Concept: eccentric, alocholic Russian aristocrat with a taste for Absinthe, a distaste for poverty, and a gift for mind-reading. Think Felix Yusupov if he was into fashionable occultism.

Once, you were a wealthy man, an aristocrat, whiling away the empty hours and days by reading occult and esoteric books. You even spoke to Gurdjieff once. Your friends were very entertained by your mentalist tricks, and your suggestive hypnosis was always a good way to loosen up lovers and romantic interests. Money was never an issue for you.

Then came the War. As a nobleman, you attended Office School in Petrograd, and were thus drafted into the Tsarist Army in 1915. The war took you to far-off lands, and you fought with and against every nationality of Europe. Then came Lenin and the Revolution. Your ancestral lands were seized, your property re-distributed, and, the wound that stung the most, your liquor cabinet drunk by illiterate peasant soldiers. You ran with the rest of the aristocracy, first to the Crimea, then to Constantinople, to Paris, and finally, to New York. Money finally ran out there, and you had to get by on cheap parlour tricks and an over-emphasized Russian accent.

Samson and you met when he was drumming up people for his Carnival ten years ago. You wanted out of your ratty Brooklyn apartment, so you signed up. For a while, it was good living. Always on the road, always in a new place, new harlots to bed, and new booze to drink. Money was even good enough to restock you cabinet. Aaah, The Green Fairy, how you missed her embrace. She got you quite a few sessions of reading the fortune of boring, bland people.

Now, money is tight, booze is scarce, and your nerves are frayed. Perhaps it’s time to move on. Say, there is supposedly some good bar in this town…



A Carnival Of Hounds AldericReed