Lucian Gabriel McAllistair was born on March 26th, 1901, to one of London's "old money" families. His mother was known for her elegant, if slightly out-dated, salons, while his father was mostly absent, existing primarily in photographs of distant lands holding dead exotic beasts that his young son would gaze at in wonder. His father's constant sense of adventure and virile manliness fascinated Lucian, and led him to read voraciously of the far East, the jungles of South America, and the frozen hinterlands of Antarctica.
Lucian lacked the rugged constitution of his father, however - even catching cholera from his father on an unusual return from India, one of a string of childhood incidences of illness. Frequently bed-ridden, Lucian began to develop a love of photography, especially his father's pictures of other countries. His first camera served as his closest companion through his teenage years, when he would wander the streets of London.
During the Great War, Lucian began sending pictures to his father, who had joined the army in a fit of patriotism, showing him how the war at home was progressing. During one of the sporadic zeppelin attacks on London, Lucian was too close to a stray bomb - struck in the head by a cobblestone, he fell, where he had strange dreams of an empty city too grotesque to exist in this world.
While his physical injuries healed quickly, Lucian remained notably changed. While general consensus remained that his father's death in the battle for Paris had taken it's toll on his fragile son, a few whispers remained that Lucian had taken his odd turn days before the news came to him in his hospital bed. The superstitious claimed he'd felt his father die while he lay unconscious; but the truth of his supernatural dreams remained Lucian's secret.
From that point onwards, Lucian insisted on developing as an artist. Sheltered from the pressures of both critical and popular acclaim by his family fortune, Lucian worked on daring techniques and subjects in both the photographs he continued to take and the bizarre watercolor landscapes that he began to paint shortly after his injury. While many bohemians take offense to his usurping of their title, his dedication to the pursuit of art is unquestionable, though his talents are frequently under scrutiny. While not successful as an artist, he remains a diligent member of the art circles of London, constantly attempting to find the answers to the memories of a dream that haunt him almost 10 years later.
