[CHAR] Fallen London: Of Whimsy and Eldritch Horrors (Always Open!)

[EchoicChamber]

Madison Lovette

Full Name:
Madison Lewis Lovette

Nicknames/Aliases:
Maddie, Mad, The Whimsical Scholar

Age:
25

Gender:
Male

Occupation:
Correspondent, researcher of the Correspondence sigils located about the city and the Bazaar’s walls

Description:
Standing at a height of 5’6” feet, Madison is a man of fair complexion, with mellow features, dark eyes, and even darker curls that fall to his chin. These traits, however, tend to be overshadowed quite easily by his rather...interesting choice in wardrobe. Despite being male, and identifying as such, the researcher is almost always found donning a skirt and heels. As Madison leans naturally on the more androgynous side of the spectrum, it doesn’t take much use of makeup for him to become nearly indistinguishable from a woman. This hobby of his can easily confuse most people- especially if one has not been informed of his gender otherwise.
Has a passion for wearing colorful, flowing dresses.
Tattooed with one of the safer Correspondence glyphs on his neck, and carries a variety of burn scars across his body as a direct result of his research.

Personality:
At heart, Madison is an open, good-natured individual. Mellow towards most everyone, regardless of their own feelings towards him, he’s usually willing to have polite chit-chat when his schedule allows him to do so, or even set aside time for the sole purpose of talking with a friend or acquaintance. He takes most things in stride, and it takes quite some time for him to get riled as a result- although, even then, it’s very rare for him to explode. His rage usually manifests itself as silent anger and disapproval, contrasting greatly against his usual sunny disposition. Life in the Neath has also granted him an incredibly lackadaisical nature when dealing with the world around him, regardless of how bizarre or unusual it happens to be.

Skills:
- Highly intelligent.

- Possesses a great knowledge of the Correspondence and its sigils, and can both read and write them fairly well. And without setting himself on fire too often.

- Empathetic, and tends not to be bothered by some of the stranger occurrences around the Neath.

Weaknesses:
- For all his knowledge, Madison is still human, and can be taken down with a strong enough blow to the head or a rightly placed gunshot or whathaveyou.

- Has a love of wine, honey, and other hedonistic pursuits.

- His curiosity and knack for learning sometimes does more harm than good.

Brief History:
Madison Lewis Lovette was born in a pleasant-enough family, with a quiet, gentle mother, and a stern blacksmith for a father. He had a sister, but she died when he was young, leaving him little chance to get to know her personally. Madison’s father had high hopes for his child to carry on the family business, and, while admittedly more interested in reading than crafting, the boy was eager to please.
Madison was a good child. A sweet child. However, there was one major problem that his parents couldn’t seem to shake out of him. Whenever he had the chance, Madison would sneak into his mother’s room, steal some of her perfume, and wear her clothes. This behavior unsettled the family, and they took many measures to try and get him to drop the habit. Madison eventually stopped doing his habit so openly, but in private, he’d do it regardless.

While Madison originally hoped to go into politics, he found himself drawn elsewhere upon hearing of the wonders of the Neath. Amber-eyed devils shaking hands with clergymen. Entire worlds that lay behind mirrors. Honey that could whisk the user away to magical lands. Against his parents’ wishes, Madison took the nearest boat to London, and immediately enrolled in the University there. He found friends in the Bohemians and a knack for the Correspondence, and, much to his delight, no one so much as bat an eye as his little hobby. Madison resides in a cottage by the Observatory, where he dutifully studies the sigils that haunt his dreams and make his eyes bleed on a regular basis.

And he couldn’t be more happy.

Other:
- Keeps a white raven named Fletcher.

- His warm and dreamy nature might lead one to believe that the Correspondence (and spoonfuls of honey here and there) haven't been too healthy for his state of mind.

Dawn Memoli

Full Name:
Dawn Evelyn Memoli

Nicknames/Aliases:
The Somber Detective

Age:
24

Gender:
Female

Occupation:
Private Investigator

Description:
Standing at 4’9” and slight of frame, Dawn is hardly the most physically imposing figure out there. Her face is soft and wan, with ash grey, dark-ringed eyes and the sort of ghastly pale skin that marks her as a born-and-raised resident of the Neath. Her hair is thick, black, and grown all the way to her hips, which she often keeps braided back for convenience’s sake. Dawn usually wears wide-brimmed hats fitted with the feathers of London birds (although, given the circumstances, these feathers tend to be raven more often than not).
Tends to wear simplistic, practical dresses and gowns when going about her everyday life, although when in more formal settings, she’ll swap her usual outfits for something a bit more vibrant.

Personality:
By nature, Dawn is a gentle soul, soft-spoken and polite towards friends and strangers alike. She attempts to be respectful towards most by default- until they merit otherwise, that is- and, around friends, will often break out of her usual somber personality and act much more openly lively. In addition, while usually composed and naturally serious, she will often become flustered if taken aback or embarrassed. She tends to have a rather dry sense of humor for the most part, and becomes frigid to the point of holding long-lasting grudges when genuinely angered.

While Dawn has a strong code of ethics, she also relies strongly on logic when possible. When an unfamiliar situation arises, she will often do her best to wrap her head about it, asking questions or simply watching to gain information.

Skills:
- A good shot, especially with a revolver.

- Clever and observant, with a mind for puzzles.

- Her quiet nature, small stature, and preference for darker colors makes it easy for her to go unnoticed or soothe suspicion.

Weaknesses:
- Is very short and petite, meaning that she can be easily physically overpowered if one gets past her bullets.

- While not exactly afraid, by any means, there are quite a few things that unsettle Dawn to a great extent. These include mirrors, magicians, bats, viric green, creatures with eyes of viric green, and places where mushrooms seem to grow at an unnatural rate. Dawn tends to avoid these particular things if possible, to the point of keeping the mirrors inside her home locked behind their own little doors when not in use.

- A bit of a control freak at times, especially when it comes to herself.

Brief History:
Dawn and her older brother were the children of the Memolis, middle class immigrants from the Surface looking to find better business opportunities in London than their home in Italy. They quickly found themselves trapped there upon being murdered by Jack of Smiles, but by that point, they had carved out a life for themselves and were doing quite well. A permanent residence didn’t bother them too much. Dawn’s childhood was loving, and the Neath allowed her the chance to be taught the same level of education as any boy her age.

Upon reaching working age, Dawn came to realize she had inherited the same passion for justice that her uncle, a former constable (having been retired by force after being injured enough to join the Tomb Colonies), had always possessed. Instead of turning to his line of work, however, she decided to join the novel workforce of private investigators, preferring the freedom of relative self-employment. It pays well, and has allowed her the chance to clean up some of the darker ends of London...although, admittedly, a few of her cases have seen her grow somewhat cynical about the state of the Neath. She remains loyal to her job, regardless, and fiercely determined to do what’s right. Dawn currently resides in a small townhouse, which also functions as her personal office.

Interestingly enough, after a certain trip overseas, Dawn developed the strange fear of mirrors and mushrooms she carries today.

Other:
- Secretly buys mushy, ham-fisted romantic novels to read in her spare time.

- Has a few contacts in various groups to better aid in her searchers.

- Wishes that she could see the sun one day, but is aware that being in the Neath for so long has trapped her underground.

[Saint Dismas]

Full Name: Herald Clicker

Nicknames/Aliases:Old Click

Age: 50-60

Gender: Male

Occupation:Former Antique Sundial Maker

Description: A grumpy old man, a bit ragged since the loss of his job since it involved the sun. Wears ragged-ish clothes. Greying hair with a grey beard. slouchy and wields a old cane

Personality:Old, Grumpy and kind of losing it sue to old age. In all actuality he wants things to go back to the good old days

Skills: Very brutal with that cane of his
Very brutal

Weaknesses: He's aging and not that fast.

Brief History: He once made sundials for the rich Londoners but as London fell there was no use for sundials and thus lost his business. He kinda went crazy and still thinks that this is all just one big nightmare
Hopefully

Other:His two sons disappeared when London fell
@MentionQuoteEdit

[Empress]

Full Name: Alexandra St. Clair

Nicknames/Aliases: The Gardener, the Lady in Red, the Ruin in Red

Age: Indeterminate, and an impertinent question to boot, sir! Young enough to be foolish, and old enough to know better.

Gender: Female, if you must be so vulgar – and blinded – as to enquire.

Occupation: Socialite, at least on the surface. Alex St. Clair’s actual occupation is the management – the praesidium, really - of a complex and shifting web of fiduciary instruments, actual businesses, inheritances and – of course – gardening, maintaining her magnificent, if macabre, gardens of red exile’s roses. Nothing so crass as trade; she has people for that, but occasionally things and secrets might discreetly change hands, for a consideration, at her scarlet-choked spire-emporium. Or perhaps in the hushed and smoke-wreathed hallways of the Parthenaeum, or even yet whispered in the soundproofed rooms of the House of Chimes. For the right people. Usually ones of Some Importance, or those aspiring to such heights.

Description: Alex St. Clair is not tall, although she compensates for this lack of verticality with viciously-spired heels, ophidian in their glossy allure and flashing with a little more than mere reflection. Parabola dances close around her heels, for those with eyes to see it. She is pale, ghost-white as all the aristocracy of Fallen London tend to be, even before the Fall, with perfectly coiffed straight black hair, pierced with half a hundred diamond-headed hairpins such that it glows like the Neathy roof above.

Her lips are rich and full and always painted the colour of Mr. Wines’ finest burgundy, a dash of rich colour in an otherwise-bloodless face, whilst her eyes are a baleful green, a poisonous viridian evaluating the world before her.

The rest of her body, insofar as can be told beneath the gleaming splendour of her dresses and gowns, is lithe and trim, impressively wasp-waisted and without an extra gram of fat anywhere. She has a fondness for black opals and rubies; it is a rare day indeed to see her without an adornment of one or the other, and still rarer to see her without her gloves, leather with the same ophidian allure as her boots.

Personality: Playful and ruthless by turns, Alex St. Clair is a creature of layers and masks and never seems quite satisfied with any of them. Case in point; if she takes tea on the lawns of Summerset College with the Provost, her poisonous eyes will, sooner or later, wander to the copper-eyed denizens of Benthic and fill with a certain longing. If she’s engaged in frenetic discourse with the wild-eyed academics of the more devilish College, though, those selfsame eyes will turn to the plumply self-satisfied idyll of Summerset with that same indefinable longing. Alex St. Clair is never satisfied for long; something hungers in her that she can’t put a name to.

Regardless, Alex is usually pleasant and charming and with the sort of self-assured certainty that comes with money and power down generations. Emphasis being on the ‘usually’; she has a temper best described as volcanic, made all the stronger by its repression under a thick coat of etiquette and good breeding, such that when it finally erupts, Alex’s stores of violant ink are usually easily replenished from the carnage.

Skills:

• She is an excellent shotgunner
• She is a dab hand with poisons and their application
• Skilled apiarist
• Skilled gardener
• Excellent calligrapher
• Clever; good at leverage, in whatever shade is necessary.

Weaknesses:

• Hates – and is hated by – the Bishop of Southwark
• Impious; she openly visits the Brass Embassy, and is a frequent guest at their masquerade balls. There
are always devils around her.
• Sadist; Alex St. Clair does not partake of the bounty of red honey her gardens yield. She takes her
pleasure from the…ahem…fertilizer instead, and uses the honey to bargain for, oh, all
manner of things.
• Vindictive; In defeat, malice. In victory, revenge!

Brief History: A Fallen London native, born and bred, Alex St. Clair was that most fortunate of children; born to a wealthy and titled house and cut free of outmoded male-preference primogeniture in the darkness of the Neath. With the world her darkly-gleaming oyster, she has held several jobs, although she’d never call them that. Favours, instead, for Crown and Country and the good of Society, as the long arm of the knives-in-the-dark Foreign Office. She’s met the Pirate King on the Isle of Cats; the two of them have a complex relationship, built on and broken by the roses they both cultivate, and is one of the few to thrive in Irem.

In return for ‘services rendered’, of which a mere enquiry will bring down a host of Baseborn and Fowlingpiece’s finest in a twinkling of lawyerly brogues, she was given the honour of a Bazaar writ to purchase one of their spire-emporia, a glittering jewel in which she now resides for much of the time.

Other:

• Long-standing member of the Parthenaeum
• Frequenter of the House of Chimes.
• Has Baseborn and Fowlingpiece on a hair-trigger retainer.
• Intimate of the Captivating Princess

[Rig]

Full Name: Elias Suthmeer

Nicknames/Aliases: Eli, "Jimmy Slip"

Age: 11

Gender: Male

Occupation: Urchin/Pick Pocket

Description: A dirty, disheveled boy of around 10 years old, Elias looks as though he is afraid of bath water. Knowing the things that lurk in the pipes of Fallen London, that fear could be legitimate. The boy has dirty, freckled cheeks and bright green eyes that look almost out of place on his face, that are framed by the bangs of his long, greasy brown hair. Likewise, his clothing is patched, ripped, and covered in dirt and stains.

Personality: Happy-go-lucky, living each day on its own. Elias generally always has a smile plastered onto his young face, which may or may not be genuine, but likely even he doesn't know. Aside from his outward personality, the young lad is also loyal to his close friends and will go out of his way to take care of them.

Skills: Elias Suthmeer is a world-class picker of pockets (and not in a fashion sense), he is also especially adept at picking very large pockets on very baggy clothing worn by very distracted people, but he is also able to pick ordinary pockets and has been known to dip his hand into a lady's handbag or two, as well.

Additionally, he has learned to run fast for his age and is also capable of climbing buildings and navigating the rooftops of Fallen London as if he was a native, which, in fact, he is.

Weaknesses: The poor boy, growing up on the streets, lacks any formal education. He can barely write his name, let alone read his letters. Additionally, he is young and spry, but not very strong. This can be forgiven, considering he has not even reached the age of puberty yet. Finally, the boy can sometimes be loyal to a fault, probably because he fears abandonment due to his mother leaving him. He is slow to trust, but once he trusts someone he will do what he can to ensure they are safe.

Brief History: Elias Suthmeer was born to Gregory and Constance Suthmeer not so long ago in the Wolfstacks Docks, where the family lived and Gregory worked. They were a working-class family, Gregory serving as a zailor on a local trade vessel that made regular runs to the Salt Lions. When Elias was but five years old, his father left on a zee voyage, never to return. Overcome with grief, Constance abandoned her young son and fled their small, one room flat for better fortunes elsewhere. Elias has been on his own, ever since, falling in with a gang of like-wise abandoned or orphaned youths, he quickly gained a reputation among his peers as something of a dip. His ability to steal from unsuspecting grown-ups, and escape the bobbies whenever he was detected, earned him the playful nickname, "Jimmy Slip" from his friends. He now wonders across London with his pals, stealing money to buy food, sleeping in gutters, and just enjoying the hand that life has dealt him.

Other: Elias is curious what became of his parents. He knows their names and faces, but has no idea where they have gone, or if they're even still alive. This is something he'd like to pursue, if he's ever given the opportunity.

[Joker892]

Jeffery

Full Name: Jeffery Ortegious.

Nicknames/Aliases: Jeff

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Occupation: Mercenary

Description:

his looks

He's slightly built with blue eyes, brown hair and a small stubble of hair growing onto his chin. A few scars cover his torso from past battles, but that's to be expected in his line of work.


Personality: Cool headed, blunt and a smart ass. He can be friendly at times, but that's only on his good days.

Skills: Excellent marksman, decent swords man and a fair brawler.

Weaknesses: An old wound to his knee from a past battle.

Brief History: Jeffery has lived and breathed within the world of smoke, fire and blood for his whole life. His parents were killed when he was just a few months old and was left in the care of his older sister, Hannah. Hannah raised Jeffery within a small group of hired soldiers as cook for the men. As they both aged within the group of mercenaries Jeffery took up lessons with a few of the soldiers and became handy with a rifle and sword. Once he reached the age of 16 he was allowed to fight along side his fellow hired soldiers in an upcoming job from a few nobles. They were victorious in their job, but as they returned to their camp they found nothing but death and ashes. The nobles who had hired his group seemed to want no traces of their involvement, so they had sent their small forces to attack their main camp while they were away and ambushed the weary and battered returning party. Jeffery barely escaped with his life, but his group was completely massacred. His sister was among the casualties. With sorrow poisoning his heart form such a great loss he set out on his own to fine a reason to keep going on. Two years have passed now and Jeffery has caught wind of a potential well paying job that resides in the city below the earth.

Other: Jeffery is a excellent cook and enjoys to cook for others. He is also not a fan of nobles

[VitoftheVoid]

The Dauntless Chelonite

Full Name: Caede

Nicknames/Aliases: The Dauntless Chelonite

Age: Somewhere in her mid to late twenties.

Gender: Female

Occupation: Monster-Hunter, sometime zailor.

Description: Caede, the Dauntless Chelonite, is a new figure in London, who rather stands out from the crowd. A native of the rotting carcass of a great zee creature, she comes from a place of rather differing values, and reflects it.

She’s tall, to the degree that it’s a little intimidating, near six and half foot high, with a build that suggests a lot of athletic activity. Her hair is a mop of wavy ginger fronds, still choked with salt, occasional bone beads and bits of shell braided in. She has a squarish face, marked with two white scars across her brow and cheek, and one on the bridge of her nose. For a chelonite, it could be considered pretty light scarring.

Quite notable about the woman are her eyes. The colour of them is something not quite natural. A blue so dark you’re not entirely sure how you know it’s even blue at all. They are peligin, the colour of the Unterzee, the colour that anyone’s eyes turn after they’ve eaten the raw flesh of the darkest zee creatures. It doesn’t appear to have had much of an effect on her otherwise...but it makes holding eye contact for a long time feel a little.. Disconcerting.

Her attire is practical, if a little outlandish. Her cropped trousers resemble something a little bit like sealskin...if seals grew patches of uneven scales amidst the fur. Her long jacket is made from the leather of something reddish and scarred, and bristly fur lines its collar. The boots most certainly came off a dead man at some point. A necklace of serrated teeth hands around her neck. Slung over one shoulder is a harpoon made of the bones of something big. Something with an anatomy that makes it quite difficult to determine what original purpose the bone served.


Personality: Caede is a rather brutish, unsophisticated individual... though if one can get past that, she's relatively easy to get along with. Well, as long as you never make any attempt to question her chelonite superiority as far as hunting goes. Questioning her bravery and savagery in the face of creatures of the zee is likely to provoke the kind of feral rage that makes people worry about drinking in the Chelonate.

Caede has a high opinion of her own skill, and that of her people, and won;t stand to see it demeaned.

Beyond that however, she's a pleasant enough companion. She has a strong sense of right and wrong, and tends to be driven by that sense over some desire for her own benefit.

Skills: - -Astonishingly handy with a harpoon.

-Bears a wealth of experience from a life lived out on the very edges of civilization, far from the reaches of London’s influence. As such, she is very difficult to rattle.


Weaknesses:

-Possibly not too discerning about where she uses the harpoon.

-Polite society of London doesn't look too kindly on the sorts of things that a chelonite like herself would consider perfectly normal. Adorning yourself with white clay and the teeth of sea creatures, habitually carrying around harpoons, eating raw meat and drinking fermented eel blood... holding bloody sacrificial rites in an attempt to placate Storm... the list goes on. None of these things really do a lot to win her friends.


Brief History: Caede was born and bred in the Chelonate, a settlement hollowed out into the corpse of an enormous zee turtle. The child of a well-known hunter… and a woman who was not native to the place. Some say she came from Irem, the city f the seven serpents. Regardless, she left for elsewhere when her daughter was still young, and disappeared off into the fog of the zee.

Growing up, learning to swim, hunt and fight, Caede didn't acutely feel such a loss. The Chelonate was a place of peril and shifting fortunes, to lose someone was not a great surprise, but her unusual parentage had netted a bit of attention.

At the age of twelve, one of the Bone Men, the priesthood of the corpse-island, told her that her destiny was, one day, to go to zee, like her mother. Caede took this seriously. It was one of the shouting holy men tht told her of it, though it was the woman herself who fulfilled it one day, when a passing trading vessel, having lost a number of its crew in a freak accident with a jllyfleur, started recruiting for able hands.

This began Caede's zailing career. What she lacked in experience she made up for in her ability to learn fast, her fearless attitude, and her apparent willingness to eat practically any creature hauled out of the zee.

Other: Is a worshipper of Storm, one of the gods of the zee. Will do her best to appease him with loud and bloody sacrifice (the only sort he's interested in.).

The Furtive Technician

Full Name: ????
Nicknames/Aliases: The Furtive Technician,

Age: Appears in her late twenties, maybe early thirties.

Gender: Female

Occupation: A quick conversation would suggest that she was an individual with scientific and mechanical mind, the battered looking coat would suggest the uniform of the navy...though her generally worn out appearance would also hint to someone doing neither currently.

Description: The Furtive Technician stands at about 5'7, an angular-looking woman with long, blue-black hair. She has high, noticeable cheekbones and a naturally pale complexion. (Though that’s hardly strange in The Neath.)

She wears a long, rather battered looking coat that has something of the look admiralty about it. Much of her clothing does..though it seems like it has seen better days. In fact all of her looks a little bit dishevelled.

Apart from one thing. A pair of tinted glasses that obscure her eyes entirely from view. They’re a peculiar colour, almost purple in hue...is that irrigo?



Personality: The Furtive Technician can come across as a rather harsh and taciturn individual. She is more comfortable with objects than with people, and as such tends to relate to those around her in a way that’s more than a little unempathetic.

More than anything she’s clearly bothered by something. Nervous. Jumpy. Defensive. It’s quite clear she has something on her mind. Some kind of secret. Whether that’s a valuable one...or one better not passed on is anyone’s guess.

Skills: -Very high IQ and eidetic memory mean she has a great mind for facts and calculations.

Quick witted and fast on her feet.

-Appears to have a wealth of knowledge on scientific matters.

Weaknesses: - Appears to have nearly no wealth to her name whatsoever.

-Very touchy about anyone getting near her glasses.

-Doesn’t like anywhere too bright. Even a decent level of lamplight makes her notably uncomfortable.

-Might not actually be entirely sure what her name is.

Brief History: The Furtive Technician is newly disembarked from a tramp steamer into London, stopped briefly before heading further north toward Venderbight. They picked her up somewhere around the harbour at the Cumean Canal, though she doesn’t have the look of a surface-goer. She was very cagey about where she came from, paid her passage in small amount of glim, and avoided talking to anyone on the journey…. She also seemed to avoid sleeping and lamps of most kinds.

Upon arriving at Wolfstack a few days previous, the Technician disappeared into the crowds of the fifth city, and appears to have been loitering around since, looking tired and dishevelled, but also setting about with a sort of grim sense of purpose. What’s the Bottled Oblivion for?

The Dreaming Benefactress

Full Name: Helena Alys Kingsley

Nicknames/Aliases: The Dreaming Benefactress

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Occupation:

Description: Helena is not a terribly imposing creature, topping out at out an unintimidating 5'2. Her build is slim, with light curves on the hips and chest rather than any defined muscle and her face is heart-shaped and girlish, with a set of wide, blue-grey eyes.She has a mop of untidy, red hair, which falls for her lower back. She has very pale skin that is quite prone to burning. She has a notable scar on the one side of her face, neck and shoulder.

People often pick Helena out on her somewhat..idiosyncratic sense of fashion. The colours she picks rarely seem to match...nor follow any kin of earthly logic.

Personality:Unorthodox would be the polite way to describe Hel....weird would be the less polite way. She appears a bit peculiar. Many say that Helena seems to live in a world of her own, and in a way that could be said to be true. Helena does not view the world like others do, and her reactions are often seen as inappropriate by those around her.

Her behaviour is often thought of as weird, though does seem to follow some sort of logic…in Helena’s mind at any rate…it just tends not to be a level of logic that anyone else has ever encountered before. While it might not initially be clear, she is painfully shy and awkward around people, mainly due to an acute awareness of how people view her. This tendency to assume others think the worst of her often makes her seem rather aloof. Getting past the initial strangeness of the young woman, she is a pleasant, highly intelligent individual. She appreciates the friendship of others, even if it’s not always openly visible, and is very dedicated to those that she is close to.

Skills: -Seems to have an uncanny ability to find things...whether she was looking for them or not.

-Surprisingly intelligent.

Weaknesses: -Few notable talents or applicable trade skills.

- Has a honey habit that's gotten more than a little out of control.

Brief History:

Helena Kingsley is an oddity. A frequent sight along Landybones Road, not without reason, this apparently well-to-do young woman could, poor dress-sense notwithstanding, be taken for the heiress of a decent family.

This is not the case.

Her surname is little more than a fabrication it seems. For Miss Kingsley was adopted, and not just adopted, adopted by a devil of the brass embassy.

The folk of Ladybones Road enjoy chattering and swapping rumours, and there were more than a few about how a devil came to adopt a child. Some claim he took charge of her in exchange for a mother's soul, others that she was the offspring of some elicit relationship between a devil and a woman (was that even possible?). Certainly anyone might give a slight variation on the story. Helena is probably one of the less likely ones to give an answer.

The devil, a high-ranking official in the Brass Embassy, was certainly sufficiently well-heeled to provide his charge with anything she desired. She had no need to take up trade or education, and her infernal association was just open enough that she was not often invited to society parties, so she found herself at a loose end much of the time. Eventually reading and painting gave way to exploring the city, which gave way to forays into the use of Prisoner's Honey, which in turn gave way to a honey addiction. As it stands at present, Helena spends much of her time (and the funds gifted to her by her benefactor), seeking and consuming the stuff. Eventually it's going to land her in some trouble. One way or another.

[Magister]

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayburry Montana

Nicknames/Aliases: The Asp, Will Of the Wisp, The Fourth Man, and aliases too numerous to mention, but most often a William Evargrant.

Age: Over the age of 30

Gender: Male, most certainly, though though use of makeup and other assorted items can take the appearance of a woman with sharp cheekbones.

Occupation: A liaison for various interests? Or perhaps a courier, one that worked the odd twilight in the sorts of places frequented by the unsavoury and the high born, delivering all sorts of things, promises, and things both real and conceptual. Or perhaps he is a thief and bearer of false witness.

Description: Montana has a face who's expression are subtle, and rarely extravagant when responding to the stimuli Fallen London provides. Shoulder length, pitch dark hair is often swept back, tucked behind the ear. This dark colour is mirrored in his eyes, where the darkness of the pupil is matched, and swallowed by the darkness of his iris.

His most recognizable article of clothing is a wide brimmed hat. What one needs a hat for in a sunless land is mystery itself.

the suit

Personality: A gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but perhaps only in word, as what is his true personality is likely hidden behind the mask of gentlemanly conduct. There is a touch of idle fancy within his person, or perhaps it's just an abstract world view that influences the way he moves. Sometimes he can be anything. Would that make his personality a series of well rehearsed roles? Who can tell.

Skills: A hand to hand specialist, with a variety of obscure, and at times, depending on how his body moves, obtuse movements. An excellent duelist. A linguist. A crack shot. Perceptive, with a head perfect for the art of deduction. Making things disappear or reappear Finding lost things, and losing found things. Not being in the wrong place, and being in the right place. Understanding the difference between being in the right place at the wrong place, and the wrong place at the right time. Replacing things. Not being noticed for long periods of time, and being noticed when he needs to be.

Weaknesses:

Brief History: A British native, but no native of London, Roderic Montana has been in a military campaign or two, spent time traveling and training in the Orient. Has done work for Britain outside of military service, along with a few other nations. Emigrated to fallen London for work.

Other: Doesn't work with the Royal Navy

[Bishop]

Character Sheet

Like the image except the eye slits are smaller, there is no mouth opening and the mask is a little bigger covering more to the sides. The hat covers more on the back of the head. And of course they wear gloves.

Full Name: Rosevelt Rainart

Nicknames/Aliases: Anonymous Gentleperson

Age: 22

Gender: 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.)

Occupation: Not any yet

Description: Even when imprisoned the mask was always on. It is a pure white oval shaped mask which cover their entire face with 2 little dot holes for breathing and 2 horizontal slits where the eyes are for seeing. They always wear a tuxedo, usually dark grey in color with a light grey tie. Always wears black gloves and a hat which covers more of their back side of the head.

Personality:Charming on appearance, clothe wise that is, not like you can see their face or body. Has a smooth androgynous voice and refined manners. Charming in conversations and very subtle in pick pocketing. When out of sight and/or alone their personality completely changes. They lose all their mannerism and go full danger mode. They can hurt/kill/maim anyone and anything that gets in their way.

Skills: Hand to hand combat / with knives / impeccable aim with firing weapons but mostly prefers pistols / their trade mark weapon is a metal wire inside their wrist watch which they can use to kill or disable an opponent

Weaknesses: Get them somewhere alone to lower they defense, see them change their personality which is unrefined and brute which makes them susceptible to counter attacking.

Brief History: Just came to London. Escaped prison not 3 hours earlier.

Other:Right now? Not yet but soon to be.

[Mortalya]

Full Name: "I'd tell you if I cold remember."

Alias: Lady Nonsense

Age: Appears to be 25-35

Gender: Female

Occupation: Beggar (Former Zea Captain)

Description: Of short stature with an athletic fitness suggesting nimbleness and flexibility. Her hair is faintly red, long and often in tangles, keeping it out of her eyes. She is always adorned in and old, but well-aged navy blue captain's uniform, complete with polished boots, captain's hat, and an old pistol at her side which on close inspection has no trigger. On the breast of the captain's coat where one would traditionally find badges, medals and other honors, is instead an array of strange mundane trinkets such as coins, lenses, leaves, teeth, feathers, tails, anything that could be found on the streets; these items seem to change from day to day.

Personality: Her name was granted to her by her fellow scoundrels and virtuoso of Spite and Veilgarden. She is known for strange behavior in the pursuit of nonsensical motives. Lady Nonsense seems wise and level-headed to most who briefly meet her, but a secure bet is she will reveal her mad antics before sixty seconds have elapsed. She often goes prowling through the alleys of Spite for black cats, speaking gibberish to herself all the while. When lucid she is respectable -- if but a shade tarry from a life on the zea -- but on frequent occasion her eyes widen and seem overcome with a glaze; she begins speaking in rhyme, often unrelated to the topic at hand. When it's all done, she claims to not remember a lick of it. Her most favorite pastime is telling grand tales of how she was awarded the many odds and ends on her coat. On a good day the stories are believable, most days they are not.

Skills: An expert zeaman and charismatic speaker to crowds. Physically fit and very nimble. Second to her zailing skills is her knack for theft, usually from just under the nose of her mark during a telling of a tale of the zea. And no zailor would be worth the salt on which she zails without proper finesse with a blade, preferably a rapier. She does not own one, but she could make quick work of any score of pirate zailors. (At least she believes so.) Lastly she seems to be without terror, that is not to say she is unshakable by fear. She can be startled, disturbed and may even flee a fearsome foe, but she shows no fear in the face of true horror. Some account her resistance to terror comes from her fondness of speaking with the cats of Spite.

Weaknesses: It may go without saying, Lady Nonsense is critically mad and often delusional. Her impaired thinking along with a poor memory make her a difficult follower. It is often necessary to remind her of your identity every time you meet her. She does not focus well on simple tasks; the less she has to focus on, the more difficult it is. She does especially poorly when speaking with someone alone. Speaking with Lady by oneself feels as though you are speaking with multiple different people about an equal number of seemingly unrelated topics. Her greatest flaw might be her lust for eldritch knowledge. Her mind is as frail as a human's should be, but yet she actively seeks this type of forgotten lore. Her desire for dark learning often leads her to danger and may even bring her to betray those close to her if the promise of occult secrets is grand enough.

Brief History: Lady Nonsense most often claims to have been raised on the zea, if anything she says is true, is is possible she is known by many names across the Unterzea. If you ask the few people in London who know her closely, they would tell you she was not always mad. Then they would tell the tale of when she zailed away from the docks of London with a crew of twenty, to return a year later without her crew and her mind drastically altered. She'd even forgotten her name, but then again when anyone else attempted to call it to mind, they found the thing unknowable. Since then she wanders the streets of Spite and Veilgarden exchanging her stories for bits of change and stealing what she needs from the unsuspecting.