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Balthasar Caden
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race/Description: I'm a short white-and-orange cat-boy. I usually wear an elaborate morning coat over a nice silk vest. I don't wear an undershirt, and have a triangle of orange fur around my neck that makes a nice tie metaphor. I almost invariably wear my silver and black-leather collar, it has a gem at the tip of the buckle. I don't always wear shoes, but when I do, they're usually soft leather boots.
Occupation: I'm a vintner. I make barrels and jump around in grapes, staining my feet and legs purple. I stir up yeast and carve corks. Mostly I do what my dad tells me to do. I'm his only son, so I must learn all of this if I'm to manage his cellar after his passing.
Kingdom/Nationallity: Reashadam, and I'm fairly vocal in the local government. My voice is limited by my father's connections to more conservative powers, and I must obey him if I want to inherit the cellar instead of my brother in law - but it's always an issue I push to the brink. It's the one subject of which my father and I will not speak, as it always ends in angry shouting.
Combat Style: While as a member of the low gentry, I have had some fencing training - which I enjoyed and excelled at, mind you, Father - I have never had a duel. I know the theory, and love the rapier he gave me on my last birthday, but I have never actually had to face another man wielding an un-padded rapier.
Instead, I might say, my preferred fighting method is the cudgel. I have actually fought people with an empty wine bottle, or the leg of a chair. Honestly, I do prefer it! The piercing blade of the rapier is more likely to kill my opponent - but if I break a bottle over his head, I can win the fight and buy him a beer next night.
Personality: I vocally oppose the current leadership. Council doesn't really heed me, and I am more vocal in response. But I'll shut up when my father gets that tone of voice that tells me I'd better. I'm young enuf to be out on the town, but old enuf to know I'd better not displease my father unduly, or one of my sisters will carry her new family name on the bottles in our basement.
Social Context: I'm not a noble. But I and my father run a very successful business. We're gentry. Or, I suppose, he is. He owns our vineyard, just out of town, around our summer house. He has the family capital to buy produce for other fruit wines. I'm just his son, and help run the business. I'm the guy who can still lift the barrels, the one with the strength of lung to blow wine bottles.
My sisters are both married. My mother keeps asking after them about grandkids. My father keeps asking me when I'll marry, but every month there's a new daughter of someone-or-other I should try courting. So I'm not under any real pressure from him, and am free to court the ladies of my choosing so long as I entertain this month's nubile young daughter as well.
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