Frame, apparently too overcome with emotion to muster a meaningful answer, does eventually relent and allow the party to read the letter. Assuming they do so, they see it is dated about six months back, is written in Aven with a florid hand, and says in full:
quote:
My Dearest Brother,
When you first left, I was furious at your perceived abandonment. It took me until my teenage years to realize that your intent was to protect me. Our father's overly-aggressive "pruning" of the family tree put us both in danger as long as you remained at home. With the golden child gone, and our dear brothers deceased, I was our father's only remaining option for an heir. You know full well what his tutelage and attention was like, but you spared me my life, for what it is worth.
It is my shame to admit that I have followed in our father's grim profession. I had little option. And as I'm sure you're aware, with your special dispensation from the Dragon-Eater, that this shared vice of ours has its own allure. I daresay I have excelled at the family craft, at least as much as one can in our nascent field. At the very least, I've been able to learn a portion of our father's grand designs. With this knowledge, it is my sad duty to report that your attempt to outrun your identity was in vain. Whether your intention was to save me or yourself, I'm afraid you have failed, for we are both in danger.
You know our father's temperament as well as I. In retrospect, it was perhaps naive of us to assume he ever intended to truly die, to leave his occult and earthly treasures to an heir. I don't know how we ever underestimated his selfishness. Though, as you are aware, our father has been dead for five years now, he has preserved some semblance of his being through an array of magical devices, secreted throughout old Dunsfort. The details are too complex to go into here, but suffice it to say, our father's harsh training in our youth was not intended to weed out the weak or prepare our minds for rulership, as he claimed. It was instead to prepare our bodies as his vessels. Mine in particular, I suppose, as you so wisely eluded his grasp. I can feel him even now, tugging at the loose threads of my mind.
We don't have much time. I have a plan, but in case it doesn't work, I hope this letter reaches you. They say the old Royal Mail still carries out its duties, even if it takes longer than it used to. His influence is strongest when there is only one vessel - one son. His plan after you left was to let nature take its course, influencing me only when he had to and biding his time like the youngest man in a tontine, waiting to possess the body of the surviving son. But I have studied his arts, and more than one von Roker can cheat death. If I am successful, I will no longer live, but may yet outlive us all. I will be immune from his influence in this state... like a controlled burn through the paternal line, my corrupted blood will be unable to conduct the curse. I'm not sure if that makes any sense, and I'm not sure it will work, but nor is he. And that scares him. And by the saints that's good enough for me.
The ritual circle is drawn, and I must begin. I'm writing this letter to say goodbye, my brother. This black science, this transmutation of the soul, will not leave me recognizable on the other end. Please do not come looking for me, for what remains will not be your Gustaf. If you see the von Roker banner flying from any Golish hills during your patrols with the Rangers, promise you will ride the other way. Whether the colors were hung by me or our father, I guarantee you that a monster resides beneath.
Be safe. Be better than us. Love,
The Late
Gustaf von Roker
After enough time has passed for the letter to be read, Frame manages to find his voice. "My name is not Jonathan Frame. It is Johannes von Roker. I'm from Golinlund. And that thing in the sarcophagus was my brother."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:07, Fri 18 Jan 2019.