What brings you to the neath? (backstory & goals)

(there will be a few minor early game spoilers in this post. Just throwing a warning)

I didn’t seem to see this kind of topic floating around so…why not?

My name is Aegix. I came to the Neath for one thing and one thing only. Finding out how I can sabotage hell and the soul trade.

Spirifers have been acting more and more on the surface. While hell is open and active, it encourages the soul trade. Now, if someone wants to gamble theirs away or trade it for temporary gain, that’s their business, although I’d call them fools. But the “darker” side of the culture… People forced to sell it to pay off debts, people who are tricked and bamboozled out of their souls…That is what I cannot stand. And if I ever hear of souls being outright stolen…cracks knuckles

I had myself framed for something I won’t even begin to describe so I could get a free ride down to the neath. I left behind friends, my true love, and any hope for leaving Fallen London “alive”. My only allies are some strange old man, and a haunted old dog (I’m not counting that other dog. He’s not useful to me at all), and MAYBE a certain man in veilgarden although I have many doubts about him. But I will keep pushing until I know everything I can about hell and the soul trade. Even if it drives me insane. Which I’ve come dangerously close to at least once already.

I try my best to stick to my own moral code and to do as least harm as I can, but given the nature of Fallen London, I’ve had to delve into criminal actions. I’m slowly beginning to lose any sense of regret. But it’s the only way to make any real progress. And I wonder if there really are any people down here who haven’t obtained those goods through theft as well.

If there is a way to end this state of affairs, I will find it. If there isn’t…Then I will sabotage it as best I can, for as long as I can. And I’ll see if I can learn all the secrets of Fallen London while I’m at it. slips out the window to uncover more secrets, his dog tailing him

As soon as the facebook functionality is working again, I’m using the “on matters of love” card to invite my GF to the game. It’s been in my hand for over a week. I’m hoping it causes a nifty storyline for us both. ;)
Here’s hoping that there is a way to achieve my goals. If not…Well, I’ll make do. There is lots to do in fallen London.
edited by Philip Eloy on 10/30/2012

Moriarty’s family used to be much like the Cheese-monger, and the old families tasked with the playing of the Game, and the defense of the Empire. They were known to the public as a honorable merchant family, distantly related to nobility. The intrigues and chaos of the Fall led to the sudden extermination of most of his relatives at a very young age. His mother, already disowned due to the illegitimate conception of Moriarty (by someone in the Palace, she claimed) fled with her infant son, but succumbed to consumption in Paris. He was raised by his retainer and nursemaid, who raised him on tales of the Neath, both great and terrible. He was young, and sickly, and prone to fits of paranoia and fixation, but he was loved. He spent his youth being schooled along the winding roads of Europe by his retainer, unsure whether they were wandering or hiding. She taught him about not the classics or academics, but about strategy, tactics. Geography. The odd bit of chemistry and physics. And many games of chess.

He wandered the world, after his nursemaid retired due to the fever, leaving him with only his mother’s ring. His nursemaid kept the papers, and the remnants of the family finances, on his request. She needed the money more than he did. He fell in love, and for a moment considered forgetting the history of his family, and learning the ways of peace. Then, came Paris. And everything was gone in moments.

  In the aftermath, he fled, into the sewers. Sick, wounded, and half dead, he stumbled through the darkness and somehow woke in a dark place. A place that felt ancient, like a crossroads on the river fate itself. The walls groaned, and shook, shivering away hairs and mucus.  A frightening eyed man, with sallow flesh and cracked teeth offered him a choice.  Sell the ring, and he could go one of two places- to the docks, to escape to the Colonies, and try to start anew, but risking permanent death- or to the Neath. A place where a man could bargain for his heart's desire, and survive death itself. For the briefest moment after he made his decision, he died. He woke, in a prison of stone. He knew without words he could never again leave the Neath.

What are his goals? To win back love? Vengeance? Glory? Renewal? Who can say. His earliest exploits have passed into hearsay and legend. He has worn fame and acclaim and hate and banishment upon his back in equal measure. He walks with rulers, spies and rebels, and none know his allegiance. Though some say royal blood resides in his veins. And some say, in his home in in the shadows of the Bazaar, the crest of a long forgotten family hangs. A white Phoenix, climbing above a simple blue shield, with a star, and a pawn. Beneath, an inscription, Praeparare namque improviso consequatur. Those few who look upon it, remember. And those who are wise, are wary.
edited by friendshipranger on 1/25/2013

My name is Zarraha, I came to the Neath in order to gain fame and fortune, and gain them I have. Although I began with almost no possessions or useful skills, I have an incredible knack for learning things and become more skilled and earn money even faster every day. I do jobs for anyone willing to pay me, provided they aren’t immoral or harmful, and often do favors for free in the hopes that I can gain favors that I might use to my advantage later. I have several lodgings that I use for storage, piles and piles of valuable goods, and networks of spies and followers that gather information and can be used to handle business for me in various locations so I’m not constantly running about and can focus on earning more money.

That said, I try not to be selfish with my desires. I do whatever makes me happiest, and since I like being kind to people and dislike suffering, I tend to do good deeds since they bring me emotional happiness. I donate to charities and help the poor, especially urchins, I treat all races equally*, even if they have weird customs and speak weird languages, and I never compromise my morals, even if it would be to my own advantage. It’s been a successful endeavor so far: I run around helping people, I eat good food, drink good wine, enjoy the company of fine women, and hang out with my two favorite ex-urchin girls who helped me when I first arrived in the neath.

*Devils do not count. In theory, if there were a devil who was not a soul-trading God-hating scumbag I would accept them, but Hell and those who work for it are horrible and I am currently spending my efforts and much of my valuable goods to bolster the church and destroy the soul trade. Again, I do whatever I feel like doing, and after having seen the tortured look in the eyes of the soulless, I feel like wreaking havoc on the scumbags who made it possible.

Ah, a man after my own heart. Finally someone else sensible in this (almost literal) hell hole. buys you a drink

Devils aren’t so terrible. They make for lovely fireside conversation, and the touch of their skin is…satisfying. cough But like with any other category of creature, there are rules. You don’t sing to a Drownie, never fall in love with a spy, don’t let an urchin near the good china (or leave the good china near the windows, for that matter), never play cards with a Master, never give a Rattus Faber a cookie, and for the love all that’s holy, you don’t let trust a devil an inch further than you can throw them through the nearest window.
edited by friendshipranger on 1/20/2013

Come now, Devils aren’t so bad! A Deviless rather close to me afforded me the wealth to buy a very Handsome Townhouse at only the cost of my own soul. And with the help of a wonderful little fork, I can continue to make quite the fortune selling the souls of others. They are just businessmen and women in their own right. They just sell unique goods.

My name is Benjamin S. Cardwell. Not a name one would associate with nobility. In old London my chances to enter high society would have been infintesimal, but there are many oppertunities in Fallen London for a person with light fingers, a sharp eye, a golden tongue and a sharp left hook to make a name for himself. Or herself, in these increasingly enlightened times! I was born to working class parents both of whom died by the time I was ten. I was an urchin and a thief. I was only a child when London fell, but with the help of a mysterious benefactor I was able to take hold of the opportunity to advance in life. I am now a person of some importance, if I do say so myself! I mingle with the rich and powerful, but I am not really one of them. They will never accept me. That is probably for the best.

I still steal sometimes. I’m good enough that I can keep my identity under wraps, and I only take from those who have more than they know what to do with.

I try to give to those who have none, and treat others right. There is so much pain and inequality in this great city, but I don’t trust the revolutionaries. I don’t trust their leaders or methods. But I think I have a better way. I have a plan, you see. A plan to turn the Neath on its head. This is a place full of secrets. I have been gathering them for quite some time. I already know of the mysterious skills of the sorrow spiders, the nightmarish grammar of the correspondence and the foul trade of the thrice-cursed spirifer, but I will have more. I will see what lies beyond the gates of the garden, I will uncover the mysteries of the Elder Continent, I will learn the secrets of the fallen cities and much more. And then, once I have pierced the mysteries of the Neath and the Bazaar itself, I will publish them. There are ways to distribute documents in such quantities and with such speeds as to make it very difficult to suppress them entirely. I am already working to found my own newspaper. I will publish the deepest secrets of the world for everyone to see and the world will never be the same.

They will try to kill me for it of course. But if I can gain my Heart’s Desire, they may find it very difficult to do so.

&quotMiller, Wesley Miller. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I came here by my own free will. Sure, I did not plan to visit the great stalactite. But now, for a while, I am a denizen of the Neath. There are matters above that I can only hope to handle if I manage to win a card game. Until then, we will be neighbours.

An occupation? Well, I could not peruse my old trade here - I found there was very little demand for a Latin teacher. In Fallen London those who do not know Latin already are usually not interested in learning it. But I put my classical studies to good use. Starting up as a translator, then finding my way in prose and poetry. If you ever need a little celebration pean, a love letter for your dear or a rhymed mockery of your worst contender, feel free to ask. New customers are entitled to a small price reduction. You can find me either at the Pragmatic Poets Society headquarters in Concord Square, or above my shop at the Bazaar, the Blue Marine.

Sure, I run a shop. More of a hobby than an actual source of revenue, actually. I just seized the chance to make some use of the experience I matured on the Unterzee, looking for clues on the fate of the last Fallen Cities. Dead civilizations have always been my fields of interest, in the end. And just like studying our ancestors gives us insights on who and of what we are, studying our predecessors in the Neath could provide useful information about both our current predicament and what we can do to escape the next one. Maybe.

Oh, do they really call me that? Now, that is a little too flattering, maybe. It is true that I like riddles and calembours - and an investigation is but a long, complex riddle to solve. But I am no detective, just a gentleman who tries to be a good citizen and help up the police in the rare cases where my deduction skills can be of help. Yes, I meant police in the broader sense of the term. Constables are not the only ones guarding London’s nights. And not the only ones deserving help, actually.

Great what? No, the only game I am after is played at a cards table. I do not know where you could have heard that. But I suspect my last sonnet caused some little disturbance, and a little tattle was considered a sound punishment for me. No wonder I usually use a pseudonym to sign my works. But I have no qualm in telling you my actual name. I trust you.

And you can trust me.&quot

[Additional info about my character can be found at the Fallen London Roleplay Wiki]
edited by streetfelineblue on 9/20/2013

Call me Dirae Erinyes. I came only for revenge.
Born to a rich family, who died early, leaving me with a fortune. I was a melancholy child until I met my love. And I was happy. Until she died. I spent everything to come down here.
In the midst of all my plots and schemes, I found something I never would think to find again. Love.
Now, I will do anything make her happy and anything to keep her safe. Thus I gain power and wealth both for her amusement and as necessary tools. The one who took my first love will never touch her. Even if I have to kill the unkillable.

Rowan DuSang, pleased t’ meet you. Not my birth name, but it had a fancy-like ring to it.

I had a soldier father, a consumptive mother. Didn’t last long, those two. Spent the rest of my upbringing relying on the generosity of shabbily respectable relatives, who hoped to raise me into a marriageable lady. That is, until I clipped my hair short and made off with the silver.

I earned every bob of my hard-won freedom. I went cold, I went hungry, but I learned quick. I capered with rogues and urchins of all stripes, supporting m’self on the cross. Had some jolly good times too, even rampaged across the Continent for a spell.

Then an old chum told me that down in the Neath, anyone can be rich as kings. What with jewels falling like rain and all that. The bastard. I got nibbed for cribbing handkerchiefs my first evening down, and was promptly sent for a stretch in that pointy upside-down black house. Oh, and he never mentioned anything about monsters either. Deuce bastard.

After that, I tried to make a go of honest work—sipping honey in Veilgarden while scribbling bad poetry about mushrooms. It didn’t take.

Nowadays, I’m happily filching in the streets of Spite. I dabble in the Game. My affable roommate Agnes, however, is quite fluent. She’s a slumming aristocrat. We plan our capers together and, ironically, also partake in the most delicious society parties. Our rooftop abode has the most MAGNIFICENT views.

Oh yes, this other matter. I’ve been dressing like a lad since my surface days. Safer and easier this way. It doesn’t seem to be an impediment to the loads of affairs I’m carrying on. I dare say, they rather like it.
edited by Rowan Dusang on 2/21/2013

"Was it truly only in '88 that I first came to the Neath? It seems so long ago now. At any rate, My name is William John Penning. Pleased to meet you all.

My reason for coming down here? To seek the impossible. The world above had grown stale indeed, and the Neath promised so many incredible diversions, how could I resist? I spent the majority of my first year here in Veilgarden, drifting in and out of sobriety and the halls of society. I learned of a most interesting card game, that I am still trying to track down. Eventually I managed to work my way to the Court of the Empress, but that ended poorly. At any rate, society had shut its doors to me, so I looked elsewhere in the neath for something to while away time. And find it I did. But those are tales for another time.

I have no real profession, so to speak. Well, I suppose that isn’t true. I’m currently doing a bit of work with the Church, but that is a recent development. For about a year and a half I just flitted about London and beyond, doing this, that, and quite a bit of the other. Enough to keep body and soul together, and entertained. I’ve tried my hand at archaeology dueling, zailing, stage-work beast gathering, academia, the lost does go on. As for actual hobbies, well. I’ve been experimenting with the Correspondence for quite a while now. I also keep a fairly well stocked collection of esoteric objects and animals. No, I assure you mine do not escape. Not often anyway. Besides, would being exposed to something as ancient and incredible as a Storm-Threnody or two really be a bad thing?

Goals? My goals have shifted somewhat over the years. Currently I find myself working very closely with the Church, though I cannot say much more. I count among my allies most of the factions that inhabit London. The Church and I have a long and complicated relationship, but as of now we are on good terms. Huh? No, what you have heard is true, I also maintain somewhat close ties to Hell. Yes, I do have a guest room at the Embassy, though I seldom use it. Why? A saying regarding ones friends and enemies comes to mind. I try to mingle with most everybody down here. The Rubbery Men, the Colonists, on occasion the Masters. It pays to have as many friends as possible.

Speaking of, do you need any assistance with anything? No? Very well. But if you ever do need my help with anything, and I mean anything don’t hesitate to come see me at the Royal Bethlehem.

I do get so dreadfully bored sometimes."

Lady Laura, Countess of Fahrenheit, at your service. I was an upper-class lady back on the Surface. I no longer know the precise name of the city or the country I was born in, but my parents were originally of German nobility. My title came not from my late husband - I don’t like to speak of him, he was rather useless as far as husbands go. He married me for my title and estate, you see, and drove me to bankruptcy. So I poisoned him, and fled to Fallen London hoping to regain my lost wealth.
Unfortunately, attempting to burgle diamonds was too ambitious a pursuit for a novice thief as I was then, so off to New Newgate I went. After regaining my freedom, I have since been in pursuit of a legendary diamond that may just be the thing to help me restore most of my lost wealth.

The Traintop Stowaway, and I came here for reasons I assume many others have, even if they’d rather not own up to them: law troubles.[li]

What sort of law troubles? Oh, the usual. Larceny, destruction of property, assaulting an officer of the law, unlicensed possession of high explosives - mostly high treason, honestly. There might have been manslaughter in there somewhere, but I never got the chance to learn if the guy actually died… Oh, don’t go looking down on me like that. Populist uprisings involve a good number of casualties even in the best case scenario.

Anyways, high treason, face and name broadcast across the nation. I thought I was done for until I remembered: Hey, you know what kind of place probably doesn’t have any extradition treaties? Underground cities where Hell sets up shop in broad daylight. Luckily, I turned out to be right. Sure, found myself in jail down here within a week, but anything’s better than the death penalty.

Honestly, I’m rather embarrassed at how quickly I wound up in New Newgate that first time. I just figured that, with everyone being so unconcerned about murder, theft couldn’t not be legal. There’ll always be some things about this place I’ll never understand, I suppose.[/li][li]
edited by Traintop Stowaway on 8/24/2013

a bitter loathing of all that is between brought Flower of December to the Neath. That the devices which bridge the gaps between us all necessitate those gaps to insure their own existence and form a wedge dividing humanity and preventing our new world from being born.

Chief among these evils which must be destroyed are Art, Currency, and Language.

She has heard whisper of a powerful and primal language in the Neath which forms the root all other language is derived from. She will strike at this root and she will destroy it.

I am named by my researcher father after the algae that cause seas to turn red and make slay both fish and man. I believe that the name was merely the beginning of the strangeness of my solitary life. My parents, lovers in both life and science, disappeared at sea while searching for the cause of these bloody blooms.
My elder brother believed that it’s no accident that they disappeared. He knew that they’re searching for something more powerful than a simple act of nature, and that they have stumbled on things that the powers that be aim to keep secret. He knew that they’re alive.
He raised both of us, working odd jobs at the University at day and working with some shady dealings at night. I’ve always looked up to him both as brother and mentor, even though he’s a full decade older. All went well until I found him lying in a pool of blood and showered with petals that are not from any earthly flower.
“London… is where it ends”. It’s the last thing that he whispered before he breathed his last.
It’s been a few months since I cradled his lifeless body yet I’m still far from the truth on who has done this to my family. I have grown strong since then and have become well-versed in the ways of the Neath. If they were here, I believe they’ll be proud that I continued the family tradition of being an ally of both the Church and the academe although they’ll probably be less approving of my own night-time heists and rodentine profession.
There’s a bigger Truth hiding here, something that even my family won’t dream possible. The city ruins are merely whispers of this great mystery. I’m going to find this Truth as I seek my vengeance.
There are only dim lights here in the Neath and the darkness eats us all. Yet, I’ll always be like my namesake, a bioluminescent bloom drowned within the Sunless Sea.

Alias: Owen Wulf
Date of Birth: 1855
Place of Birth: Kingdom of Prussia

Owen Wulf enlisted in the Prussian Army at a young age following a tradition of service in his family. He fought well and rose through the ranks, but something happened that sent him into exile as a deserter. Some say he refused orders to execute dissidents, others that he murdered a fellow officer over a petty dispute. Whatever the truth of the matter, Owen Wulf chose to flee to the one place he thought he could escape retribution - a mile underground and a train ride away from Hell itself. He had heard stories in the army about the wonders that could be found in the Neath, and the fortunes that a man could make for himself in the city many now know as Fallen London.

Forging documents as a Danish sailor, he entered the Neath through the Cumaean Canal aboard the Dutch merchant ship the S.S. Ragnarok where it was stopped for inspection by the powers that be in the Neath. What flaws betrayed the forged documents can only be guessed, but Owen Wulf was quickly dragged off in chains to New Newgate Prison (which he handily escaped).

Deserter he may be but he is not a coward and made his name known in the rough jobs one can find in and around Watchmaker Hill. The reward placed on the Vake caught his attention and, seeking fortune and glory, he set out to bring the beast down. Since then he has traversed the heights and depths of Fallen London’s society. A brief player in the Game (where he met his spouse) he has dedicated himself solely to perfecting his abilities as a hunstman - no matter the cost to him or his humanity.

Now, situated amidst the spires of the Bazaar itself, famed and rich, he yet sharpens his blades for the day when he can resume the hunt.

edited by Owen Wulf on 9/2/2014

It was scandal of a life time. Lukas Kane who used to be a well known politician in the United States of america was caught with several prostitutes and large amounts of money that may or may not have been bribe money from criminals and shady businessmen. Kane’s Identity was lost to history and he became known as the Corrupt Official. In order to escape his past in the surface he ran into the neath in hopes the darkness would keep him from harm. And perhaps be profitable in time. But alas even he couldn’t avoid justice forever for he was recognized by one of the constables and was thrown into newgate prison. However with his mastery of speech, observation, violence and admittedly some more shady abilities. The corrupt official is climbing his way to the top. He wrote amazing plays, he is a scholar of correspondence, he is the winner of the black ribbon dueling tournament. He is both loved and hated across the neath. With a mighty submarine in hand even the unterzee is no match for him. But this my friends is just the beginning, he is climbing to the top and all will know the corrupt official.[li]
edited by Corrupt Official on 1/9/2014

Name: Rupho Schartenhauer

Story: Born 1863 in Munich. Both parents professional spies. Never knew his Russian mother, never even saw so much as a faded daguerreotype of her. Witnessed his father’s hanging for High Treason in 1871. Decided that Death was a bad thing and that someone needed to put an end to it. Studied Philosophy and History in Heidelberg, graduated 1886 on &quotImmortality and Why It Eludes Us&quot. Published the infamous pseudo-history &quotLost Cities and Where to Find Them&quot in 1888, vanishing shortly after. Went to the Neath &quotto learn all the world’s secrets&quot and find a way to immortality. Sold his soul first thing after escaping from New Newgate &quotbecause down here it would only be a distraction&quot (oddly, he was never much interested in love before selling his soul but now finds it to be &quota nice enough way of recreation&quot). Worked his way up in all circles of Fallen London’s society incredibly fast due to his extremely witty and charming (adapted) personality. Dines with the Ambassador one day, with the Bishop of St Fiacre’s the next. None of them would recognize him as the masked brute regularly laying waste among the fighting pits of Wolfstack Docks. Received multiple lifetime bans from the game of Knife-and-Candle for killing permanently. On first name terms with Mr Feducci (they kill each other every fortnight, for good sport). Also a renowned zailor; is preparing an expedition into the heart of the Elder Continent.

Strengths: Trusts no one. Exceptional intellect. Master Thief, Master Spy and a Bringer of Death. Needs very little sleep. Rarely takes risks himself, rather pays others to do so, then studies their failures. Good chess player. Fears nothing except death by water.

Flaws: Trusts no one, not even himself, not even his own thought processes and deductions. Therefore a bit indecisive. Bad card player. Overly precise and punctual, constantly disappointed by everyone else’s lack of these qualities. Results from his lack of sleep are sudden mood swings and eruptions of violence, though he usually keeps the latter to his secret identity. Fears nothing except death by water since his only visit to Madame Shoshana (who refuses to receive him anymore).

Trivia: &quotHe&quot is not a very precise way of addressing &quothim&quot since his visits to Flute Street and his studies of the Liber Visionis. Some people who’ve met &quothim&quot would not recognize &quothim&quot the next day. Also, he absolutely detests Snuffers. Caused awkward silences at more than one dinner party by expressing his &quotsolemn vow to squeeze every last secret from this most abominable of races before ending their abhorring existence once and for all.&quot
edited by Rupho Schartenhauer on 5/5/2016

Born to well-to-do but conventional parents, Augusta Lenore Coldbridge-Wynne was destined for a few years of polishing at Winthrop’s Elite Academy for Young Ladies, an advantageous marriage, and an uneventful life of dinner parties and managing the servants. Brilliant, artistic, and headstrong, Augusta could imagine no fate she loathed more. On her eighteenth birthday, upon being informed of her engagement to the stolidly respectable and exceedingly wealthy Edmund Fotheringale, Esq., who opined that she &quotwouldn’t be needing all these bally books once she was married, would she, because they’d be the devil to move,&quot Augusta beaned her fiancé with an especially weighty copy of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and appropriated his attire.

Disguised as a man, Augusta ran away to the Neath, enticed by the rumors of libertine behavior allowed under the Masters’ rule. Libertine behavior, she felt, could only be an improvement. Without funds, she quickly ended up in New Newgate after an early attempt at pickpocketing went badly awry. But while she was inexperienced and naive, Augusta was also intelligent and adaptable, as well as daring to the point of recklessness. She soon left New Newgate behind, and set about making a name for herself as a rising poet in Veilgarden. Blazing across the Neath’s artistic scene like a comet, today she is regarded as one of London’s leading, if erratic, literary lights.

Augusta’s true passion is creating, be it poetry, an epic novel, or a scandalous opera. She has so far avoided associating herself with any of the Neath’s major artistic movements, mostly out of sheer independent contrariness, but has the most sympathy for the Nocturnals. Her insatiable curiosity has led her to the Forgotten Quarter and the University in her study of the Correspondence, and her dearest ambition is to write a major work entirely in that dark and dangerous language. But she does not neglect more visceral pleasures, and can be found anywhere from a dice-game on Wolfstack Docks to the fading-couches of Veilgarden’s honey-dens. Indeed, she has not forgotten the earliest lessons she learned in Fallen London, and while she maintains little connection with common criminals, there are whispers that she is not entirely ignorant of certain high-level robberies suffered by the Brass Embassy and even the Bazaar itself.

Despite her strong Bohemian ties, Augusta has never completely abandoned her upbringing. She moves effortlessly in Society, and has been known to help the Church and the Constables more often than thwart them. She has a strong sense of fair play and a dislike of cruelty - as an opponent once put it, she can often be ruthless, but seldom heartless. She is sympathetic towards the Urchins and the Duchess, and distrusts and dislikes the Devils and the Revolutionaries. She is passionately devoted to her lovers - the Neath having allowed free reign to certain Sapphic tendencies, Augusta pursued and eventually married Violet Lennox, the acclaimed Artist’s Model. Despite Augusta’s often eyebrow-raising reputation, no breath of scandal has ever brushed the two of them. She is equally passionately loyal to her friends (and it is this and this alone which deters her from following certain tantalizing hints about a certain Name; she could view her own ruin with equanimity, but not the ruin or betrayal of those dear to her.)

Though she has conquered many of the challenges the Neath has to offer, Augusta is reluctant, despite having received several notes from the Masters strongly suggesting that she consider career advancement, to become a Correspondent. Having observed several brilliant artists before her take that route, and descend into what appears to be a destructive creative solipsism, she is wary. She sees no point in creating to a vacuum; art, in her opinion, is communication. For all that, the Masters and their plots fascinate her. She realizes they are dangerous and not to be trusted, but for all its flaws and follies, in many ways the Neath is a far more egalitarian society than the Surface.

Augusta is a tall, athletic woman; she has auburn hair, grey eyes, and strong, decisive features. She is striking rather than beautiful. She wears male attire as often as not, and can often be seen strolling in Tyrant’s Gardens with her sword-cane at her hip and Violet on her arm.
edited by Rahirah on 1/13/2014

Katarina’s memories are…hazy at best. Long ago dashed to near oblivion in a deluge of wine and honey until she was picked up out of the gutter and sent to newgate prison on charges that still elude her to this day and which have been largely been deemed unimportant. Forced to sober up in a cold cramped cell, riding out the pangs of withdrawl, she decided at once that there was to be no more of this. Was this how she wanted to spend the rest of her life? No not at all!

One might expect that after a revelation like that she would become a devout church goer, swear off the stuff for good, and never set foot in the veilgarden again. On the contrary she was more driven than ever to sample ever single delight and sensation the Neath had to offer her. Now however she was serious about indulging in moderation. No more long nights spend searching for cheap laudanum, no more mornings waking up in strangers beds reeking of cheap perfume. She learned instead to apply her rather generous charms instead like a scalpel. A wink at a judge here, a sly flourish of ankle to a young gentleman there, a few delightlyfully scandalous evenings with some well connected devils…

Katarina has long since cut ties with her somewhat checkered past. Anyone who called on her now would find a well groomed society lady living in a handsome town house and doting on a prized pet tiger. Well dressed well mannered and well educated it is hard to imagine one so refined could have risen from such lowly status. And she pays good money to keep it that way, having somewhat forcefully cut ties with anyone who might have known her as anything else than an accomplished author. Of course she never really gave up that life. The novels she writes are all sordid romances set to curl the hair of any vicar. Some are capable of making even devils blush. While she no longer passes out in the gutter it is only because she now owns a rather large canopy bed on which passing out is much more enjoyable.
Laudanum is a constant companion to chase off the more unpleasant dreams. Dreams which she has in abundance, of thunder storms and cold water and the word NORTH.

She knows how the Bazaar preys on love, she keeps her affections shallow and fleeting and never spends a night with the same person twice. Terrified that if she were to feel something deeper she would be lost to the underground forever. Trapped in a strange waking dream never to see the surface again. Her grip on reality is already at times shaky, the things she has seen have marked her forever in ways she cannot begin to describe as simple acquaintances turned out to be so much more than what they first appeared. Sometimes she is afraid that it is already too late for her but she refuses to return to the surface. There is a calling for her down here, a secret she knows she is meant to uncover. Somewhere buried in the dark.