Professor Randolph Lyall is a werewolf and Beta of the Woolsey Pack, is likewise Lord Maccon’s second in command at the London Bureau of Unnatural Registry, and holds the rank of Lt. Colonel in the Coldsteam Guards, although he has not actively served much in the last 50 years.
He is the oldest member of the Woolsey Pack, metamorphosed in around 1530, and the polar opposite of his Alpha, being calm, collected and reserved. He has served as Beta to three different Alphas of the Woolsey Pack.
He is very fond of steampunk gadgetry, and has shown an interest in researching biological organisms.
The following quotes from The Parasol Protectorate novels give some insight into Professor Lyall, but are not required reading for the character. Your character sheet, supplied at the con, will have all the information needed to play this character.
Professor Lyall, the Beta in question, was a slight, sandy-haired gentleman of indeterminate age and pleasant disposition, as agreeable, in fact, as his Alpha was sour. He grinned at her and doffed his hat, which was of first-class design and sensible material. His cravat was similarly subtle, for, while it was tied expertly, the knot was a humble one.
Professor Lyall was the type of man who could stand in the center of a group and no one would remember he was there, except that the group would stay together because of him.
Professor Lyall had a well-developed sense of self-preservation and the distinct feeling that if he said anything desultory about the young lady’s appearance, he might actually get his head bitten off.
Professor Lyall considered himself rather good at the change – elegant and graceful despite the pain… Professor Lyall simply melted smoothly from one form to the next.
Randolph Lyall’s position at BUR was not held because he was Beta to Lord Maccon, but because of his innate investigative abilities. He had an astute mind and a nose for trouble – literally, being a werewolf.
Floote entered with a tea tray. At a loss for what proper etiquette required, the butler had placed the raw liver in a cut-glass ice-cream dish. Professor Lyall did not seem to care in what form it was presented. He ate it rapidly but delicately with a small copper ice-cream spoon.
Professor Lyall was sitting suavely on a small three-legged footstool in one corner of his cell, wearing only his ridiculous glassicals and reading the evening paper. He was struggling to slow the change. Most of the pack simply let themselves be taken, but Lyall always resisted as long as he could, testing his will against the inevitability of the moon.
‘Not to mention Lyall and his gossiping.’ ‘Professor Lyall gossips?’ Alexia tore her eyes away from his lovely body to look up into his face. ‘Like an old churchyard biddy.”
Mrs. Loontwill ignored his tone entirely and made a move as if to strike her daughter. ‘Alexia! You wanton hussy!’ Professor Lyall twisted fast so that his charge, still held in his arms, was well out of the woman’s reach and glared furiously.
She would never have accused Professor Lyall of gratuitous musculature. But there he was, assuredly fit.
Professor Randolph Lyall was impatient, but no one would ever guess it to look at him. Partly, of course, because currently he looked like a slightly seedy and very hairy dog, skulking about the bins in the alley next to Lord Akeldama’s town house.
“I can hold the challengers off,’ said Professor Lyall with no shame, no modesty, and no boasting. Randolph Lyall might not be as large, nor as overtly masculine, as most werewolves but he had earned the right to be Beta in London’s strongest pack. Earned it so many times over and in so many ways that few questioned his right anymore.
Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.
At its root, being a werewolf, what with the nudity and the tyranny of the moon, was essentially undignified. And Professor Lyall was rather fond of his dignity. Even as a wolf, Professor Lyall did not like to be unkempt.
Professor Lyall nodded, pushing his spectacles up with one finger. They were an affectation – he had no need of them- but they gave him something to hide behind. And something to fiddle with.
Professor Lyall possessed infinite patience, whether dealing with Lord Maccon’s temper, Lord Akeldama’s purposeful obtuseness, or Lady Maccon’s antics. Being a Beta, Alexia figured, must be rather like being the world’s most tolerant butler