Your characters' appearances?

All pertinent details, and then some, can be found here:


Gender: Genderless, but looks and thinks of himself as male.
Race: Possibly some sort of demon, definitely not human no matter what he looks like.
Age: 30-40 (at least in appearance).
Height: On the tall side of average.
Build: Athletic with a bit of stocky muscle.
Skin color: Pale with a hint of a tan that doesn’t quite seem possible down in the Neath.
Eye color: Green with flecks of red in the iris.
Hair color: Dirty blonde.
Hair style/quality: Cut short in a military style.

Usual clothing style: Depends on the situation. When Arol is just traveling around town, he wears a black suit with a blue vest and a red cravat, along with a pair of black boots. When he’s doing criminal activities, he wears on old tattered suit perfect for crawling in tight spaces and hiding in shadows.Sometimes he dresses as a tomb colonist just to freak society minded people out.

Personality: Arol is mostly interested in other people’s pain, in the rending of their mind and soul. He doesn’t justify it beyond a deep desire to cause and experience the destruction of those around him. But he finds pain is best served after a long and twisted game of getting into a person’s good graces and stretching trust out until he can snap it like a twig. He will also sacrifice his game of pain if people have something he wants.

This game goes beyond playing with people’s emotions. Arol plays with their souls as well, which is why he aligns himself with Hell. He has a theory about the soul that doesn’t match what the Devils have been telling people. He thinks the soul is not a conscience or spiritual counterpart, but the mind itself. When a Devil or Spirifer takes a soul, they leave a tiny connection to it in the person’s body, otherwise said person would become a vegetable. They can control what parts stay connected, which is why different people seem to lose different parts of themselves when they lose their soul. Some people are granted full connection to their souls, even though they are no longer residing in their mortal bodies. The pain the soul/mind goes through is blocked off from the people, except some people can subconsciously experience it, which makes them experience painful emotions they can’t seem to place. And when they finally die permanently, their full awareness will go to where their soul/mind currently is, no longer protected by a connection to a mortal body.

Arol loves this theory and wants to not only torment souls, but torment people whose souls are still in their bodies. He sometimes kidnaps people (both human, clay and rubbery) and tortures them for fun, leaving their still living bodies out for their loved ones to find. This isn’t just physical torture, but mental as well. Arol rends their bodies in a slow and methodical fashion, removing limbs, eyes and tongue a little bit at a time, all while using carefully crafted chemicals to trick their minds and cruel manipulations to strip them of everything that makes them who they are. And while his ambition is Light Fingers, he has a secondary ambition, to capture the Vake, not to kill like all those mindless heroes, but to torture, to see how much it would take to break such a legendary creature.

Usual demeanor: All this is hidden behind a façade that changes depending on who he’s dealing with. To Criminals, he’s cruel but loyal, to Bohemians, he’s poetic and warm hearted, to the Constables, he’s brave and filled with the fires of justice, to the Anarchists, he’s a truth seeker who wants to free London, to Society, he’s prim yet prone to scandal. He’s everything to everyone, which makes him incredibly dangerous.

Voice: Medium deep

Other remarkable details: Arol can be a bit of a hedonist, especially when it comes to Devils.

Jonathan Pendle

Gender: Male, though you often wouldn’t be able to tell.

Race: Human
Age: 28[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] [/color]

Height: Slightly taller than average
Build:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Very slim[/color]

Skin color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Extremely pale, even by Neathly standards[/color]
Eye color: Heterochromatic; his left is blue, and his right green
Hair color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Blonde[/color]
Hair style/quality: Medium length, fairly straight.

Usual clothing style: Depends largely on the situation. Often seen during times of leisure in a simple black tuxedo, white gloves, and a bowler cap. However, most often he works on various criminal cases around London; during such times, he prefers wearing a smock with an absurd number of pockets and gadgets therein, strangely luminous goggles, and almost equally bright gloves that may or may not be alive. However, in almost all situations, he tends to wear simple black boots. Though it’s uncommon, it isn’t unknown to see him in clothes more befitting of a lady, usually to con a wealthy mark who happens to prefer women to men.

Voice: Quiet, though with an air of menace to it. Fairly high pitched for a male.

Usual accompaniment: An appreciation society of his work in writing tends to follow him most places. They stay surprisingly quiet, when it comes time for stealth. However, they flee at the first sign of danger; in such cases, he relies on a rattus faber chief, whose band he forcibly extracted from his home. He is also fairly often seen with a man who calls himself Dawnstar; long ago, Pendle was a zee-captain, and Dawnstar was his first mate. Though they lost contact for some time after Pendle fled the zee and vowed to never return willingly (A vow since broken), they’ve since rekindled their friendship.

Sharalin Veilin (Also goes by Sarah Vorcish.)

Gender:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Female.[/color]
Race:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Human.[/color]
Age:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Around 23.[/color]

Height:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] A whopping five foot tall.[/color]
Build:[color=#c2c2c2] Curvy, a tad more toward being of the pear body shape, a tad bit pudgy but otherwise fairly fit. It is also a dual-y good thing to note that she generally avoids putting all her weight on her right leg, thus giving a limp to her gait.[/color]
Skin color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Very pale with rosy cheeks and lots of light freckles.[/color]
Eye color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Greyish blue.[/color]
Hair color:[color=#c2c2c2] Bright orange-red.[/color]
Hair style/quality:[color=#c2c2c2] She has terribly curly hair that seems to always be frizzed up, but thanks to her prowess with hair pins, ties, and curlers, she keeps it tamed and back in a tight braid with her frizzy bangs framing the sides of her face, however, in high society events, she keeps little amber and glim pins in it.[/color]

Usual clothing style:[color=#c2c2c2] Sharalin usually wears a nice set of neathglass goggles (even if the little magnifying lens … lens, is missing), a black suit outfit (thank god for suspenders those pants are big even for her), and a some nice shiny shoes. She is also seen with a tasselled walking-stick (or is it a sword-cane? Probably a sword cane, the tassel is purple after all.) But if she should find herself in the places of the fancy and higher ups, she will wear a silky red corseted dress, a set of nice heels, and a string of moon pearls.[/color]

Usual demeanor:[color=#c2c2c2] Bouncy, bubbly, just a tad bit on the crazy side, all around very bright and chirpy. She’ll giggle and croon after anyone that has a decent knowledge of the neath’s curiosities and horrors, hoping to wring any little bit of information she can out of them. But if she does genuinely like you (or however it is she happens to find nice) she’ll be quite chirpy, and generous with little gives of brass, glim, and other little assortments of goodies. Never rats though, any rat corpses she keeps for her owl, Soobrah (don’t ask about the name she doesn’t like explaining it). She’s a very good at manipulation despite having a rather average appearance, a few well placed words and promises can go a long way.[/color]
[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]Voice: She has a very soft, almost soothing, voice. It’s almost like a flute, beautiful if played right, ungodly if not. Her voice is soft and pleasant when she speaks normally, but when raises her voice goes shrill, scratchy, and very unpleasant to those with sensitive ears or any good sense of hearing.[/color]

Other remarkable details:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] [/color]
[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]- She has an owl named Soobrah, do not anger the owl. (Well you can but come on, owls are like cats with wings, and anybody who has ever owned a cat ought’a know angry cats aren’t fun.)[/color]
[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]-She’s studies a variety of dangerous things such as the Sorrow Spiders, the Stone Pigs, Demons, and the Correspondence[/color][color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]. And general things of sciency nature.[/color]
[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]-She loves tall muscular people. Seriously, they’re hot as hell. (Not literally though. Is hell hot? Who knows.)[/color]

Vera Rosanburg (otherwise known as Doctor Rosanburg, or simple Doctor Rose)
Gender:[color=#c2c2c2] Female.[/color]
Race:[color=#c2c2c2] Human.[/color]
Age:[color=#c2c2c2] You know it’s not nice to ask a lady her age~ (looks to be about 28)[/color]
Height:[color=#c2c2c2] A little over six foot[/color]
Build:[color=#c2c2c2] Very curvy lady, quite ‘gifted’ girth and bosoms. She has a fair bit of muscles on her legs from running, and a number of scars. She has a softly curved face and plump cheeks and wide, attentive, eyes with long eyelashes.[/color]
Skin color:[color=#c2c2c2] Dark, has vilitigo so there are pale patches.[/color]
Eye color: [color=#c2c2c2]Dark amber color with flecks of brown.[/color]
Hair color:[color=#c2c2c2] Shiny black.[/color]
Hair style/quality:[color=#c2c2c2] She generally keeps her hair back in a high ponytail with her bangs curled and at the left side of her face. When in high society places, or simply in the mood to look nice, she keeps her hair down with little venom ruby hair and diamond hair pins.[/color]
Usual clothing style:[color=#c2c2c2] Now she has three main outfits. Her normal one is a red corseted dress, a simple string of moon pearls, a Mask of the Rose (one can always do well with a beautiful mask.), red stockings (not that you’ll see them, they have a rather dubious origin ), and spider-silk slippers that had been dyed blue. Her professional outfit for sciency and constable work is a set of squeak-less boots, black felt garments in the shape of suit with a long loose fit skirt (ankle length), and a Gentleman’s hat. Her more ‘fancy’ outfit is a long sleeved, low cute white dress, white stockings, black heels, and a little emerald tiara.[/color]
Usual demeanor:[color=#c2c2c2] Rosanburg is a very calm lady and suave natured lady, keeping her head about her in most trying situations. She, is known to hang around Veil Garden and the Shuttered Palace with many High Society people, and when not doing her arguably scandalous social activities, she’s bouncing around in the scientific crowds researching things such as the correspondence.[/color]
Voice:[color=#c2c2c2] Her voice is a smooth, melodic, alto, often being very soft spoken unless she absolutely must raise her voice.[/color]
Other remarkable details:[color=#c2c2c2] [/color]
[color=#c2c2c2]-She almost lost her soul to a devil, thank gods for a strong will.[/color]
[color=#c2c2c2]-Don’t bother trying to fight her, she doesn’t fight for shit, she runs and uses her stealthily abilities to her advantage.[/color]
edited by Sarvine on 12/31/2014
edited by Saravine on 10/5/2015
edited by Saravine on 10/5/2015
edited by Saravine on 10/25/2015


Gender:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Male[/color]
Race:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Human (It is rumoured that he is half-devil, half-rubbery man, but we all know that’s just silly, right?)[/color]
Age:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Close to 30[/color]

Height:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Tall, but not ridiculously so[/color]
Build:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Medium, not much visible muscle[/color]

[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]Skin color: Very Pale[/color]
Eye color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Grey[/color]
Hair color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Black[/color]
Hair style/quality:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Messy, medium hair. Zeel doesn’t pay much attention to such things as grooming unless he has a reason to.[/color]

Usual clothing style:[color=#c2c2c2] I haven’t really thought about this so much admittedly, just something that fits an intimidating and/or intellectual demeanor, depending on his mood. He can dress up but generally doesn’t bother. He’d likely wear dark colours when spirifing however, so as to avoid attention.[/color]

Usual demeanor:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Zeel reveals little, but generally has an aura of menace around him and is naturally terrifying.[/color]
Voice:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Tenor, not exactly monotone, but very controlled.[/color]

Other remarkable details:[color=#c2c2c2] Six fingers, and eyes on his palms that are ice-blue. His head eyes often dart to and fro, taking in more information than most people could comprehend while still thinking about something else entirely.[/color]
[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]

Gender:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Female[/color]
Race:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Human[/color]
Age:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] 28[/color]

Height:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Slightly shorter than average[/color]
Build:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Slight, very flexible[/color]

[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)]Skin color: Fair[/color]
Eye color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Emerald[/color]
Hair color:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Black[/color]
Hair style/quality:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Long, black hair that is fully on show as Jasmine, and hidden in a hat as Jass.[/color]

Usual clothing style:[color=#c2c2c2] Depending on her persona, she either wears the Strange-Shore Parabola Frock or a Ratskin Suit. As Jasmine, she adorns herself with jewelry and the finest shoes. As Jass, she wears whatever helps her remain unseen, items such as the Forgotten Spidersilk Slippers. She will also occasionally be seen wearing Cosmogone Spectacles if she plans to explore Parabola (another activity reserved for the Jass persona).[/color]

Usual demeanor:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] While both personae are ultimately good people, Jasmine is far more refined and collected, whereas Jass is more outgoing and fun. However, both show a clear edge of danger to them.[/color]

Voice:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Lower alto, but definitely still feminine. Elegant as Jasmine, Bubbly as Jass.[/color]

Other remarkable details:[color=rgb(194, 194, 194)] Sometimes if you look directly into her eyes, it seems as though you are being sucked directly into Parabola.[/color]

Rotty ‘The pup’ van Grenniken
Race: human
Gender: male
Age: 20
Build: athletic, lightly feminine
Eye color: powder blue
Hair color: pale blonde
Hair style: short
Clothing: He knows how to dress for the situation and is a fan of the styles from Russia when visiting in the court of the empress. But then again when down on the docks and telling tales with the urchins around the bonfires atop derelict buildings he is a fan of black shorts having grown up on the surface in the north the cold is not a problem. and a white shirt with suspenders! and on occasion an old military jacket with the patch of an old urchin gang from the surface lovingly stitched in the arm. But in any outfit he is in his trusty bowler hat with the crimson band.

Amber Harwood
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 30
Height: 5-4
Build: Lean and slightly athletic
Skin color: Pale
Eye color: Grayish blue
Hair color: Dark reddish blonde
Hair style/quality: Shoulder length and kept tied in a ribbon
Usual clothing style: She wears simple dresses with sturdy boots.

Personality: Amber is kind and sometimes a bit sad. She tries to do what’s right in the Neath, even though she is willing to do a little bit of burglary to survive. Her whole life was turned upside down when she ended up stuck down here, so she really doesn’t quite know what to do. The world of the Neath is corrupting and she’s not sure if she can stay the person she was on the surface.

Usual demeanor: She’s shy and guarded, but kind and gentle once you get to know her. She can also be prone to lightening your pocket a bit.

Voice: Feminine but not high.

Cathal Ó Síthigh/O’Sheehy (Irish vs Anglicized spellings)

Gender: Male
Race: Human (Irish)
Age: 19-ish

Height: 5’10&quot
Build: Lanky and wiry.

Skin color: Pasty white and very freckly
Eye color: Gunmetal blue
Hair color: Red
Hair style/quality: Long and straight. Usually pulled back into a ponytail, but a lot of it escapes into his face.

Usual clothing style: Depends on what he’s doing, but he’s a fan of very loud, very bright colors, particularly red. Which means that when he’s actually in sensible colors bc he’s stealing things that nobody recognizes him. Genius.

Usual demeanor: Imagine a parakeet on a sugar high.

Voice: Midtone, not particularly remarkable accept for the thick Belfast accent.

Other remarkable details: Look at this dork

Colin McCool, Gentleman of the Echo Bazaar in the year of our lord, 1893

Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 32
Height: 6’3&quot

Description: Tall and broad-shouldered, Master Colin McCool cuts a dashing figure. Though lithe and athletic, his upper body is heavily muscled in the shoulders, back and core. Not so large that he can’t perform nimble moves of acrobatics, he nevertheless suffers somewhat in staying unobtrusive; his size coupled with striking looks means that he usually draws the eye in a crowd. Using this to his advantage, McCool relies on charm, seduction, a keen mind and a quick wit to learn what secrets he lusts for and those items he covets.

Colin McCool descended to Fallen London in 1888 seeking refuge from a tireless lawman on charges of indecency, impersonating a member of the clergy, and various sacrilege and finding a spare room in the home of a soft-hearted widow. He might still have been caught had a shrewd pair of urchins not taken notice of him, foiling the detective and introducing McCool to Fallen London and the Echo Bazaar. Finding the hedonistic world of honey-dens and wine soaked festivals lasting weeks to his taste, McCool embraced the Neath determined to discover it’s delights and pursue his heart’s desires. The spires of the Bazaar stood above the other buildings in Victoria’s London, with their drapery of bats and glowing bugs and below Colin McCool walked the dark streets fustigating footpads and befuddling eavesdroppers. He would pocket their rostygold and secrets, take another swig of mushroom wine and stumble gracefully (as only a dangerous drunk can) on to his next soiree.

McCool established strong relationships with the city’s urchin gangs, acting as patron and protector to all of London’s most vulnerable; As well he made inroads with the constables and clergy, to ensure both status and some protection. Once he had received acknowledgement from the law and the church, he was permitted to drink and carouse with upper crust types. McCool supposed it was because they were drinking fancy wines from before the Fall that getting fall down drunk and wildly promiscuous was no longer socially embarrassing. For whatever reason, he was fast becoming a favourite at court and abroad. Lords and ladies, devils and mistresses, academics and diplomats all competed for the attention of that most charming of lushes, Colin McCool. Despite the increasing influence he was beginning to wield and powerful friends he was making, the bazaarine secrets he was learning or wealth that passed through his hands, it was the Bohemians that held his dearest affections. All plots and accomplishments McCool embarked upon were begun considering first Beauty, Freedom, Truth and Love.

Five years later, Colin McCool’s hand, secretly, is on the lever that moves the world. Beloved at court, he is still widely accepted (even by the Duchess’ cats) even though he made love on the Empress’ throne itself. Beloved on the streets, children bearing the mark of his orphanage are never accosted, villians blanch and walk away those that don’t work for the supervillian. Beloved in hell, he rescues souls by the portfolio and still accompanied by a hellish entourage, arm-in-arm with the Quiet Develess, every time he attends the opera. Beloved on high, the Masters of the Bazaar itself know of him and have nearly all met with him personally - the favour him because he loves deepest. He loves his wine as he loves his women. He loves his secrets as he loves his stories. He loves himself as others love him, and speak of him and as he writes in epic poetic cycles or Gothic romances and masterful short stories. Most of all, though, he loves his celebrated artist’s model - the story of which, if it were told in full, would be etched into the tallest spires and burn. It would burn like an eclipse. It would burn like Midnight’s fires. It would burn like the cities previous.

Best that the story not be told in full…Still, though, invite the beautiful couple to live in one of their spire emporiums, sell them one of their pleasure yachts and provide a palanquin served by pale, clay destriers and the Masters can watch as the McCool’s criminally noble empire permeates all facets of the Bazaar and they can drink in their story one day at a time. One day. All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well, delicious friend. See you in the honey-dreams!

Skin color: White. Whiter than usual, given the Neath’s lack of sunlight.

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Honey-brown in the light, dark brown in the shadows.

Hair style/quality: Long hair, coiffed in luxurious flowing mane to frame a full, but trimmed, beard. Seductive. Distractingly seductive.

Usual clothing style: Devilish fedora, ahead a sumptuous suit of white worsted wool and lavender highlights. A ring to impress either the rich and famous or the damned and infamous shines on his hand, while on his lapel shines a badge to impress death and those that fear it. Kingscale step quickly, quietly, but those that can hear, hear the footsteps of doom.

Usual accompaniment: One would think Colin McCool would spend most of his free time with the celebrated artist’s model but she lives a brilliant life outside McCool’s shadow, winning celebrity and influence in concert (or competition) with her husband - but he only respects her more for her independence because while she may spend all day pursuing her own agenda every night she returns with love to him and with their spoils they face the future together, so what place for jealousy? Instead, McCool is accompanied by powerful men and women of the Neath, those contacts, informants and supporters of his newspaper correspondence seeking to elevate McCool with praise and information. When that information must needs action, he is followed by liquid feline grace poured into four hundred pounds of murder and where subtlety is required his bird of midnight mantle, his devious raven, scouts out that which was meant to remain hidden and reports back all secrets seen and heard.

Usual demeanor: Charming, with an undercut of menace. Unapologetically bohemian, McCool is always ready to laugh and drink, kiss and tell. With a laid-back demeanor that belies a shrewd intelligence, he lulls his associates with friendship and hedonism into revealing vital information which he then uses to gain control of any situation. Persuasion to flirt, intelligence to learn, cunning to subvert and the power to burn.

Voice: Commanding. Seductive. Confident. Confidential.

Other remarkable details: After five years decadence and debauchery, Colin McCool amazingly is still in possession of his soul. As well as a coruscating soul that shines like the sun, come to that…

Lost his aunt to the devils and refuses to rescue her; the guilt consumes him and is the reason for his alcoholism.

Makes love to women outside of his marriage not as an act of selfishness, but as an act of appreciation for Beauty.

Pities clay men, souls, children and rats, and his demand for Freedom for the downtrodden has cost him much. Almost all.

Uncovered secrets of the Masters, and used his newspaper correspondence to defend the Truth.

Believes the greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to Love and be Loved in return.

Lady Eris
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: Middle twenties. She will look icily at you if you seek more information.
Height: Tall. For a lady.
Build: Average build, fairly broad shoulders and a bosom her mother used to describe as ‘indecorous’. Since coming to the Neath, Eris has found that she has become reconciled to it.
Facial features: Fair skin. A smattering of freckles on her nose that haven’t faded even after all this time without sunlight. She despairs of ever being rid of them. She has dark, arched brows and has expended great effort learning to raise just one eyebrow. She finds this a most useful accomplishment, whether she is depressing the pretensions of unwanted suitors, debating with colleagues, or haggling over fabric in Spite. Eris is an attractive woman, and she knows it. Those dratted freckles notwithstanding.
Eyes. Large, brown.
Hair: Eris has long, dark brown hair. To her dismay, it won’t hang quite straight, and it won’t curl. So unless she is with her intimate companions, she wears it up. As it reaches below her waist, her spending on hair pins is prodigious.
Usual clothing style: Eris loves clothes. Loves them. She dresses with care and spends a fortune at the dressmakers’. At first glance, it appears that Eris dresses like a perfect lady. But there is usually something in her dress that if noticed, undermines this appearance. A skirt which shows her ankles as she walks up stairs. A decolletage that is just a trifle too low for true modesty. Petticoats which swish and murmur just a touch more than perhaps they should. She favours deep colours - nothing too bright, nothing gaudy - but fabrics the colour of jewels are her favourites. Her corsetry is savage. If nothing else, she has excellent posture.
Voice: Eris was brought up among the Surface aristocracy and has the accent you’d expect. Her voice is low and quiet. Her laugh is sudden, as though it has been surprised from her.

Car Johnson
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 38-40

Height: Average
Build: Lanky

Skin color: Beige
Eye color: Blue
Hair color: Red
Hair style/quality: Messy and short

Usual clothing style: Car wears clothing deemed strange even by Neathly standards. First off, some of his clothing is anachronistic, like his tee-shirts with sayings silk screened on, such as “Party in my pants” and “Car goes vroom vroom.” He also wears a pair of pants sewn from curtains and a pair of boots he died orange.

Car has other outfits that are even stranger, like his suit crafted entirely out of carpet fragments or his shirt of sewn together poems he found discarded outside The Signing Mandrake. Most people cringe when he wears nothing but a pair of red shorts and paints himself in Correspondence symbols, while running around and calling himself “Corresman, hero of the Neath.”

Usual demeanor: Umm, Car is well… Car. He’s crude and can be offensive to all races, species, sexes and organizations of the Neath and beyond. He’s the kind of person who thinks they’re special when all they’ve ever done is win a lawsuit by accidentally pointing a flamethrower at their face.

Over time, he’s mellowed out and is not as much of a jerk as before, which has allowed his odd side to blossom. He’s the type of person who collects cow fetuses and treats them like his pets, even going so far as to have a cow fetus tea party in the middle of town. A lot of people think he’s gone insane, but it’s really just the way he is.

Voice: Medium range

Other remarkable details: -
Car is actually from the future. In fact, he’s from a different story altogether. He was pulled into the world of Fallen London by some strange portal that opened in his own story’s universe. It didn’t take him long to adjust to the new world, though he does miss his fiancé Candace, aka Candy.

Margaret Sloan

Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 43

Height: Tall
Build: Curvy

Skin color: Haven’t decided yet.
Eye color: Gray
Hair color: Black
Hair style/quality: Perfectly styled and worn up

Usual clothing style: Margaret dresses as a prim and proper lady, always wearing the finest dresses.

Usual demeanor: Margaret is always charming and kind, with a bearing that dictates that she is a part of high society. She has a penchant for romance and easily falls in love.

Voice: Melodic

Other remarkable details: -
Margaret is the least detailed character I have in Fallen London. x_x


Race: Human
Age: Somewhere in his late 40’s? You could have sworn he looked closer to 60 when you first met him, though.

Height: 6’
Build: Not at all slender, with the soft look that speaks of muscle allowed to rest over the decades.

Skin color: Dusky
Eye color: Yes
Hair color: Black. No brown. Is that gray at the temples?
Hair style/quality: Past the ears, above the neck. Loose waves indicate more care to the observant than the casual style would at first imply.

Usual clothing style: It took a while before you noticed it, this habit Zacharde has for adopting the ‘local uniform’ for wherever he is. Never remarkable, far from fashions leading edge, but always worn comfortably.

Usual demeanor: Zacharde listens intently, perhaps even eagerly. His full attention can be uncomfortable, like something you might be troubled to escape. He speaks sparingly and economically. No matter. As usual Zacharde had just the tidbit of information you needed, and gave it away so freely after a little idle gossip over a glass of Morelways 1872.

Voice: So, so quiet, but enunciated like crystals. A man of his size seems like he should be louder.

Other remarkable details: The most remarkable thing about Zacharde is how consistently the things you find remarkable change. Perhaps you meet him on the street, and remark to yourself on his pale blue eyes. A glimpse as he hurries out of the bohemian quarter shows your memory to be suspect; eyes the color of dark chocolate meet yours for just a moment. Is he thinner today?

Particulars will be updated upon a more fortuitous future occasion.

edited by Ruairidh Mòr on 12/9/2015


Race: Semi-Dead
Gender: Ambiguous, presumably male
Age: 85-90 Ancient

Height: Relatively tall
Build: Boney and decaying yet athletic

Skin Colour: Deadly white with purple scars
Eye Colour: Deep purple
Hair Colour: his head and face is concealed by bandages.

Usual Clothing Style: He’s concealed in dust plagued bandages and his skin is covered with deep purple scars. On the few other visible parts of his skin he bears a tattoo of the fallen rat on his left eye and a sigil on his other ,eye.

Usual Demeanour: Most people dread him and avoid him. He mostly talks to his old division of the rat legion as they still respect him. He doesn’t speak normally and avoids society as much as possible to avoid his inevitable exile to Venderblight.

Voice: Nobody but his squadron and a few men have heard his voice, because of his age it’s likely very deep and possibly gravelly.

Other Details of Exception: He brandishes a ratting piece and a bone harpoon extremely well besides his age. He’s the fallen Lieutenant General of the Rat Legion and still commands the armed combat division. He was destroyed by the Nadir and was drowned by Irrigo. He was forced to use bandages to hide his scars and is semi-dead.

Forever Changed by the Nadir:
edited by Turtwigii on 3/25/2015

Everyone makes the same mistake. They look at the mortal. Shoulder-length, midnight hair. Pallid, grey skin. Unnaturally thin, as if it never eats. A twisted, reluctant grin. Soulless, blood-red eyes. No definite gender. You know, a typical Londoner. Zhorgren is not the one to look out for.

High on its shoulders, 5 feet and 10 inches above the ground, are perched the real threat. The twins, Quoth and Maggie, drawing a light grey ichor through the shapeless black cloak with their talons. Ravens. Quoth’s feathers are stained with blood, brain, and rubbery ink. Maggie’s are the colour of old parchment, betraying her old hardships, despite her frequent bathing. A cursory glance would lead one to believe they were mere Raven Advisors. A cursory glance is not enough. The ravens are its masters. Look not at the mortal. Look to the birds, whispering contradictory orders in its ears. The mortal is a puppet. A terrified, unwitting puppet.
edited by Zhorgren on 4/30/2015

Warren Zane
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 30-ish
Height: a hair less than six feet
Build: Solid build, but athletic. Shows signs of having lost weight recently.
Facial Features: Fair, but not overly so. (a touch of Irish ancestry?) Soft features, including an easy smile, with full lips.
Eyes: Brown in color, sleepy in demeanor
Hair: Dark brown, straight, trimmed short for practicality. Vaciliates between clean-shaved and a decadant Van Dyke.
Usual Clothing Style: Can be found wearing somber, practical clothing in public, usually with a minor unusual accent. In private, more relaxed. Usually carries a pocketwatch as well as small tools at all times.
Voice: Deep and clear, would have a fine baritone if he could hold a tune. While he seems au courant with common slang, his vocabulary betrays erudite study. Perhaps a former linguist? In any case, he does not speak of his Past Above, preferring to focus on the present and future.
Demeanor: Charming. Quick with a laugh or a sardonic comment, but also to express sympathy.

In summary, an odd, but charming man.

sure, I’ll play.
Mx. Bitterhorn (given name unknown; has only referred to themselves by the surname? alias? Whatever-it-is.)

Gender: Indeterminate. Not so much the active, transcendent, superhuman flavor of ‘androgyny’ found in some heathen gods; more of the unwholesome sort possessed by the mouldering corpse of a seal.

Race: Human, most likely.
Age: It’s difficult to tell. Certainly fully-grown, yet perhaps not yet middle-aged. Somewhere between 30 and 45 years?
Height: Average (albeit small-framed and quite slouchy). Perhaps a metre and three-quarters, were one to hazard a guess.
Build: Gangly, if not emaciated. Limbs unusually long. But only a bit, mind.
Skin color: A faint sallow greyish-beige suggestive of mildewed parchment left out in the sun to bleach out again.
Eye color: A uniform brownish yellow, like dry mustard.
Hair: Largely absent, though not so profoundly or symmetrically to qualify as a tonsure, and in no pattern suggestive of advanced age in either sex. What remains is coarse, stringy, and Eminently Forgettable in color ; perhaps it is a mousy brown, perhaps the color of straw, perhaps it’s a dull medium grey. Accounts do vary.

Usual clothing style: A black overcoat with collar tailored to resemble a priestly cassock. Rarely removed. The occasional flash of herringbone tweed might be glimpsed beneath, in passing. It’s unclear what manner of garment it comprises, however. Generally smells faintly of weird fungal perfumes of their own invention. Often seen displaying both rosary beads and superstitious artifacts such as the Hand of Glory.

Usual demeanor: Oscillates between dead silence and fawning, oily gregarity.
Voice: Speaks what might have been called the &quotQueen’s English&quot before the Fall – perhaps a touch too meticulously to be entirely credible - and in a well-composed simulacrum of solicitous affability. Tends toward the literary and archaic over the informal. Occasionally does reveal a nasal, wheedling undercurrent under duress, or betray a slushy lisp when particularly excited.

&quotFist of the Bazaar&quot, attributed to Royal Artist-in-Residence, 1892.

Varutil Vanderhill

Male, though he enjoys people’s inability to place that immediately.
Race: Human
Age: Somewhere around 28

Height: A little above six feet
Build: Thin and lithe, he looks to be used to both scrapping and lounging

Skin color: He keeps his skin hidden usually, but when it’s seen it looks a pale white, as if it was not his original color
Eye color: His eyes are a deep blue the only natural feature seen through his normal headgear
Hair color: His hair isn’t visible
Hair style/quality: Wrapped up under his bandaged mask

Usual clothing style: Varutil wears a comfortable and well-worn suit, native to the Neath in the sense that it has patches that are mostly well hidden. Most people know that one isn’t to comment on their clothing style unless it’s exceptional, which in this case is his head. Everything above the shoulders, neck up, is wrapped in heavy linen bandages. He has large glass frames that show his eyes, but everything else is hidden with serious intent.

Usual demeanor: Varutil is eccentric and lively, enjoying his time in the Neath by experiencing everything he can. Invitations for socialization are freely forthcoming and any wine offered will be gone within a matter of minutes. He loves to write, both stories and poetry, but while his stories are enjoyable his poetry is cliche. He will claim it’s because the people love it, but it’s truly because poetic inspiration is hard for him to obtain. The word Hedonism describes him perfectly.

Voice: Varutil speaks with a melodic cadence, though it’s obvious he does it as a ploy. When he gets too inebriated the cadence slips and his lighter voice drops a few tones.