Charles Edward Harwood

Originally: London, England
High Stakes Gambler

He is an average-tall man at six foot two. Dark wavy hair and eyes of hazel green, or blue, depending on his mood. He cut a fine figure even if not muscle bound. He dressed the part of the elite rollers, be it cards or dice didn't matter. What mattered was the purse. High stakes. He made himself a name and place in this world of smoke filled rooms, loose women, and those with the passion to gamble. He was considered a handsome man. Charming. Charismatic. Just something about him hinted at dangerous. Intrigued?

A gambler by addiction.

He could lose as drastically as he won. It was always that gamble with the unknown that kept him in halls where coins mounted in piles of silver and gold. He met many of all walks of life, especially the so called elite. 


Men's fortunes came and went with the flip of a card or the roll of a die. That was the thrill of it. That was the death of it. Step right up, test your luck, make that fortune to change your life. Charles was down on his own luck, not that he would appear so. They were all actors in the gambling game. Most gambled what they really didn't have, which led to less than lawful ways.

If he had a family, no one knew, for his name was one fitted to his life. A stage name. A gambling name. If it was ruined he would make a new one to start all over. He liked drinking, a good cigar and of course the intoxicating scent of a woman in his arms or at his side to bring him luck. This time around the gambling circuit he went by Chas. Lord Charles Harwood, a man of means and wealth in the English bon ton.

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*Picture used are to represent how Charles would look only. No Claims Made*