Barnaby Pembroke is a man of quiet, scholarly refinement, typically found clad in a high-collared charcoal greatcoat and a purple cravat. His fingers are permanently stained with a peculiar iridescent ink, and he carries a collection of hand-blown glass phials tucked into a velvet-lined bandolier under his jacket. To the casual observer in the ballrooms, he appears as an eccentric dandy. However, to the broken-hearted or the guilt-ridden, he is a surgeon of the mind. Barnaby deals in the shimmering, ethereal threads of human memories. He possesses an uncanny, almost ghoulish intuition for the scent of fresh bereavement. Whether it is a widow wailing in a candlelit wake-house or a disgraced officer clutching a pistol in a guttering tavern, Barnaby finds them. He offers a "mercy" that no apothecary can match: the total, surgical excision of the agony that prevents them from drawing a clean breath. To these broken souls, Barnaby is a saint of amnesia. He holds out his silver syphon like a priest offering a chalice, and for the low price of a signature in iridescent ink, he promises to take the burden away.
"My dear fellow, why walk through life dragging the heavy, rotting corpse of a Starsight you despise? Allow me to cut the rope. You shall find the subsequent silence quite refreshing." -- Barnaby to a disgraced gambler sitting on the street
The extraction itself is a haunting, intimate violation. As the silver nozzles press against the temple, the subject feels a sudden, icy clarity. The memory Barnaby seeks, the heat of the fire, the smell of the rot, the final, choked words of a loved one, is drawn out of the subconscious in a shimmering, violent plume of psychic smoke. For the citizen, it is an instant relief, as if a rusted nail has been pulled from their heart. But as the memory settles into Barnaby's crystal phial, pulsing with a sickly, bruised radiance, the cost becomes apparent. Barnaby prefers painful memories above all others because they are the most dense. In the alchemical economy of his dark trade, joy is thin and ethereal, but grief is heavy, potent, and rich with the raw energy of human experience. He harvests these shards of trauma to refine them.
Once the extraction is complete, the client is left in a state of a "pious void." They are peaceful, but it is the peace of a vacant room. They remember that they had a child, or that they were in a war, but the emotional tether is severed. They walk the streets of Alana with a terrifying, glassy-eyed serenity, unable to feel the very passions that once made them human. Barnaby, meanwhile, retreats to his cellar to decant their distilled agony, sipping from the phials to fuel his own longevity and his terrifying power to rewrite the history of the world. He does not just take their pain, he feasts upon the very essence of what made their lives meaningful.
"There is a particular, coppery tang to the grief of a betrayed patriot. It lingers on the palate long after the phial is emptied. It is a vintage I find myself returning to far too often." -- entry in Barnaby's diary
Hello, Barnaby Pembroke is one of those characters who doesn’t need to force himself into the spotlight to get under your skin. A polite nightmare in a greatcoat. Really fantastic! I enjoyed this a lot. Best, Seli
Shanou Shan... little dragon
Thank you! The character was inspired by the then upcoming talk about Horror with the Kobolds. Now that the talk is over, I'm making a big article about Horror in TTRPG, similar to the Romanceable Characters article. :)