The New Characters

Click on the names of the New Characters to find out all about them:  Ned Ludd  //  Jack the Ripper's Dog, Mighty  //  Marion, the Gun-Maker's Daughter  //  Joan Flowers, Notorious Witch  // Sherlock Holmes  //  Coyote, the Gypsy Elf   //  Thoth  //  Jake Stonebender's friend  // Julian of Norwich  // Judge Dee Jen-djieh //  Carnelia Montrue  // Suleiman bin Da'oud [Solomon son of David] / / Miekel, born 2810  //  Yzzie  // Will-o-the-Wisp //

How to Create your own

Character

and become a part of the

mysterious M is for Nottingham? Drama

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Who are you? 

Ned Lud. I thought for a while I was King Lud but after all I was but a lad and a scared one at that, crowned in a cave under a pub. We tried to save our people from the new machines and the harsh conditions we worked under. We smashed up a few frames but the law came down hard on us. Our people loved us, that's for sure and we were right in what we did but nothing lasts- It seemed at the time that we failed in our task but now I am back I am not so sure. All the land despoiled, all the good people taken down and where are the framers now? Nottingham seems a ghost town to me. Tell me, what do you make here now?>

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

I had no choice in it. I was woken. Something woke me. Was it you? I searched this town for the frame makers and found nothing but an inn in Bullwell. That hurt me that did. Why do they have the monkey with the drum for a sign? Is that what they think of old Ned Lud? Is that all I was to them? Or am I vain to think the people remember me even to mock? I begin to see that the ruin the
masters put on the land was for nothing - the industry they sacrificed England to is all gone and a new England has come in its place. It seems to me that that is what I was woken for, to witness this re-birth that springs from this murder. 

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

(The world I wake up in is full of ghosts, they are faceless and nameless, mere creators of words on a billion screens. I would find out about these ghosts- I think then I shall find the murderers of the book. Who knows, maybe I will revert to my old ways, maybe I will begin to smash the screens.)

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

I am afraid of the dark. What if they should put me back in the caves? I am afraid that the ghosts will find me out. 

What do you think happened to The Book?

You cannot write the unwritten histories. The book was never written. Will the new ghosts try again? I don't think so. Nothing now can be proved or denyed, anything is possible, the mob decides. 

Notes on Ned Ludd:  Perhaps the most famous uprising against technology was the Luddite movement of England. According to Rybczynski (1983), the Luddites, named after King Ludd, /or Ned Ludd, organized against technological advances in the textile industry in the Regency area of England from 1811-1816. History shows rejection of not just technology, but rejection of technology which was seen as threatening to their way of life and livelihood. As a precursor to modern day labor unions, one author called it, "collective bargaining by riot" (p. 41). It ended when the English Parliament dispatched 12,000 soldiers and the leaders of the movement were either executed or deported to Australia (p. 41). A similar but separate uprising in 1830 led to the destruction of threshing machines by farm workers in the English countryside.
from Media Determinism in Cyberspace by Samuel Ebersole 

Character Name - Mighty, Jack the Ripper's Dog 

He named me Mighty, that is me owner, Jack did. I was born in foggy Whitechapel, London many years ago and was found shivering in a
charnel-house, searching for my first mistress. Jack done good by me, fed me and kept me, brought me trinkets and trophies from his visits. 
It was a special time.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim? 

It pained me to see Jack do terrible things, taking from those women, things that were not his to have, leaving them in such disarray. Now that he's gone, and I heard that badness might be afoot in Nottingham, I felt like I should come, see what I can find out, being so close to the ground, I might pick up on something others miss. And don't forget, I knows the ways and the signs of killing and it might not be too late.

What are your goals for the investigation? 

I want to be of service, try and sort this sorry muddle out. Life's been a bit lonely since Jack went and I'd also like to meet others, find a new
master, turn my life around even? Sometimes local knowledge is an advantage, but sometimes it's good to look at things with a fresh eye, not
take things at face value.

What are your deepest fears about what might happen to you? 

There's a bit deep down in me, that makes me unsteady, gives me the chills. After all my years wiv Jack, seeing so much, living wiv it as
commonplace, I hope my taste for it don't return. I'm all dun in with badness, getting too old, too careless, but sometimes it's like Jack's ere,
talking to me, tellin me what to do....

Who are you? 

My name is Marion and I was born 94 years ago in Lugtrout Lane. I sit all day in the nursing home, where jolly nurses try to make me walk on my zimmer-frame and the TV is on loudly all day. It doesn't drown my thoughts. Norbert comes to visit me every day and sits by me for four or five hours. We do not talk. But, of course, I know where the gun was buried all those years ago when my brother had to give up the family business. It was the first one the family firm had made, in 1723. An elm stock and a silver chased hunting scene on the barrel. We buried it together, you see. So no one could take it away when the receivers came in. I must tell Norbert where it is before I die. But how will I find the words?

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

I came to Nottingham to escape from my family's gun-making firm. I joined the Peace Pledge Union and became its secretary. The gun followed me to Nottingham. I couldn't do anything about it. So much beauty in so deathly an object!

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

I have no goals any more.

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

That I might die before Norbert finds the buried treasure. I want him to
have it for our Diamond Wedding anniversary.

What do you think happened to The Book?

Ah, The Book. That's what we used to call the Bible in my family. The
Book. The Text. Everyone knew what that meant. You had to kiss it if you
dropped it. There's a thing now. That Book is long dead now.

Who are you? 

Joan Flower of Bottesford, near Nottingham. Formerly in the employ of Lady Manners of Belvoir Castle

Accused of casting death spells on the the children of Lord Francis Manners, Earl of Rutland. (See monument stating cause of death of Lord Manner's elder son to be witchcraft, in Bottesford Church, while you are in the district)

While in ghost form I like to be seen as I was in my youth. 
I Lived near Nottingham ay Bottesford  For story see http://www.rci.rutgers.edu/~jup/witches/qa/q101.html

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?
Well Nottingham is where I went for the fair . I bought something in a shop there once when I had two pence saved.  I know Nottingham well from my visits markets and the Fair so I revisit often.  I overheard the conversation of the Learned Sleuths.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
To investigate a medium that might be kinder to my daughters than books and ballads.  I still have it on my conscience what I did with that bread.  I had not realised my daughters would see it anything but a quick way out, poor things. I will be pleased to meet Robin Hood here.  If someone like him had been around in my day me and my daughters might not had lord and Lady Manners treating us like muck.  
And, finally, that the learned sleuths will discover my innocence of the crime I was accused of.

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?
That the book might still be alive and my daughters' name be spat upon even more.  Or that the sleuths will discover my guilt

What do you think happened to The Book?
It became important to those who were not gentry in the times after I died. Perhaps the book has been misplaced.   I hope it was chucked out for the lies it told.

Who are you?

I was born in the study of Arthur Conan Doyle in 1887. Even in my earliest memories I carry a maginfying glass. At 115 years old I am still going strong. For the longest time I have had an imaginary friend that I call Watson. I have been told that Watson is imaginary, or indeed the mysterious White Lady. But, I am not sure then how one can explain the beard.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

I can smell a murder miles away and can't resist the lure of a mystery.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

To seek out clues and solve the mystery, if there is one.

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

My deepest fear is that within the pages of the book I will discover my own
death by erasure, or become moisture damaged in the River Trent.

What do you think happened to The Book?

Perhaps it has disintegrated. Perhaps there has never been a book. We will get to the bottom of this.

Who are you?

Tim, writer, children's author (ebook), photographer, nomad poet. Vietnam veteran, college graduate. World traveler.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

Read about in MJ Rose column in WIRED.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

Educational, fun, sharing the enchantment

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

Now or later? Eaten by a wayward shark in the river where the book was found. Getting lost in the book :-) 

What do you think happened to The Book?

It survived in various forms, manifestations. Such as your mystery! As a character mused, what happens to the moth,
butterfly. Am I this or am I dreaming?

Description of Gypsy Elf from Vastonia - Appearance: Gypsy Elves look much like their High Elf cousins. They were originally no different than the High Elves. Traveling and encountering different lands and peoples for more than a millennium has altered the appearance of the race. They stand a bit taller than normal elves, about 5½' to almost 6' tall. They are darker completion, having an almost olive skin color. Their hair tends to be dark. Blacks and browns are very common. Once in a great while a blond or redhead will be born, and this is usually a cause for great celebration. If a child is born with white hair then this is considered a great omen of change. 

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?
I was conjured up by Joan Flower as she had heard that writing was my invention.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
That humankind should return to a script that has a soul

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

That mankind will fritter the gifts I gave them .

What do you think happened to The Book?

That it has been trivialised until it has no purpose.

Who are you? 

I am "Jake Stonebender's friend (one of many)". Jake is the the bar-tender at Callaghan's Crosstime Saloon. [He originally appears in a series of novels by Spider Robinson, but has since become much more real than simply words on paper. See, for instance, alt.callaghans, or http://www.callahans.org/]. He has a big heart and an open mind, and not incidentally, an intelligent self-conscious computer who is an outgrowth of connected computing power. I perhaps be a conduit for ideas between Jake and his patrons and The White lady, Richard, Ned, Sarah etc.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

I am really here more in an anthropological role – I am interested in how the process of solving this mystery will affect the sleuths. I hope that their collected wisdom, passed on to Jake and my fellow patron’s of Callaghan’s will help us to promote our shared belief that “Shared pain is pain lessened. Shared joy is joy increased” Company on a lonely night, Fun to stretch my thinking in new directions ...

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
See above

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

Perhaps that some of the characters are lurking in the bushes to flame the unsuspecting layman. 

What do you think happened to The Book?

It is still about – we just won’t be able to recognize it in its current form until we
clarify our understanding of the essence of ‘ book’.

Jake Stonebender and his friends are part of a popular computer game, Callahans' Crosstime Saloon.  It seems especially fitting that we should have not only a king, a rebel (or two), a ghost, a witch, a real woman, a dog, a fictional character, and elf, and now, a computer-generated character.

Who are you? 
Fourteenth century - English anchorite and mystic.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?
Conjured up by Joan Flower.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
To persuade the sleuths here that without pictures and colours the book lacks life.

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?
That I will forget the true meaning of life is love.

What do you think happened to The Book?
That it lost nuch meaning when confined to black on white

Who are you? 
Real  life detective of T'ang China (7th centuryCE).

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

The tripartite nature of the mystery.

Told about it by Joan Flower with whom I have become quite friendly since her death.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

To solve all three mysteries.

What do you think happened to The Book?

1. The physical book of the game,

Dropped in the River by the gamekeeper

2. "The printed book "

Becoming trivialised by publishers insistence that books be written to the existing market not one that has yet to be created.

3. The book as communication

Is evolving into something greater

Who are you?

Carnelia Montrue is a rather mature lady dressed from wimple to slipper in dark midnight blue. She has a pale delicate face splattered with fine wrinkles, --like a Jackson Pollock in pastels. Her round eyes are a grayish-blue and her gaze is stern and steady. Her mouth is small, and puckered like she is about to spit a watermelon seed. She is a proper buttinsky.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?

The Chronicle of Higher Education.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?

I want to help move things along.

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?

It might be a tangled conspiracy and I may have unwittingly contributed to the crime.

What do you think happened to The Book?

I'm not convinced it is dead, but, I fear it may be tied up somewhere, beaten and near death.

Who are you? 

King of the Holy Land. 10th Century BC

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?
Just wandering past

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
To see justice done

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?
That I may be held responsible for the interpretation of certain books

What do you think happened to The Book?

Alive for readers and, alas, still working ill in the world. 

(By the way Just look at the expresion of my angelic advisor in the 13th century CE picture. Would you trust her?)

Who are you? 
Miekel. born 2810, in the Sherwood Tunnels. 22 years old, a student of archeaology, she has stumbled across an ancient archive relating to an unsolved mystery. She is attempting to piece together the missing clues and find out all she can about the history of the tunnels she calls home. There are many myths and legends - some say that the area was once a great forest - but that was before the Disaster, when humans walked topside, able to see the sun and feel the wind. 

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?
a desire to find out more about where her ancestors came from

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
to find about this "book". a which is strangely unfamiliar and yet intrigues her

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?
that the Government might find out what she's doing and stop the investigation.

What do you think happened to The Book?
after we were forced to make our homes in tunnels below the surface of the earth we lost so much of our heritage. perhaps this "book" is part of it? it could be an important part and one that we should try and reintroduce into our culture

Eleanor has a background in Northampton - coming soon!

"Who are you?"

She hitches up her filthy skirts and rearranges them one more time. Her 
unsuspecting visitor catches a whiff of that old-lady-stink on her breath as 
she puffs a little from the exertion.

"Last chance. Your name is?" he asks.

"Yes, that's right...it's Yz. They call me Yzzie, Sir." She wheezes and 
coughs into a pile of debris on the floor beside her.

Despite his disgust he grins appreciatively at the anachronistic pretension 
of "Sir" and the joke about her name which is obviously as well-worn as her 
rags.

Yz hauls out a thick fragment of pinkish-gray paper from a concealed pocket. 
She holds the scrap out to him. It contains just two letters Y & Z, but 
the Z is reversed, spun around the wrong way. The frayed edge of the paper 
hides anything else that may once have adjoined.

She says softly, "Look. My name...or, all that’s left of it."

He does. It's the strangest paper he's seen. He almost wants to remove his 
glove and stroke its surface. The ink is blue, uneven and now faded, the 
font really strange. He wonders that anyone would have ever printed out a 
thing like this and what the rest of it once said.

"So, Yz...," he pokes at her fat haunches with the tip of his boot. She 
could be any age from a particularly used-up forty to somewhere in her 
nineties. If anyone would choose to live that long in such a state. "What 
are you doing here? Making your scuzzy living from what, exactly?" He's 
not sure why he's being so gentle but there is something, something about 
her. Repulsive though she is.

"Sleep mostly but...in between that..." She looks directly up at him. It's 
a long time since he's seen a woman with violet lenses. He almost retches 
when he catches a glimpse of the slightest furring in the corner of her eye 
as though it were being eaten away by mold. "In between..." she says, "...I 
whore."

He squats beside her. She seems at least lucid, so he assumes that she 
knows how bad she looks (and smells). He asks simply, "you find people who 
want...<I>that</I>?"

She laughs so uproariously that he thinks she will choke herself coughing. 
Finally she steadies the convulsions and can talk. He tries not to show his 
surprise that she sounds so very level. Almost sane.

"Sometimes they do. You'd be surprised. But they <i>pay</i> to talk. 
Everyone wants that sometimes. Can't get it at home. I listen good. Make 
it worth their money. See?"


"What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder victim?"

"I travelled nowhere. I’m just here. If you can’t see that then maybe 
you’re in the wrong place yourself. I don’t charge anyone who’s made an 
honest mistake."


"What are your *goals* for the investigation?"

I sometimes wonder where all these stories come from. That people tell me. 
Whether they just emerge from their lives, or out of their heads. Or if 
they came from something older, something that was once passed on in books. 
It seems they don’t know how to understand themselves any more without them. 
Perhaps that’s why they come and tell their tales to me.


"What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to you?"

"Well, there’s no chance that people will stop wanting to talk, to make 
their voices heard. But there’s always the risk that they won’t want to 
pay. Expect something for nothing, see? Some people do."


"What do you think happened to The Book?"

"I think people stopped listening, stopped connecting that way. They became 
too busy telling to really receive....Anyway, I don’t know why I’m answering 
all these. I charge more for questions. Not that I'm in any position to 
make demands, but I’ll expect you to take precautions. Against any unwanted 
transmission of the facts. It’s in your own interests you know, as well as 
mine. I’m sure you understand."

Unfortunately, he does. Only too well.

Who are you?
..
Name: Will-o
Description: A small light that bursts with electronic energy. A
flashing on and off in intricate patterns.
History: An ancient quest that few dare follow.

What brought you to Nottingham to search for a murder
victim?
(what *drew* you or attracted you to the scene)

The attention paid to the flickering lights on a computer screen drew me
out of the depths of the ancient forests. I flit, I fly, I spy the
growing lights on the horizon, feeding in the foxfire glow, laughing in
the flashes of new media.

What are your *goals* for the investigation?
I want to sport in the new lights, play with the fears of the
flickering candles. I want to lead you on and under and through the
marsh, just ahead and just behind you.

Seriously, I want to follow what has happened to the lights blown out.
When the bell, book, and candle were the handy tools to cast away the
fears of other ways of thinking, where did the magic go?

What are your deepest *fears* about what might happen to

you?
My fear which I am not afraid to share with the world is merely thus,
that no one will want to follow, that you will all turn a resolute and
blind eye to the mysteries in the marshes, to deny the lovely and the
haunting lights. But I have another fear, more deeper and secret and
sinister by far, that someone will find a way to blow out all the lovely
flickery lights, all the twinklings of possibilities. Will the lights,
too, be as dead as you claim the Book to be?

What do you think happened to The Book?

I think the Book betook itself into the deep woods, the dark marshes, to
think and regain new forms. I think it is a quiet pupa now, resting and
letting the blood flow into its new-found wings. It will be ready soon,
soon, to break out of its casing and fly to new lights and new heights
never dreamed of in its papery forms. Hsst, I know where the book is
hiding. I will show you--it isn't very far...follow me just a little way
into the marshes, just past that first tree...

Select a Character or Create a New Character

***

"the last letter of the 
Name has been written"