Full Name: Herald Clicker

Nicknames/Aliases:Old Click

Age: 50-60

Gender: Male

Occupation:Former Antique Sundial Maker

Description: A grumpy old man, a bit ragged since the loss of his job since it involved the sun. Wears ragged-ish clothes. Greying hair with a grey beard. slouchy and wields a old cane

Personality:Old, Grumpy and kind of losing it sue to old age. In all actuality he wants things to go back to the good old days

Skills: Very brutal with that cane of his
Very brutal

Weaknesses: He's aging and not that fast.

Brief History: He once made sundials for the rich Londoners but as London fell there was no use for sundials and thus lost his business. He kinda went crazy and still thinks that this is all just one big nightmare
Hopefully

Other:His two sons disappeared when London fell
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Full Name: Alexandra St. Clair

Nicknames/Aliases: The Gardener, the Lady in Red, the Ruin in Red

Age: Indeterminate, and an impertinent question to boot, sir! Young enough to be foolish, and old enough to know better.

Gender: Female, if you must be so vulgar – and blinded – as to enquire.

Occupation: Socialite, at least on the surface. Alex St. Clair’s actual occupation is the management – the praesidium, really - of a complex and shifting web of fiduciary instruments, actual businesses, inheritances and – of course – gardening, maintaining her magnificent, if macabre, gardens of red exile’s roses. Nothing so crass as trade; she has people for that, but occasionally things and secrets might discreetly change hands, for a consideration, at her scarlet-choked spire-emporium. Or perhaps in the hushed and smoke-wreathed hallways of the Parthenaeum, or even yet whispered in the soundproofed rooms of the House of Chimes. For the right people. Usually ones of Some Importance, or those aspiring to such heights.

Description: Alex St. Clair is not tall, although she compensates for this lack of verticality with viciously-spired heels, ophidian in their glossy allure and flashing with a little more than mere reflection. Parabola dances close around her heels, for those with eyes to see it. She is pale, ghost-white as all the aristocracy of Fallen London tend to be, even before the Fall, with perfectly coiffed straight black hair, pierced with half a hundred diamond-headed hairpins such that it glows like the Neathy roof above.

Her lips are rich and full and always painted the colour of Mr. Wines’ finest burgundy, a dash of rich colour in an otherwise-bloodless face, whilst her eyes are a baleful green, a poisonous viridian evaluating the world before her.

The rest of her body, insofar as can be told beneath the gleaming splendour of her dresses and gowns, is lithe and trim, impressively wasp-waisted and without an extra gram of fat anywhere. She has a fondness for black opals and rubies; it is a rare day indeed to see her without an adornment of one or the other, and still rarer to see her without her gloves, leather with the same ophidian allure as her boots.

Personality: Playful and ruthless by turns, Alex St. Clair is a creature of layers and masks and never seems quite satisfied with any of them. Case in point; if she takes tea on the lawns of Summerset College with the Provost, her poisonous eyes will, sooner or later, wander to the copper-eyed denizens of Benthic and fill with a certain longing. If she’s engaged in frenetic discourse with the wild-eyed academics of the more devilish College, though, those selfsame eyes will turn to the plumply self-satisfied idyll of Summerset with that same indefinable longing. Alex St. Clair is never satisfied for long; something hungers in her that she can’t put a name to.

Regardless, Alex is usually pleasant and charming and with the sort of self-assured certainty that comes with money and power down generations. Emphasis being on the ‘usually’; she has a temper best described as volcanic, made all the stronger by its repression under a thick coat of etiquette and good breeding, such that when it finally erupts, Alex’s stores of violant ink are usually easily replenished from the carnage.

Skills:

• She is an excellent shotgunner
• She is a dab hand with poisons and their application
• Skilled apiarist
• Skilled gardener
• Excellent calligrapher
• Clever; good at leverage, in whatever shade is necessary.

Weaknesses:

• Hates – and is hated by – the Bishop of Southwark
• Impious; she openly visits the Brass Embassy, and is a frequent guest at their masquerade balls. There
are always devils around her.
• Sadist; Alex St. Clair does not partake of the bounty of red honey her gardens yield. She takes her
pleasure from the…ahem…fertilizer instead, and uses the honey to bargain for, oh, all
manner of things.
• Vindictive; In defeat, malice. In victory, revenge!

Brief History: A Fallen London native, born and bred, Alex St. Clair was that most fortunate of children; born to a wealthy and titled house and cut free of outmoded male-preference primogeniture in the darkness of the Neath. With the world her darkly-gleaming oyster, she has held several jobs, although she’d never call them that. Favours, instead, for Crown and Country and the good of Society, as the long arm of the knives-in-the-dark Foreign Office. She’s met the Pirate King on the Isle of Cats; the two of them have a complex relationship, built on and broken by the roses they both cultivate, and is one of the few to thrive in Irem.

In return for ‘services rendered’, of which a mere enquiry will bring down a host of Baseborn and Fowlingpiece’s finest in a twinkling of lawyerly brogues, she was given the honour of a Bazaar writ to purchase one of their spire-emporia, a glittering jewel in which she now resides for much of the time.

Other:

• Long-standing member of the Parthenaeum
• Frequenter of the House of Chimes.
• Has Baseborn and Fowlingpiece on a hair-trigger retainer.
• Intimate of the Captivating Princess

Full Name: Elias Suthmeer

Nicknames/Aliases: Eli, "Jimmy Slip"

Age: 11

Gender: Male

Occupation: Urchin/Pick Pocket

Description: A dirty, disheveled boy of around 10 years old, Elias looks as though he is afraid of bath water. Knowing the things that lurk in the pipes of Fallen London, that fear could be legitimate. The boy has dirty, freckled cheeks and bright green eyes that look almost out of place on his face, that are framed by the bangs of his long, greasy brown hair. Likewise, his clothing is patched, ripped, and covered in dirt and stains.

Personality: Happy-go-lucky, living each day on its own. Elias generally always has a smile plastered onto his young face, which may or may not be genuine, but likely even he doesn't know. Aside from his outward personality, the young lad is also loyal to his close friends and will go out of his way to take care of them.

Skills: Elias Suthmeer is a world-class picker of pockets (and not in a fashion sense), he is also especially adept at picking very large pockets on very baggy clothing worn by very distracted people, but he is also able to pick ordinary pockets and has been known to dip his hand into a lady's handbag or two, as well.

Additionally, he has learned to run fast for his age and is also capable of climbing buildings and navigating the rooftops of Fallen London as if he was a native, which, in fact, he is.

Weaknesses: The poor boy, growing up on the streets, lacks any formal education. He can barely write his name, let alone read his letters. Additionally, he is young and spry, but not very strong. This can be forgiven, considering he has not even reached the age of puberty yet. Finally, the boy can sometimes be loyal to a fault, probably because he fears abandonment due to his mother leaving him. He is slow to trust, but once he trusts someone he will do what he can to ensure they are safe.

Brief History: Elias Suthmeer was born to Gregory and Constance Suthmeer not so long ago in the Wolfstacks Docks, where the family lived and Gregory worked. They were a working-class family, Gregory serving as a zailor on a local trade vessel that made regular runs to the Salt Lions. When Elias was but five years old, his father left on a zee voyage, never to return. Overcome with grief, Constance abandoned her young son and fled their small, one room flat for better fortunes elsewhere. Elias has been on his own, ever since, falling in with a gang of like-wise abandoned or orphaned youths, he quickly gained a reputation among his peers as something of a dip. His ability to steal from unsuspecting grown-ups, and escape the bobbies whenever he was detected, earned him the playful nickname, "Jimmy Slip" from his friends. He now wonders across London with his pals, stealing money to buy food, sleeping in gutters, and just enjoying the hand that life has dealt him.

Other: Elias is curious what became of his parents. He knows their names and faces, but has no idea where they have gone, or if they're even still alive. This is something he'd like to pursue, if he's ever given the opportunity.

Full Name: Roderic Alder Mayburry Montana

Nicknames/Aliases: The Asp, Will Of the Wisp, The Fourth Man, and aliases too numerous to mention, but most often a William Evargrant.

Age: Over the age of 30

Gender: Male, most certainly, though though use of makeup and other assorted items can take the appearance of a woman with sharp cheekbones.

Occupation: A liaison for various interests? Or perhaps a courier, one that worked the odd twilight in the sorts of places frequented by the unsavoury and the high born, delivering all sorts of things, promises, and things both real and conceptual. Or perhaps he is a thief and bearer of false witness.

Description: Montana has a face who's expression are subtle, and rarely extravagant when responding to the stimuli Fallen London provides. Shoulder length, pitch dark hair is often swept back, tucked behind the ear. This dark colour is mirrored in his eyes, where the darkness of the pupil is matched, and swallowed by the darkness of his iris.

His most recognizable article of clothing is a wide brimmed hat. What one needs a hat for in a sunless land is mystery itself.



Personality: A gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but perhaps only in word, as what is his true personality is likely hidden behind the mask of gentlemanly conduct. There is a touch of idle fancy within his person, or perhaps it's just an abstract world view that influences the way he moves. Sometimes he can be anything. Would that make his personality a series of well rehearsed roles? Who can tell.

Skills: A hand to hand specialist, with a variety of obscure, and at times, depending on how his body moves, obtuse movements. An excellent duelist. A linguist. A crack shot. Perceptive, with a head perfect for the art of deduction. Making things disappear or reappear Finding lost things, and losing found things. Not being in the wrong place, and being in the right place. Understanding the difference between being in the right place at the wrong place, and the wrong place at the right time. Replacing things. Not being noticed for long periods of time, and being noticed when he needs to be.

Weaknesses:

Brief History: A British native, but no native of London, Roderic Montana has been in a military campaign or two, spent time traveling and training in the Orient. Has done work for Britain outside of military service, along with a few other nations. Emigrated to fallen London for work.

Other: Doesn't work with the Royal Navy

Full Name: "I'd tell you if I cold remember."

Alias: Lady Nonsense

Age: Appears to be 25-35

Gender: Female

Occupation: Beggar (Former Zea Captain)

Description: Of short stature with an athletic fitness suggesting nimbleness and flexibility. Her hair is faintly red, long and often in tangles, keeping it out of her eyes. She is always adorned in and old, but well-aged navy blue captain's uniform, complete with polished boots, captain's hat, and an old pistol at her side which on close inspection has no trigger. On the breast of the captain's coat where one would traditionally find badges, medals and other honors, is instead an array of strange mundane trinkets such as coins, lenses, leaves, teeth, feathers, tails, anything that could be found on the streets; these items seem to change from day to day.

Personality: Her name was granted to her by her fellow scoundrels and virtuoso of Spite and Veilgarden. She is known for strange behavior in the pursuit of nonsensical motives. Lady Nonsense seems wise and level-headed to most who briefly meet her, but a secure bet is she will reveal her mad antics before sixty seconds have elapsed. She often goes prowling through the alleys of Spite for black cats, speaking gibberish to herself all the while. When lucid she is respectable -- if but a shade tarry from a life on the zea -- but on frequent occasion her eyes widen and seem overcome with a glaze; she begins speaking in rhyme, often unrelated to the topic at hand. When it's all done, she claims to not remember a lick of it. Her most favorite pastime is telling grand tales of how she was awarded the many odds and ends on her coat. On a good day the stories are believable, most days they are not.

Skills: An expert zeaman and charismatic speaker to crowds. Physically fit and very nimble. Second to her zailing skills is her knack for theft, usually from just under the nose of her mark during a telling of a tale of the zea. And no zailor would be worth the salt on which she zails without proper finesse with a blade, preferably a rapier. She does not own one, but she could make quick work of any score of pirate zailors. (At least she believes so.) Lastly she seems to be without terror, that is not to say she is unshakable by fear. She can be startled, disturbed and may even flee a fearsome foe, but she shows no fear in the face of true horror. Some account her resistance to terror comes from her fondness of speaking with the cats of Spite.

Weaknesses: It may go without saying, Lady Nonsense is critically mad and often delusional. Her impaired thinking along with a poor memory make her a difficult follower. It is often necessary to remind her of your identity every time you meet her. She does not focus well on simple tasks; the less she has to focus on, the more difficult it is. She does especially poorly when speaking with someone alone. Speaking with Lady by oneself feels as though you are speaking with multiple different people about an equal number of seemingly unrelated topics. Her greatest flaw might be her lust for eldritch knowledge. Her mind is as frail as a human's should be, but yet she actively seeks this type of forgotten lore. Her desire for dark learning often leads her to danger and may even bring her to betray those close to her if the promise of occult secrets is grand enough.

Brief History: Lady Nonsense most often claims to have been raised on the zea, if anything she says is true, is is possible she is known by many names across the Unterzea. If you ask the few people in London who know her closely, they would tell you she was not always mad. Then they would tell the tale of when she zailed away from the docks of London with a crew of twenty, to return a year later without her crew and her mind drastically altered. She'd even forgotten her name, but then again when anyone else attempted to call it to mind, they found the thing unknowable. Since then she wanders the streets of Spite and Veilgarden exchanging her stories for bits of change and stealing what she needs from the unsuspecting.