[h1]Welcome, Delicious Friends…[/h1] [img]http://i.imgur.com/2UxOcyO.png[/img] [i]”Three decades ago, London was stolen by bats. Dragged deep into the earth by the Echo Bazaar. The sun is gone. All we have is the gas-light of Mr Fires. But Londoners can get used to anything. And it's quiet down here with the devils and the darkness and the mushroom wine. Peaceful. But then YOU arrived.”[/i] Miles below the surface of the Earth, nestled beside the Stolen River, lies the bustling city of London. It’s a lovely place, with the most charming of people (if you don’t count the madmen, murderers, honey-addled or Rubbery, that is), and with incredible real-estate to boot. Veilgarden nourishes budding poets and socialites alike with liquor and Prisoner’s Honey, a substance which transports the user into dreamlike worlds. Ladybones Road is perfect for those who wish to test their intellect by solving crimes or riddles, spies who wish to get tattooed with the latest encryptions, or haunted souls on their way to the underworld via the railroad that passes through. If you prefer taking care of your problems with your fists over your mind, then Watchmaker’s Hill lets you hunt all manners of beasts for coin, and if you’re particularly sticky-fingered, then you can likely find a home in the dim alleys of Spite. While London itself is ruled by the Mayor, and Her Enduring Majesty above them, the Bazaar seems to be largely controlled by the Masters. Mysterious, enigmatic figures, they dictate a large part of the city’s business and economy through their various trades. It’s incredibly difficult to seek counsel with them- even more so than the royal family!- but they claim to have London’s best interest in heart. Some, however, take this claim with a grain of salt. The world of the Neath is mysterious and bizarre. Odd sigils that speak of romance line the Bazaar’s walls, and, if studied too closely, can make one’s eyes bleed. It’s nigh impossible for someone to die, save for old age and being hacked up into bits and pieces (although if one attempts to return to the Surface after this false death, they will swiftly perish). Spiders the size of kittens roam caverns and crevices, devils and men with the faces of Squid conduct business alongside Londoners, and colors previously unimaginable paint the underground with new rainbows. It’s an incredible, if not somewhat disturbing place. And always remember- in matters of the Bazaar, look to love. Always. [hr] [h2]Information[/h2] The Victorian era. A time of class, smokestacks, and uncomfortably tight corsets. As one might expect, however, life in the Neath holds many differences from the Surface. Traditional crops do not grow- anything that would require the light of the sun to blossom must be imported directly from the outside world. Mushroom wine and crackers and the flesh of Zee monsters have become most popular to see on the dining table. Rats, bats and cats have somehow developed the means to talk, death is as foreign a concept to Londoners as the sky, and, perhaps most shockingly, women can work alongside [i]men[/i], and anyone can get married to d-mn well anyone- regardless of race, gender, or even species (in fact, love stories are among the most valuable commodities one could offer to the Bazaar, oddly enough). These qualities, among the fact that one’s reputation could be completely cast to the wind upon moving underground, can make London a rather appealing place to live to some. So long as you’re able to tolerate the nightmares, the shades of purple that make you lose your most precious memories, or Jack of Smiles slitting your throat from time to time. Little things, really. [hider=Species] Humans are not the only species to roam the Neath. Many, many things show their faces in the absence of the sun’s warmth, and not all are friendly. [hider=Demons] Mysterious, charismatic, ruthless. These golden-eyed inhabitants of Hell often journey to London to conduct business, to intermingle with mortals, or for purposes only they seem to know for certain. They’re well-mannered and refined, but don’t let that distract you from their true nature. For all their honeyed words and gifts and whispers of sweet-nothings, at the end of the day, they’re cold-blooded hunters of the soul. They largely reside in the Brass Embassy- their own personal “hell away from hell”, and maintain a colony far overzees called the Iron Republic. For the sake of your own sanity, don’t go to the latter. Ever.[/hider] [hider=Tomb Colonists] The eventual fate of all Londoners, unless they manage to avoid getting themselves killed up until they leave for the Surface or die of old age. Tomb Colonists are those who have been murdered or maimed enough to become permanently disfigured, leaving their nerves numbed and their social lives ruined. Tomb Colonists are forced to reside across the Zee, in the Tomb Colonies, and wrap themselves in bandages to conceal their ruined bodies. Due to their lack of nerve endings, and the fact that they have little else better to do, they often conduct duels that end with someone with a sword through their chest. If you’re looking to become a master duelist, the Tomb Colonists are some of the best trainers out there.[/hider] [hider=Rubbery Men] Quiet, meek, and terribly polite, these creatures take the shape of men with the faces of squid. They can understand English, but can only communicate with burbling, miming, and an assortment of...fluids. They enjoy music, feed on small fish, and control the amber trade, but despite their manners and respectable means of dressing, they’re often the victims of harassment and scorn by the residents of London. Their territory is Flute Street, located miles below the city.[/hider] [hider=Clay Men] The official servantry class of London. Imported from Polytheme, where the walls talk and your shoes plot your demise, this primarily male race is crafted of clay, and possesses incredible strength. While it’s possible for them to become as refined as the everyday gentleman, most possess limited intelligence, and are used for grunt work. Many reside beneath Ladybones’ work, toiling away in the mines. [/hider] [hider=The Fingerkings] Reside in the world behind mirrors. Allied with the magicians of the Glass. Difficult to trust.[/hider] [hider=The Masters] The Masters of the Bazaar. Each one commands a certain trade deep in the Neath, whether it’s meat, silk, wine, or even immortality. They refer to themselves as “Misters”, but it’s clear that they don’t fit into any gender role known to man. The Masters all speak in high pitched, shrilling voices (save for Mr Fires, who speaks in a purr, and Mr Iron, who doesn’t speak at all), and wear heavy cloaks that obscure their faces and their forms. Walk in an oddly hunched, shuffling manner. [b]Mr Wines[/b] The Master of the beverage trade, with stakes in the entertainment and prostitution industries. One of the more friendly and vibrant of its kind, Mr Wines is often the host of lavish parties filled with music, honey, and, not unexpectedly, the sweetest of wines. The women that work under him in the Parlour of Virtue wear bright scarlet stockings, marking them as a group not to be meddled with. [b]Mr Spices[/b] The Master of the spice, smokeables, and honey trade. Irritable and dignified, Mr Spices has a long-lasting quarrel with Mr Wines over who has domain over dreams. [b]Mr Apples[/b] The Master of agricultural goods, from fresh fruit to lumber (and, if you ask the right people, of immortality). Has a deep passion for gambling. [b]Mr Hearts[/b] The Master of the meat trade. Sinister, enigmatic, and disturbingly friendly, it runs a butcher shop with a rather...questionable menu. [b]Mr Veils[/b] A young, impatient Master, Mr Veils controls the fabric industry and holds stakes within the entertainment industry. One of the more aggressive and brash of its ilk. [b]Mr Cups[/b] Controls the trade of pottery, and is a collector of the strange and unusual via its rag-and-bone men. [b]Mr Pages[/b] One of the kinder (and somewhat awkward) Masters, Mr Pages controls the trade of knowledge and publications. It communes with the Special Constables and Ministry of Public Decency to claim, censor and manipulate unfavorable texts- or to add to its own personal collection. Writes love stories in its spare time under a pseudonym, and adores romance and romantic novels. [b]Mr Mirrors[/b] The Master with dominion over the glass trade. Possesses secret knowledge of the land behind mirrors, and claims mirrors of any kind as its domain. [b]Mr Iron[/b] The silent Master of metalwork and mechanisms, and of Knife-and-Candle- the game of polite and boyish stunts of murder. While mute, Mr Iron is ambidextrous, and writes in order to communicate its will. It’s grumpy and stoic, and hates being disturbed. [b]Mr Fires[/b] The Master who controls the trade of fuel, from candles to coal. Tends to be at odds with the workers of the Wolfstack Docks, who will often protest its sub-par treatment, and even the other Masters. Unlike the others, Mr Fires speaks in a low, hypnotic purr, with strange tones and harmonics. [b]Mr Stones[/b] A greedy and covetous Master, with dominion over minerals such as building materials and precious stones. Speaks in a curt, terse manner, and hoards gems obsessively. [b]Mr Sacks[/b] A jolly Master in a red cloak, and one who only appears to Londoners every Neathmas. It doesn’t control a trade, nor does it seem to have any stake in the London economy whatsoever. Instead, it takes gifts. It could take your headache. It could take your dreams. It could take your aunt, or, if you’re unwise, it could take you. [b]Mr Eaten[/b] DO NOT SEEK THE NAME [/hider] [/hider] If you’re looking for jobs, there are many available opportunities to earn a crust scattered about the city. The traditional doctors and librarians and whatnot still exist, albeit alongside some of the stranger occupations such as Correspondants and Midnighters. London is a place of fortune, and a place of nightmares. However, her arms are open to most anyone who appears. [hr] Hello, all. I’m Echo, and I’m looking to be your GM this fine evening. If y’all don’t know, Fallen London is a free browser game featuring a world in the 1800s, where London was taken underground by bats, and now has to deal with eldritch abominations, sudden immortality, demons, and surreal worlds behind mirrors on a daily basis. Lovecraftian horror, tales of fleeting romance, and grim humor all make up Fallen London, and, as a result, this roleplay. The plot will largely be dependant on the characters, and the actions and choices that they make. It could easily be a somewhat morbid and eldritch slice of life, it could be a disturbing journey, or it could be an overzees adventure. I plan to not be overly strict about the story and world, as a result. I do have a set of rules, however. - Be polite to your fellow players. Characters could be murdering one another left and right, but that still means that you shouldn’t pick fights OOC. - Romance is encouraged! Just keep it PG on the board itself, however. - No PPing, no Mary Sues, etc. Basic stuff. - [b]You don't have to have played Fallen London in order to join.[/b] What lore is provided on here is all the lore that you're required to know. c: - If you plan on leaving, or have to disappear for a short time, please tell me beforehand. If you’re gone for thirty days without saying anything, your character will be taken out of action, and may be sent on an extended boat trip. - While I’m not being strict about the roleplay lore, please do try to follow it if possible. - Be creative, and, most importantly, have fun! - [s]dontseekdontseekdontseek[/s] [hider=Character Sheet] [center] (An image isn't needed, but feel free to add one if you want one in. Otherwise, you can delete this bit.) [b]Full Name:[/b] [b]Nicknames/Aliases:[/b] [b]Age:[/b] [b]Gender:[/b] (Male/Female/My dear sir, there are individuals roaming the streets of Fallen London at this very moment with the faces of squid! Squid! Do you ask them their gender? And yet you waste our time asking me trifling and impertinent questions about mine? It is my own business, sir, and I bid you good day.) [b]Occupation:[/b] [b] Description:[/b] (What do they look like? Even if you've got a picture, a bit of writing would be nice. Include their usual attire, any notable scarring or markings, etc.) [b]Personality:[/b](A brief outline of their demeanour.) [b]Skills:[/b] (Combat abilities or otherwise- go wild!) [b]Weaknesses:[/b] (Achilles' Heels that can be exploited by enemies.) [b]Brief History:[/b] (Any notable events in their background that might have shaped them. If you don't want to reveal too much, that's fine. If they’re immigrants to the Neath, it might be a good idea to mention why they decided to live in London.) [b]Other:[/b](Anything else you think everyone needs to know about your character. Perhaps they’ve found themselves missing a soul, or have a deep loathing of a certain group.)[/center][/hider]