Olyver Remington Hawthorne III the Renowned Master of the Art of Seance, Gentleman of the Inn

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Role

Chapter 9

As Olyver sat in the guild of the necromancers, speaking with his
guildmaster, a strange voice floated into his head. At first, he thought a
spirit was forcing itself upon him, but soon the voice resolved.

"Welcome back to Thera," came the voice of the Honey-Tongued Emperor. If you
wish to go a different route as a member of my Empire, I would have you."

The Emperor Niji went on to explain that he had a great interest in the
members of the Menagerie, hinting that the young seance-master could even
serve as overseer of the Imperial Wagon, if the caravan could ever depart the
plane, spreading the words and law of the Empire to places yet unreached.

Olyver responded that he would consider so generous an offer, but of course
must consult the spirits first.Yet within hours, he had received a note
from the Chatelaine, now High Herald of the Eternal Star, saying that she had
heard of the demand for Olyver's talent. She asked for him to indulge her in
conversation before making a decision.

Weak as he was, relatively speaking, the powers that be were already vying
for his skills.

While Olyver had no interest in leaving this plane again, for surely the
spirits were more numerous here than elsewhere, he did consider strongly the
Emperor's offer. But perhaps the Chatelaine had secrets, ways of gaining
power Olyver had not eked out in his time with the Menagerie.. But as Olyver
read in the Academy of all of the forces that would oppose him for his gifts
-- after all, he wasn't truly evil, was he? -- he knew the Empire would offer
more protection and likely more might once the secrets of the Chatelaine had
been discovered.

Olyver was intrigued, and did turn to consult the spirits, but this time they
were unresponsive. Interesting: perhaps he would have to make these
decisions on his own?

Role

Chapter 8

- You are an exquisite gentleman. You behave cordially to all you encounter,
and if anyone - especially women - express distaste at your undead minions,
you apologize profusely and, if practical, dismiss them.

- You do not consider yourself evil. You don.t consider yourself a
particularly good person, either, but you feel evil is an unfair dispersion
upon your character.

- You are, in fact, evil. You are ambitious and, if you were honest with
yourself, you.d recognize that your ambition to gain power over communication
with the dead has as much to do with personal gain as it does with
intellectual curiosity.

- You are also a charlatan. Sometimes, spirits will speak to you when you
conduct a seance. (Really!) But sometimes, they won.t. When they won.t, you
do not wish to admit this to those who may be present, as it may damage your
credibility. While sometimes you will simply state that the spirits remain
silent, as often as is believable, you will put on as persuasive an act as
you can to convince those around you that the spirits have spoken. Similarly,
if a spirit reveals something to you that you do not want to reveal to
others, you will lie about it.

- Becoming is a matter you should put off until you are ready to potentially
leave from Herald. The outcomes might vary here, depending on how your
character.s life has been played, but being evicted from Herald if you pursue
an undead quest should be taken into consideration.

- Be sure your artistry talent is set to Performer, as this will assist you
in conducting seances.

Role

Chapter 7

Stumbling away from his wagon, Olyver Remington Hawthorne III straightened
out his suit and top hat. He glanced around in surprise. Was this the Prime
Plane? It looked familiar certainly, and even smelled familiar. He looked
at his fellow Menagerie companions, how they bumbled about, and turned up his
nose. He felt no pangs of guilt as he quietly slipped away -- his studies
were too important to let such considerations bog him down.

For the previous two years, he had been accorded a respect in the Menagerie
for his ability to speak with spirits, hearing and even conjuring them with
an ease that astounded most. His seances gained him money, surely, and he
knew from his life before the Menagerie that money was power. Yet he craved
a power greater than that which money could attain, one that would outstrip
even that of his famed bloodline.

Trying to make his way on this familiar yet mysterious plane, Olyver found
himself within the halls of the fabled Academy of Thera. Of course, he threw
his lot in with the guild of necromancers, the sole guild who understood in a
way his communion with the spirits. But even before his lessons, he was
astounded how easily the spirits came to him on this plane, and how numerous
were those willing to come to his beckon.

With more training, he knew, his power would grow beyond anything he had
known.

Role

Chapter 6

As Olyver Remington Hawthorne III sat in his cell, buried deep within the
Arkham cathedral, he sighed with exasperation. Had he not been schooled as a
gentleman? Didn't he obey his parents, well, mostly? Wasn't he always very
respectful to his mother, indeed all women, as befits someone of his noble
blood? While he had been completely cooperative for the past two days --
being marched out of the mansion under guard, secreted by alleys and
backdoors to the cathedral, answering all of the questions of the acolytes
and priests -- still he was locked in this cell like a common criminal,
awaiting his exorcism as a man awaits his execution.

The sooner the better, the young Hawthorne thought. Another day, some
religious mumbo-jumbo, and perhaps they would finally let him return to his
home (and his secretive studies).

So gradually that Olyver first wasn't aware of it, his dark cell began to
fill with an eerie violet light. Olyver, not unfamiliar with such
occurrences, merely waited in curiosity. And with a suddenness that belied
its gentle beginnings, the violet light congealed into a vague form,
ill-defined like flame, and a soft voice spoke in a dry whisper.

"Olyver, we have had our eye on you. Come with me," the form implored.

"Who are you?" asked the young man, rather nonplussed.

"Olyver, do not let them take this gift from you. Come with me," beckoned
the mysterious spirit.

Olyver frowned and felt a slight stirring of fear. Take the gift? Was that
possible?

With a clang, Olyver heard the door to the cell hallway swing open, and
footsteps drew closer.

"Come with me!" hissed the spirit, its tone sounding final.

Olyver reached out and grabbed the wispy proffered hand. Light pulsed out
from the flame-like spirit, a violet portal snapping into place, and the
semi-corporeal hand pulled Olyver through.

Role

Chapter 5

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hawthorne," the butler said to Olyver II. "He must have
known I was following him. I lost sight of him near the town square."

Olyver Hawthorne's anger was cold, as always, and he glared at the butler.
"Your services are no longer needed here. Perhaps you will be better at
searching out food than searching out my son."

As the two o'clock morning hour passed without his son coming home (again),
Olyver II was searching his mind for explanations. Perhaps his son hadn't
been down in the crypts again, after all. Hopefully he was getting drunk.
Or using some type of drugs. Or, better yet, maybe just visiting with a
prostitute -- the boy was almost fifteen, after all, and such news would be
winked at by the aristocracy.

The hour hand had passed four when the door to the Hawthorne mansion opened,
ever so slowly, and the teenaged Olyver III slipped inside. He managed to
quietly reach his bedroom on the third floor without being spotted, but he
himself didn't spot the long string tied to the top of his door, nor near the
bell that tolled in his parents' room.

Olyver II and his wife bolted up in their separate beds on hearing that bell,
and after a fifteen minute wait crept down the hallway to their son's room.
From outside, Mr. Hawthorne heard a feminine giggle, and felt instant relief.
it was a prostitute after all. Still, his son knew better than to be out
so late.

A quick push opened the door, and Mrs. Hawthorne's face went white, whiter
than her nightgown. There sat Olyver III, surrounded by candles, in the
middle of his room, a ghostly female form standing in front of him. The
young Olyver's eyes went wide with horror, but he couldn't get a word out
before his father slammed the door.

"Send word to Alain Corbert immediately!" Olyver II thundered down the hall,
and then turned to his wife. "I will take care of this."

Role

Chapter 4

*SMACK*The sound of the slap startled both of them, more so than the pain
on the hand or face, and Olyver Remington Hawthorne II started at his son
with cold disappointment. "See, your lies made me resort to violence. A
Hawthorne should never need to resort to violence."

The twelve-year-old Olyver III stared back at his father with an expression
short of defiance, but also short of submission. "They are not lies, Father.
really did see him."

Olyver II was mystified. His son had always been obedient and well-behaved,
his caregivers doing an impeccable job of grooming him as his father's
successor. But over the past three years, his son's imagination had
strengthened, not regressed, and this latest tale was perhaps the most
outrageous. "Tell me, then, Olyver, what your brother looked like."

"He said he was sixteen," Olyver III replied, and he watched his father's
face go from dispassionate assessment to genuine curiosity. "He looked like
you, Father, and like me. But his face was gray, and he had a big bruise on
his neck." At that remark, Olyver watched his father steady himself on a
chair, and his face drained a bit of color.

Olyver II's mind raced.No one on the household EVER discussed his wife's
second pregnancy, much less hinted at it. And no one would have dared talk
to his son about it. The images of his first son, stillborn, strangled by
his own umbilical cord....

"Olyver," the man said, more gentle than a minute before but still lined with
steel, "you must never tell your mother."

Role

Chapter 3

"And you say this happens often?" the physician asked. "Yes, sir. At least
once a week," responded Olyver III's nanny, "though left to his druthers,
he'd be like this all day." She jostled little Olyver, just under a year
old, on her lap. Olyver seemed undisturbed, his eyes and head continuing to
move as if following some unseen insect to and fro.

The physician frowned. He'd come all the way from Seantryn Modan to examine
the child, with some not-so-subtle prodding from one of rich merchants, and
he knew why. This wasn't just any child. This was a Hawthorne, and not just
any Hawthorne, but a Remington Hawthorne, and not just any Remington
Hawthorne, but Olyver Remington Hawthorne III. A lot of money would be
following this child for the rest of his life, if he were fit to receive it.

Clucking gently, the physician again moved his quill pen in front of the
child's eyes, and instantly they focused on the movement, following it
flawlessly. But as soon as the motion stopped, there Olyver was, his eyes
tracking something that wasn't there.

He dreaded to give the same answer as his two predecessors, but the physician
said, "I'm sorry, but I can't find anything physically wrong with him.
Perhaps I could come and give another examination in six months' time?"

"I'll discuss it with Mr. Hawthorne," the nanny sighed, fearing to once again
raise the oh-so-polite ire of her employer. "He will be sending you your
payment directly." The physician issued a sigh of his own as he packed up
his satchel and, with a few glances at the fine tapestries and beautiful
carvings, left the mansion.

Role

Chapter 2

It was, as befits this kind of tale, an eerie and heavy evening. The flash
of lightning and crack of thunder were muted by rich, heavy wood and stained
glass. A sound between a scream and a groan echoed down the hall of the west
Arkham mansion, and Olyver Remington Hawthorne II paced with impatient
expectation. He had a bit of nervousness about him, but of a different sort
than most men in his position. This was the third time (well, fourth) he had
made this investment, and he needed his forty weeks of waiting to pay off
this time.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the approach the old, lean, angular man,
not noticing another presence until a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning
his head, Olyver Remington Hawthorne II glanced back at Olyver Remington
Hawthorne I. Olyver II's back straigtened a bit as he turned to fully face
the old man. "Father," he acknowledged a little woodenly.

"Son," his father replied, filling up their quota for non-business discussion
for the evening. Olyver Remington Hawthorne I knew what was on his son's
mind. Tonight's events could be very important for the future of their
business and family.

A final moan floated down the hallway, followed by a shriller cry. At the
end of the hall, candlelight spilled out of an opening door, followed quickly
by a woman in a bloodstained apron. She gave the Olyvers a curt, satisfied
nod, and they understood what it meant.Both men walked briskly down the
hallway -- a nobleman didn't run, not even for this -- and breathed a sigh of
relief when they saw the screaming bundle. Old money would not die yet.

Olyver Remington Hawthorne III had arrived.

Role

Chapter 1

You are one of the only members of the Menagerie to join it of your own free
will.

The child of an aristocratic family from Arkham, you were a shame to the
family when you began dabbling in occult. Really, you can.t be blamed - you
were born this way. You.ve been able to see ghosts since you were a small
child, and seemed to attract every manner of restless spirit and poltergeist.
At first your parents cast aside your encounters are the imaginative
ramblings of a young child, as you approached adolescence and began more
formally taking an interest in dark magic in an attempt to strengthen your
connection to the spirit world, your parents were horrified. They contacted
the church to have you seized for an exorcism.

You went peacefully. For all your parents. horror, you actually were an
impeccably well-behaved and law-abiding child. Frankly, you still were
unclear quite what the fuss was about. The acolytes from the church locked
you in a spartan cell where you would await exorcism the next morning.

At first, you remained unworried, as you were not much of a believer in
religious nonsense. Bu then a strange spirit came to you and told you that
the exorcism would be certain to remove your ability to communicate with the
dead, and you became concerned. The spirit, thankfully, walked you through a
ritual that opened a violet portal that led to the Menagerie.

In the Menagerie, your ability to speak with the dead was not maligned. In
fact, it was quite welcome. You commandeered a wagon and used it to conduct
seances for the clientele in the various extraplanar cities that the
Menagerie would visit. It suited you perfectly, and as your youth progressed
your ability to communicate with the dead strengthened.

Once the Menagerie made its way towards the civilizations of Thera proper,
you were struck by the sheer quantity of spirits lingering in this plane.
Even though you are Prime denizen yourself, you realize how much weaker your
skills had been in childhood. More fully developed, you sense now that the
ghosts of this world are innumerable.

You simply packed some things and left. That the Menagerie vanished was of no
concern to you. You have studies to pursue, and the Menagerie has outlived
its usefulness to you.

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