Powered by Jitbit .Net Forum free trial version.

HomeFallen London » Mr Pages’ Fabularities

“An archive of things that never happened”. An in-character forum for fanfiction and roleplaying. Beware - spoilers abound!

What brings you to the neath? (backstory & goals) Messages in this topic - RSS

Julias Stokes
Julias Stokes
Posts: 113

6/7/2016
Julias Stokes was born in the year of The Fall, in Scotland. As a boy, he was disgusted by the thought of aging. He thought humans - at least the good ones - deserved to live forever. He tried to become immortal, but none of the things he tried worked. Then, he heard of Fallen London and knew that the answer was in the Neath. He gathered his supplies, said goodbye to his family, and descended to the Neath.

When in the Neath, Julias developed a hatred of the Masters, and of the Empress. London - a whole city, taken to this wretched cavern, just for the life of a single man. The people were never asked whether they were okay with living near face-stealing demons, squid people, and literal devils. The Empress just gave them away. Julias joined up with the Revolutionaries, before realizing that their plan wasn't to free London - it was to destroy it, and the rest of the universe. He then created his own group, one that aimed to not destroy London, but to destroy the Masters, and just the Masters. Maybe that would bring the city of London back to the surface.

But no, he did not forget his goal of immortality. He learned of the legendary immortality Cider - the kind that would allow any man to return to the surface. He learned of the prospect of becoming immortal in Parabola. He even learned of the possibility of becoming a Master - a fate worse than death, in Julias's mind. He pushed toward the Cider - the greatest way of becoming immortal, becoming free.

While learning the secrets of immortality, Julias also learned of the value of a different kind of secret - the secrets of the Elder Continent. He became a great scholar, learning all he could on the Elder Continent, the Unterzee, the Correspondence, and the Bazaar. These secrets could make him rich and intelligent - and what's immortality without wealth and intellect?

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Julias~Stokes - A revolutionary of his own sort, who has devoted his life to overthrowing the Bazaar, ascending to godhood, and saving London. Doesn't have to be in that order. I'll accept any social actions - except maybe suspicious loitering.
0 link
Eglantine-Fox
Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872

6/10/2016
There may have been records of Eglantine Fox, once, that told the tale of their birth circumstances. Those records are gone, burned by the bitter Eglantine, who sought them all out and gathered them up to destroy. Their surface life is no more than private memories, now -- so much of it is gone. Their secrets, their lovers, their rivals -- some have sought out Eglantine after the fact, but one by one those ties have been severed, leaving only a maiden aunt, who Eglantine could not bear to part from entirely, as the last shred of family remaining. Whatever her other shortcomings, this aunt is discreet on the subject of the family, and has not divulged the hidden names.

All this sounds frightfully sinister and mysterious, but in the beginning it was no more than a passionate and dramatic gesture from Eglantine, swearing to avenge their murdered brother. Eglantine was... more impulsive, then, and has since paid the price.

A stint in New Newgate, yes, but also an encounter with death and the troubling realisation that, short of immortality, they are stuck down here.

So be it. Eglantine will have their revenge, enjoy every strangeness of the Neath, become legendary, and arise, immortal, to show the world something new.

--
Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.

Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).

Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
0 link
Amelia Syrus
Amelia Syrus
Posts: 626

6/12/2016
Since Amelia's story is ongoing as I go through FL for the first time, I'll use bullet points and mostly focus on the backstory I had planned out for her.

- Her parents died in an incident she barely recalls when she was 4 years old. She thinks it was caused by an arson but she barely recalls the details.
- After the incident she was passed around foster homes until she ran away and joined a small urchin gang.
- She kept flitting between different urchin gangs until she was roughly 12 and stuck with a group called the Brass Reds. A gang heavily connected with an Irish mafia.
- When she was too old to stay with the Brass Reds, she started working with the mafia doing "small jobs."
- Eventually when she becomes old and strong enough they give her a job as a bouncer to one of their establishments for a while.
- Met and eventually fell in love with a woman that sneaked into the establishment named Madeline or who she nicknamed Maddie.
- Maddie was actually the Boss' daughter and her family hailed from a prominent textile factory.
- The textile factory itself was part of a large smuggling ring that shipped in different locations. Maddie tried seeking out the truth behind it when she met Amelia and both prominently forgot over time.
- Their romance was hidden but an arranged marriage to another prominent family had been set up and unknown to her until the month of Maddie's wedding.
- They ran away together.
- It goes badly.
- Amelia managed to escape but not without the lose of Maddie.
- She has since searched for Maddie's murderers, killing those involved one by one which has led her to the Neath and it's many hidden secrets.


Bonus, an age chart to give an idea of what young Amelia versus the drunken thief looks like now:
[spoiler][/spoiler]

--
Amelia Syrus: A Drunken Thief For Hire.
+1 link
The Absurd Rogue
The Absurd Rogue
Posts: 1048

6/16/2016
"Ezekiel has come to Neath to really ruin someone's day. Or several people's days. Live to serve Sir, in return is given life supply of vinegar, delivered exclusively in treasure chests filled with mason jars, as per request.

Simple things in life is much motivation for the Ezekiel. Meeting new and interesting skin-suits. Killing them. Long walks on zee beach. Pretending to be plant and making pigeon noises at people who walk by.

Life is simple, life goes on."

Sincerely yours,
Ezeeiiikl te ddeedle an handsum genleman

--
"There is never another story. There is only one, and I try to tell it with every page. I fail, and I try again. There are no new stories; I have this one."
-S.N

RemainProfane#2532
+1 link
Dean Lee
Dean Lee
Posts: 133

6/17/2016
Once a kind, if eccentric, professor of Botany at Miskatonic University (yes, that Miskatonic), Dean Lee came to the Neath unwillingly, having been betrayed by a colleague and tricked into making a pact with an elder god. Said being sent him through a rift and the Dean arrived in the Neath. He just wants to go home and be with his students and his plants. Failing that, he wishes to tend a garden, maybe The Garden.



Anne Oak is an assassin. Once a student of Miskatonic, she suffered a fatal "accident". Revived with the assistance of eldritch powers she is bound to the service of her master who has sent her via rift to eliminate the Dean permanently. Her reward was to be freedom from service and oblivion, but the Neath has other plans for her. Still, she never leaves a contract unfinished.
edited by Dean Lee on 7/6/2016

--
A list of credentials

A Business Card

Research progress:
77 volumes of cryptopaleontoligy
77 volumes of Prelapsarian archeology
77 volumes of theosophistry.
0 link
Eichlos
Eichlos
Posts: 11

6/19/2016
"What is that? No I'm sorry I'm not doing confessions or abstractions today.

Hm? A few questions? Oh yes. Sit my chair down boys. And take the knife from the man's throat. I apologize. They are a little overzealous about protecting me. Wouldn't be the first time a young man such as yourself tried to kill me.

Yes. I am a Eichlos. Deacon Eichlos. Not the Eichlos. The Eichlos is my father.

The reason I'm here? He, that is to say my father, is the reason I'm here... well initially. Last time I checked New Newgate and the Bethlehem are in an extended custody battle over him. I've given up trying to keep up with the mountains of paperwork. But that is what drew me here. I was orphaned at the age of 5 when my father fell off the map. About thirty years ago. I was raised by the Church, but our ties are somewhat strained these days. I'm tolerated, but not yet excommunicated. Funny how your perspective can change.


Souls? Yes I care for souls. Either into the hands of their rightful owners or on rare occasion into other hands. I prefer not to break contracts with Hell. That, the paper I push for the Universities, and helping to keep the unions in line are what could be called my day job. Not my passion. If my passion was leading a bunch of thugs, I'd probably be better off.


Them? No. They aren't thugs. They are... concerned citizens. Yes, those are cudgels and sticks. What would be your point? You think that unofficial police don't need a chaplain? Look, you obviously know who I am. I'd stop that line of questioning if you like your knees how they are.

What is my passion? Well that is best not spoken of on the streets, but let us say it involves strange symbols, lots of mirrors, and long forgotten Names. Mostly I just gather information, drink my wine, and from time to time climb down into the pits and enjoy a boxing match.

I'm sure you have other questions, but I have an appointment.

Good day."

--
Eichlos
+1 link
Eglantine-Fox
Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872

7/6/2016
Siobhan O'Malley comes from Connacht in Ireland, a place that was hard-hit by the Famine. She grew up on stories of its horrors, and what England's Queen and England's people did to worsen those horrors.

She fell in with fervent Irish nationalists from a young age, all speaking of one thing: a free Ireland, its own country, no longer under British rule. But how to attain such a goal?

That's why she's come here, to Fallen London. She needs to understand the city before she can act. Siobhan hopes to somehow cut London off from the surface forever, or find some other means of neutralising it. Without the power and authority of London and the Traitor-Empress, Britain will falter. Its Empire will weaken. And those who long for freedom will have their chance to fight for it.

She knows she might never go home. It's worth it. She'll sacrifice her chance at life back home if she must, her life entirely if that's what it takes. It would be prudent not to ask what else she'd be willing to sacrifice - or who else. She will do whatever she must in London. She will do whatever she must to London.

--
Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.

Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).

Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
+2 link
The Absurd Rogue
The Absurd Rogue
Posts: 1048

7/6/2016
Elias Lowe II wrote:
"People don't want a simple answer, one wrought with pragmatism and ruthlessness, they want a scapegoat. Me and my associates took control of Flowerdene Rookery specifically to have a place where we could operate somewhat safely, to use as a launching point for our relief efforts.

We have built schools instead of orphanages, putting real education into the youth. We offer safe havens to fugitives of the urchin gangs. They learn the things that they need to learn when morality is put to bed, what will give them the tools to be independent. That's all I want for Spite and that's what we have mostly given it. Choice.

We use the Legacy that the seventy-seven of us built to ensure that the children never starve and the walls never crumble. We encourage the economy of nearby areas and have dropped violent crimes to the lowest they've been since before The Fall. Things aren't perfect and the people still suffer, but things are on their way to getting better.

So why did I do it? I didn't. It was all of us. The people who couldn't wake up to this shit anymore. Seventy-six brave human beings who gave their lives for this. And one person to take all the responsibility. I did it because we need to take care of each other until we can take care of ourselves..."


A divisive figure among society, half-demon and half-saint. Elias Lowe entered the Neath out of necessity and he found nothing but misery, pain and the bitter taste of blood from the memories that continued to hound him.

His time on the surface was a very fast twenty some years, cut short when Anton Chekov and his wife were slaughtered in their flower shop by squad of terrorists of an unknown political group. Anton's body was never recovered.

The Journal of Police Inspector Zadurnov wrote:
The body of the lad was never found and all evidence suggests he limped out into the snow to die somewhere. But just like they used to tell us, if there is no body, the guy is alive


Someway or another, a young man found his way miles underground while drenched in the blood of his lover, to a place where no-one spoke his language and the very fabric of reality seemed tenuously thin. Naturally, he lost himself and his mind fragmented. But sometimes, you need to lose yourself to find who you really want to be.

Elias Lowe II wrote:
It was my becoming. I am known by no name save for the name I have chosen to wear. I am faceless, save for this one I have carved out of stone.


He still cannot remember the name of the woman who gave his life meaning once upon a time, for those memories had no place in a psyche so mangled, but he made a man with the pieces. Anton is dead. Long live Elias Lowe II.

--
"There is never another story. There is only one, and I try to tell it with every page. I fail, and I try again. There are no new stories; I have this one."
-S.N

RemainProfane#2532
+1 link
Bertrand Lyndon
Bertrand Lyndon
Posts: 95

2/19/2017
Bertrand Lyndon – or rather Sergeant Lyndon, since he prefers to be called by his title – is a former officer of the British Army. He was born in York from a British diplomat and a woman from Gibraltar, making him half-Spanish (his ethnic background is actually even more complex than that). He spent most of his youth traveling with his father around the countries of the Mediterranean Sea (in Spain, Malta, Italy, Greece and Morocco, among other places), and very little time in England.

Lyndon joined the British Army at a young age, intrigued by the prestige and lifestyle that a successful member of the military enjoys. He was a good soldier, but he was by no means a patriot. He eventually managed to join the 7th Dragoon Guards and fought in Egypt, where he was promoted to Sergeant. Lyndon’s career in the military came to a halt when he left the Army shortly after the end of the war because of reasons that are better never asked to him directly. He fled to the Neath and never looked back. Some of the people he knew back then haven’t forgot about him, though, and many of them would pay good money to know his present whereabouts.

Since he saw his fair share of the world when he was a kid, Lyndon isn’t too interested in exploring the Neath – unless he gets something out of it. He’s much more intrigued by how a man of great talent and little morals can go places quickly in London. He has slowly managed to form a network of spies, killers and thieves who answer only to him, and he has gained a place among London’s underworld ringleaders. Lyndon’s loyalties go only to himself, so when he’s involved in a conflict between two of London’s factions he often ends up working for both sides and helping none. The exception are the Revolutionaries: he opposes the Liberation of Night, so he will always work against it, no matter the situation.

Many people in London’s underworld think that he's plotting to take the place of the Cheery Man, or the Widow, or the Topsy King. Some even say he’s wants to take the place of all three of them and rule London from the shadows. Lyndon would deny that such rumors have any real basis, obviously.
edited by Bertrand Lyndon on 2/19/2017

--
Bertrand Lyndon, a former Sergeant of the 7th Dragoon Guards who deals in crime and secrets.

(My main profile: a Midnighter available for Orphanages)

Jordan Farchild, a kid who often meddles in things bigger than herself, and Bertrand's ward.

(I check this profile less often than Bertrand and I use it only for very light roleplay)

Call me Barren on the IRC.
+2 link
Maude
Maude
Posts: 4

2/24/2017
"Hello, stranger. Got some questions for me? I'd be more than happy to share my humble little tale.

My name is Maude Braun. Lord Braun if you're feeling particularly polite.

I don't particularly know what I'm doing here in the Neath. I'm serious. I have no idea what I'm doing down here. Haven't the foggiest notion of how I got here or exactly who I was before coming here. There are vague memories of people who I once knew from the Surface. Lovers, clients, enemies... Not that any of it matters much anymore. Just little memories now.

What's that? How did I forget who I was? If I knew that, my friend, I would've remembered who I was by now.

Anyway, there's nothing important on the Surface for me anymore. It's the Neath that I call home now. So full of mysteries and interesting people. Teeming with stories. I consider myself a collector of stories. Something of a bard, if you will. I just love a good story, true or not.

Goals? I can't really say I have any particular goals. Is seeking endless entertainment a goal? I would hope so. After all, what is this life for if not for us to enjoy? That is certainly my passion. The joy of myself and others. I aim to amuse and satisfy. Veilgarden is practically my home away from home.

Ha ha. What? Yes, I'm a bit wrapped up in some scandal but even rumors are entertaining. Besides, I'm not hurting anyone with my fun. Anyone important anyway. People around here need to lighten up! So what if I've had a dozen lovers, some of which may or may not be devils. And yes, I may frequent honey dens but it's just how I enjoy life. I don't tell you how to live your life.

Hm? Oh, that's just Barnaby. He's an angel really. Just don't let him crawl up your- Oh. Terribly sorry about that. He usually only bites people when I tell him to. Morley! Carrie! This gentleman needs some medical attention. I'm afraid Barnaby may have chewed through something important."

--
Maude Braun - Appearance - Background
+1 link
Mr. Hamilton
Mr. Hamilton
Posts: 79

3/5/2017
Mr. Hamilton's* parents were constables in England. One day they were happily arresting criminals, the next day, they vanished off the face of the earth. No one ever figured out what happened to them. Mr. Hamilton's uncle was coming over the next day, he expected to find his sister, brother-in-law and their child, instead he just found the child. His uncle was just visiting from France. He couldn't see what else to do, so he took him to a orphanage in France. In his haste (he worked in the French government) he just labeled the cradle he had put the baby in "From the Hamilton Family" .

Mr. Hamilton was a curious child, so he climbed over the walls of the orphanage often he explored the city's alleys, corners, nooks and crannies. He was easily likable (though sometimes solemn) and made friends with all of the other children in the place. He did this until the age of 16 when he ran away to England and was a vendor there for 18 years before deciding there were better opportunities in the Neath.

Mr. Hamilton has been in the Neath for almost a year. In the first week, while looking for a home, he met Edward Frye, who had moved into London a day after Mr. Hamilton, and they instantly became friends. He has celebrated (with mushroom wine) his 35th birthday while in the Neath and has written a number of short stories and a novel.

*Mr. Hamilton's first name is not known.
edited by Mr. Hamilton on 3/5/2017

--
I am open to any calling cards and most other social events.



My alt: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/George~Albany

My alt's appearance: http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=8#post164336

My main profile: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Mr%20Hamilton

My main profile's appearance: [urlhttp://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=6#post164298
0 link
Azothi
Azothi
Posts: 110

3/6/2017
What is the azoth? A fancy name for mercury (though not quite as nice as quicksilver), if we're being technical, and the vision of countless alchemists who were all very wrong about the workings of the universe. Still, it was a name that stuck in the imagination of a young girl (who, at the time, was masquerading as a young boy) who loved to read, all alone, in the candlelit study of her father. It came to represent something unattainable, something that you could strive your whole life to achieve and still fall short at the very last hurdle and be doomed to failure.


--


"Why do you wonder that globe-trotting does not help you, seeing that you always take yourself with you? The reason which set you wandering is ever at your heels." - Socrates


Prologue


Azoth – or, at least, the person who would become Azoth – was born to a rather prestigious, albeit unusual family. Her father began as a deeply pious Scottish man born in 1821 into a tradition of science, raised by a widower mathematician who had turned to theology in his grief, abandoning his pursuit of mathematics in favor of the problem of evil. He raised his son, Azoth’s father, as a Reformed (Calvinist) Christian, though he did take a laissez-faire approach to parenthood: to him, if his son was wicked and sinful, that was God’s plan and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Clearly, he was a proponent of predestination.His son met his expectations, though. As a child, he greatly admired his father and wanted to follow in his footsteps, becoming a mathematician and deciphering the “language of God”, as his father called it. This began in his late teens, when he first read the Principia, and he began to study the stars and the ways they seemed to move. He would attend university at Edinburgh and begin his career.


He was in London on business in 1861 when his world was turned upside down and the city was stolen away to the Neath. Under the circumstances, he essentially had no work and left as soon as contact was re-established with the Surface. Though he fell ill upon his return, he recovered, having not been in the Neath for too long, and immediately began writing about the dangers that London was in and condemning the Traitor Empress for allowing this to happen. Nonetheless, he remained a strong patriot and enlisted in the army, believing that London’s place in the Neath put it in a unique position to do good by going to war with Hell. For seven years, he trained in preparation for a war that he knew would come, and was delighted when war finally broke out in 1868. His knowledge of theology helped him secure command of a company of men, who were to breach the walls of Hell and burn – well, burn it further – to the ground. His company survived the initial battle in the Forgotten Quarter and actually made it into Hell, but as soon as they entered, the devils were upon them. It was a massacre, and he barely managed to escape with his life.


The sight of seeing his comrades cut down before him was traumatizing, to say the least. He had managed to escape with only a couple of his men, fleeing all the way back to London and then back to the Surface, trying to get as far away from Hell as possible. Suffice to say, they all resigned their army positions and drowned their sorrows in a tsunami of alcohol. It was only the death of his father just a few weeks later that snapped him out of his misery. He only received a small portion of the inheritance, but it was enough for him to buy passage on a ship to the east, where he wanted to build a new life. England had too many reminders of the war, but its colonies; he could build a life there.


In 1869, he arrived in Hong Kong, one of the farthest colonies of Britain, acquired only around a decade prior. There he met a local poet, one who had learned English and fought for reform in Chinese society, and they soon fell in love. Together, they bore a child in mid-1870 -- Azoth, though that wasn't her name then -- and settled in the city, leaving behind their pasts to live in this strange meeting (or perhaps "invasion" would be a better word?) of cultures. They pledged to raise her in a way befitting a child of their two worlds, one that could take the best of each and cast away the worst. She would be raised with an appreciation for both cultures. She would not have her foot bound and bent, nor would she be expected to marry young and into money. She would be raised happy, healthy, and -


S---. It turns out that syphilis is a pain in the - well, it would be rude to say, but it suffices to say things went downhill.


--


"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." - Norman Cousins


Early Life


When she was five, her mother's mental state began to deteriorate. It began with headaches and mood swings -- fairly bad, but not the end of the world. Things worsened quickly, though. Within a year, she was having frequent seizures, and all Azoth could do was watch. The treatments given by the doctors simply weren't working, and though her mother remained lucid, over the years her condition steadily worsened. In this time, Azoth found solitude elsewhere, trying to distract herself from the realities of life. The children outside wouldn't usually play with her; her mixed heritage saw to that. Instead, she found herself drawn to the work of her parents. She would sneak into her father's study and take books from his library to read. Some were written in languages she couldn't understand. The ones she could read seemed needlessly complicated, but it wasn't as if she had anything better to do with her time. The ones in Chinese she'd have her mother help with in her more lucid moments, though they grew fewer and farther between as the years passed.


Around this time, Azoth was sent off to school, with one caveat. Education for women was thoroughly lacking, but education for men ... there was something that could be achieved. Her parents had known this and kept her hair cut short and her clothes loose-fitting; if they were lucky, they might be able to pass her off as a boy, at least until puberty. It wasn't as if the missionaries running the western schools would be checking (... maybe). In the day, she'd go to school and learn English and math and other subjects. She remained fairly socially isolated, fearing that she'd be kicked out if anyone found out her secret, but slowly began to make friends.


Her days truly came alive in the night, though, as she would walk outside and simply stare at the stars above her. They were fascinating, these tiny points of light shining from up above. She'd seen her father observe them before, and she knew that he used a "telescope" -- whatever that was -- to look at the moon and "planets". Turns out it wasn't that hard to steal it from his study.


Turns out dropping it wasn't the best idea either.


After what seemed like hours of angry shouting and an awkward few days of silence, her father sent word to England to ship over a replacement. In the meantime, he began to teach his daughter about the sky and the stars, recognizing that she'd keep on stealing and breaking his telescope if he didn't. She learned about the constellations and the planets and the way they moved across the sky. When the new telescope finally arrived at a considerable expense, she learned how to operate it and was able to see the moon and planets in their full glory.


Her mother died when she was twelve. Surprisingly, she found that it didn't hit her as hard as she expected. To her, her mother had died years ago; this was just her ghost passing from the world. Unfortunately, her father didn't take it as well. The death was crushing to him. For years, he'd hoped for a better treatment, perhaps some new antibiotic, that could help. Now it was useless.


Azoth had seen death before, but this was the first time she truly saw grief. Her father became more reserved. He'd retreat for hours to his study, writing letters and delving into strange and obscure texts. Occasionally, Azoth had a chance to look through his correspondence, and they all seemed very strange. For one, they all seemed to be sent to some strange city in some mythic land: "London". She'd heard stories about "London" from her father and from the other British in the city (those who would speak to her, at least), and she'd even seen daguerreotypes of it, but that wasn't even the strangest part. Nothing in the letters seemed to make sense: devils, boatmen, gardens, and so on. She never got any answers from her father, though, even when he was lucid.


She'd noticed a change in her father. Before, she'd never seen a drop of liquor enter his lips; he'd always said he needed a clear mind to think and work. Now he drank every day, and when he wasn't drinking or writing in his study, he was using opium, too lost in his own world to deal with her. Every now and then, she'd find him burning papers outside, pages and pages of writings; familiar writings -- mother's poetry. The words curled and blackened in the flames as each page, the last remains of her mother on the earth, burned away into nothing. Her father said he was sending them over to the next life for her to read and remember. She didn't believe him.


She continued to go to school, but she'd lost a lot of her old enthusiasm and was beginning to underperform. Her only solace now was in observing the world around her. She continued to stargaze, studying the works of astronomers of the previous centuries: Copernicus, Galileo, Brahe, Kepler, and so on. There was some comfort to be found in their stories and their mathematics, how they persevered in the face of adversity, and how even if they were ridiculed and mocked in their times, their truth would prevail. All would be well, and so too would all be well for her, she hoped. All would be well.


When she was 14, in the year 1884, her father made a spontaneous move: he announced that they were leaving Hong Kong and moving to London. The city that he had avoided like the plague fourteen years prior, the city he once thought of as a dead, rotting corpse in the ground was now the city of his dreams. Azoth couldn't understand what had changed. She couldn't understand that once when he desired knowledge, he found love, and for so long afterward his heart's desire was his true love. When that was stolen from him, he could not stop wanting, and as he desired love, he found knowledge: knowledge only found in the Neath, far away from the laws of the heavens. All of this went over her head; all she could see was that some change had come across her father, and now they were crossing the seas to a land she had heard of only in song and story.


--


"Isidora, therefore, is the city of his dreams: with one difference. The dreamed-of city contained him as a young man; he arrives at Isidora in his old age. In the square there is the wall where the old men sit and watch the young go by; he is seated in a row with them. Desires are already memories." - Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities


On the Sea


Her father was aging in years. The hairs on his head were turning white and his recent addictions had not proven healthy at all. He had spent nearly the last of their money on the voyage, the rest squandered in his search for ... what? Azoth didn't know. She knew it had something to do with London and it likely had to do with her mother's death, but she had no idea what seemed to be driving her father to madness. It could've been the alcohol and the opium, but she doubted that. Even in his lucid state, something seemed to be consuming his mind, driving him towards the west, towards the city of his dreams.


This was Azoth's first time on the sea, though she had lived by it her whole life, and it inspired mixed feelings within her. The liberation from the rest of the world was refreshing, and it was very relaxing, basking in the sunlight with the wind behind her. Of course, that was only during the smooth sailing. As soon as the waters grew turbulent, the journey would become far worse, leaving her stuck in a crowded, humid hold with total strangers and a slightly insane father. As the journey continued and supplies lessened, the atmosphere on the ship grew worse as morale fell and scurvy began to manifest. Though she avoided it, her father was not so lucky and was left sick for much of the voyage, confined to bed, left to dream alone.


Stepping foot in Liverpool for the first time (London wasn't exactly a port anymore, given the circumstances), Azoth was overwhelmed. This was an industrial town, one changed by machinery and factories, by coal and rail. Still, she didn't have much time to marvel at the city: within a day, they were moving on to London, but again, she noticed something different about her father. He was moving slower, with none of the vitality he had displayed at the journey's beginning. He was tired and had spent much of the sea-voyage thinking and pondering about why he wanted to come to London. He thought back to the ancient days now, when he had loved and been loved. He thought back to how much that love had changed him, for better or for worse, and all that he had done to try and destroy the pain of losing it. He had wanted nothing more than to make it go away, to take everything to a time before it all went to hell, but now he was just tired. What had he wanted? The cure for death? Eternal life? That didn't really appeal anymore. What was there in London now? Otherworldly pleasures, he had heard; unanswered mysteries waiting to be answered; even love, he heard, was plentiful there. But why did that matter? The journey had aged him, it seemed, or it could've been the years of self-pity and misery finally catching up to him. He felt like an old man now. A city of dreams has no place for a traveling old man; it is the place of the young, the bold, the beautiful.


After all, what use are desires once they've become only memories?


Right at the gates to the Neath, the doors to that subterranean cavern, he turned back, and Azoth couldn't fathom why. All she could see was the final madness of an old man with nothing left to live for. He had crossed the whole world and given up everything, put himself through years of pain and self-destruction for ... for what? To turn back at the threshold, to give up after all of this? There was nothing left to be done. The day passed, and Azoth lingered. Her father was bedridden now, as if the will to live had been sapped from him. He could get out of bed. He could leave and try to rebuild his life from scratch. But he didn't want to. He was tired, and he just wanted to rest, truly, for the first time in years. Azoth watched over him as he drew his last breath at the doorstep of the city of his dreams.


--


"The heart will break, but broken live on." - Lord Byron, Don Juan


Healing


For the first time, Azoth was truly alone. She only had the clothes on her back and few prized possessions, but she managed to come up with enough money to buy passage back to Liverpool. London was her father's folly, and she wanted nothing more to do with it. Deep within her, she felt empty. The past year of her life, give or take, had been a waste of time and money, and now she was stranded, a stranger in a strange land. She was marked; it was still clear to see that she was not a pure-blooded European, and with no home or inheritance to her name, she had few options.


Realizing the disadvantages she faced in this society, she turned back to the old trick she used years before: disguising herself as a boy. Her voice was low enough that it could be mistaken for a high-pitched male voice, and if she remained silent, it'd be all the better. She was still quite thin and so long as she concealed her features well enough, she could make for a passable male. She cut her hair and went to the docks, looking for work. She managed to find it as a deckhand on a small trading vessel, where she presented herself to the old captain and managed to impress him. It was not hard for him to realize she was disguising her gender -- the ship was a closed environment, one not well-suited for long-term disguises -- but he recognized a certain hunger in the child. The loss of her father was still fresh in her mind, and she could do nothing but run. She buried that pain under a mountain of work, and she found the bottle comforting in this time, as her father had before her. She wasn't fond of its taste, but she couldn't resist the numbness that came with it.



Before she departed, she was making plans for the future, trying to find opportunities for social advancement. After expressing an interest to the captain about becoming a doctor, he recommended a number of texts that could be useful, slipping in a few recent books on nursing, knowing how difficult it would be for a woman to ascend the ranks to become a doctor. The next day, she slipped out of the ship to a local bookstore, pilfering as many of its books on medicine as she could. Narrowly avoiding detection, she managed to return to the ship uncaught and immediately began studying whenever she had a moment, though she had little time for it. The ship was ready to sail and deckhands were expected to do far more than lounge around reading books all day.


Once, she had dreamed of stars and the heavens, and she still looked to them for comfort and inspiration, but no longer did they fill her mind as they once had. She now dreamed of her own star and her own heavens, a place to stand so that she could move the world. The nurse, the lady with the lamp, was a good profession, one that could bolster her financially. Planning on moving on from the deckhand position quickly, she haggled for only a year-long contract with the merchant vessel in exchange for lower pay, but her friendship with the captain proved profitable nonetheless. He was an old officer of the Navy, and he'd seen his fair share of the world. He’d grown up hearing stories of Admiral Nelson and the bravery of the navy, and he’d joined as soon he was of age. He and Azoth would reminisce about the east, the captain having fought in the Opium Wars and Azoth having lived through the consequences of those actions. She came to resent some of his beliefs -- the captain was a vehement imperialist, justifying British expansion in the name of God and civilization -- but gained a healthy respect for him as a person.


The captain, in the meantime, saw a hunger in the child that he saw in few others. He had never had a child of his own, and here, at the end of his life, he felt the urge to take her under his wing, to pass a part of his legacy onto her. He took her on as a personal assistant, knowing she would prove useful on this voyage, as he intended to trade in the Far East. At the same time, he trained her in self-defense, giving her one of his pistols in the event that the crew found out her secret and tried to hurt her.


Arriving in Beijing, Azoth was immediately uncomfortable. She’d returned to the land of her childhood, but it wasn’t her home. The people looked at her strangely. Some seemed disgusted that she would work with the westerners who had just a decade before invaded and caused so much suffering. Having landed, many of the other sailors seemed to treat her differently too, as if they were afraid she’d run off and abandon them, and many simply pretended she didn’t exist. Still, the voyage was a success and they returned to England with a tidy profit. She agreed to remain with the ship for another contract, but when the captain died in his sleep, she was left alone on the ship again. She returned to being an ordinary deckhand, and despite the resentment that others had for her, she managed to make it through the remainder of her contract and left the ship soon afterward.


Casting off her disguise, she applied for work at a hospital and was given an opportunity to demonstrate her abilities in lieu of proper schooling. It was 1887 and demand for nurses remained high. She went to work for the first time, stationed at the emergency ward, and was completely unprepared for what she would see.


She had heard of brutality and starvation before. She'd seen death before, many times now, and each time she'd learned to hide the grief. But this ... this was different. Working in the hospital, she saw case after case of cruelty and misery and doom. She saw the way disease ravaged its hosts, the infected coming in one day and dying the next. A few came with seizures and mental failures, and she could not help but remember her mother, slowly dying as her condition worsened and worsened. She saw accidents of industry, men caught in flywheels and cut to pieces, construction workers crushed and crippled. She even saw crime and murder, with people stabbed and shot and dying. As a nurse, she was to watch over the patients, to gauge their condition and call a doctor if necessary, and thus she witnessed death again and again. There were cases that ended well, with full recovery and a happy patient, but the joy from those was continually crushed by the death of the next patient, and the next, and the next. The pay was good -- she managed to find a home in a settlement house and could afford to buy food and drink -- but she felt herself growing angry. Why did it have to be this way? Why was there still pain and poverty haunting such an advanced society?


For years, she'd continue this work, losing hope as time passed. What was there to care about anymore? So many of her efforts were for naught, so much time spent on nothing. Sometimes, she would see a patient, suffering and beyond care, and she'd just wish that they would just die. The worst for her were the youth, the ones about her own age that would turn up, stabbed or drunk or both. They managed to save some. Many others didn't make it. They took a greater and greater toll on her. She was adrift in a sea of misery, and she could see no way out. Even if she left the nursing field, what else could she do? She couldn't stand to know that people were dying and that she had walked away from those who would help them.


In 1891, this all changed.


--


"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." - Friedrich Nietzsche


Love is Light


Azoth had felt love before; the love of a child for a parent, mainly. Sure, she'd had a couple crushes and romantic thoughts in her teenage years, but she'd never truly felt the love and lust of romance before. This came to a startling end when a new nurse transferred into the emergency ward, one schooled in London and now working on the Surface. She advertised herself under the pseudonym Nightingale (as is the practice of many in London), as those trained from the academy in London were known, and since the Fall, their services had become quite prized. Unfortunately, the Surface-sickness that struck her kept her from working for the first few weeks of her stay, and Azoth became her nurse, as they were close in age. The two became fast friends, with Nightingale talking about the strangeness of the Neath and its quaint, charming beauty, while Azoth regaled her with stories of the sea and the east. When Nightingale recovered, she was placed in the emergency ward, where her services could perhaps be of the most use, and she and Azoth continued to grow closer.


After their first encounter, this newcomer began to take over Azoth's mind. She was intriguing; London was still a mysterious place to her, despite having lived in England for so long now, and she still wondered what her father had sought there. Nightingale was surprisingly nonchalant about all the horrors on the Surface; it was nothing compared to what she'd seen in the Neath. She remained bright and cheerful, ready to help anyone, even if failure meant a permanent death, unlike the deaths of the Neath. It was her who taught Azoth of the philosophy that she would come to adopt: the Anchoress's Promise. All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.


Their conversations took a long time to turn to love. It was the February of 1892, and London was celebrating the Feast of the Exceptional Rose. It was the first year Nightingale had not celebrated, and so she and Azoth arranged to have their own little celebration in the hospital, buying the traditional masks of the holiday and having a night of singing, dancing, and music. It was then that Azoth began to realize her feelings for her, and she confessed her feelings at the end of the feast. Thus began Azoth's first relationship and, truly, the only one she invested all her heart in.


A year passed, and Azoth continued to learn all about the Neath from her new lover. They decided to move in together and pool their resources, even if society on the Surface stood against everything about their relationship. Nightingale told stories of the love in the Neath, and how blind it was. People of different classes and genders mixed and loved. Even people of different species, she said, could find love: intimacy with devils, romance with Rubbery Men; it was very much unlike the hellish London she'd heard of as a child and the mystery-shrouded London of her adolescence. Nightingale entertained thoughts of returning, but Azoth opposed them: she simply couldn't give up the stars and the sun and the bright colors of the Surface. Another Feast of the Exceptional Rose came and went, and the two grew closer.


These were among Azoth's most prized memories, ones she feared losing to the Nadir or to the fog of time over the years. It was an escape from the darkness of her everyday life, a beacon in that sea of misery. Love was light, and she could not let it go. It's why the knife would cut so deep a year later, when her shift in the emergency ward was cruelly interrupted.


She couldn't quite believe her eyes when Nightingale arrived there at the edge of death, her throat slit and body mutilated. The doctors tried to save her, but it was impossible. The constables had been the ones to bring her, and they revealed few details to Azoth about the murder. They had pursued the killer and recognized him, but he was a citizen of the Neath, in the jurisdiction of London. His name was Scathewick, they said, and the story matched the evidence: the petals left on Nightingale's corpse were from a flower of the Neath, now withered and dead in the sunlight.


Azoth left the hospital and her lodgings the next day. She had a new destination: Fallen London.


--


Nemesis


"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche



It was not hard entering London, at the end of the day. All she had to do was assault the customs officer, and suddenly she was locked away in New Newgate, high above the city. The hard part was getting out of New Newgate in one piece. She was inexperienced in the criminal world. She'd stolen before and she knew how to use a gun, but the pistol the captain had given her was taken with the rest of her possessions. She had to learn how to fight, but driven by pain and grief, it proved easier to than expected. As soon as she heard a prisoner talking about Scathewick, though, she snapped. She can't quite recall what happened, but there was blood and it ended with her sitting down to talk with the underworld boss who controlled the man she assaulted. To deter her from attacking again, he had one of her fingers removed, cutting off the index finger of her right hand. This left the hand practically useless for a few days, but she could live without it, and she had what she wanted: a name and a place. The petals of Scathewick's flower were "exile's rose", apparently, and the man himself was well-known for being hard to find and difficult to employ. The information may not have been worth it, but in her irrational and almost mad state, Azoth didn't care. Soon enough, she was preparing to escape on the dirigibles, and then, truly, she could begin.

--

Epilogue


"Give me the place to stand, and I shall move the earth." - Archimedes

Her ambition to find Scathewick was at first what drove her, but soon enough, the grief and anger over Nightingale's death began to fade and she realized that she needed to establish herself first in London. The charity of a Soft-Hearted Widow gave her lodgings, and from there, she began to plan. She realized that the Neath was so much more than just Scathewick, and that he would be on the run for a while still. If she waited, he would let down his guard, and she'd find him then. Until then, well ... London was her oyster. It had mysteries to be probed, stories to be told. Nightingale's death hurt, and it still hurt, but the loss of her finger reminded her of what truly mattered: no matter what, she had to stay alive. She had the opportunity to finish her father's work, whatever it was. There were people around London that needed help, and she could provide it.

After a long time in the Neath, the pain had nearly faded fully, and she began to embrace the Neath for everything that it held. Even down here, tensions still rose among different peoples. The Clay Men were little better than slaves, and few in London seemed to understand them. Rubbery Men were incapable of being understood, but she saw mobs hounding and killing them. Snuffers were an enigma, but it was only natural for humans to fear what they couldn't understand. She had to learn more, to understand these peoples and avoid the mistakes of history. Besides that, the Neath was full of mysteries: zee-monsters, ancient cities, and the Correspondence, above all. She was making a name for herself here, and soon enough, nothing would be able to keep her her nemesis. Her mind had been sharpened since coming to the Neath; her words honeyed, her steps made soft, her skill at arms made ever greater. Scathewick wouldn't escape her gaze. She'd just have to wait.

But this is London. Death is a mere inconvenience, though one that she will avoid like the plague. She will wait for it.
edited by Azothi on 3/9/2017
edited by Azothi on 7/3/2017
edited by Azothi on 7/3/2017

--
Azoth I - Midnighter - Available Watchful Patron - Long History - Appearance

A Fading Memory

Celebrating one year in Fallen London, September 1895.
+3 link
Teaspoon
Teaspoon
Posts: 806

3/6/2017
I would like to observe: that was pretty epic.

--
Truth lies at the bottom of a well.

http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/Alt%20Ern
+1 link
Aldous Tefton
Aldous Tefton
Posts: 2

9/9/2017
I'll begin by way of preemptive apology, for my story is neither as complete nor as fulfilling as many shared between these walls. The unfortunate truth is, I do not recall much of my life. Ah, I see some of you scoff! You've heard tales like this before. Of course, I understand, but I also appreciate how remarkable it is that such tales are not-so-rare in this strange city.

My memories begin aboard a ship. I had been struck with some otherworldly malady, and was bedridden. The disease (if indeed it was a disease, it may well have been a curse) was agony incarnate. My flesh burned like fire, while my insides felt like ice. My teeth rebelled against my mouth and tore at me like daggers; I could not tolerate even the slightest glimmer of light; and I could feel every nail and follicle of hair not so much grow as force themselves through my skin.

There was a man who cared for me on the ship. He called me Aldous. I do not know his name-or I do not remember, for I believe it was the affliction that ravaged my mind and memory. He told me we were going to London, where we would find answers. I was in too great of pain to wonder what the questions were.

When we docked, my friend and some sailors strapped me to a board and we alighted from the ship. But, as soon as we touched land, we were set upon! I can swear that it was not an attack of random violence, but a staged ambush. In the fray, my friend was killed. Any more than this, however, is lost to the fog of my disease. I recall then being saved-or captured-by the constables and brought to New Newgate Prison. I was masked, shackled, and dressed in rags, but I was also fed and given shelter. At the prison, I was only ever referred to by a number: Two-Eight-Five-Three-One-Nine. In a fit of cleverness, I thought it apt to take an abbreviation of those numbers as my surname. "Aldous Tefton." But a name is a hollow pittance for remediation of lost history.

I slowly regained my strength in the prison, and finally was able to escape (thank you very much). But my memories continued to elude me. All I know is that I was brought to London for a reason. My friend's killer is somewhere in these streets. So for answers and justice, I remain. Or, if not those, then scholarly interest, for the Neath holds a great many wonders I feel an inclination (a semblance of my past life, I wonder?) to study. I am new to this city, but the devils, the clay men, the tomb colonists, and the million other oddities do not surprise me. So, Perhaps I have been here before? Perhaps.... "Perhaps" is all I have. London is all I have.
+1 link
Lady Jen Black
Lady Jen Black
Posts: 29

9/11/2017
In my earliest recollections, I think I had a family. There was a man with dark curls and a woman with red hair. I remember smiles and laughter. The feeling of being loved. But that seems to me a distant dream. What I can remember is screaming. The next thing I knew, I was all alone in a black alley. I couldn't have been more than six.

Somehow, I survived. I learnt how to use my wide eyes and weak smile to charm coins out of passersby. How to run and hide from those who sought to catch me. How to fight when I had to. How to watch, and learn, and hear things, and steal secrets. Oh, and the characters I met! There was a gentleman who would pay for knowledge, an addict and a thrill-seeker but a brilliant mind. It was thanks to his doctor friend that I didn't die young. I met him again recently, in a different capacity. He doesn't remember me, and I'm not surprised. I've come a long way since then. It's for the best, I suppose. There were the twins. A daredevil brother and a calculating sister. They worked with a group of urchins I hadn't joined - life on my own might not have been easier, but it was freedom. They were like angels of death, moving silently and invisibly to end lives. I picked up a few of their skills, but not nearly as many as I would have liked. Both were intimidating, but kind enough.

And most importantly, there was a couple. A Dutch genius and his wife, a Romani acrobat. He had come to London to expand his criminal empire. I met them when I collapsed at their doorstep on a snowy night. They took me in during that harsh winter. He taught me how to finesse locks, how to think ten steps ahead of my opponent, how to fight dirty. She taught me how to hide, how to steal secrets, how to be unnoticed. They offered to let me return with them when they left. I accepted.

I spent the next few years abroad, helping my parents in their gang. There was only one incident a couple of years in, when a plague swept the city. We left for their country home, but it was too late. I contracted a fever and fell in and out of consciousness. The infection attacked my brain. If not for their friend, a Russian healer, I might have lost my vision entirely. As it was, my eyes changed color to a dark blue-purple shade because of the elixirs she used.

When I was fifteen, a visitor came that changed my life. He said he was my godfather, Lord Black, and he had been searching for me ever since he was released from prison. He didn't recognise me at first - apparently I had been born with my mother's brilliant green eyes - but that was easily explained. Originally, he had been accused of my parents' deaths, but he had proven his innocence in the end. My family didn't trust him, but he carried a daguerrotype that was clearly of him and a younger me. And when he started singing lullabies, I recognised his voice. My father made enquiries. He seemed to be the real deal.

So my parents accompanied me back to London, staying there about a year to supervise their criminal empire and ensure my safety. It turned out their worries were unfounded. Lord Black was the best godfather I could have asked for. He had me introduced to society as his heiress. It wasn't safe to use my real name - my birth parents had been killed in the Great Game - so I picked a new one. My mother's name was too unusual, so I reversed it. Jeni became Jenny - and that name had too many connotations - so Jen it was. Jen Black.

But it didn't last. Lord Black's stay in prison had weakened his constitution. He passed away. When London fell, I fell with it. I took over the Black estates and my father's empire. At one point, while seeking the secrets of the Snuffers, I ended up in New Newgate for a spell. But I broke out. Given how my father had handled the Ice Court, it wasn't even a problem.

My goals? Simple. Take over the legacy of both my fathers. Surpass the Widow and the Duchess in power and acclaim. Become wealthy. Hunt the Vake. Make my family proud. You can drop me a line if you need help, but I hope you'd be willing to offer occasional assistance in return. And don't cross me or you'll regret it.

(OOC: The first 3 people who can tell me the works being referenced in my backstory will get surprise packages! PM me or send me a message in-game.)
edited by Jen Black on 9/12/2017
edited by Jen Black on 9/12/2017

--
Lady Jen Black - Appearance - Backstory - MBTI - Song - Portrait - RP Directory
Accepting calling cards. Please send one
+1 link
Bitty
Bitty
Posts: 74

9/12/2017
God I can't do fancy rp things here's just some...info on what I have for my character's backstory so far, granted im probably not as far in the game as most people


My character, Heathen (real name: Heather Hathaway) was a thief on the surface, along with her brother, Ezra, they were partners in crime. After their parents were killed when they were no older then 8, they learned to steal to survive, as they grew older, they went up in the criminal world as they performed grander and grander heists. And then one day, Ezra was...killed, and Heathen went down to the Neath for revenge, purposely getting caught and thrown in New Newgate.

--
Main, Heathen(Nemesis)
Aten(Seeker)
Sook(Bag a Legend)


Open to all non-harmful social actions. Not into RP and will respond normally.
+1 link
Lady Karnstein
Lady Karnstein
Posts: 51

9/20/2017
Caroline Karnstein was always a queer girl, never quite fitting in, despite having many admirers. As she began maturing on the surface, rumors began to swirl about her private life, and also what secrets lie in her family's noble or perhaps not so noble background. Many people had questions, but only got a mysterious smile in return, at least in public. Few could say she lacked a kind heart, but her pursuit of pleasure got in the way. Eventually she was caught with the Wrong Person one time too many, one too many letters put a bit strongly or to the Wrong People, too many whispers by servants about her Special Room. To say she was run down to the neath by pitchfork wielding fathers, husbands and brothers might overstate things, but in the end, the writing was on the wall. Only love of Paris kept her on the surface, but even then it was not enough.

Since coming down Caroline has made rather a splash in the Neath. Of course, she immediately got arrested, but she vowed never again! She has only been arrested twice since then, which is good for her. She is known for her kind heart and keeping her word (to any but herself!) in many places, as well as her hedonism, and some say she is almost as deeply entrenched in The Game as she is Bohemian culture and Society. She is an avid Nocturnal and has undertaken some detective work using the Implacable Method. Poetry, Fiction, Theater, Art she has turned her hand to many things, and they say for better for for worse the world will never create as it did before she came along. She married one of her favorite models, which some hoped would slow her down but they only seem to multiply each other's voraciousness!

They say you should watch out when she shows but but really, she only wants to make friends and have a good time. Isn't that all any of us want? So come to her Salon, and have a good time.
edited by Lady Karnstein on 9/20/2017

--
Lady Caroline Karnstein, infamous writer, artist, and courtesan. Unrepentant Invert.
Legendary Charisma, Correspondent, Nocturnal. Thumbfumble Champion 1894
Think I should even be speaking to children? Invite me to your Orphanage!
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Caroline%20Karnstein
+1 link
Caroline Augusta Baroness Aubrecker
Caroline Augusta Baroness Aubrecker
Posts: 30

8 days ago
Her father called her “Karolinka” – which is the pet form of Caroline in her native language. He was a hungarian nobleman – tightly intertwined by blood and history both to the german as well as to the austrian royalty. She grew up an aristocrats daughter – living mostly in their country estate in the Turóc County. Her mother had a very fragile complexion and therefore was secluded mostly inside their home – until she passed giving birth to Carolines beloved baby-brother Franciszek (usually called Francis). Caroline was a wild tomboy – escaping her nursemaids and teachers whenever possible to roam the woods and ride, her father had a stud farm so she was never short of horses to choose from. It all ended with her step-mother, who decided the child needed discipline and a more female demeanour – Caroline hated the woman, but there was no escaping – she was separated from her brother, moved to the city and was submitted to a rigid training. Her only freedom was when she was allowed to return during holidays to play with her Franciszek and hunt with her father.

At the age of fifteen she was send to be a ladies companion to Lady Zsofia the mistress of the robes at the Buda Castle. The woman was her mother’s cousin and it was at court that Caroline first appeared under the title she inherited from her mother – Baroness Aubrecker. Under the firm but loving protection of the elder woman, Caroline learned how to behave at a royal court, how to maintain court ceremonial, avoid the greatest failures and mistakes, keep those away you wish to and engage with those you need to. Talk to diplomats from different countries, escape the notice and attention of those too dangerous for you to face. But it all ended with the news of both her parents dead and Francis, a ten years old boy at that time, inheriting property and title. Caroline left the court in a rush to get to the country estate.

She found an aggressive and reserved atmosphere, no one was willing to tell her what had caused the sudden death of her parents, and Francis was obviously traumatised, the boy refused to eat, spend his nights crying and shacking in his bed. It only got better, when she allowed him to sleep in her bed, stroking the boys wet hair and holding him close, whispering to him that she would protect him whatever was to come their way. But she failed. She utterly devastatingly failed and Francis died, or so they told her, when they found her in a puddle of blood, unconscious and hurt badly. The estate and title was passed on to a distant male relative, and he did not want the adolescent in his household, so Lady Zsofia took pity on her and arrange for her to finish her schooling in far off England. Caroline was opposed to the idea but without the means to change her situation, she had to go.

At the age of nineteen she was called back home, Lady Zsofia was retiring from court and offered her the position of her ladies companion - but Caroline refused, - when she talks about that she claims she wasn’t expected back – and since Lady Zsofia died this very well is true now. Caroline wanted the truth. She wasn’t sure her brother died at all – there was no body and there was a strange glyph left behind. She heard there was an officer who claimed to have seen such glyphs as well, but he was in the Mahdist war. So she did the foolish thing and became a military hospital nurse. It took quiet a while but she managed to find him and patch him up and he told her to go to Fallen London. After leaving the service she found a way to enter the city – it might be a faint hope – but she will go all the way – to hell and back if need be to find Franciszek.

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Caroline%20Augusta%20Baroness%20Aubrecker
Be judge yourself, I'll bring it to the test,/
Which is the basest creature, man or beast/
With teeth and claws, by nature armed, they hunt/
Nature's allowance, to supply their want./
But man, with smiles, embraces. friendships. Praise,/
Inhumanely his fellow's life betrays
0 link




Powered by Jitbit Forum 8.0.2.0 © 2006-2013 Jitbit Software