This libertine was born on the side of the coin that royalty had its back to, known to frequent the many watering holes of Serum City and share the stalls with its bruisers and barflies. His roots are anything but royal, armed with an extensive armoury of language and overly flamboyant clothing, he has crafted a convincing veneer of regality that grants him an audience in every room, although he tends to prefer those with a fully stocked bar. Whether it’s permanent inebriation or his poetic leanings, everything he delivers is wrapped in allegory and conceits that require footnotes to fully grasp.

Information flows freely in the drinking dens he frequents, and that's the currency he uses to manipulate the Cartel's operations, carving out a kingdom in the gutter. He knows its alleyways better than the rats themselves, and very little moves in this place without The Duke pulling a string, lighting a fire, or whispering in an ear. Though he may be the loudest peacock on the cobbles, the moves he makes to sow others fates are never seen.