Another opening to a story I've started. Always been a fan of mixing things up. And always liked things that touch on the undead. [spoiler][i]To the inheritor of my duty, my work, and my life. This letter is addressed to you, whoever you may be. I have my assurances that I know who you are, but one can never be so sure after all. I, Cromwell Hume, now impart upon you the deed and title of “Gravekeeper.” You, who so reads this letter, are now part of a writ, a pact, and should always swear faithfully to your duty. As a gravekeeper, you now find yourself as the owner and caretaker of Coldshore Cemetery. Your job as a keeper is simple. Maintain the Cemetery. Keep its graves undisturbed and free of intruders. And, most importantly, when the dead rise, put them to rest. Be aware, that the dead are not to be treated and shuffled back into their rest like instruments or simple blunt objects. Sometimes, the soul forgets that it is dead, and returns to what it finds comfort in. The dead you deal with, are people. Some of them, like all people, will have different ways of responding to you. Some will not heed reason, will not listen, because they are mad. They’ve no sense left in them and so all that remains is violence. Put these souls to rest with a strong arm and a sharp blade. Some will be curious, returning to the world they’ve been away from for so long. Bribe them. Give them trinkets, offerings, and they will happily return to their graves to tinker, and then rest. Some will feel the surge of life in their old bones, and seek to flee. To run and escape. Coldshore is surrounded by wards, and so they never will. Chase them down and play their games with them. Eventually, they will tire, and return to rest. And, of all who are the most troublesome, are those souls who are lonely. Why they are lonely, it never has been known. Do not strike them with a blade. Do not bribe them with trinkets. Do not play games with them. Your job, as a keeper of the dead, is compassion and understanding. Listen to these souls. Give them comfort, if you can, for they are lost and have no one to light the way for them. Grab a lantern, and walk with them, all the way to their home. And then put them to rest. And finally, be aware of the strongest. Souls who do not need to return to their body. Souls that force our world to bend for them, if only slightly. These souls are the most detached. They will wander the grounds, or the river. They will scream a wail that curls your blood. They will yell in a rage that rattles your very bones. And they will kill you if they lay sight of you. They act as beacons for others, and seek to draw other souls to them, so that they may sustain their temporary life. Your best and most final option for dealing with these souls is to avoid them, and cut them off from their food source. Put the dead to rest that are drawn to them like moths to a flame. And you shall put out the wail and fire of the Banshee as well. I, Cromwell Hume, wish you the best of luck. The life of a Gravekeeper is that of being alone. But if you are succeeding me, then it shalln’t worry the likes of you no doubt, for a Gravekeeper is the mirror image of death in life. You shy away from others and likely led a shallow, tiring life before this job seemed like anything a sane man would do. Something to make you tired of the world. But take heart. The dead who walk Coldshore can have more life in them than you’d ever expect. There are days when they renew your faith in the people you’ve abandoned. In the world you hide from. Treat the dead with respect, and be kind to them. And they will take care of you more than you can ever expect. Best of luck, yours in confidence, Cromwell Hume, now, ex-Gravekeeper. [/i][/spoiler]