expanding his dominion across the continent. His near-instant healing factor made him nearly invincible in battle, and the arcane radiation that infused his bones emitted a haunting purple light that inspired fear in his enemies. This radiation, while harmless to some, caused unpredictable effects in others—enhancing the abilities of some and causing grotesque mutations in others. Those who stood too close to him for too long often found themselves changed in ways they could neither understand nor control.
Perhaps the most terrifying of Bartholomew’s powers was the Hemomantic Confluxe, a blood-borne pathogen that turned those it infected into Báuturíí—twisted, bloodthirsty beings driven by a need to consume blood and Shin. The Confluxe spread like wildfire through Veumand, infecting both enemies and innocents alike, creating an army of monstrous creatures bound to Bartholomew’s will. These creatures, once human, became his most loyal and fearsome soldiers, spreading his influence even further.
Bartholomew’s children, the Máncátír, were born from this dark legacy. These shape-shifting beasts were a twisted reflection of their father’s power, able to take on various forms, but their birth was a horrific event. The violent and gruesome process often killed the parent, leaving behind only the monstrous offspring. Of the nearly 400 children he fathered, only seven were deemed worthy of his attention: Gabriel, Werthiva, Enota, Owaine, Rys, Sebastian, and Scientia. These seven were raised under Bartholomew’s watchful eye, subjected to his cruel teachings and relentless torture, ensuring they were as ruthless and unfeeling as he was.
In 1490, after centuries of rule and domination, Bartholomew decided to enter a slumber, knowing that his legacy would continue through his children. He chose Sebastian, his favorite, to take the throne as Emperor of Veumand. However, even in this act, Bartholomew’s cruelty shone through. As a twisted gift to Sebastian, he commanded the other children to kill Gabriel and Scientia, the only two who had formed a bond with Sebastian—Gabriel as his friend and Scientia as his lover. This act of betrayal was meant to harden Sebastian, to strip him of any remaining humanity and ensure that he would rule with the same mercilessness that had defined Bartholomew’s reign.
With his children set against one another and his empire secured, Bartholomew retreated into his slumber, leaving behind a world forever scarred by his dark influence. But even in his rest, the shadow of his power loomed large over Veumand, a reminder that the Father of Darkness was never truly gone—merely waiting for the right moment to awaken once more.
Appearance
Bartholomew Yon Wauter was a man of striking regal presence. He stood tall and proud, his posture reflecting both the weight of his responsibilities and the strength of his resolve. His face, once handsome in youth, carried the noble lines of age and experience, with high cheekbones and a strong, square jaw. His hair, a deep chestnut brown in his younger years, had turned silver with age, neatly combed and kept long, flowing down to his shoulders in a manner befitting a duke. His eyes were a piercing icy blue, intelligent and discerning, often narrowed in contemplation. Though his features were weathered by the harsh climate of Arsema and the burdens of leadership, they still held a certain timeless dignity. His expression was often stern, though there was a trace of warmth in his gaze when addressing his people, betraying the deep care he held for his nation. Bartholomew dressed in rich, fur-lined robes of dark blue and silver, adorned with the insignia of his house—a wolf's head with a crown above it. His hands, long and slender, were often seen clasped behind his back or resting on the hilt of an ornate sword, symbolizing both his readiness to defend his land and the power he wielded.
Bartholomew’s once noble appearance became twisted and corrupted by the dark forces he unleashed upon himself. His hair, now a shade darker than black, seemed to flow like shadows rather than strands, moving as if alive. His eyes, once a clear blue, had turned into orbs of searing crimson, glowing with an otherworldly fire that could strike fear into the hearts of those who dared meet his gaze. His skin had taken on an ashen hue, a sickly pallor that contrasted sharply with the darkness that surrounded him. His face, though still bearing the remnants of his noble features, had become more gaunt and hollow, with sharp, angular lines that gave him a skeletal, almost spectral appearance. His lips were thin, often twisted into a cruel smile, revealing sharp, elongated canines that hinted at the demonic power now coursing through his veins.
His robes had changed as well, now a tattered, flowing mass of dark fabric that seemed to absorb light, adorned with arcane symbols that pulsed with a dim, eerie glow. His once proud stance had become more fluid, almost serpentine, as if his very essence was shifting and unstable. The sword he once carried had transformed into a dark, jagged blade, the metal blackened and etched with runes of power, exuding an aura of malevolence. In his presence, the air felt colder, and a sense of dread hung over all who were near him, as if the shadows themselves whispered of his coming.
In this form, Bartholomew Yon Wauter was no longer just a man—he was the embodiment of the darkness he had so desperately sought, a harbinger of doom, feared and revered in equal measure.
Final Conflict
The year was 1752, and the world had changed dramatically since Bartholomew Yon Wauter entered his long slumber. He awoke not to the reverence and fear that once greeted him, but to the cold, sharp edge of a sword poised above him. Sebastian, his once-favored son, stood before him, transformed from the obedient child Bartholomew had left behind into a hardened warrior with eyes that burned with a fire fueled by centuries of hatred and vengeance.
Bartholomew quickly realized that the empire he had built was in ruins, torn apart by the very son he had entrusted with its care. For three hundred years, Sebastian had systematically hunted down and killed his siblings, waging a relentless war against everything Bartholomew had created. The child who once sought his father's approval had become the man who sought his father's destruction.
Their battle began that very day, a clash of titans that shook the very foundations of Veumand. Sebastian, empowered by the blood of his fallen siblings and the dark arts he had mastered, proved to be a formidable opponent. Bartholomew, with his near-immortality and demonic powers, fought back with all the fury and malice that had defined his reign.
The battle raged for nearly a year, tearing through cities, leveling mountains, and darkening the skies with their fury. Each blow exchanged between father and son carried the weight of centuries, each wound a testament to the hatred that had festered between them. Bartholomew, despite his overwhelming power, found himself pushed to the brink by the relentless determination of his son. Sebastian had grown stronger than Bartholomew had ever anticipated, his desire for revenge fueling him beyond the limits of mortal endurance.
As the battle reached its climax, Bartholomew, realizing that he could not defeat Sebastian through sheer force alone, resorted to his darkest and most desperate magic. With a guttural incantation, he tore open a rift in reality, dragging himself and Sebastian into the Realm of Shadows—a twisted dimension where light and hope did not exist, a place where Bartholomew’s powers were at their peak.
In the suffocating darkness of this shadowy realm, the final confrontation took place. Bartholomew unleashed all the horrors at his disposal, the very fabric of the realm bending to his will. But Sebastian, undeterred by the nightmarish surroundings, fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Every strike was aimed not just at Bartholomew's body but at the very essence of the demon that had consumed his father.
The battle in the Realm of Shadows was a gruesome spectacle, a dance of death between two beings who had long since abandoned their humanity. The shadows themselves seemed to scream as the two titans clashed, their wills locked in a struggle that only one could survive.
In the end, it was Sebastian who emerged victorious. With a final, devastating blow, he drove his sword through Bartholomew’s heart, severing the dark connection between the Yonmial and the mortal shell it had inhabited. Bartholomew let out a final, earth-shattering roar as the demon within him was banished, his once-immortal body crumbling into nothingness.
Bartholomew Yon Wauter, once the feared Emperor of Veumand, was no more, slain by the very son he had molded in his image. His death marked the end of an era, but the shadows of his reign would linger, a dark stain on the history of Ceryniotsklesu and a reminder of the price of unbridled ambition.
