"These are real stars. They burn above the roof of the Neath, beyond the earth, in the spaces of heaven."
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"Intelligent, locomotive-sized chiroptera, able to pry an engine apart with their claws, or pummel it with their hellish shrieks. Curators accumulate hoards, which they guard violently. Each hoard collects artefacts or creatures themed to the Curator’s particular obsession."[1]
Curators are a race of space bats that hoard treasures in the High Wilderness.
"The Masters wouldn't care for you saying so. But the wings, the arms and legs, all fit."[2]
Curators have many things in common with their earthly counterparts, and certain differences as well. They are bipedal beings with two arms, two legs, and a pair of wings extending from their backs.[3][4] Their arms end in clawed fingers,[5] and their hind talons allow them to hang upside down, much like bats.[6] Some Curators are also known to possess horns,[7] or even semi-sentient teeth which can move independently from their owner.[8][9] While they are typically massive creatures the size of a train car,[10] Curators can shrink in size to around two meters in height to interact more properly with humans,[11] but may also lose control of this ability when upset.[12][13] Curators are exceptionally long-lived and extremely difficult to kill.[14] They are immune to most toxins, even Cantigaster venom is ineffective.[15] Their hide is so resilient that bullets are useless against it,[16] and only the most powerful, large-scale weapons have any chance of causing harm.[17] This doesn't mean they are unkillable, just that the means of doing so are rare, esoteric, and prohibitively expensive.
Like other bats, Curators are sensitive to sound; they can even enter a state of intoxication when exposed to music.[18][19] They are capable of emitting supersonic screams, using these devastating waves to assault their enemies.[10][20] In combat, Curators rely on their claws, speed, and physical ferocity, but they also wield the Correspondence.[21] Since the Correspondence is their native tongue,[22] battles between Curator is like a very heated debate.[23] And because these confrontations are conducted in the Correspondence, their outcomes are binding.[24]
Curators possess something called the Dual Nature, the precise meaning of which is unclear. "Beasts" are not diminished by the lack of the Dual Nature, but "Trees" and Curators are.[25] Sometimes a clutch (litter) of Curators includes one that lacks a part of the Dual Nature, called a Runt.[25] Runts are preyed upon by other Curators,[25] who view them as weak,[26] and even the very notion of "runtery" is a crime in Curator society.[27] While it may be the case that Curator runts are physically smaller than their siblings,[28] a Curator's status as a runt does not appear to have any connection with gender or assigned sex: while Mr Candles uses he/him pronouns,[29]Mr Menagerie uses it/its pronouns.[26] According to Mr Pages, elderly Curators are more likely to bear only one child rather than a litter, and if a Curator only has one baby, that baby will be a Runt.[30] It is possible that Mr Candles was not the only Runt among the Masters, but the only source for this assertion is unreliable.[31]
Merciless Pedlar-Magnates
"Once, we gathered here. We held our bargains and boasted of our chiefs. Our bands displayed the finest of goods. Our magnanimity was sharp as knives. All knew our worth. Then the light came. They made of our grounds sport. A dancing place. A laughing place. They made bargains of their own."[32]
Every Curator is born with an innate obsession, an overpowering urge to acquire and hoard a specific object or concept.[33] This obsession is present even before birth; in fact, an expecting parent Curator can experience its child's obsession as a unique form of pregnancy cravings.[34] Childbirth among Curators is an especially demanding process.[35] The birth must align with the newborn’s obsession; for example, if the child is fixated on transport, it must be delivered aboard a fast-moving vehicle.[36] During labor, the parent Curator suspends itself upside down,[37] and encloses its body within its wings.[38] The resulting infant is typically the size of a human baby and bears some resemblance to one.[4] Unlike human infants, however, newborn Curators are fully active and capable of interacting with their environment from the moment of birth.[39] Despite the intensity and ritual of the birthing process, familial bonds among Curators appear to be weak or fleeting; emotional attachment between parent and child is minimal at best.[40]
In the pasts, Curators held their own territories, but the Judgements subjugated them and took them as servants.[41] Wealthy, successful Curators become band leaders and magnates amongst their comrades.[41][42] Curators store objects they hoard inside large, sticky, papery globes called Curator's Eggs.[43] When they're on the move, they use a net harness to take their hoard with them.[44] Curators spend much of their time alone or in small groups called flocks,[45] traveling and hunting in the High Wilderness, but occasionally they congregate in large numbers to trade and socialize.[41] During these gatherings, they follow a strict calendar called the Order of Days that determines their activities.[46] Below are the known observances of Curators:
The Day of the Hunt, ordained for the hunting of lesser creatures, showing off trophies,[47][48] and dueling to settle past grievances.[49] Curators customarily set aside language and socialization until the end of the day.[49]
"Violation of the Order of Days, 'which determines the hour of the hunt, the feast, the council, the bargain, and the slaughter'"
Outcast Curators sometimes enter into servitude to Messengers, for protection and a chance to escape their previous misfortune.[58][59] One such group can be found serving the Echo Bazaar in the Neath.[58] A different flock once served the House of Rods and Chains, although they have been disbanded since its death.[60]
Cultural Inspirations
The Curators' defining trait, their overwhelming, innate obsession with acquiring a specific object or concept, can be read as an exaggerated metaphor for capitalist consumer culture. Obsession is not merely a character flaw but a biological imperative, beginning even before birth and governing their behavior from cradle to death. This compulsive accumulation mirrors the dynamics of late capitalism, where identity and status are tightly bound to consumption and ownership.
Curators do not just hoard for survival or aesthetic pleasure, but out of a metaphysical need tied to their very existence. Capitalism as an inherently destabilizing force one that turns even essential needs (such as status, identity, or love) into market transactions. Their net harnesses, used to carry their hoards, and their sticky, papery "eggs" of treasure physically manifest the psychic burden of relentless accumulation. This dynamic draws from thinkers like Thorstein Veblen, who introduced the concept of conspicuous consumption: the idea that wealth is displayed publicly to indicate social status. In Curator society, one's position is directly correlated to the grandeur of their hoard and the obsessive clarity of their pursuits.
The Curators' emotional detachment from their offspring and peers suggests a profound societal alienation. This aligns closely with Karl Marx’s theory of alienation, in which laborers in a capitalist economy become estranged from the product of their labor, the act of production itself, their fellow wokrers, their own species-being (i.e., their essential nature). Curators are so engrossed by obsession and accumulation that all other aspects of social life are hollow or ritualized. Even reproduction is subordinated to obsession, suggesting that even creation is transactional, instrumental, and dominated by abstract purpose. Familial bonds are reduced to biological formalities, and community interaction occurs only under rigid, scheduled observances, mimicking the artificial socialization of hyper-structured, profit-driven societies. Furthermore, their criminal code punishes empathy (e.g., charity is a crime) and idleness, and the dwelling-on of dreams, behaviors that might otherwise constitute the emotional and imaginative fabric of communal or humanistic life. In this, the Curators embody a society where utility overrides compassion, and obsession replaces purpose.
While most of the Curator's structure aligns with anti-capitalist critiques, there are also striking parallels with Objectivist philosophy, particularly that of Ayn Rand. Objectivism holds that rational self-interest is the highest moral purpose, and that productive achievement is the noblest activity of humans. In Rand’s worldview, individuals should pursue their passions (or obsessions) without guilt, and altruism is seen as a moral error. Curators, in a twisted echo of Objectivism, are defined by their individual obsessions and ruthless pursuit of their personal truth. Their morality is internal and purpose-driven; they are judged not by how much they give to others but by the clarity and singularity of their drive. In this sense, the Curator is not merely a metaphor for a capitalist; they are the ideal Randian hero pushed to grotesque extremes, where obsession is no longer liberating, but imprisoning; where the rejection of altruism leads not to freedom, but isolation. There is also an element of irony: while Rand celebrated self-created value and personal purpose, Curators are born with their obsessions predetermined, rendering them slaves to their own "destinies." The very opposite of Objectivist notions of individual sovereignty and self-authorship.
↑ 4.04.1Witness the birth, Fallen London"But when those wings unfurl, what emerges is no bigger than a human babe, dark and furred. Four claws scrabble along the ground. Two stubby nubs on its back that might one day be wings. The proportions of an infant, with a huge head and enormous, pleading eyes."
↑Ambition: in the Heart of the Bazaar, Fallen London"[...] The Masters have gathered. They are hanging from the ceiling, their robes wound tightly about them in folds, their matted hind-talons sunk deep into the fleshy surface of the ceiling."
↑Watch, Sunless Sea"Its wings are the sky. Its horns and vanes blaze with scars."
↑Former Developer Bruno Dias, on Twitter"btw, mr wines is canonically around 9' -- but hunched in his heavy Master's robes, he looks more like an approachable 7'"
↑Light Fingers: Mr Fires' Ultimatum 4, Fallen London"Mr Fires turns to you, its robes rippling as the body underneath unfolds. "Are we agreed?" It waits for your answer. Its shadow stretches up the sides of the pit, jagged and towering."
↑Refuse its offer, Fallen London"For a moment, Mr Fires looms larger still. It twitches spasmodically. But then it masters itself."
↑Ambition Nemesis: A Connoisseur of Cessation, Fallen London"The Masters were here before London, they intend to remain long after the city is made dust. They are ageless, relentless and remorseless. But London is a city of ingenuity and invention. If there is a way to destroy a Master, someone in the Fifth City must know of it."
↑Conduct your own researches, Fallen London"Eventually, after much night-work, you come across the name of a famed poisoner. Long dead (and permanently so), his records reference several poisons of unnatural potency. Cantigaster's venom has been proven to be ineffective against the Masters (Cf the case of the Emerald Harlequin). [...]"
↑Kill the creature, Sunless Skies"[...] Bullets merely crumple on its hide. In a single swipe, it eviscerates an engineer. A boiler-woman advances, her rifle cracking. Affronted, it methodically dismembers her. Nothing can kill it. Nothing can stop it. [...]"
↑Blast it with your most powerful weapon, Sunless Skies"Your weapons roar and thunder. The locomotive, still anchored to the Tower of Chimes, shudders unpromisingly as it absorbs their recoil. As the smoke clears, the hunched abomination is reeling in the air, its now-tattered wings flapping drunkenly. With a final mournful screech, it swoops away."
↑A loyalty worthy of praise, The Silver Tree"[...] Behind a curtain, a servant was playing a pipe of some sort, as was customary at these dinners. The Emissary was swaying, very gently, in time to the music. [...] He lurched, suddenly, and stumbled off. I would have believed him intoxicated, but that night, as usual, he had not had even a sip of airag."
↑This Wild Highness, Fallen London"One is brutal, efficient, whipping between the approaching Starved, carving each into bloody, bubbling chunks. Another pauses at each of its marks, suspended in the air momentarily while a clawed hand simply brushes the skin. Those Starved scream as they fall. The last keeps its distance – soaring seemingly at random, like a gleeful swift. But the air shimmers around it, and you can trace the path of its destruction by the Starved whose blood boils within them, who find themselves indebted to the ground, and those who the air simply betrays and will allow no further passage."
↑Codename: Sugarplum, Fallen London"Mr Stones is not eloquent. Until it is. The Correspondence is its native tongue. When it responds to its fellow Master, its fiery words blaze in every diamond, catch every facet: rhetorical constellations."
↑Codename: Sugarplum, Fallen London"Every point Mr Stones makes is a flaming whip, a shooting star. Its diamonds multiply the light. Mr Spices leans low like a crouching cat, spouting its own burning desire: This should be mine. They circle each other. Their speech is the glint on the crags, the gleam on their claws, the blood that bubbles from your pores as you blister from their heated argument."
↑Codename: Sugarplum, Fallen London"[...] When the Masters employ the Correspondence to debate business matters, their arguments tend to have binding outcomes."
↑ 25.025.125.2No map knows the place you go, Fallen London"A Tree which lacks the Dual Nature is less. A Beast which lacks the Dual Nature is no less. This kind are not Trees, nor are they Beasts. Each Clutch has sometimes its Runt, who lacketh part of the Nature. Even the Runt has uses. Consider the Owl." [Editor's note: The runt of a clutch of owl chicks may be killed and eaten by its siblings if resources are scarce. This phenomenon occurs in a variety of other birds as well as mammals.]
↑ 26.026.1Give Mr Barleycorn the Seal of Mr Menagerie, Sunless Skies"The Runt [...] "I confess, I am amazed it has survived. My master was not tolerant of its various weaknesses. Its single-mindedness; its cleaving to antiquated custom. How it chafed at its chains." Mr Barleycorn dips the seal in ink and presses it to paper. "Still. I am glad it has found new purpose. I'm pleased to hear it's doing well.""
↑A secret about the Masters, Failbetter Games"Thirdly, we have an inkling about the reasons for their ignoble conditions, although no indication which applies to which Master. The circumstances given in A Rhyming Revelry are: [...] runtery, aberration [...]"
↑Tell them what became of him, Fallen London"They will find each mote of Candles. He is a wound, an absence, a decay [...] They look upon the remnants of the Runt; they grieve; they will not forget."
↑Mr Pages: Matchmaking, Mask of the Rose"I am not yet so decrepitated as to have only one. A litter of one has only the runt! [...] If there were time for such distractions, and if I were disposed, and if it were the day appointed for the forming of families, I am still polyfructant!"
↑The Convocation of Runts, Fallen London"There are eleven; ten together, one alone. [...] Behind them, something massive looms in the dark of this high wilderness. It is too vast for you to make out its shape, this close. Spires hang in the gloom. Sigils flare on its skin." [Editor's note: This is within Mr Mirrors' dreams, showing the Masters making their deal with the Bazaar. Mirrors seems to be stepping into the shoes of Mr Candles in this dream, but the existence of more than one runt is nonetheless of interest.]
↑Curator, Sunless Skies"Curators accumulate hoards, which they guard violently. Each hoard collects artifacts or creatures themed to the Curator’s particular obsession."
↑In Which a Child is Named, Fallen London"Mr Spices, for its part, is lying unconscious on the floor of the train car, oblivious to the events around it. Pages turns to speak to you: "I will take care of my/our colleague. Parturition is a difficult process for our kind, and this birth was particularly exhausting. Spices is in no danger, but it will be unconscious for some time.""
↑Return to Mr Spices with the results of your investigation, Fallen London"Out of the mass of garments that make up its robes, it produces a rolled-up set of blueprints. "Plans for an engine... a locomotive. One of terrible speed and power. The only suitable environment for my child to be born without causing undue damage on the way out.""
↑Witness the birth, Fallen London"The passenger car is a mess of soiled rags and tension. Mr Pages glances back at you with some concern; it appears Mr Spices is no longer on the operating table. Instead, it clings to the ceiling of the carriage by its legs, much like – well, a bat. With its body suspended like this, its head nearly grazes the floor of the carriage; it stares back at you with a pained grimace."
↑Witness the birth, Fallen London"Spices has shed its robe, but most of its body remains unseen, wrapped up in huge leathery wings. It is clear that the process involves some degree of pain – Spices shifts and convulses under its wings."
↑Try to extricate it from yourself, Fallen London"You try to grab it by the waist but it somehow senses your intentions, scurrying around your body like a spider evading a broom. Even if you could get your hands on it, the force with which it's gripping would make it impossible to remove without harming the child – or, perhaps, yourself."
↑ 41.041.141.2Listen to a story of things past, Sunless Skies"Once, we gathered here. We held our bargains and boasted of our chiefs. Our bands displayed the finest of goods. Our magnanimity was sharp as knives. All knew our worth. Then the light came. They made of our grounds sport. A dancing place. A laughing place. They made bargains of their own."
↑A secret about the Masters, Failbetter Games"Occasionally, some instinct draws them together to boast of their recent bargains, trade secrets, and battle to establish primacy. Their chiefs are victorious, merciless pedlar-magnates."
↑Show it the seal of Mr Barleycorn, Sunless Skies"I would talk with Mr Barleycorn and dig his knowledge of the stars from his heart. But I am not the one he wants, not from its flock. It will only be more morose from our meeting."
↑The Counting of Days, Fallen London"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose, under heaven. The days in the sky are marked with observances, holidays, feasts, fasts. Your traveling companions pass the time by closely observing it, slicing it into choice cuts."
↑ 49.049.1Observe the Day of the Hunt (Irem), Fallen London"A day for pursuing, and fighting, and hopefully catching. [...] You assemble into pairs of hunter and hunted based on past grievances. And then, you let loose and chase one another in aerial duels – letting go of your habitual names, speaking only in piercing screams [...] Your victory will be celebrated – after the day ends, and such things as laughter and language are once again allowed."
↑Observe the Day of Bargain, Fallen London"Offer the Curator the gift of a weapon. [...] The Curator makes you a gift in exchange – chosen, perhaps, to suit what it imagines your tastes to be."
↑Observe the Day of Terminations, Fallen London"A day for celebrating things that end: labours, loves, lives. [...] 'The cessation of something that has overstayed its welcome' [...] The observances are simple. You share a meal – and then you stop."
↑Mr Pages#Matchmaking, Mask of the Rose"My hesitance is a question of timing, effort, and the proper forms. If there were time for such distractions, and if I were disposed, and if it were the day appointed for the forming of families, I am still polyfructant!"
↑A secret about the Masters, Failbetter Games"One rhyme concerns eleven pilgrims who travelled from a cold and windy waste. It enumerates each of the reasons the pilgrims were unwelcome in their homeland."
↑ 58.058.1A secret about the Masters, Failbetter Games"...the Masters were not Masters in the High Wilderness. Indeed, they accepted the position as emissaries of the Bazaar in order to escape misfortune, failure, and fruitlessness."
↑Show Mr Barleycorn's seal, Sunless Skies"Mr Pennies pounces on the seal. "The seneschal," it wheezes. "One of seven. Still loyal? Yes. Always loyal. Always waiting for reward. No reward for those who serve the Messengers. Always outcasts. Always disappointed.""
↑Talk with Mr Barleycorn, Sunless Skies"There were seven of us, once. Outcasts, bound to this Messenger's service. But the Messenger defied the Halved's command, and the Halved slew it. We were free. My colleagues, fled. But I remained to serve the Halved."
