Bertram Fitzroy, Dominus Memoriae (stolen from rpg.net)

There are so many things I can remember, now. Peoples, events, other worlds, other histories. Mnemonic whispers to me the lives of Memories past, present, and future. There are so many, so varied, but still all Memory. I try to focus on the Memory present, on the pieces that are uniquely mine and so make me uniquely me, the memories of before I was Memory. I sometime fear I will lose them amoung all the others, for there are so many others, and such a small handful of my own. Mnemonic will not catch them in itself, so I must think of them on my own, of when I was only Bertram Fitzroy.

I was a memorialist. At the funeral home I would console the berieved, and work with them to craft a fitting epigraph for the departed. A memory to be carved in stone, as much for the comfort of the living as the dead. It all feels very faint and feable, compared to what I have now, but I remember that I took some measure of pride in my work at that time. I was distilling the memory of a person's life to a single phrase, and my craft was of noticable skill. If Memory did indeed notice it, or if I was selected by some more subtitle means, I do not know. Not that I do not remember exactly how my predicesor when about finding me, simply that it was a selection by the estate, not the person who was then its caretaker.

I spoke of Memories future, and it is true. Memories echo backwards in time, ripples fighting against the flow of the river, and can appear in dreams or deja vu. The last Memory felt his life ticking to its end, his Aspect such that he could count the number of heartbeats left until he ran out, and he searched the future echos for signs of the one who would succead him. So guided, he sought me out. He was not an imposing figure, a bent old man with a long white beard, but he had an inner fire in his eyes that held me while he talked. He offered me a glimpse at a greater world, and a greater purpose. A chance to see all the lives, know all the pieces that made up everyone and everything. The ability to make a difference. And when he had hooked my interest enough to press for specifics, he offered me Mnemonic for a day.

I now remember Mnemonic's many forms. It is the platonic ideal of the aid to memory, and as that ideal changes so does Mnemonic. In times past it has been a knotted cord, a page of crude script, a significant statuete, a handy notepad, a pocket recorder. When Memory came it me it was a PDA of the sleakest and most useful design. I didn't understand his hesitation a parting with Mnemonic until I laid hands on it, and whole worlds opened up before me. My mind was clearer, my soul burned brighter with his essence, and the lives of the Memories that were filled me. I marveled at the wonders laid before me and for a day and a night I explored them, walking the streets without rest as Mnemonic spun its memories out before me. When the day was done and Memory returned, he waited silently for my answer. The question needed no speaking, I already remembered it. I could return Mnemonic, and all that I had seen would pass from my mind like the morning fog. Or I could keep Mnemonic, and take up the mantle of Memory at his passing. With perfect clarity I considered it, but could not conceive of losing what was offered me, even at the price I already knew would come. And so I kept Mnemonic, and went with Memory through the graveyard into the place beyond, where he introduced me to the familia I already remembered, and the Hall I already knew. A week later, Mnemonic was mine in truth, and it records my life as its own.

Bertram Fitzroy
Estate: Memory

Aspect 1 AMP 6
Domain 4 DMP 5
Realm 2 RMP 5
Spirit 1 SMP 6

Code: Wild

Gifts:
Durant

Limits:
Focus - The PDA Mnemonic - Aspect 1, Spirit 1

Restrictions:
Invocable Blessing - Must bless those devoted to memory who invoke him.
Respectful - Can not alter memories of those blessed.

Bonds:
5 - The Sanctity of the Estate
4 - War with the Excrucians
3 - The Hall of Memory
2 - Mnemonic
2 - His canaries
2 - The Chancel
1 - Rivalry with the Noble of History
1 - Anchor #1

From the recolection of Mnemonic:

I'm still adjusting to being Memory, even though I sometimes feel as if I always have been. It's so easy to let myself be guided by Mnemonic, particularly when dealing with familiar things like The Hall and Antipathy Jones. And the young ones, Jacob and Faith, they look to me for the guidence Memory can provide. Antipathy and Heinrich are so alien to the recently human that they need someone who's more understandable. Listen to me, "the young ones", as if I were some ancient. Although I am, in a way. I sometimes fight to react as Bertram Fitzroy and not Memory, but then I stop and question why I fight. Is not my duty as a Noble the highest calling in existance? Is Bertram really the better to fulfill that duty than the gesalt that is Memory? Or would losing Bertram into Memory be as much a mundane prison as refusing Memory for Bertram?

................

I am more relaxed now. It's soothing, retreating to the innermost Hall. The memories that line the walls sing to me, like sweet silkly aromatic melodies painted all around me. They're alive, memories. Really alive. They cluster around people, dart from host to host, and haunt the resting places of the dead. I used to try my best to sooth the memories of the dead, before. But all I did then was put to rest the memories of the newly dead, so the living would not be troubled by them. Now they call to me, as their master and protector, the outraged memories whose rest is disturbed. I guard all memory now, but the Chancel gives me a special connection to the violation of graveyards, and demands that I act. And act I do, as it is within my power. A granted memory passes in an eyeblink, but the person will experience it all. To the careless youths whose held their revals in a place of peace I gave the memory of a week trapped in the dark cold earth with worms for company, which I believe taught them something of peace. There were zealots who sought to desacrate the memories of their foes, with them I shared the deaths of those they hated, one after another. A group of businessmen thought to build a mall on the spot where holy men were once laid to rest, I left them sobbing with the most treasured moments of those they would pave. Is this the Justice that Faith would aspire to, or the Revenge that Heinrich embodies? I do not think it matters. It is what my estate demands, and I make it so. They recieve as they give.