Wiry, yet hirsute, one could be forgiven mistaking this man for a hobgoblin. Amber-eyed like a beast. Clad in a roughspun tunic and worn chaperon of lavender linen.

Borthen tends to speak in a strange, stuttery manner which sounds less like a speech impediment and more like he fears the unseen consequence of uttering the wrong word. Perhaps a magical mishap in his youth left scars on his mind far deeper than any concealed by his faded finery. His shifty eyes seem to conceal enough secrets to turn any goodly townsfolk away from his gaze in revulsion, if with a certain morbid curiosity...