Name: Commodore Creazil (First name unknown, possible pseudonym?)
Age: Looks on the later side of 40, but seems impossibly spry for that age.
Weight: A bit thin and lanky compared to his height.
Eyes: A dark blue-gray
Hair: Mostly gone gray.
Face/Complexion: A thin elongated face with wide eyes an eccentric grin. Distinct Mutton-chop sideburns in the traditional British manner.
Build: Lean but strong.
Dress Style: The commodore's garb ranges from garish to downright pedestrian. In Veilgarden society he dresses with a well-honed finesse. When working as a spirifer his hat and cloak are more and tattered with age. At his finest, he will even appear in a full naval officer's uniform. He does tend to accessorize with flasks, canes, monocles, pocket watches etc - always fiddling with something.
Possessions always on his person: Brass ring, Hip Flask, Empty glass bottles, Flintlock pistol.
Manner of Speech: His speech is very emphatic and he tends to gesticulate theatrically with his delivery. Eccentric is the word.
Manner of Movement: In public he has the mannerisms of a stage actor deliberately playing the caricature he has chosen. This is abandoned for swift efficiency when there is a task at hand.
Physical Health: Surprisingly robust and possessing of stamina, especially if he's actually as old has he appears!
IQ: Rapier wit. Improvises well in most situations.
Mental Health: Usually portrays a facade of a wild, honey-mazed madman... this does somewhat obfuscate his actual state.
Goals/Dreams: He hopes to glean yet more fame and infamy from his broadcast. He dreams of someday being among the ranks of Huffram, Sinning Jenny, The Duchess, and other figures of whom the Masters take real notice.
Quirks/Habits: His eyes tend to flash with wild energy when discussing a topic that strikes his fancy. He is also prone to wide grins and outbursts of cackling laughter when in good spirits.
Hobbies/Interests: He enjoys seductions, trespassing and sticking his nose in other's business. He is also a Spire Running aficionado and is regularly in the Flit to watch or participate.
Vices: The Commodore is an accomplished thrill-seeker and has a long list of dubious activities and substances he has dabbled in. Sins of the flesh are a full contact sport.
First Impression: Captain Nemo meets Professor Moriarty with just a tiny pinch of Ebeneezer Scrooge for flavor. Quite the character with a streak of contrived showmanship for a personality, and yet oddly compelling when he speaks.
Philosophy of Life: If you don't know who the sucker at the table is, it's probably you.
Occupation: Embassy spirifer by day, phonograph jockey extraordinaire by night!
Education: Clearly has some actual Naval academy experience in his background. Good with tactics. Has also studied infernal Rarefactions at Benthic before his most recent endeavor regarding the Correspondence.
Home: Suite 337 at the Brass Embassy - A well-appointed set of rooms overlooking the Embassy's Moloch St. entrance.
Finance: The Embassy is currently lining his pockets with never-cold brass, but he is unused to hoarding riches. He spends excess money as quickly as he can, as if expecting it all to disappear out from under him any day now.
Marital Status: Single.
Sexual Preference: At first glance he seems significantly tilted towards the lady-folk in his attentions. But then he has also been caught in scandalous indiscretions with men on many recent occasions. He's not picky as long as you pique his interest.
Turn-ons: Uniqueness, exoticism, aloofness, experience.
Turn-offs: Complaining, brooding, inability to lead the chase, anything that makes him feel guilty.
Animal: White ravens, Tigers
Drink: Greyfields 1868 for the taste. Master Pesticott's Patented Eyestabber for getting himself thoroughly incapaccitated.
Food: Red Meat, heavily spiced.
Scent: Nikolas & Sons Instant Ablution Absolution.
Thing to Do: Play music upon his Phonographs!
Animal: Zee Serpents
Color: Sky Blue
Drink: Cheap ale.
Food: Fungal Crackers
Scent: Rotting Vegetation.
Thing to do: Pick from between two bad options.