The Memory Weaver

Come in to my shop.  I guarantee you’ve never seen another like it before.  For you see, what I have to sell cannot be found in any other place.  Only I know of how this trade works, and I can sell it to you for just the right price.  The work isn’t easy, and requires a certain amount of trust in my associates.  But when it is done right, the products I sell are unlike anything else.  What do I sell?  Memories.  My clients?  The dead.

Are you in the Necropolis, and you want to experience memories of being alive?  If you are rich in Unlife, you can just pop back to the surface.  But that is expensive.  What’s more, if you are a member of the undead who requires a Glamour, then you have to pay even more Unlife for that.  It’s a vicious cycle.  For those who cannot afford a trip to the land of the living, it is me that they come to.  I am the man who is here for the poorest and neediest among the ranks of the dead.  Why I am looked upon so poorly is beyond me.
But I know what you are most interested to know – how does one sell memories?  Come into my shop, and you’ll see.  Along each shelving unit and every wall, there are vials.  They glow different colors, depending on the type of memory.  How intense they glow means how fresh the memory was when I obtained it.  Like fruit in your world, fresher is most definitely better.  If I can get a memory from when it was happening, I can sell those for a small fortune.  Undead will pay so much of their little Unlife in order to experience those memories.  Granted, it’s rare.  Obtaining that level of freshness is tricky.  My associates have to be there and experience it themselves.  It’s a lot harder than you’d think.  After all, I don’t sell memories such as cleaning one’s nails or sitting down for dinner.  Or at least, not much.  There is a market for that.  Memories of when a person can just feel like they are living a typical life.
If you are new to my shop and don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, fear not!  I can help you.  I can take you to my catalog and we can find the perfect memory, for the perfect price.  Because all customers should get a discount…the first time.  After that, I figure you’ll pay me whatever I ask.  Why?  Because when I tell you that I sell memories, I’m not being metaphoric.  You can see and perceive these memories as if they are your own.  Do you want to experience sexual bliss again?  I have an enormous catalog for that.  Do you want to know what it’s like to feel your adrenaline flow during some violent instance, or by some daring deed?  I got that too.  Be an insane sports star?  I can give you that.  Being in a movie?  I can give you that.  Experience a violent crime, either as the perpetrator or the victim?  I got you covered.  There is nothing I don’t have.  For a price.

And now I hear your next question – how does one come into possession of such things?  After all, if these are coming from the land of the living, how can they be obtained?  Glad you asked.  All I have to do is find a mortal.  Some poor bastard who’s down on his or her luck.  Then, I go to them and I make them an offer.  I tell them that if they get memories for me, I can make their lives better.  It’s quite simple – a favor for a favor.  For each memory they get for me, I do things for them.  Whether it be put a spell on someone they want, help them get that dream job, or just take away their sexual performance problems.  Using magick, I can easily make things happen for them.  It costs Unlife, but I’m swimming in that.  Hell, I almost never get asked for something difficult.  And if I do, I make them a deal that it will cost me more than one memory.  It really shouldn’t.  For what I sell these memories for, I could almost do this for free.  I have such a catalog that I barely even need associates anymore.
But you gotta keep a fresh stock.  I have Victorian housemaids who come to me, wanting to know how the world has changed since their Master or Mistress died.  My long-time customers want new things, so they can experience the best that life for the living has to offer.  But I learn what memories are my customers’ favorites, and keep a stash of them.  So when they want to relive something, I can pretend like it’s in very low stock, or potentially phased out.  I go to the back, poke around for a few minutes, then come out with a vial of their memory.  That look on their face, it is worth all the trouble it takes to put on the performance.  I do it several dozen times a day.  Whether it be old nobility who lost all their Unlife in the Casino, or just people who could never hope to get enough to go top-side, all kinds come to my shop.
So I get my associates to harvest memories for me.  It’s pretty easy.  All they have to do is talk to people.  They get them to tell them a memory.  They have to call it by name.  You’d think that would sound weird, in conversation.  However, each of them is wearing a necklace.  It’s the method of transferring memories to me.  There’s a spell on that which makes it so that by asking for memories, a person is compelled to give it.  Brilliant, no?  What’s that?  You think that because I collect in memories that can be violent, I might be traumatizing people?  That’s a living concern.  Not mine.  The memory concludes, and flows into my shop.  I have other associates who spend their days putting memories in vials, and making extras.  I pay them in memories.  Isn’t that beautiful?  The best kind of labor is the cheap kind, I say.
The final question – how you take the memories?  Well, it’s pretty simple.  Like medicine of days gone by – you open up and swallow.  Then, the magic takes its hold and you get to go into a memory.  You are in that place for the duration of the memory.  Makes for some weird exchanges when you go down an alley and see undead seemingly talking to themselves.  They can’t move very well when they’re under the effect, but they are still talking.  Talking to no one.  It’s amusing to watch those who are in the throes of passion talking to themselves.  Always puts a smile on my face.  Not that you’d ever know.  My body no longer exists.  I often don’t even use Glamour to go top-side.  It’s better if I can scare the mortals with my lack of a body, wearing fine clothes and with my cane, top-hat, and mask.  The people get so frightened, but when they learn I mean them no harm and can make all their dreams come true, it’s a parlor trick.

With all this in mind, you’d think that my wares would be more respected in the Necropolis.  You’d think that I would be the talk of the town.  But no!  Everywhere I go in proper society, I get looks of disdain.  For those with glands, I occasionally get spit at.  Even Reapers seem to see me as some pusher.  I take offense to that.  I sell an honest product to the least fortunate!  If I wasn’t selling it, I guarantee you someone would be.  And what’s the alternative?  Try and find something worth living for in that city of the dead?  Hardly.  All that is there is death.  Endless death.  The only thing you can do is escape.  Or, failing that, find a way to make your mark in that community.
And that’s exactly what I did!  I found a product, found a market, and I am the best in the business.  Others try and do what I do.  But none of them have my finesse.  None have my quality.  I learned my craft from a master before me.  But he left the job after he got endlessly attacked by the horde of people demanding more of his product.  No way I’m going to let that happen to me.  He made his product too strong.  I have to dilute the memories just enough so that it isn’t so perfect that it truly feels like living.  I need my product just addicting enough to get them coming back, not so good that they are desperate for more in a way that denotes violence.  I shan’t be victim to that nonsense.  It’s worked for me so far.

I am the Memory Weaver.  I sell a product to help the lowest among us.  Hate me and what I do all you want.  When you are among the dead, and desperate to feel alive again, you’ll come to me all the same.  They always do…

Until next time, a quote,

“Kid, let me explain something to ya.  There are two kinds of people in this world – Players and Chumps.”  – Hustler Kid, Recess

Peace out,



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