Once a Foundling himself, Nuncle Squeak has grown old, fat, and cunning, an anomaly among the Kin, where few make it to adulthood. Perched atop a hulking plague rat that sniffs and skulks through the undercity, Nuncle Squeak is a grotesque sight: his bloated and dirty form nestled atop his ramshackle caravan, burdened with an assortment of treasures and rubbish scavenged from the Empire's castoffs.
More than just a hoarder, Nuncle Squeak is the Kin’s master of trade. He deals not only with his sewer-bound brethren but also with the desperate and the damned above, criminal gangs, smugglers, and scavengers who come to the depths seeking secrets, forbidden goods, or discreet alliances. His pitched laugh and sharp, glinting eyes are as much tools of his trade as the plague-ridden rat he rides, which bristles with mean intellect and snaps at any who get too close.
Nuncle Squeak remembers every deal, every betrayal, and every whispered secret shared in the dark. To the Kin, he offers baubles and trinkets in exchange for loyalty, favors, or information. To surface dwellers, he is a shadow broker of the forgotten, a merchant of filth and treasures who operates where no law dares tread.
Though dismissed by some as a gluttonous fool, Nuncle Squeak’s cunning is razor-sharp. Beneath his swollen, wheezing form lies a mind always scheming, always one step ahead—a fat rat with an empire of his own.
