Let us have a go at this then, shall we?
Sir Richard Forrest is a man of many curious eccentricities who came to the Neath in his late twenties in the fall of 1888. Standing roughly 1.8 meters tall and with a slight build, he is by no means an imposing presence. Not, that is, until one considers his appearance.
A finely groomed goatee and traditional handlebar mustache adorn his face, as well as an ever-present pair of luminous neathgoggles framing a pair of glittering bloodshot eyes sunken into his pallid face. Bloodshot from lack of sleep due to his frequent visits to the Mirror-Marches, pallid due to an overindulgence in laudanum and prisoner’s honey. A slightly-battered Unfinished Hat can very occasionally be found gnawing irascibly at his wild mop of copper hair, much to the chagrin of the amicable and chatty clothes-colony, Milton, that envelop the vast majority of his person. The insatiable gloves which contain his hands tend to emulate his Hat when they are worn together, but usually behave themselves when worn separately. A worn but lovingly maintained pair of kingscale boots grace his feet. A small golden apple pin can be found amidst the folds of Milton, who insist that it is in fact their membership badge, as they are the ones wearing it.
Mr. Forrest has a veritable menagerie of companions, in fact, ranging from a sullen Scuttering Squad that stands watch in the window to defend against the urchins that come snooping, to a hoarse-voiced Philosophical Raven that perches at the foot of his bed at night and regales him with a myriad of obscure existential minutiae in his sleep.
When at home in his not-so-handsome townhouse, he can most often be found with his nose buried in some dusty old tome, murmuring indistinctly to himself as he studies sigils and concocts his next experiment. Amongst his mannerisms are a tendency to tap his nose in an absentminded fashion while lost in thought, a habit of interrupting himself as he speaks, and a packrat mentality that has led to numerous complaints from the neighbours.
Indeed, even the orphanage he recently established on the lower floors is abnormal, to say the least. The "House of Diminuitive Labourers and Experiment-subjects" has quickly garnered the ire of the local area, as its occupants have a penchant for mischief in (and above) the streets. Within mere hours of its grand opening, it had already earned a reputation of dread and suspicion among the nearby citizens, and has been loudly and publicly lambasted for "crimes against Her Majesty, the city, and its people" on at least three separate occasions. What exactly these crimes are, none will say.
On the topic of experiments, of which Richard is quite fond: his private workspace, a tiny attic at the top of his townhouse, is cluttered with a bewildering array of chemistry-sets, tattered documents, scientific instruments, a mountain of books, and a large, unfinished chart of the Unterzee and the Unter-Unterzee. When he is not squirreled away in his lab, he can be found either prowling the Forgotten Quarter for trinkets and treasures, or exploring the zee in his bizarre "zubmerzible mechanized autopropulzive diving-craft", which he has lovingly dubbed "the M.D.R.E.V.", or Multipurpose Deepsea Research and Exploration Vessel.
His demeanour is normally quite inauspicious and aloof. This is due in no small part to his propensity for deep thought and absentmindedness, and not at all a result of any ill will borne toward others. His mentality is, however, pragmatic to a fault, bordering on sociopathic, and while he is entirely capable of geniality given the right circumstances, this is usually restricted to closer acquaintances or situations of personal interest to him.
While certainly a strange and unusual individual, he is quite clever and adept at unravelling mysteries… and while he may not be very sociable, he has learned much in the five years he has spent in the Neath. Absentminded he may be, but once he takes hold of an idea or decision, very seldomly does he decide to turn it loose.
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This is just for descriptive purposes. The good sir will likely not be making any personal appearances at your residence, or here, but should you happen to spot him, you will now be well aware of who and what he is before he crosses your path and may alter your heading accordingly.
