💀 Player Information
Contact: muttonchops; PM this journal
Characters In-game: N/A
💀 Character Information
Name: Sebastian Moran
Canon: The Hound of the D’Urbervilles
Quick note: Sebastian Moran is a character created by Arthur Conan Doyle, appearing in just one original Sherlock Holmes story, The Adventure of the Empty House, as James Moriarty’s right hand man. Kim Newman has made use of the public domain and expanded on that very minor character, writing The Hound of the D’Urbervilles as something of a prequel to Sebastian Moran's appearance in ACD's original story...it's a published fanfic, basically.
Canon Point: Post-“A Shambles in Belgravia”, the second story in the book.
Moran is a Victorian Englishman with a brilliant, beautiful moustache—which has unfortunately been replaced with beautiful sidewhiskers for the sake of period-appropriate icons. He’s relatively short by modern standards, somewhere around 5’6”, with a stocky build, and heavily scarred. He sports a scar on his lip (which the 'stache had originally been grown to hide), and his chest is so heavily scarred that he’s down to a single nipple. Despite being a worn and torn military man, he carries himself well and dresses the part of a Victorian gent when he can.
None. He looks ridiculous enough just by being from the 1880s.
None. He’s human as human can be. He just happens to have an excellent shot, a silver tongue, and knows firearms like the back of his hand.
It should be noted that this book is a collection of seven of Moran's adventures without much connection between the two, so there's not really a singular plot that runs throughout. Each adventure is mostly separate and more than anything, it’s about Sebastian's narration, his relationship with his boss and how that changes.
Sebastian Moran is the son of Augustus Moran, the once-minister to Persia. He was born into money, but Augustus cut him off after he was expelled from Oxford for throwing a bursar through the window. After that, Sebastian joined the army instead. He fought in the Second Anglo-Afghan War, but was eventually sent home due to injuries.
That’s where the book opens. Sebastian Moran has just returned to London, injured and freshly retired from his position as a Colonel. A hunter of big game, Moran's injury is thanks to an especially stubborn tiger whom took a swipe at his chest after he followed her into a drain to finish her off. His retirement, however, isn’t completely due to that injury. Although the exact reasoning isn't touched upon, we do know that he "went bad" and retired in order to avoid a scandal and dishonorable discharge.
Shipped back to London and low on funds with his usual room already rented out, Sebastian happens upon an old acquaintance, Archibald Stamford. Stamford tells him about a Professor James Moriarty who's looking for a shooter, and offers pay and board. Sebastian is doubtful, insisting that he's "a sportsman, not a keeper. A gun, not a gunslinger. A shot, not a shooter". It isn't until Stamford shows him just the amount of fear that Moriarty's name alone can strike into someone's heart that Moran agrees to meet him.
Moran is unimpressed when the Professor begins to rattle off facts about him, incorrectly labeling Moriarty's knowledge as a fortuneteller's trick. Moran gets kicked around for his misinterpretation and Moriarty explains that Moran's entire public record is easily found in reference books and through his enemies. When Moran realizes just how lethal the Professor is, an emotional connection and an understanding are formed.
Moriarty explains about the "family" he's created, a firm available to clients who bring problems to them to solve using whatever skills they have on hand. Sebastian is appointed immediately to head one of the "most prestigious divisions", which Moriarty states to suit the Colonel's expertise perfectly. That division? Murder.
Barely ten minutes after he's appointed, Sebastian receives their first customer, an American named Enoch J. Drebber, a member of the Danites (a group within the Church of Latter-day Saints that are essentially assassins to keep the faithful in line) who wants a man named Jim Lassiter dead for the supposed abduction of an heiress and her child. The only real deal is that one or both of the women must be brought back alive in order to come into an inheritance so that they might be robbed via Mormon marriage. Moran blunders through this task, first accidentally staking out for an hour at the wrong location and then ending up with a noose around his neck after being discovered by Lassiter. Moran lies and claims to be a detective and if he's not at his post when his "replacement arrives, the agency will know something is amiss". This concerns Lassiter until the group is attacked suddenly by Danites trying to save giving money to Moriarty by doing the job themselves.
After some shooting, Moran eventually convinces the the Danites to lower their weapons so he can finish his job without being caught, but finds himself face to face with Moriarty who had already been ten steps ahead of the Danites and Moran himself. In the end, it's Moriarty who completes the job, setting up false deaths for the Lassiters and offering them new identities. Sebastian takes up residence at Conduit Street as second in charge, but remains bitter at being being kept out of the "grown-ups'" business. He decides to keep a journal of his accounts with Moriarty, intending to reveal everything to the public as payback someday. That journal is basically the book itself.
The second story takes place shortly after Moran takes up residence at Conduit Street. A client named Irene Adler comes to call, in need of someone to complete a burglary job. She has some rather scandalous photographs of herself with Michael Elphberg, third in line to the throne of Ruritania. Irene states that she's being paid off by one half of Ruritania to keep quiet and by the other half to speak up, but she wishes to keep the racket going for a few good years in order to collect more money. A Colonel Sapt wishes the photographs to be off the market so Elphberg can be "nagged into marriage". This would cut Elphberg out of the line of the throne. It's very complex and Sebastian hardly understands it himself, but essentially, Irene wants the photographs returned to her in order to blackmail on everyone involved.
A fee is agreed upon and Irene explains that her photographs are locked in a safe at the Ruritanian Embassy. At the Embassy, Moran and Moriarty skillfully cause a mob as a distraction in order to retrieve the key from Sapt in order to unlock the safe. The duo retrieve the photographs, but Moriarty is puzzled by just how easy it all was.
Once back at Conduit Street, Sebastian takes a look inside the package from the safe. There are photographs, albeit completely innocent tourist photographs, along with a note that apologizing to Moran for the disappointment and an explanation that Sapt will now be kept in his position as Chief of Secret Police with an increase in his salary. In the end, Irene has duped them both and they haven't gotten a single coin out of it. As such, she grows to be known as that bitch throughout the firm.
The end of this chapter is the point Sebastian is taken from, but the book does continue with three more stories. Moran works for Moriarty for eleven years until the eventual face-off between Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes at Reichenbach Falls which ultimately ends in Moriarty's death.
Hell Status: Hell Newbie
What Brings Them To Hell:
Sentenced there for all his murderous deeds, of course. You don’t agree to kill that many people and commit all those crimes without paying the consequences for it all. Moriarty hardly even factors into it. Moran is a villain with or without his influence. He enjoys his bloodshed, he’d have continued to kill animal and human alike no matter what. He just so happened to make a career out of it.
Moran’s actual death, while not suspicious in and of itself, will have suspicious motives. He’ll have died after being crushed by one of his taxidermy tigers, but he’ll believe it to be something that Professor Moriarty set up.
Colonel Sebastian Moran an interesting fellow, to say the least. This is a man who comes from money and high education. He attended Eton and Oxford, he’s an accomplished army colonel and—well, apparently he’s relatively charming. All of these are quite impressive accomplishments, especially in Victorian England, but money, booksmarts and charm aren’t enough to save Sebastian Moran’s wicked soul.
Just scratch his very shallow surface and you’ll find the true Sebastian Moran easily. This is a man who adores bloodshed. He readily admits that it makes his heart soar. In his own incriminating words: "Nothing gladdens a proper Englishman's heart - this one, at least - like the sight of a foreigner's head flying into a dozen bloody bits." He isn’t beyond murder. In fact, that’s his job and he gets paid to do it. But of course, that isn’t what Moran calls it. He isn’t a “murderer”. No, he’s a sportsman. He's a big game hunter and he hunted tigers and lions in the East. It isn't his fault that the only game worth hunting in London walks on two legs. "Game is game", as he’s put it.
Moran has plenty of control over his heinous actions and cannot plead insanity in this hearing. The bloodlust is strong with this one. When he gets bored or restless or goes too long without a thrill, he’s been known to commit a small crime without his employer’s orders. It’s typically something small so that he won’t call too much attention to himself, such as attempting to kill a child’s puppy just because he can. He can’t hide all those crimes from everyone, of course. How else would he wind up in Hell? The eyes of the otherworldly have certainly seen.
Aside from the obvious countless degrees of manslaughter, Sebastian has been known to pickpocket on a whim, cheat, and lie just because he can. To top all that off, he has no religious beliefs and no political beliefs—the heathen. He simply "believes in Sensation". The only thing he lives for is feeling and adrenaline. He's addicted, as his employer Professor Moriarty puts it, "most of all to gambling, but also to sexual encounters, spirits, the murder of animals and the fawning of a duped public".
All that is true, but his real addiction is danger. He's an adrenaline junkie, and that’s something that is deeply ingrained in him. He can no longer ignore it when it strikes. On the subject, Sebastian mentions: "I've lived long enough with my impulse to hare off into dicey situations where death and danger lurk to know I could no more moderate this tendency than a tiger could decide to be polka-dotted for a change."
On the subject of those tigers, Moran is more than just a hunter. By modern standards, we would probably call him a poacher. You know that hunter from Jumanji? Van Pelt? Yeah, that’s basically Moran. He loves everything about hunting, especially when it gets bloody and dangerous. He admits to not being even remotely squeamish about taking a human life, but he considered hunting tigers to be much better sport. That's what his kills are about: sport. He loves everything about it, right down to the sound of the shot being fired.
I suggest you throw the book at him, gentlemen. This man cannot be allowed to go free!
Moran, despite his lack of religious beliefs, won’t be too surprised in the slightly to find that he’s wound up in Hell, but he will be surprised that he’s died in such a lackluster way. He’ll likely do a bit of “deduction” work of his own and come to the possibly-correct-possibly-incorrect conclusion that Professor Moriarty was the one who did him in by making it seem like a brilliantly freakish accident.
He’s likely to bumble around for a bit, trying to avoid community service work and attempting to gather up an arsenal of weapons again. Given his weaponry obsession, he refuses to be without one. He’ll definitely look into the blood sports, but he’s likely to eventually gravitate back toward Jim Moriarty and try to secure himself a job to do. He’s not the Moriarty of his own world, but they’re definitely the same, right? Right?
Text; username: Basher
My dearest fellows and ladies, sorry blighters and addle-witted sods alike,
[ When you start a sentence like that, you know you probably have earned your spot in hell...and aren’t terribly torn up about it. ]
Suffice it to say, I should likely take any and all complaints up with the director of the place. Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced his calling card—or rather, not received it at all. As such, I will take my complaints up with the lot of you instead.
Hell has proven itself to be slightly less fire and brimstone than Christianity has led the English to believe. I always believe it to be a load of rot, but it's a great deal better than Wessex. Sheep-shagger country, that. How many of you hail from Wessex? The lot of you must feel as if you're on the upshot now.
All the same, I’ve found myself highly dissatisfied in this idea of “eternal damnation”. Am I not meant to be suffering? It's quite the opposite, my dear chums. I've never felt better! Your blood-sports have shown themselves to be exciting. They certainly do live up to their name, and I've heard promising rumours about the creatures lurking in the swamps. If the heat is meant to drive me mad, I'm afraid you're out of luck. You'll find the same weather in the jungle. I don't feel as if I'm suffering at all.
That being said, I’m currently in the market for a fresh bit of kit. I’m not particularly choosy, but I do expect all applicants to be clean and in working order.
[ Guns. He’s talking about guns. ]
A little exta. I put him on the tdm a couple months back but never quite reached 10 comments.