Name: Maestro Raziel Caraveo
Gender: Male (he/him)
Age: 28
Humor: Melancholic
Virtue: Justice
Vice: Greed

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Appearance

Most of his income must go back into all his expensive livery. He seems to have a different puffy-sleeved journade and ostentatious hat for every day of the week. He's partial to wide brims and big feathers. In the rougher parts of the city, it makes him stick out like a sore thumb. In theory, he's well-dressed. The material is high quality. The patterns and composition are 'interesting' (in that artist way, that borders between stylishly bold and eyestrainingly horrendous.) Still, there is something about him that is a little rumpled or hangdog. He can usually pull himself together for important events, when he needs to posture and look important. It's like he has the veneer of a nobleman, but if you stop squinting you begin to notice the chips.

He's conventionally attractive. In a really annoying way, too, like he knows it. He's prone to posturing and preening and batting his eyelashes at anyone who looks in his general direction. It's particularly annoying when he's winning at cards, and makes him look especially punchable. He has tanned, olive skin and blue eyes. He has these long, dark eyelashes (the type women and perhaps baby cows get jealous over.) His pretty face is offset by a strong, Roman nose. His hair is dark and its curls have grown past his ears and down the nape of his neck. He seems to always have dark circles around his eyes - he says they're hereditary. His mother has them too. They probably don't have anything to do with him smoking weird, foreign herbs and locking himself in his studio for weeks at a time. Or the high-stakes gambling parlours he attends, the ones where people go missing and games run for days.

Personality

It's hard to get a read on him. He comes across as cordial, even playful sometimes, but tends to keep people at arm's length. The sociability and good cheer came more naturally to him in his youth. Now, something about it feels routine and disingenuous. It's much more charming to people who don't know him than those who know him well. He seems to have a terribly nefarious mind for an artist, too. It could be all the paint fumes gave him a mean streak. He has a good memory for slights made against him and a good eye for opportunity, sometimes (or often) at someone else's expense. He's meticulous when it comes to work and gets heavily invested in projects. He might have a couple good, productive weeks or months in a row, but when stress comes to a head he ultimately runs off and do something stupid. Losing at gambling and getting his ass kicked in skeezy taverns seem to be two of his favourite coping mechanisms.


Origin

Born the second son to a struggling mercantile family from the House of Jupiter. His older brother died of fever before he was born and his parents were unable to have more children. He was around thirteen years old when The Flood occurred. His family took advantage of the ensuing power vacuum and made a small fortune. They financed his education. From a young age he was educated by various masters in music, archery, and visual arts (which bled slightly over into sciences.) Painting and sculpting is where he found the most renown. At the age of nineteen, he was the youngest person to achieve the title of master in the city's art guild, The Guild of Saint Valtr. Naturally, this gave him a huge ego that he's mostly grown out of. Currently, he maintains a high position in the guild and has several apprentices and journeymen studying under him.

Mainly, he has a reputation in the city as a prolific artist. Secondarily, he has a reputation as a prolific, libertine philanderer and unconscionable scoundrel who likes to run the streets all hours of the day. The fact he hasn't been completely ostracized for smooching both above and below his social station is a testament to his value as a skilled artist. Most noble families have worked with either him or his associates, commissioning portraits, private chapels, vanity pieces, and things of that nature. Notably, he's painted frescoes in the Cathedral and several sculptures in the public gardens are attributed to him. The art world in the city became experimental following The Flood, and many of the most exciting techniques and art movements circle back to him or his colleagues (if you find that kind of thing exciting, anyway.) He frequents the Salons and tends to prop up new artists that he finds interesting.

The latest and greatest bit of drama is his recent political marriage into the House of Mercury. It's with a blood relative of Mercury's Countess and has cemented his high social position. A scrappy little artist who managed to claw his way up into the upper echelons via technical skill is a nice, novel thing for the House to have in its pocket. The charm is supposedly wearing off for his well-to-do wife, who actually has to deal with him on a semi-regular basis.

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Crossbow
A gift from an eccentric inventor. Its odd, moving mechanical parts supplement a heavy draw weight without sacrificing mobility.

Weighted Dice
They're actually not weighted. Why does everyone think they're weighted? They're just lucky.

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