OOC: Character Sheet

Stolen from everyone!

Name: Honoria Magwitch Harlowe

Age: about 20

Gender: Female
Height: 5’3″

Weight: Slender

Eyes: On the border between light brown and hazel, but closer to brown.

Hair: Thick and dark brown, falling into coarse curls that end in the middle of her back.

Face/Complexion: A round face, with large eyes, a pointed chin, a snub nose, and full lips. Her skin is not as pale as most
in the ‘Neath. Her skin is a warm camel color with yellow undertones.

Build: Honoria is somewhere between the skinny gangliness of youth and the slender figure of becoming a woman. There is
only the barest hint of an hourglass figure, if you look closely, and not many have.

Defining Marks: Honoria has a small constellation of moles on her left cheek, and very faint scars on her back.

Dress Style: Honoria dresses plainly but comfortably in an effort to blend in as much as possible. Nevertheless, her
clothes are never stained and her hair is always in place.

Possessions always on her person: Her glasses, a small notebook in which she constantly writes, and a small gold locket.

Manner of Speech: Formal to a fault, though she will eventually loosen up after she gets to know people.

Manner of Movement: Average. She can be stealthy if need be.

Physical Health: Excellent. She rarely gets sick.

IQ: Honoria has above average intelligence. She reads constantly and has an excellent grasp of math due to managing many

Extrovert/Introvert: Introvert

Mental Health: Her mental health is no weaker than any one else’s in the ‘Neath, though her dreams do trouble her.

Goals/Dreams: Honoria is looking for a man. Her only goal is to bring that man to justice.

Quirks/Habits: She is shy and often blushes when embarrassed. Businesslike to a fault. Quick witted in her own way. Awkward.

Hobbies/Interests: Reading, getting used to her new pet weasel Knives, and learning about the ‘Neath.

Vices: She likes to drink, but she doesn’t do it often.

First Impression: Shy and quiet. It’s like she’s barely there.

Philosophy of Life: Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Occupation: She manages the household of the Crimson Ring.

Education: She attended school until she was 12.

Home: A room in the Crimson Ring, outfitted with thick curtains to muffle the sounds.

Finance: Honoria rarely spends money, unless she has to. However, if her friends needed help she would offer it without

Marital Status: Single.

Sexual Preference: She’s too inexperienced to know.

Turn-ons: Nice people.

Turn-offs: Mean people.


Animal: If pressed, she will say weasels. But she doesn’t like animals much.

Color: Green.

Drink: Wine.

Food: Nicely sauteed mushrooms.

Scent: Fresh flowers.

Thing to Do: Read. And talk to friends.

Least Favourite:

Animal: Creepy crawly things.

Color: Pink.

Drink: Strong alcohol.

Food: Rubbery Lumps.

Scent: Dirt.

Thing to do: Public Speaking.

Published in: on January 26, 2011 at 11:52 pm  Comments (1)  
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……….in this red and gold madness I see so many very strange things. there is the man I killed a week ago why is he here and waving so cheerily at me? and then A CAT waved at me and drank coffee and shooed me away Ill be d—-d if A CAT chases me away from anything! oh and lest i forget a lizard kept staring at me and blinking his little black eyes and made me want to throw it in the fountain i drank from the fountain and nothing happened nothing at all the first time. everyone keeps talking about the fourth city and the third city but for me there is only one well two now two since I came to fallen london two cities one pretty one ugly and I have forgotten which is WHICH? O dont you touch me you slattern you whore you woman with red stockings i know you and your ilk you are a temptation that keeps me from my path. there is TOO MUCH at STAKE here for me to be with you though YOu are very very lovely and now the room is spinning and I feel that i will fall down please pardon my dance. no way to tell if i am moving or the room is moving or if you are moving my dear so please sit down so I can tell the difference HEE HAW HEE HAW the water makes me bray like a giraffe what no giraffes dont make noise its an owl who goes HEE HAW all the time and I am an owl who cannot fly……………………….

No! No! My name is Honoria Magwitch Harlowe! I am here to see one who has wronged me! I am in Fallen London and my meager rooms contain nothing of red and gold!

……..where is the manager i cannot find him for the life of me he keeps running running away from me and he wont stand still. You look like the man with eight fingers on each hand and though i am scared of you i will find you still………..

Ugh. Where am I? Have I been home all this time? And what in the name of God is all this writing?

Oh, God…

Published in: on September 15, 2010 at 7:44 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Seeker: My Ties to the Surface

Surface Ties: the Seeker

Long ago on the surface, you sent someone out looking for secret knowledge. They have found you at last!

“Miz Harlowe? That’s you, en’t it?”

The voice was somewhat familiar, but I still clutched my knife, buried deep in the folds of my clothing. I turned to face them, exhaling when I saw who it was.

“Jack!” I said, throwing my arms around him. “How did you find me?”

Jack shrugged. “I’d know that hair anywhere, m’dear. Makes y’ stick out like a sore thumb–to me, at least.”

I didn’t like to hear that, as it seemed that being unseen was a special trait down here. Without thinking, I reached up and brushed some tight curls behind my ear. I’d have to make my hair more neatly tomorrow.

“Did you find out anything?” I asked, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Anything about…?”

Jack smiled crookedly. “O’ course I did, love. He’s here. Been here for years, buildin’ a second fortune to match th’ first one he has up above…” He paused and looked at me strangely. I knew I was shaking and willed myself to calm down.

“I’m okay, Jack. Please continue.”

He nodded once. “He is a fixture of high society, m’dear. I know that’s where you’ll find him.”

I sighed softly, then took one of his hands in mine. “I am sorry my foolish quest has bought you down here, Jack. Will you return above?”

“No, love!” he said, laughing. “I’ve been lookin’ for a chance to start over…for somethin’ new. I was gonna try my luck in the Americas…but now there’s no need. I’ll be here quite a while, my dear.” Jack leaned over and kissed me on my cheek, his lips dry and warm, before he turned away and vanished down the street.

I had a lead, small though it was.

Published in: on September 13, 2010 at 2:49 pm  Leave a Comment  
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New to Fallen London

It is hard to say. If I did not have good reason to be here, would I have come at all?

I must not divulge how I arrived, lest I reveal too many of my connections to the World Above. Suffice it to say that one day I had been used to seeing the sun, and the next I awoke in a stinking damp gaol.

I sat there shivering for a while, unsure of what to do next. And then I received a note from a Mysterious Benefactor, and a pair of very shiny shoes. “Take heart,” it said, “there is always hope.”

I started to dig, to watch the movements of the dirigible that delivered supplies, to try and strike up a friendship with the gaolers. Anything could help. And finally, after what might have been hours or days, I made my move. Before I could lose my nerve, I jumped onto the dirigible, my stomach lurching. My hands searched for something, anything to grab onto, until I latched onto a rope and hung for dear life. For once I was thankful for my hours of manual labor–though my muscles burned, I was able to make it until the dirigible arrived in London.

Except it wasn’t my London. It is a twisted version of my city. The ravens are pure white, and they sing beautifully, though I have seen them pick at carrion. The Bazaar is everything here, and many sell their souls–or worse–for a few pennies. There is no sun, no natural light, no clouds or wind or rain. And, happily enough, I do not stand out here as I did back home. Perhaps because it is too dark to tell the difference. Or maybe it does not matter. I am not sure.

Yet there are still the haves and the have-nots. My station in life has not improved greatly. Yet I will keep looking for what I seek. You will not escape me, Mr. Harlowe. I will die before I let that happen.

Entry from the diary of Honoria Magwitch Harlowe

Published in: on September 12, 2010 at 5:00 pm  Leave a Comment