Are we talking modern day or the old poets shirts and swashbuckling gig?
Name: Vierne D'Cortel
Age: 25
Description: Having more than a fair dose of Latino in him, blame his Mama, Vierne sports the usual dark curls, crooked jawline and strong cheekbones of any Italian gentleman. He's not built a shock different from the usual self-absorbed creed either, a slender, but fairly muscled form spanning to an average 5'10. A workers tan and build from a few years of travel.
I know one shot's a tad younger, but it just looked so much like him! I'll bet that particular portrait is up on the wall somewhere in the castle! :3
Background: He was kept and raised to rule his people and nothing more. His Nanny (his parents had little do do with the technical aspect of raising him) had the best teachers shipped over from foreign and sometimes exotic lands to serve him lessons geared towards that exact purpose. HIS purpose. His only one.
You can take the boy out of Italy, but you can't take the Italian out of the boy, Vierne, as a child was stubborn, strong-willed, impossibly passionate and full of fire. When he wanted his own way he'd bring down the icy reign of hell until he had it. If he wanted a new steed, he'd find a thousand little niggling reasons to have one until-- hey presto-- 'here darling, have a horsey!' If he felt his tutor was being too strict he hadn't a problem putting them back in their place in a heartbeat, regardless of his age, Vierne was always frightfully aware of his standing and as such grew up a pampered, cruel humoured, childish, little snot.
Does this bother him?
Does it heck! To this day his frightfully uncharming history isn't so much a source of shame as it is a source of mild amusement... I'd go as far as to say he's proud, he still gets precisely what he wants. He hasn't changed one iota. But it was this attitude that drove him to tour his own country.
He grew up with the wool sat comfortably over his eyes, Nanny telling him fairy tales of magic and nonsense, telling him how happy his people were is he ever asked-- albeit, demanded-- and for a short time he begrudgingly believed it.
Well, along came puberty and it doesn't take a political mastermind to smell the **** they were shovelling. Vierne clocked that something wasn't right. He might have been a mouthy, sharp tongued little devil of a child, but he was never a bad human being. His intense if not a little twisted sense of justice and morality wanted only what was best for people and he wasn't at all insensitive to the suffering that went on in the world around him.
So he had his own hand servant check out the numbers, the records, the censuses. He had him scout into town and survey it right down to the mouldering back alleys to find some answers. He upped and left in a vague hope he could help
It was like drawing blood from a stone and three years down the line Vierne trudged miserably home from his travels, a bitter taste on his tongue and a strangely uplifting sensation that he had just learnt one of life's lessons....
--- yes, when she meets him our boy is going to be suffering what can only be described as a 'royal sulk!'