Behind all the preening Queens in Snootington's Sanctuary, above every Emperor, Duke, Goddess and General, sits Mama Marchioness. She knows every scheme her clan is up to, is aware of every whispered plot, every petty grudge, every bit of desperate romance, and she approves wholeheartedly. The more convoluted and doomed to failure the endeavor, the better. Extra points if someone gets hurt!(but not too badly, as she's also fiercely protective. She'll nurse her babies better, or at least sanguinely direct someone else to while checking in periodically.)

One of the things that may be keeping her away from the sides of sickbeds is her savage enactment of revenge on those responsible; some would even say she rather enjoys a good spot of war with her gin, although not within her hearing. Pretending to be above it all is one of her other favorite pastimes, beside skirmishing.

The tundra and it's fortifying weather agrees with her, and she's gotten rather comfortable there, but she stays true to her Shadow roots by raising and training everyone to be as trickster-ish as possible. Pranks, shenanigans, food thievery and silly revelry are all present in copious amounts on a daily basis. She wears the trappings of Light because the contrast appeals to her rich sense of irony.

The unassuming nature of her title in contrast with those of many of her charges is purposeful. Her hand is behind every boastful claim to divinity or royality, and every month they rotate who is the symbolic lair figurehead who stand just one rung below the ever-present Snootington. This dragon's smug mug appears on that month's batch of spirits, and it's a handy way to track when the gin was produced.

It's in the same spirit she allows her mate Snootington's name and profile to lead the lair and their overall branding. He gets such pleasure from the notoriety, which makes for a pleasant and symmetrical contrast to her genuine love of shadowy power.