In the captivity of man's garden, flowers still bloom; all it takes is a tender touch.

♔Character Name: Florian Hawthorne

♔Gender: Male

♔Age: Twenty-one

♔Birthplace: Tanad

♔Physical Appearance: His hair is twisted goldenrods, his eyes round morning glories; his lips may as well be two rose petals, not a thorn of stubble around them. With skin the shade of a magnolia and traits as defined yet fluid as a vine, it would be easy to make up stories about Florian, to say that he sprouted from the earth itself fully formed, like a flower of his own species. Tall and thin, with a constantly pouting face, Florian's appearance is delicate, to say the least. It inclines those who touch him (of which there is one) to do so carefully, fragily, as though to do more would be to shatter him. Luckily, it is those very touches that tickles his nerves, and only the gentlest of kisses which send shivers down his spine.

♔Personality: Had he not been blessed with beauty, Florian would be a renowned thinker - at least, that's what he thinks to himself at night, the thought taking only the faintest shape on his lips as he mouths it over and over again, never daring to put air to form the words. Naturally inquisitive, nothing pleases him more than considering the world around him, and he sees it in such a unique way - all in faintly gleaming pastels and slightly shaded dreams - that it often fascinates those around him. He has a charisma to him - or rather he has an absence others find charming, longing to be around such a receptive canvas on which to paint their thoughts. But they never stick. Complacent to a fault, Florian will let anyone act upon him, but none has lasting impact save for his lover. He is a quick learner nonetheless, partially due to his love for self-improvement. Or, as some nasty voices claim, self-decoration. After all, one cannot improve an empty vase - simply paint it. But a flower can grow, and grow, and reach for the sun its whole life, failing to ever reach it.

♔Background: A warded youth brought into the castle as a kitchen boy, it wasn't long until he caught the eyes of a man driven by passion, a soul flooded by heat. He and Prince Jonathon were teenagers when their affair began, inexperienced hands bumping into each other in the kind of chaos that results only in ruffled bedsheets and tangled hearts. One of Jonathon's first paramours (both in regards to the length of their romance and Florian's place in his heart), he climbed out of the kitchens fast, proving himself to be a creative strategist and a skilled soldier, if only due to the days he spent sparring with the prince to help him practice.

♔Skills: Sword-fighting, military strategy - he's also got a lovely voice, so if someone else wants to compose songs of the Lemarian troops' bravery, he'll be glad to sing them. Much as it frustrates him, he's an awful writer; everything is a touch too flowery, too purple, for any self-respecting bars to treat as a war song. (He tries nonetheless, though.)