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“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

Hobnail
Hobnail
Posts: 179

12/30/2015


CURSED! CURSED! CURSED!

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hobnail
+5 link
Psyche Labyrinth
Psyche Labyrinth
Posts: 159

1/1/2016
quote=Hobnail]

CURSED! CURSED! CURSED!
Now that's what I call enthusiasm!

--
Neath citizen, zee captain, possible deranged serial killer...
Profile
Backstory
Appearance
Always happy to meet new people and help out where I can!
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Guest

1/2/2016
Psyche Labyrinth wrote:
quote=Hobnail]

CURSED! CURSED! CURSED!

Now that's what I call enthusiasm!


Funny, when did enthusiasm get an alternate spelling of I-N-S-A-N-E?
+2 link
TheD3rp
TheD3rp
Posts: 17

1/13/2016
Alright, might as well have a go at this:

Alexandra Blackwell was born to a relatively wealthy family several miles north of what was formerly known as London. Quite intelligent and largely self-educated, Alexandra spent most of her time on the Surface trying to become recognized by society and following her philosophy that you should fill your life with as much pleasure as possible. However, despite being fairly attractive, she experienced repeated frustration when it came to breaking into high society. This is what brought her to the Neath, where she saw an opportunity to become a prominent figure. So at the age of 18 Alexandra Blackwell packed a small amount of personal belongings and set out for Fallen London. In terms of personality, she was generally kind although could come off as a bit snobbish at times. She could also be rather melancholy, most likely due to losing both her brother and mother at the age of 14. Physically, she was of average height and size, with blue eyes, red hair, and pale, smooth skin on a face most men would consider "cute". She enjoyed reading books, and her fashion tastes tended to be similar to those from approximately 30 years earlier. Shortly after arriving in the Neath, she encountered a problem: getting into the city. She considered multiple options of getting into the city, including bribery, but eventually settled on getting arrested and breaking out of New Newgate. Of course, now the problem was finding the best way to get arrested. Again, she considered and dismissed several options: assaulting a constable(too likely to get her a baton to the face), stripping into her undergarments(She didn't necessarily want that kind of attention or reputation once she was out of prison), shouting political slander about the powers that be(Getting on their bad side probably wasn't the best idea.) Just as she was pondering this question, a benevolent, middle-aged, complete with scraggly bear and hat, Zee captain by the name of Daniel Montgomery sat down next to her on a bench against a warehouse wall just outside the city limits. He had recently acquired his first command, a steamer named the Sylph, and was in a rather cheerful mood. He offered to arrange a roberry, with him as the victim, right in front of the eyes of London's finest. The item stolen would be a small amount of money, and soon enough the two were ready to execute their plan. She gave Daniel her personal belongings to be delivered to her inside the city, on the basis that they would in all likelihood be confiscated once she was placed under arrest. The plan went almost flawlessly: he strolled along a sidewalk near the city's gates right in front of two constables, she grabbed the pouch full of money he was carrying, made a half-hearted attempt to run, semi-intentionally tripped on her skirt, and was promptly placed under custody. Her assumption was right, they took everything from her: fan, boots, corset, crinoline, and in exchange she got a bundle of prisoners' rags and shackles. She quickly got replacements for her confiscated items after she had talked her way out of New Newgate, and the rest is history. She did, however, come across Daniel Montgomery again in a restaurant at the Veilgarden, where she entrusted him with a whisper-locked chest which she had come across in her travels across the city as a sort of payment for the help he had given her, and they exchanged goodbyes for the last time.
edited by TheD3rp on 5/23/2016
edited by TheD3rp on 6/18/2016

--
My character, and a friendly reminder to vote for the Captivating Princess in the 1896 London Mayoral Election.
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Viti Rose
Viti Rose
Posts: 32

1/15/2016
Once upon a time, up on the surface, there was an upper-class lady named Viti Rose. She had short brown hair, bright brown eyes and the sweetest smile anyone had ever seen. Life was good but she longed for something more than the balls and dances she had grown up with. She longed for love. And one day she did find it in the most peculiar of places. A man from the Neath and was a zailor. He fell in love with Viti and Viti fell in love with him. They would exchange letters as it was dangerous for him to be on the surface too long. This continued for two years as the man described the most unusual of creatures. Squid people, giant crabs, devils, and strange hooded men. It was unlike anything that she had ever heard and she wanted to be there, with him. So she went to the Neath to live her new life with the man of her dreams. It was a hard life. Her wealth at the surface did not follow her down here but she was happy. One day the man said he would go on a zailing trip. He asked her not to worry about him. He would be back in no time. They kissed goodbye and he set off. So she waited and waited and waited but he never came back. She was heartbroken. Everything she had given up on for him and now he was missing. Then something peculiar happened. A bouquet of beautiful mushroom was at her door step. A note was on it. I was from a devil who had heard of her missing husband. He wish her the best and hoped that they would be reunited soon. Viti got curios and decided to head out to find this devil. And she did. He was a charming gentleman and over 3 months they became good friends. One day he sat Viti down and said he had some information on her husband. She would do anything to get him back so the devil offered her a deal. He said that if she would sign a contract giving him her soul and do some work for hell. She took the deal hoping that maybe she could see him again. A year of insanity later and nothing has changed other than the fact that she can feel nothing and act everything.
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Abdul Majid
Abdul Majid
Posts: 1

2/8/2016
This looks fun! Hi everyone.

What is Abdul Majid doing in the Neath? It's a long story. He was born in the Orient, in Sind under the Raj. His parents, virtuous and devout in the Mohameddian faith, taught him the values of respect for all men and women, be they of the faith or not, and the benefits of a devotion to peace and justice. They told him of the fall of London, saying that placing the city close to Hell was both a punishment for their imperialist ways and a test of faith.

Inspired by his family, Abdul travelled the world, seeking a fulfilling life of helping the poor and speaking the good word. It was on his travels that he learned the true story of the Neath - that the city had been sold to the Bazaar by the Traitor Empress as Allah had looked on with either helplessness or apathy. He realised that his God was not as powerful and certainly not as loving as he had been brought up to believe. He cast away a life of virtue, devoting himself to sin and power. He decided that he would live forever in the great dark city, courting devils. He would become a criminal mastermind and, as a cruel rejection of his God, a spirifer trading souls to Hell. He crossed the Cumaean Canal as a stowaway on an unterzee ship, a crime that landed him in prison.
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absimiliard
absimiliard
Posts: 759

2/13/2016
Absimiliard claims to remember nothing of their past prior to arriving in the Neath. Even more odd they claim their first memory is that of falling, and then plunging into the cold Zea near Irem from which they were plucked by a passing Zea-Captain before they drowned. There are many Zea-stories they relate that indicate that they did indeed Zail the Zea for some time, and they have been many places. It is clear that Absimiliard is terrified of the Zea, and desires to never set foot upon a ship at Zea if it is within their power.

Further investigation by those with the proper connections will reveal that they were condemned to Newgate prison for murder of a ship-mate. The court-case was dilatory, suspiciously so, and little exists in written word detailing it -- what little you can find indicates that they killed an officer on their ship who had recently been hired on at Mt. Palmerston.

Looking into their activities since finally regaining their freedom on the streets shows an odd set of contradictions. Clearly this person is quite subtle, but the number of Londoner lives they have jumped in to save, or influenced for the better, says they are quite capable of direct action when needed. They are well known not just for their terribly scandalous behavior -- wearing scarlett stocking whilst dancing with Sinning Jenny at the Carnival for example -- but also for their piety as they are a regular at prayers in nearly every church in the city. There are rumors that despite their connection to the Constables Absimiliard has engaged in no small amount of criminal activity -- usually to the Widows advantage, though they toast to the Cheery Man.

The few constants you can find in their behavior are as follows: They seem irresistibly attracted to the Duchess and any cause she supports. No matter their dress or style there is always a feline manner to their motion. There is no snake so small, or innocent, that they will not instantly bristle (you can practically see the hairs on their neck and back rise up) at them, and if they think they can win . . .. . attack. At no time or place do you ever see them feel truly in their place, wherever their home is, it isn't here. They are far more comfortable trading secrets sitting up on the roofs with a horde of cats than you ever see them be with people. Oh, and they are obsessed with the lands behind mirrors, almost assuredly unhealthily so.

--
"Because, Parabola!" -- the Curious Captain
Eating nightmares from friends -- and I'm easy to befriend.
Absimiliard: the Black Rose of Wolfstack Docks
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Appolonia
Appolonia
Posts: 248

2/14/2016


“I grew up in the Bavarian court of King Ludwig II. The Swan King. The Fairytale King . Der Märchenkönig. My mother was a lady in the court. My father was a virtuoso violinist, from London. He came to be near Herr Wagner.”


“It is perhaps unwise to feed a child a steady diet of opera and fairytales.”


“I know that he was not her husband. He stole time with me. Her husband, my paper father – a good man by all counts – had him driven from the court. My father returned to London, and was there when it fell, in ‘62.”


“I was only a girl of twelve. There was little I could do. But, I knew that I would run away and find him, when I had the resources to do so. I was still foolishly young when I made the trip, but grateful he had taught me English, which helped in making deals that opened the way, but were otherwise so little to be trusted that I ended up penniless in New Newgate.”


“I can find no trace of him. Even the opera… my opera… I thought that would draw him – moth to flame – if he possibly could. He would never have missed an opera in Bavaria, and he might have easily been among those chosen to play it. At the very least, surely he would want to know something of the composer.”


“I tell myself he is trapped somehow. Unable to come forward.”


[OOC: I would be delighted if some player who enjoyed roleplaying and did not mind absorbing a bastard child in Bavaria into their background who is now a young lady of the Neath, would take on this role of her missing father. Must be a violinist and obsessed with opera, at least in the past. Everything else is entirely up to you. You can be horrible or kind, villainous or heroic.]



  • edited by Appolonia on 2/14/2016

  • edited by Appolonia on 2/14/2016

  • edited by Appolonia on 4/26/2016

    --
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Appolonia%20VonRavenscroft
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    Rysiek
    Rysiek
    Posts: 694

    2/17/2016
    Rysiek: Wollt die Geschichte hören warum ich hier bin? Chętnie. It is very simple. I hoped for more money than at home, in a steel smeltery. First I went to the Pott... not what I wanted. Then I got to this place. And I will stay here for some time. Always wanted to be a cop anyways. Expected a story with more drama, tragedy and scandal? Przepraszam. I was from a family of coal miners. I learned from books. I am not from a big city and an important family. I am a proletarian and always will be.


  • --
    The silesian Detective
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
    The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
    The silesian vengeance seeker
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym


    I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.

    Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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    The Absurd Rogue
    The Absurd Rogue
    Posts: 1049

    2/17/2016
    Eli Lowe: I do not remember entirely. I either shot someone or someone shot me. Either, or. Probably both. Anyway, they're not looking the better for it and I am. The Tsars weren't very open-minded towards some of my work and the Cons were starting to investigate my hobbies.
    Where else to go but Down? I shall never return to Mother Russia, nor do I want to. It's f---i-- cold.

    --
    "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
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    Lisbella Peridot
    Lisbella Peridot
    Posts: 138

    2/20/2016
    Born in a declining family of minor nobility, her rebellious attitude towards being married off in the future was not well-received by her parents. She had frequent escapes that swiftly ended in failures, but on these trips she was exposed to the world at large and saw the seedier part of the world.

    As she grew to be a teenager, her elder brother gradually took control of the family and it begins to transform into a merchant family to survive. She was offered education by her brother and took up fencing and brawling on the side, and she eventually started to contribute to the family business as her brother's bodyguard. Displaying a total lack of skill in mercantile and having a rock-solid bond, she was someone that her brother could relied on.

    That all goes out the window, one day, when her brother was found murdered. While the rest of her family scrabbled over the incident and pointed fingers, she took to the Neath, knowing that she no longer have a place in her family and this is the only thing she could do for him - not to take up his mantle, but to take revenge and find out why.

    --
    Anatasia Swansong - fencing prodigy, extraordinary beauty, and very stubborn
    Welcoming friends of all sorts! All independent now.

    Kelly Siniature - grinning, deranged, elegant child of indistinct gender
    Kelly is taking a long break on isolation.

    I also play Town of Salem and a few other games - still Lisbella Peridot!
    I finally regained stable internet access, so I should be around more often...
    +1 link
    Xisuthros
    Xisuthros
    Posts: 4

    2/25/2016
  • Mr. Xisuthros: "Many, many years ago, I was saved from certain death and given a new home by a friendly, helpful benefactor. I was young then, and easy to fool, and thus I accepted these gifts without question. But my benefactor was not motivated by altruism. They wanted me in their debt, a fact they made very clear afterwards.

    Eventually, my benefactor returned to me to collect on this debt. You see, in those days I was respected in the surrounding area for my great knowledge, and a man came to me seeking that knowledge. The man was searching for a way to save a loved one from death, and had come to me for help. I knew of a rare and powerful medicine that could have saved the man's love, but my benefactor (for their own obtuse reasons) did not want the man to learn of it. Thus, fearing the wrath of my benefactor should I renege on our arrangement, I acceded to their demands, and claimed that there was no way to save him. The man left my home in tears, searching for another way to save his love. My benefactor, to their credit, kept true to their word even after I had exhausted my usefulness. I was still permitted my home, and was under their aegis despite my obvious resentment of them.

    Many years later, I came across rumours that the man I had so terribly wronged had taken up residence in the city of London. Through great effort and planning, I was able to secure passage to that fallen city, hoping to find the knowledge and power necessary to undo my misdeeds and apologise to my victim. That is how I find myself today."

  • edited by Xisuthros on 2/25/2016

  • edited by Xisuthros on 2/25/2016
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    CALLNXW
    CALLNXW
    Posts: 116

    4/6/2016
    A really freaky parachuting accident.

    --
    https://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Call%20Now
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    Theodore Gibbs
    Theodore Gibbs
    Posts: 3

    4/7/2016
    I alluded a little bit to fate content in this. Let me know if it's out of line.

    "Hello, I'm Theodore Gibbs. I think. It's so hard to remember these days, with so much more fluttering around in my head. Who would think there could be so much purple... My story? Well. I came to the Neath on a tip that my quarry had finally settled down. I was going to avenge my love and set my demons to rest.

    That didn't happen.

    To reach my target of two decades, I had to climb the ladder of power, and I did so with the aid of one Cheesemonger. I didn't care what I had to do. I lied, stole, murdered, wrote awful poetry, anything to get closer to the one called Scathewick. Eventually, opportunity struck: Alice and I would strike out at the Great Game, unbalance it enough to wipe it out for good. I never questioned her. I followed my orders with perfect skill and utmost conviction. Yet the Game and I are still here, and she isn't. She was nothing more than a piece in my game, and I a piece in hers. That's all anyone is, really. Pieces and players.

    My next bid at power came in the form of the Revolutionaries. I had learned enough about the Bazaar, about...love, to understand it was bad news. Some Firebrand needed my help to uncover a very singular Cave, one that he promised was stuffed with wonder and knowledge long past. I obliged, and lost myself in a hell of nothingness. When I finally escaped, I decided that the one party that would use the Cave as a wondrous bargaining chip, but never for anything else, was the bureaucratic monstrosity of the Great Game. That decision gave me the edge I needed to finally track Scathewick down.

    I'm not the man I was before. I know that as well as anyone. The Correspondence burns my brain constantly. My dreams are full of ancient monsters petitioning my aid. But that still isn't as bad as my own parts of my mind. I was a virtous man, once. Even when I came down here, I helped the Constables, solved mysteries. I stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Now I can only see everyone, myself included, playing their own game, using and discarding pawns as they see fit. Why are they deserving of mercy or aid? I broke the very mind of my old friend from prison, just to satisfy a question I already had the answer to. He might have screamed. It's hard to remember. It's worse to realize what that means about myself.

    My first hell was when I lost my love. My second was the circular stalemate of the Game. My third was the eternity of the Nadir. Yet now, I find myself trapped in a much worse one, knowing that Scathewick was himself just another piece in the game of the Masters, the chessboard that took my love, and now I can't even remember who she was, or who I was."
    edited by Theodore Gibbs on 4/7/2016

    --
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Theodore~Gibbs
    +1 link
    Baron Leichtsinn
    Baron Leichtsinn
    Posts: 34

    4/9/2016
    I can't quite rememeber anymore. Has there really been a time when days could be legitimately called so? When nights were welcome intermissions, candle-lit counterparts that made time count? Now the twitching flicker of numberless flames feels to me like it is all there is. Can we be sure those tales of the elder continent are more than nautical yarn; spun by zailors who went inzane. The underzee does funny things to man, or zo it zeems. Excuse me, my German accent breaking through again. If I can trust my old diary entries, I come from there. A noble house of little importance, the family estate and fortune long gone, I must have decided to move to London around the time your (or may I say our?) beloved souvereign, her traitorus Majesty wed a certain bashful, yet determined bachelor from my home country. You know, the bloke they named that venue after, that is supposed to hold a famous ball collection of some sort. I guess in his memory, he must have passed at some point. I didn't now him personally, but someone from his entoruage has opened a window for me at the shuttered palace, that i used to enter a podium of possibilities for someone like me. Pulling Strings in a respectable ensamble, not the hair of some long-fingered little critter on the streets of Spite. I categorically refuse to comment on any allegations connecting me closely to players of the great game located within the late royal consorts environment. Those - or, I suppose: us - Germanz have no interest in international shannanigans at all, or even aggrrrrezzzive ambitions, that could threaten this here marvelous Empire-in-law. You don't need to believe me. The course of history will show, I am conviced. Even if it had been the case at some point, that I had agreed, maybe out of a monetary conundrum, to gather information behind those shutters, I got distracted very early: I made my moves against rivalling artists, or to win favours with the beatiful and/or mighty. At least the rich, or those willing to spend a little on one of my many endeavours. I cut a strategically well positioned hole into one of the hedges to get a glimpse of what is going on in the rose gardens. What I saw there is as outrageous as it is irrellevant to anything. I found a diary entry that puts me on the trail of a mortal enemy, someone has died very close to me and searing pain blurs the memory, but they must die at any any cost. I found..something. There was honey, thick and red and much more potent than the candy they sell in Veilgarden's alleys. Sometimes an old horse who claims to be my aunt appears and with her comes drama. I don't recall any aunts or other close family, she could be one of those spies looking for valuable intelligence. Kudoz, i say, to that. It would suit her well. Where was I? Ah, the honey. It's almost empty - again! The imp who tends to my needs as a secretary, or one of the pets from my menagerie must have been secretly dipping. I suspect the dog, she is bearing a permanent hangover, that can't be the absinth alone. Carpe Noctem, the juices of creation are flowing heavily in the dark, black blood boils hot and white wine sparkles very enitcing. The Night is endless in the Neath.

    --
    All the world's problems can be solved by poetry. And violence. Poetry and violence. Who said, violence wasn't a solution? Actually it solves all the problems, that couldn't be solved by poetry.
    ___________________________
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Baron~Leichtsinn
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    Baron Leichtsinn
    Baron Leichtsinn
    Posts: 34

    4/9/2016
    I am truly enjoying the lecture of this here bouqet of some very personal documents. All through these it is strikinly remarkable that the memories of many authors, including my own, seem to be flawed, missing, altered? Must be the honey, or the frequent dying.
    Or that is just what happens when your mind wanders to places beyond the Zee, wondering what might be on different shores of this opaque nothingness of an ocean. I reckon parts of our minds get lost out there.

    --
    All the world's problems can be solved by poetry. And violence. Poetry and violence. Who said, violence wasn't a solution? Actually it solves all the problems, that couldn't be solved by poetry.
    ___________________________
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Baron~Leichtsinn
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    Baron Leichtsinn
    Baron Leichtsinn
    Posts: 34

    4/9/2016
    Sherman Jones wrote:
    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.


    Agreed:
    A soul alone
    even your own
    as useful as a rubbery favour

    but gathered and paid for
    together they matter
    as portfoilios of souls
    (assorted in flavours)

    --
    All the world's problems can be solved by poetry. And violence. Poetry and violence. Who said, violence wasn't a solution? Actually it solves all the problems, that couldn't be solved by poetry.
    ___________________________
    http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Baron~Leichtsinn
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    supermeatcleaver
    supermeatcleaver
    Posts: 3

    6/2/2016
    Hera Grey married very young to someone loved very dearly and spent about ten years as a stay at home house wife. Her husband, an army general, was gone frequently and she often felt isolated. She had to run the estate in his absence and it aged her physically and mentally, but not emotionally. They eventually divorced for reasons Hera doesn't like to talk about but if prompted she'll say she doesn't blame him. (However, it is a clearly sore spot for her and she does seem a bit melancholy occasionally.) After spending so long being married, she was suddenly out on her own in her late twenties. Fearing she might become an old maid, she decided to take a chance and go live under the surface.

    Before she married, she used to be a young lady of prestigious background, but she essentially threw it away. Her husband was at least suitable, being a general, but he wasn't who her family would have chosen for her considering that she had been a catch by society standards and could have nabbed someone much better. She still had contact with her family for a while, but it wasn’t as often because it was clear that she had her own family. Technically, she has the experience under her belt to advance in society in Fallen London, but she considers it to be a thing of the past. When she moved to the neath, rather than using either of her former surnames she made one up.

    Since she spent her life letting her family and then her husband tell her what to do, and because she spent so long being isolated, she had no room to mature as a person. As a result, she can be a bit naive at times. She tends to fall back on her learned mannerisms as a young lady and the mistress of a household. This means that her personality can come off as rather stiff. She tries to do the right thing, but sometimes that leads to disastrous results when she doesn't consider the consequences(i.e. a certain incident involving a clay man and an heiress).

    Hera came to Fallen London for adventure. She's interested in monster hunting and detective work. Her secret dream is to take down Jack of Smiles.

    --
    Hera Grey-A well-meaning young divorcée who doesn't intentionally hurt people.
    0 link
    Arlecchinata
    Arlecchinata
    Posts: 30

    6/7/2016
    "I am a child of the Fifth City, born to a well-bred kin of Surface incomers; my mother and father, a Wistful Organist and a Dashing Academic, descended to London soon after the Fall. Still, despite their otherwise good fortune, my parents were no strangers to the maladies so oft inflicted by the Neath upon its newcomers. Within five years of my birth, dear mother's melancholy dragged her body into the far bottom of the Zee - hands stuffed with stones as she was filled with sorrows.

    Father was less than kind to her, this much I know - still, did the poor man suffer. Many times he swore blind to have heard her chant and wail down at the Docks - and eventually, in a most disturbing account, he claimed to have sighted her, skin covered in moss and hair thick as zeeweed. Years after - yet no longer than half a decade - he embarked into an old friend's steamer. I recall being ten years old, at the time. Still, I could devise the rumours and place the morsels together. By then I was not certain about what it meant, but from this date I knew that he had retired to Venderbight. I take it, now, that he may have found some appeasement in the company of the many-times dead. Perchance a quaint sort of kinship, even.

    Throughout the following years, nevertheless, life has treated me more kindly than I might have expected. I was raised a wealthy orphan, fostered by a Bright-Eyed Governess, a Bedazzling Instructor and a trio of fine nurses - all appointed by my father prior to his departure. My family's handsome townhouse was less than lively, but I did learn to regard it as a haven, almost as home. My training encompassed the elementary skills, the fine arts, literature, dance and creative writing; almost ceaseless writing, at that. My more covert studies, however, included the scrutiny of every scrap of arcane information I could find on the subject of the Neath and the Fallen Cities. I have meticulously read innumerable stories on the Fourth City's ruins, the half-forgotten relics, the realm beyond the boundaries of dreams. I would write my every finding, compiling a small archive for my own enlightenment - as well as my entertainment. Amid my father's books and oddities, I recall once finding plaques scrawled with violant ink; an odd chain of diagrams - a sort of foreign lettering, perhaps? - that would flush my skin and make the strands of my hair burn with a sizzling, wispy flame. These scribblings have become branded to the utmost depths of me. Despite my will, they have not abandoned my dreams. With the passing years, the visions have become more substantial, more complex.

    I grew up, then, with a flair for artistry and a constant disturbance that hounded me. Perhaps these traits were what lured me into the wonders of Bohemian life - or perhaps I merely have taken after my wanton of a father. Despite the constant distractions - namely wine, prisoner's honey and the occasional drop of laudanum -, this was a very productive period for me. Amid the delightful cacophony of Veilgarden, I developed a career as a prolific author. I acknowledged my passion for creating, and wrote a vast number of works, ranging from prose to poetry and opera. There, I found a multitude of lovers; and I found Anthea, a young artist's model who soon became quite prominent among social and artistic circles. We fostered a mutual attraction that grew to become irrepressible. A few months' time sufficed to render us inseparable. We became each other's lovers, intimate friends, spouses. She and I do still indulge in our share of particular - or shared - lovers. Still, the matters of our hearts are well-settled, and our trust in one another is unfazed by our external liaisons.

    My meanderings around Society, as well as my friendship with certain Bohemian sorts have allowed me to attend the most exquisite sorts of reunions and soirées. These events have granted me a number of fruitful connections. Amid these, I found my Academic acquaintances to be particularly engaging. I developed an interest in scholarly matters - ancient history, cartography, mythology. And, once again finding myself embroiled into increasingly esoteric affairs, I stumbled upon the inevitable. All my studies, every disclosure, every finding - it all pointed out to that which is, perhaps, quintessential esotericism. The same searing language that had spoken, beckoned to me for years unending: the Correspondence. The dreams I recalled from childhood years gained a new, startling intensity. I have chosen, then, to pursue this haunting tongue of flame and metal. Many times have I delved into the Forgotten Quarter; traversed, half-maddened, the Mirror-Marches; gone overzees, almost haphazardly - a wanderess.

    I have seen more than I deemed bearable, learned more than could be lodged within the coils of my mind. Nightmares pestered my every rest; even laudanum could barely grant me a peaceful night. I have dwelled for far too long upon the state between vigil and dream - the edge of sleep, soaked in greenish light. Now, my desire is to mould my work to encompass both my passions: creation, and the gist of the arcane knowledge that I have gathered. In the meantime, my Bohemian tendencies remain a diversion to me. I attend and host a number of salons and soirées, in order to gather people of compelling characters and interests. I relish in all sorts of art; I appreciate beauty, sensations, novelty. And I, of course, devote much of my time and attention to my current - and potential - lovers."

    --
    Sybil Bertrand, the Licentious Correspondent.
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    Drake Dynamo
    Drake Dynamo
    Posts: 499

    6/7/2016
    Drake Dynamo is the middle child of the three Dynamo siblings, born in Wales to English parents. The eldest, Emma Dynamo was in London when it fell, and fought in the (very brief) war against Hell. Writing to her siblings on the surface, she encouraged her youngest brother, Ernest, to come to the Neath around the year 1878. Ernest sailed for several years as a crew member aboard a tramp steamer before becoming a captain in his own right. After Ernest became lost at sea, Emma took to the waves herself to find her missing brother. After several years at sea, Emma too was lost, with rumors of her traveling East abound.

    On the surface, Drake was always the charmer, often finding himself in the company of high society, despite his middle-class upbringing in Cardiff. He also had a keen interest in the esoteric and the scientific lore of his day. When learning about London's fall, he was quite interested in the metaphysical implications of the so-called 'Neath,' but never found the courage to make the journey to the dark depths.

    With the loss of his two siblings, Drake finally decided to travel to the Neath, to (at the very least) reclaim the remaining possessions of his siblings, if not also to learn more of the fallen city. A dispute with a customs agent on his way up and out of the Neath after getting his siblings' goods landed him in New Newgate. Doubting the validity of his passport, Drake made his peace with the surface and has decided to embrace the delights and mysteries of the Neath (and perhaps will one day find his siblings who sailed the Sunless Sea).
    edited by Drake Dynamo on 6/7/2016
    edited by Drake Dynamo on 8/17/2016

    --
    Oh no. Another post from that goon who goes on about statistics.

    Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker , Matchmaker, and Paramount Presence
    The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
    Mr. Mauvais - A ghostly skullduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

    Guide to becoming a Poet-Laureate
    If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
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