"Well... I don't know much about that sort of thing, but if you think it's a good idea I'm sure your Chancellor will agree. So all you'd have to do is convince your Chancellor of it, right? I'm sure he'll see it's a good idea... why wouldn't he?"

Life: From the time you were knee-high to your father, you knew that you wanted to be the sort of person he could respect and look up to. He was a political consultant to the Republican Party, and you followed after him on campaign trail after campaign trail, learning how the big machine worked. Your father had a good grip on how it all fit together, and wasn't shy at all about explaining its intricacies to his eager son.

As time passed, you came to employ what you'd learned from your father in your life. First in high school, then in college, you entered the conservative political circles, found the best candidates and ran their campaigns for them - successful campaigns, at that. After graduating from UNLV with a degree in Political Communications you hooked up with the local branch of the Republican party and went to work for them. Things were really looking up.

Then two things happened that turned your world upside down. A former lover who'd caught the plague killed himself, and left a rambling, public note that named every man he'd ever been intimate with - most notably you. The candidate you were currently working for had a third party call your home to tell you you were fired. And that very night, before you gathered up the courage to call home, your mother called to inform you that your father had died from a sudden heart attack... and that you weren't welcome at the funeral.

Things spiraled downhill after that. No one wanted to work with you. No one wanted to talk to you. One of your "best friends" from the party headquarters was caught writing "AIDS FAGGOT DIE" on your door at 4 in the morning. The cops just laughed and let him off with a warning.

On Election Day, 1996, you stayed up to watch the election results for your former candidate. He lost - served him right - and you put on your best clothes and took a bottle of celebratory champagne up the stairs to the roof of your apartment building. Somehow you knew you'd be taking the quick way down.

Halfway through the bottle, you proved yourself right.

Death: You'd probably have been reaped by the Silent Legion, at least you would have if someone hadn't been waiting down there to pull you from the caul. He said he was the King of This World, and that your talents had been desired here for some time. Then he said that you wanted to follow him - which you did, of course - and thus began your sojourn with the Cabal.

It's been a few years since then. Your trial by fire was a success, and you were made a full-fledged Solicitor in no time at all. After the Induction Ritual you were set up with an identity with the Silent Legion, and set to work being the Cabal's eyes, ears and hand within that group. You latch onto a useful sort of officer, befriend and bed him, and then subtly guide him into doing things the Cabal wants done, hoping to capitalize on his desires for promotion. All the while, the information he tells you slides right back to the Cabal. And then, when he can go no further, you leave him in favor for another, more suitable officer, and the game begins again.

By the time the Maelstrom struck, you'd gone up the chain to a Minister. Fortunately, the Silents in your Necropolis have been able to hold it together, so you continue your role as a lowly Adjustor. You've avoided emergency promotion as much as possible, preferring to be of fairly low rank for this sort of work. All the same, you hope that one day, when you've climbed as high as you can, you can step to the side of the throne and share in some of the limelight for a change.