Dear family,
I am sure you are all wondering what has been left to each of you, as I know priorities lie there.
Before I begin, I ask one thing of you. Do not trust each other with my memory. I do not ask this because any of you are particularly dishonest, which, let’s be frank, some of you are, but because memories are a fragile, impressionable thing.
My estate is not to be divided immediately preceding my death. There are certain tasks that I have left unfinished. Those take priority.
Within this estate, there are ten particularly important items. Each of these items serves a purpose and resides exactly where they belong. While each serves a great purpose, none are of any value.
If any of these items are to go missing, every remaining asset will be lost to each and every one of you.
Do not ask why I have chosen to hide each item. Do ask yourself what they are hidden from. If they appear dangerous to you, it is because they are. Proceed with caution.
The cellar is to remain off limits; this now includes the wine cellar. I am afraid you will have to find elsewhere to store your wares.
I know very well that some of you believe me to be paranoid, that you always have. You would be correct, but it is not without good reason.
Some of you will remember things, remember me differently. Do not find this of any alarm. But do not attempt to argue as to whose version is correct.
Do not find solace in each other’s certainty. The more you agree, the more dangerous things become.
My final request is this: when the phone rings, answer with caution. Not all calls come from friends.
The Penhaligon inheritance is not an estate but a responsibility.
May god help you all,
Lord George Penhaligon ————————————————-
Inspired by the enticing character of Penhaligon’s fragrance line, Portraits. This Lovecraftian horror group gives these characters of English aristocracy a world of their own, one of obsession, identity, and questionable sanity. Each family member is a skeleton that embodies a specific signature fragrance, described by Penhaligons themselves. Portraits: the RPG is meant to draw them deeper, giving Lord George his own game for all to play. Memories, photographs, letters all change; and slowly, the dead patriarch reemerges to the center of their lives, but do they even remember who he was? It all starts with a phone call, one from the voice of George himself. Despite all of the warnings left behind, will you answer?








