His name’s Gonzago.

He’s got bushy black hair, little tufts of it come out of his ears and nose, in addition to the top of his head.
He carries a walking stick, though he doesn’t need it for walking. He mostly uses it for gesturing. His servants have learned to watch his movements carefully, to keep at least a stick’s distance away or be ready to move quickly out of it’s way. Everyone has a story about a time they got caught by surprise and ended up with a smack and bruise. Gonzago hardly notices when this happens. He is usually so caught up in his blustering monologue, even the sudden sound of a high-pitched wail of pain will not shake him from it.
He favors waistcoats with brass buttons, which he pops with some regularity. There is one servant whose principal duty is to sew buttons back on.
His wife of many years was originally impressed by her husband’s grandiosity but over the years has come merely to tolerate it. They mostly just keep out of one another’s way – except at formal dinners and festivities.
Because he holds a royal post, he has a steady stream of young men coming to request advice or funding. Gonzago very much enjoys receiving these fellows and giving them advice.

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