Que stands at a middling height for his people, perhaps a hair off 5’8”, with a lean physique built for dexterity rather than strength, so it’s safe to say that he doesn’t cut the most intimidating of figures. However, a lifetime of lessons on royal etiquette and swordplay has taught him how to best carry oneself – back straight, shoulders back, chin up. Some think he’s compensating for something with all this posturing, which would, in fact, be a rather astute observation. After an unfortunate riding accident a few years back, Que has started walking with a limp. Oftentimes, he can be seen carrying a walking stick made of polished lychee wood, the handle sculpted into the likeness of a falcon.

Even at 25, he’s got something of a baby-face. Instead of the blocky right angles of his father, Que’s countenance is based on soft, sweeping curves; though unless he’s completely comfortable in his surroundings, he usually remains unsmiling. As of late, his usual tan complexion has gained a somewhat anaemic tinge to it, courtesy of all that time spent cooped up in his chambers. His black hair is trimmed short – in a style contrary to the Euhijan courts – simply because it requires less effort to take care of. Wherever he goes, the smoky perfume of tobacco, orchids and agarwood follows.

Que favours clothing that’s easy to move around in. He eschews the tight, embroidered doublets considered fashionable in Vertiron, though that doesn’t mean he dresses like a slob. Like his sister, he has a fondness for bright colours. Many of his tunics are inlaid with blue and gold, tucked into fencing breeches more suited to a knight than marquis. In more private settings, he returns to the long, layered robes of his homeland, though they’re often less elaborate than his sister’s. Over his left leg, he wears a brace made of leather and brass, the joints fortified with steel. The brace stretches from mid-thigh all the way down to the ankle, with clasps on each side to attach to his shoes. On his right hand, he always wears a golden ring, a square of malachite set in the center.

Que is a son of Euhijan as much as his father’s. While he may not look it, he used to be an excellent swordsman, capable of defeating some of the most distinguished warriors in the kingdom. Though he can still wield a sword after the accident – one never really forgets how – he’s no longer as proficient as he used to be. Most days, however, he practices alone, well away from prying eyes.

Not only that, Que is also quite fond of games like xiangqi and chess. They’re one of the few interests he and his sister have in common — apart from smoking and swordplay, that is. As children, the two would play round after round against each other in an effort to pass the time, something their father encouraged. After all, the mind is merely a different kind of blade, one to be kept sharp through various means.

An avid patron of falconry, Que owns a menagerie of predatory birds that he uses for hunting. In fact, he finds tending to the creatures quite calming as well, so he often relieves his servants of their duties in favour of handling it himself.

Que has always been a wallflower, ever since he was a child. While his peers ran around hitting each other with wooden swords, he’d always just sit aside and watch. That was something he did a lot – watch. People, animals, even the clouds drifting across the sky. As long as it moved, his gaze was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He would follow every movement, every sound, until he eventually lost interest. This penchant for observing would prove useful in the art of swordplay. What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for in speed and finesse. For many years, Que’s endeavour to become the best swordsman in Euhijan consumed a huge part of his life, leaving room for little else. He’s very often obsessive about the things he does, and the people he cares about.

Nonetheless, he’s always been friendly in a polite, detached sort of way. When he speaks, he does so softly, with a cadence that can best be described as monotonous. There is rarely an occasion where he sees the need to raise his voice, and even then, he finds that tranquility is a more effective deterrent than rage. His sense of humour tends to lean towards dry and sardonic, and he often takes the role of the “sidekick” in interpersonal relationships. It must also be noted that he does not subconsciously yearn to be in the spotlight, but is instead comfortable in a supporting role.

In the aftermath of the accident, Que has lately become prone to fits of depression, some of them lasting for days at a time. Used to getting his way for most of his younger years, he finds it hard to let go of anything once he has a grasp on it. His martial pursuits are at the top of that list, and it’s more than a little frustrating whenever he finds himself unable to perform the same feats he used to. Coupled with the task of reining in his sister’s nigh inexorable desires to indulge, it’s growing increasingly difficult for him to act like everything is as it should be.

In Euhijan culture, twins are seen as an auspicious omen, especially when one is a girl, and the other a boy. The former symbolises the phoenix, while the latter symbolises the dragon. Many believe that children born under these conditions were destined for greatness, though Que has lived long enough to doubt the validity of that claim.

On a cold Autumn night, Que was brought into the world a mere eight minutes after his sister, and whisked away in the arms of a nursemaid before the mother even had the chance to set her eyes on them. Their father served a general under the King of Euhijan, awarded with vast tracts of land and the title of Marquis after leading his battalion to numerous victories over its foes. Their mother, on the other hand, was a distant scion of the royal family, renowned for both her beauty and intelligence.

Their marriage was one of convenience, designed to further their standing in social strata. Neither of them really wanted children, though it was necessary to ensure that their lineage endured. And so, the twins were often left in the care of servants, with only each other for company once their most rudimentary needs had been taken care of.

In a somewhat misguided attempt at pleasing his parents, he began his military training at an early age. Perhaps seeing his potential, his father’s second-in-command, a man known only to him as Yi, took him under his wing. In fact, it was he who first taught Que the proper way to wield a sword, and how to best come up with a plan to counter the enemy’s. Under Yi’s careful tutelage, he grew to become one of the finest swordsmen in Euhijan. He’d always had a predilection for observing, of seeking out patterns in things, and this habit of his served him well in the art of war.

At age seventeen, straddling the cusp of adulthood, Que rode into battle alongside his father for the first time. What started as a small border dispute devolved into an all-out brawl when neither party wanted to concede to the other’s demands. That day, Que was taught a valuable lesson on what it meant to be a soldier, to put one’s life on the line for the good of the nation.

Amidst the chaos, he found himself facing down a boy around his age, if not younger, the wild look in his eyes reminiscent of a cornered animal. It felt like a lifetime, but in reality, the whole thing was over all too quickly. With one swift movement, Que was able to disarm his opponent, and a second later, he had his own weapon buried within the boy’s chest. He didn’t even flinch when a scream pierced his eardrums, just gritted his teeth and drove the blade deeper and deeper through the boy’s ribs until finally, his shaking hands grew slick with blood.

This wouldn’t be the last time Que followed his father into battle. In time, he became used to the stink of death. About two years ago, however, a terrible accident befell him. As he attempted to charge the enemy down, his mount was startled by the sound of cannon fire. Tossed from the horse’s back, Que’s left foot caught in the stirrup as he fell, pulling it on top of him, and crushing his leg in the process.

Que made it out alive, spirited away by one of his father’s men while the enemy was distracted, though sometimes he wishes they’d left him there. It took him months to recover from the ordeal, and longer still until he was able to stand on his own again. The King of Euhijan, hearing about the incident, sent a small team of engineers down to the Gui estate. In the end, all they could come up with was a brace that lessened the strain on his leg, though he still needed a cane to walk around.

The Gui patriarch passed away a year later – not gloriously in battle as he’d hoped, but from a simple sickness, a dampness in the lungs that struck him down come winter. And so, Que was left to take up the mantle of Marquis. Along with the title came a bevy of responsibilities, and much to his chagrin, he soon found himself compelled to attend the courts of Vertiron in hopes of forging new alliances with Euhijan’s long-standing enemies.