|Claude Mathias Rosehalle
|Botanist, Agronomist, Apiculturist,
|Only person capable of growing Styvarian Roses outside of the wild.
|Styvarian Minister of Agriculture
|Regenauld Thomas Rosehalle (brother)
Claude Rosehalle is the Minister of Agriculture in The Empire of Styvaria. He is the only botanist in Alathra capable of growing Styvarian Roses outside of the wild. Claude wants to turn the north side of Styvaria into an agricultural breadbasket second to none, and to create a sanctuary of fauna hidden to most. Foolhardy in his belief in others, Claude Rosehalle trusts everyone unconditionally. Until proven otherwise, deceit is never someone’s first action according to him.
Claude Rosehalle was born as standard as merchant sons come. He was interested in counting the few coins that fell on the floor and he soon learnt how to balance a scale. During his schooling days he found the most interest in biology and especially the study of plants. How a being can live and react yet not move was fascinating. Obsessive in his studies, his ability to keep notes and track small minute changes became standard practice for him. Keeping a small vegetable garden and spending his days out in nature observing the flowers and trees, the opportunity to go to a new land and study the wildlife and fauna was all the convincing needed.
His younger brother of two years Regenauld Rosehalle was his closest friend. The younger brother adoration of greenery in his designs and architectural pursuits was perhaps the best the elder could find. He need not explain the minutia over why a rose was red or taller than others, only needed to show the rose itself to have the younger appreciate it. Such a bond would treat them well in their travels.
Claude Rosehalle is over average height and average weight. He has fair complexion with hints of ghastly gray. Standard brown hair coats his head; normal brown eyes. He wears a green cloak with its hood up stained with dirt. It isn’t a particularly charming green, and it looks like it was used to wade through irrigation ditches, but it is green in the purest sense. Underneath lays a brown tunic, so unremarkable that describing it would drive a monk to boredom. Formerly white pants stick underneath the tunic leading into boots browned by dirt. They remain undoubtedly unpolished. He has the family crest right smack on the chest.