Leather

  • 413 U.S. 15 / Miller vs. California

    In 1974, a court ruling established a litmus test for obscenity in the United States. Does the First Amendment protect dirty birds? Yes, and no; it depends on where you are and what your neighbors perceive as naughty. The Court’s majority opinion stated that material could only be defined as obscene if

    “(a) the average person, applying contemporary community standards, would find that the work, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest; [and] (b) the work depicts or describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct specifically defined by the applicable state law; and (c) the work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value”
    If all three conditions are satisfied, voilà! — your work is obscene.

    But is it art?

    Although a work considered to have literary, artistic, political, or scientific value cannot, in theory, constitutionally be found to be obscene regardless of whether it appeals to prurient interest or is patently offensive, the question lies in how we can possibly determine with certainty whether or not a film, photograph, tale, or limerick has social value when philosophical and moral compasses vary so wildly from person to person and community to community.

    Is a perfume inspired by an 18th Century painting of a dildo obscene?

    What would your friends and neighbors say?

    413 U.S. 15 / MILLER VS CALIFORNIA
    Leather, cognac, fig, ripe berry, and cream, stuffed into a plain brown paper bag.

    Proceeds from the sale of this scent benefits the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.

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  • Antony

    The embodiment of Classic masculinity. A warrior’s scent: the green hills and grasses of the battlefields, the resinous incense from the prayers to his Gods, and a touch of the musky leather of his armor. Ambergris and frankincense with sage, and basil.

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  • Bensiabel

    As the years passed Prunella grew up into a very beautiful girl. Now her beauty and goodness, instead of softening the witch's heart, aroused her hatred and jealousy.

    One day she called Prunella to her, and said: 'Take this basket, go to the well, and bring it back to me filled with water. If you don't I will kill you.'

    The girl took the basket, went and let it down into the well again and again. But her work was lost labour. Each time, as she drew up the basket, the water streamed out of it. At last, in despair, she gave it up, and leaning against the well she began to cry bitterly, when suddenly she heard a voice at her side saying 'Prunella, why are you crying?'

    Turning round she beheld a handsome youth, who looked kindly at her, as if he were sorry for her trouble.

    'Who are you,' she asked, 'and how do you know my name?'

    'I am the son of the witch,' he replied, 'and my name is Bensiabel. I know that she is determined that you shall die, but I promise you that she shall not carry out her wicked plan. Will you give me a kiss, if I fill your basket?'

    'No,' said Prunella, 'I will not give you a kiss, because you are the son of a witch.'

    'Very well,' replied the youth sadly. 'Give me your basket and I will fill it for you.' And he dipped it into the well, and the water stayed in it. Then the girl returned to the house, carrying the basket filled with water. When the witch saw it, she became white with rage, and exclaimed 'Bensiabel must have helped you.' And Prunella looked down, and said nothing.

    Plum juice, lilac, leather, and a smattering of herbs.

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  • Black Hats

    “So who were the guys that grabbed me in the parking lot? Mister Wood and Mister Stone? Who were they?” The lights of the car illuminated the winter landscape. Wednesday had announced that they were not to take freeways because he didn’t know whose side the freeways were on, so Shadow was sticking to back roads. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t even sure that Wednesday was crazy.

    Wednesday grunted. “Just spooks. Members of the opposition. Black hats.”

    “I think,” said Shadow, “that they think they’re the white hats.”

    “Of course they do. There’s never been a true war that wasn’t fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe that they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous.”

    “And you?” asked Shadow. “Why are you doing what you’re doing?”

    “Because I want to,” said Wednesday. And then he grinned. “So that’s all right.”

     

    Gunpowder residue, patent leather, pomade, and aftershave.

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  • Brangwy

    Blackcurrant and cardamom with peru balsam, patchouli, leather, and oudh.

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  • Captain Cully

    “I’m merry twenty-four hours a day, Dick Fancy,” Cully said coldly. “That is a fact.”

    A cocky light musk with leather, tonka, a dusting of dry woods, and a splash of porter

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  • Crowley

    Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than a fortnights metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. No particularly demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.

    Crowley had dark hair, and good cheekbones, and he was wearing snakeskin shoes, or at least presumably he was wearing shoes, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And, whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss.

    Infernal musk, red patchouli, lilac cologne, mahogany, lemon rind, oakmoss, leather, and vanilla husk.

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  • Cyborg

    Inspired by the character GRENDEL-PRIME.
    A heavy-metal cyborg, created by the Grendel-Khan to act as a paladin protector for his only son and heir, an unstoppable killing machine.

    Gleaming metal and black leather over a khus-darkened bay rum.

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  • Det. Patrick Gleason

    A classic men’s cologne splashed over a leather trenchcoat and a hint of gunshot residue.

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  • Doc Constantine

    As you pass the tiny stage, you come across a large canvas tent, illuminated within, the exterior dotted with odd splatters. In front of the tent stands a scorched wooden cart covered in a jumble of bottles, jars, vials and twisted steel implements, and an elaborate, gold-gilded sign reads:

    “Doc Constantine Cures What Ails Ye!
    Liniments, salves, potions and elixirs for every malady of the body and spirit!”

    A scream splits the air, jarring you. You see shadows move jaggedly within the tent, there is another scream, and all is suddenly still and silent. After a long heartbeat, the door flap opens. A man steps out wearing a crystal-eyed schnabel mask in the style of medieval plague doctors, carmine streaking his sleeves, vest, and the blonde hair that crowns him. He pulls off the mask, and you see a handsome figure, almost beatific. He rolls a cigarette, lights it, takes a deep pull, and winks at you slyly as he gestures at the multitude of concoctions he has for sale. A bent crone, her body as bowed and knotty as an ancient oak, shuffles up to the wagon with rosy-cheeked, tow-headed maiden following her at a small distance. As she approaches the doctor, the crone gestures at herself, running a gnarled hand down her body in a sweeping movement, and casting a sideways glance at her grandchild. Smiling an angel’s smile, Doc Constantine hands the old woman a potion the color of cold, congealed blood. She drinks it quickly, gasping. Before your eyes her body shimmers and blurs, and a shower of dark sparks seems to engulf her. Where the crone stood, there is now a voluptuous, raven-haired vixen, vibrant, sensual, at the prime of her life and sexual vitality. Her shriek of joy is interrupted by another’s scream of shock: the rigors of age have not vanished; they have moved aside, and the young woman has aged horribly, taking on the crone’s burden.

    Sheer musk, cedar smoke, fir needle, chaparral, black amber and leather.

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  • Dragon’s Hide

    Flame-kissed, warm, smooth, and highly protective. Dragon’s blood, leather and a hint of smoke.

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  • Dwarf

    Iron filings and chips of stone, Styrian Golding hops, and soot-covered leather.

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  • Eau de Ghoul

    They all started telling stories, then, of how fine and wonderful a thing it was to be a ghoul, of all the things they had crunched up and swallowed down with their powerful teeth. Impervious they were to disease or illness, said one of them. Why, it didn’t matter what their dinner had died of, they could just chomp it down. They told of the places they had been, which mostly seemed to be catacombs and plague-pits (“Plague Pits is good eatin’,” said the Emperor of China, and everyone agreed.) They told Bod how they had got their names and how he, in his turn, once he had become a nameless ghoul, would be named, as they had been.

    “But I don’t want to become one of you,” said Bod.

    “One way or another,” said the Bishop of Bath and Wells, cheerily, “you’ll become one of us. The other way is messier, involves being digested, and you’re not really around very long to enjoy it.”

    “But that’s not a good thing to talk about,” said the Emperor of China.”Best to be a Ghoul. We’re afraid of nuffink!”

    And all the ghouls around the coffin-wood fire howled at this statement, and growled and sang and exclaimed at how wise they were, and how mighty, and how fine it was to be scared of nothing.

    Dessicated skin coated in blackened ginger, cinnamon, and mold-flecked dirt, with cumin, bitter clove, leather, and dried blood.

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  • Fighter

    Leather, musk, blood, and steel.

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  • Fortuna Belli

    The Fortunes of War

    A hymn for triumph for those who do battle, whether it be with fists, ideas, or words: frankincense and dragon’s blood resin, saffron-threaded red musk, tomato leaf, tobacco absolute and tobacco leaf, and leather accord.

    Out of Stock
  • Fortuna Obsequens

    The Fortunes of Love and Beauty

    A hymn to romance and glamour, passion and virility, seduction and delight: red roses and blood musk enveloped in a haze of blackcurrant, red patchouli, leather accord, and black oudh.

    Out of Stock
  • Fortuna Restitutrix

    The Fortunes of Warriors: She Who Restores, She Who Brings the Soldiers Home

    A hymn for the safety and good fortune for soldiers, and a prayer to bring them home: leather, sweet clove, and olive blossom.

    Out of Stock
  • Funnel of Love

    17-year aged black patchouli, champaca flower, cardamom bud, green coriander, Haitian vetiver, red vegetal musk, black pepper, night-blooming jasmine, and leather.

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  • Havana

    Date palm, dried tobacco, snakeroot, and leather.

    Out of Stock
  • Hellfire

    A scent celebrating Sir Francis Dashwood’s Order of the Knights of St. Francis of Wycombe, also known as the Hellfire Club. A swirl of pipe tobacco, hot leather, ambergris, dark musk and the lingering incense smoke from their Black Mass.

    New formulation.

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  • Heroine

    Heroine is the first scent created specifically for The Hero Initiative, and the label art is by the fabulous Adam Hughes!

    Nepalese amber, East African patchouli, dark musk, apple blossom, petitgrain, aged leather, skin musk, and rhubarb.

    Out of Stock
  • Highwayman

    A brace of loaded pistols
    He carried night and day;
    He never robbed a poor man
    Upon the king’s highway;
    But what he’d taken from the rich,
    Like Turpin and Black Bess,
    He always did divide it
    With the widow in distress.

    Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather

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  • Iago

    Malevolent, dark and shadowy: sinuous black musk, wet leather and vetiver.

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  • Ian

    Y’know, for a zombie, you’re alright. A flicker of hero worship, tempered by naivety and an innately kind nature: shaggy leather, sweet rum absolute, and patchouli.

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  • Imp Pack: Leather

    —The Black Rider
    —Bow and Crown of Conquest
    —Fighter
    —Iago
    —Rogue
    —Whip

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  • Jareth

    “I ask for so little.
    Just let me rule you…
    and you can have everything that you want.

    Just fear me…
    …love me…
    …do as I say and I will be your slave.”

    Ethereal lilac fougere and gleaming leather with ti leaf, tonka absolute, white musk, and oudh.

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  • Jolly Roger

    Sea spray with an undercurrent of leather, Bay Rum, and salty, dry woods.

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  • Kroenen

    Shining black leather, gleaming metal, labdanum, and myrrh.

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  • Kubla Khan

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round:
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
    And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!

    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
    That with music loud and long
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.

    Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.

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  • Les Infortunes de la Vertu

    A pain-tinged, pleasure-soaked blend of leather, oakmoss, orange blossom, amber, and rose with a breath of virginal French florals and a hint of austere monastic penitential incense.

    Out of Stock
  • Liz

    A light, feminine vanilla floral perfume and a swirl of smoke and leather.

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  • Looming Spectre of Inutterable Horror

    Arizona vs United States

    We are not talking here about a federal law prohibiting the States from regulating bubble-gum advertising, or even the construction of nuclear plants. We are talking about a federal law going to the core of state sovereignty: the power to exclude.

    The Court opinion’s looming specter of inutterable horror—“[i]f §3 of the Arizona statute were valid, every State could give itself independent authority to prosecute federal registration violations”—seems to me not so horrible and even less looming.

    If securing its territory in this fashion is not within the power of Arizona, we should cease referring to it as a sovereign State.

    Wherein Scalia channels Lovecraft: raw frankincense and tobacco absolute with Russian leather, blackened champaca, bitter clove, red patchouli, bourbon vanilla and petitgrain.

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  • LORDY

    For the folksy FBI agent in your life. Reminiscent of a classic 1950’s men’s cologne with a shuffle of paper, a briefcase-snap of black leather, and yesterday’s cold coffee.

    Proceeds benefit the American Civil Liberties Union.

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  • Mage

    All mystique and thrumming power: gurjum balsam, Sumatran dragon’s blood resin, olibanum, galangal, oleo gum resin, and frankincense.

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  • Manhattan

    Sexuality, power, confidence. A meeting of modern, sleek elegance and rich, passionate history: sheer amber, black leather, white mint, lemon peel, white tea, grapefruit, kush, teakwood and orchid.

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  • Mary Read

    Salt air, ocean mist, aged patchouli, sarsaparilla, watered-down rum, leather-tinged musk, and a spray of gunpowder.

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  • Mirror of the Famous Generals of Japan

    Leather, black pepper, cassis, khus, and black amber.

    Out of Stock
  • Nanny Ashtoreth

    She wore a knit tweed suit and discreet pearl earrings. Something about her might have said nanny, but it said it in an undertone of the sort employed by British butlers in a certain type of American film. It also coughed discreetly and muttered that she could well be the sort of nanny who advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines.

    Middle Eastern flowers, amber, honey, blood red-berries, whip leather, and polished paddle wood.

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  • Nobodies Watching Wrestling

    Who better to comment on the flips, throws, and visible panty-lines of the pro-wrestling world than a bunch of drag queens? The Nobodies' ongoing video series maps out this cultural terrain for anyone who might not have otherwise clocked the generous overlap between wrestling and drag.

    Black Leather and strawberry lip gloss

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  • Orc

    Field grey courgette musk, roughly cured leather, and vetiver.

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  • Paladin

    Immaculate white musk, sweet frankincense, bourbon vanilla, white leather, and shining armor.

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  • Perversion

    The perfect scent to wear to your next bondage ball, dungeon adventure or sojourn to your favorite pleasure dome. Smoky rum and black tobacco with a whisper of steamy leather with a splash of crystalline chardonnay, layered over a sensual, sweet, and deceptively magnetic base of tonka.

    Out of Stock
  • Quintessence of Dust

    “What a piece of work is a man!”
    “What is this quintessence of dust?”

    The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.

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  • Rogue

    Soft, well-worn black leather, hemp, and rosin.

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  • Sara Pezzini

    A hint of leather and an understated vintage musk layered over the scent of lightly perspiring, honey-dusted skin.

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  • Seth

    Sudanese myrrh, papyrus, champaca flower, black lotus, amber, and honeyed leather.

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  • Sherlock Holmes

    My name is Sherlock Holmes.  It is my business to know what other people don’t know.

    A fastidiously clean scent, with a dash of pipe and cigarette tobacco. Faintly beneath, you catch the fragrance of a smear of greasepaint, a stray horsehair, and a whisper of Moroccan leather and rosin.

    Out of Stock
  • Six

    Red roses, black leather, and toasted almond.

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  • skekNa the Slave Master

    SkekNa the Slave Master remains silent most of the time, except for occasional sneers and hisses. His action is dominated by kicking, whipping, and herding little Podling slaves. Between meals, the Skeksis sought out skekNa the Slave Master for scraps to appease the raging hunger they always felt. SkekNa was purely and openly evil from the beginning, and without him the work of the Castle would never have been done.

    The essence of vile gluttony: an abundance of spices, sweet cakes, thick creams, and opulent liqueurs mixed with the scent of whip leather and rusted padlocks.

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  • Snake Skin

    For he seemed to me again like a king,
    Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
    Now due to be crowned again.

    A sinuous leather variant of BPALs Snake Oil.

    Out of Stock
  • Some Heraldry

    Black leather accord, Australian sandalwood, ambrette seed, incense ash, and tobacco absolute.

    Out of Stock
  • Taschenspieler

    The master of sleight-of-hand and trickery: dexterous, clever, and roguish. He is the mischief-maker whose tricks propel men to action, or dupe the foolish into traps of their own creation.

    Peru balsam, tobacco absolute, leather, white sage, and blackberry juice.

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  • Tezcatlipoca

    Lord of the Smoking Mirror, god of sorcery, nighttime, darkness, beauty, war, heroic men, beautiful women, and all material concerns. Tezcatlipoca is the Master Magician, a trickster god and shapeshifter, governing all worldly matters, and is also the Great Tempter, seducing men into evil acts and subsequently punishing them for their transgressions. Deep cocoa laced with patchouli, leather armor, ritual incense, and a touch of Xochiquetzal’s flowers.

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  • The Bird of Prey

    Feathery brown musk and hay absolute with orris and leather.

    Out of Stock
  • The Black Tower

    Say that the men of the old black tower,
    Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
    Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
    Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
    That all are oath-bound men:
    Those banners come not in.

    There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
    But winds come up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
    Or whisper that a man’s a fool
    Who, when his own right king’s forgotten,
    Cares what king sets up his rule.
    If he died long ago
    Why do you dread us so?

    There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
    But wind comes up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    The tower’s old cook that must climb and clamber
    Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
    When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
    Swears that he hears the king’s great horn.
    But he’s a lying hound:
    Stand we on guard oath-bound!

    There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
    But wind comes up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.

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  • The Blockhead

    Back out on the Midway, a huge, leather-clad man leans against a post. He smiles at you, guilelessly, baring a mouthful of sharpened teeth as he hammers huge rusted nails into his skull.

    Rusted metal, leather, and a pop of pink bubblegum.

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  • The Blood Garden

    Vast open tents have been erected further down the lane. Ornately carved wooden poles support swaths of drooping black lace and blood-crusted burgundy velvet. Grapevines and ivy creep over the beams in the tent and curl like cocoons around bodies that hang upside-down in the caliginous gloom of the tents. Within the shadows, pale figures recline on divans covered in moldering, frayed fabric. As you pass, a feral, white-haired man hoists a tall-stemmed crystal glass of deep red liquid in a toast to you.

    Blood accord, bitter clove, English ivy, Tempranillo grape, red currant, oak, leather, blackberry leaf, and ginger lily.

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  • The Book

    Old, yellowed parchment paper, tattered leather bindings. There’s a distinct warmth to the scent, though it is ancient and brittle.

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  • The Bow & Crown of Conquest

    And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

    Nobility and haughtiness befitting the Antichrist: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.

    And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

    Out of Stock
  • The Buggre Alle This Bible

    The book was commonly known as the Buggre Alle This Bible. The lengthy compositor’s error, if such it may be called, occurs in the book of Ezekiel, chapter 48, verse five:

    2. And bye the border of Dan, fromme the east side to the west side, a portion for Afher.
    3. And bye the border of Afhter, fromme the east side even untoe the west side, a portion for Naphtali.
    4. And bye the border of Naphtali, from the east side untoe the west side, a portion for Manaffeh.
    5. Buggre all this for a Larke. I amme sick to mye Hart of typefettinge. Master Biltonn if no Gentelmann, and Master Scagges noe more than a tighte fisted Southwarke Knobbefticke. I telle you, onne a daye laike thif Ennywone half an oz. of Sense should bee oute in the Sunneshain, ane nott Stucke here alle the liuelong daie inn thif mowldey olde By-Our-Lady Workefhoppe.
    6 And bye the border of Ephraim, from the east fide even untoe the west fide, a portion for Reuben.

    [The Buggre Alle This Bible was also noteworthy for having twenty seven verses in the third chapter of Genesis, instead of the more usual twenty four.

    They followed verse 24, which in the King James version reads:

    “So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life,” and read:

    25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?
    26 And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.
    27 And the Lord did not ask him again.

    It appears that these verses were inserted during the proof stage. In those days it was common practice for printers to hang proof sheets to the wooden beams outside their shops, for the edification of the populace and some free proofreading, and since the whole print run was subsequently burned anyway, no one bothered to take up this matter with the nice Mr. A. Ziraphale, who ran the bookshop two doors along and was always so helpful with the translations, and whose handwriting was instantly recognizable.]

    Crumbling paper and ancient cracked leather with a touch of tobacco leaf and incense.

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  • The Gatekeeper

    A dry perfume, solemn and riddled with ancient, whispered secrets: brittle bones, the well-worn leather spines of forgotten books, crumbling papyrus, and the warm, strange scent of yellowed, crumbling manuscripts.

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  • The Magdalena

    Frankincense, myrrh, leather, ti leaf, saint wood, benzoin, and labdanum absolute.

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  • The Marquis De Carabas

    He wore a huge dandyish black coat that was not quite a frock coat nor exactly a trench coat, and high black boots, and, beneath his coat, raggedy clothes. His eyes burned white in an extremely dark face. And he grinned whie teeth, momentarily, as if at a private joke of his own, and bowed to Richard, and said, “De Carabas, at your service, and you are…?”

    A splash of bay rum, leather, dusty black wool, massoia bark, and opium residue.

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  • The Moon Goddess

    Virgin, huntress, witch, holding the mysteries and powers of womanhood between her palms: vetiver, white pine,  hay, Sicilian lemon, leather, and agarwood.

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  • The Mountebank

    The Hustler, the Scoundrel, the Grifter, using the magic of misdirection, charm, and subtlety to swindle his way through this world, and through all worlds, seen and unseen. Eloquent and glib, he is the quintessential knave. He is the Guardian of Gamblers and the Protector of Con-Men.

    A confidence trick: leather, sweet balsam, white sandalwood, thieves’ rosin, and dusty lavender.

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  • The Rat Speakers

    For a moment, Richard was blinded by the sudden light. He was standing in a huge, vaulted room, and underground hall, filled with firelight and smoke. Small fires burned around the room. Shadowy people stood by the flames, roasting small animals on spits. People scurried from fire to fire. It reminded him of hell—or rather, the way that he had thought of Hell as a schoolboy. The smoke irritated his lungs, and he coughed. A hundred eyes turned, then, and stared at him; a hundred eyes, unblinking and unfriendly.

    A snuffling, brown scent: earthy patchouli, sage, russet sandalwood, grimy leather, fig leaf, and lemongrass.

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  • The Robotic Scarab

    Pinpoints of red light beaming from its eyes scan the room, and in a flutter of leather wings, it scuttles across the wooden floorboards.

    Polished metallic notes, glossy leather, frankincense, star anise, and thin lubricating oils.

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  • The Scapegoat

    To save a trump card, sometimes you must make sacrifices: tolu balsam, leather, labdanum, black pepper, and benzoin.

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  • The Storyteller

    The Raconteur, the Town Gossip, and the first character to appear on the stage in the first act. He is the Minstrel of the Heavens, the Devil’s Messenger, spinning morality tales, singing songs of loss, laughter, and triumph, and murmuring prophecies to all.

    Beeswax, leather, hearth wood, and campfire smoke.

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  • Violens

    Rugged and understated: five sandalwoods, dusty leather, and light musk.

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  • Volt

    A living electrical battery, Volt plays the wiseass clown for his teammates, using humor to mask his awkwardness and his need for acceptance.

    Leather with a shock of eucalyptus, green mint, elemi, ravintsara and lime.

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  • Wanda

    “And yet a restless, always unsatisfied craving for the nudity of paganism,” she interrupted, “but that love, which is the highest joy, which is divine simplicity itself, is not for you moderns, you children of reflection. It works only evil in you. As soon as you wish to be natural, you become common. To you nature seems something hostile; you have made devils out of the smiling gods of Greece, and out of me a demon. You can only exorcise and curse me, or slay yourselves in bacchantic madness before my altar. And if ever one of you has had the courage to kiss my red mouth, he makes a barefoot pilgrimage to Rome in penitential robes and expects flowers to grow from his withered staff, while under my feet roses, violets, and myrtles spring up every hour, but their fragrance does not agree with you. Stay among your northern fogs and Christian incense; let us pagans remain under the debris, beneath the lava; do not disinter us. Pompeii was not built for you, nor our villas, our baths, our temples. You do not require gods. We are chilled in your world.”

    Along with Loviatar, she has become something of a Patron Goddess of all Dominatrixes, Wanda is the breathtakingly beautiful sable-wrapped marble queen of Sacher-Masoch’s fantasies. Her scent is a deep red merlot with a faint hint of leather, sexual musk and body heat over crushed roses, violets and myrtle.

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  • Western Diamondback

    Snake Oil with leather, tonka bean, red sandalwood, and sage.

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  • Whiff-Lash

    It smells like spiders getting drunk. It smells like Seabiscuit and your parents getting divorced.

    A scent for the consummate gentleman thrasher: Oiled black leather, grease paint, and aftershave.

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  • Whip

    Agony and ecstasy: black leather and damp red rose.

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