Session Notes
And now the latest from the far reaches of the Port Road1:
The Circle of Darkmoor, having in last weeks’ missive (mostly) defeated a Dark Cloak patrol at the old Carriage House, set out to hunt down the one surviving criminal who had fled into the depths of the swamps. Three of the Circle proceeded through the mire, whereas the follower of that Nick fellow took a more circuitous, less scenic and far less dangerous tack via the road. I do not mean to impute cowardice, of course. I declare it forthright.
The Aldmaar, the Anthracite and the orc — this is not the setup for one of my famous jests, I promise, gentle reader — pushed their way through the muck, trailing the fleeing Dark Cloak until, having arrived at a rare patch of higher ground, found themselves surrounded and outnumbered by a pack of upright frog men dressed in mossy finery the like of which has not been seen since the most recent Grey family wedding. The horrible creatures — bullywugs, I’m told — leapt into the fray and engaged the heroes. The frog-beings proved doughty foes, particularly for a group of heroes already partially exhausted from previous combat and with one of their crew off literally chasing swamp lights!
I was not there, of course. While I would love to accompany the Circle and document their activities in person, my duties here in Elder Pool require so much of me it is simply not possible. Also, the mud would absolutely ruin my new purple loafers with the brass buckles! Nonetheless, a certain black squirrel2 informs me that the fight eventually came down to the chubby wand-twirler and the last of the bug-eyed, warty dandies. “Did the Circle survive?” Of course they did. “Oh, you mean that unattractive Anthracite woman defeated the… big… toad?” Yes. In the same way that you defeat the baker every time you wrest a bit of cheesed cake from his clutches by overpowering him with bits of copper from your purse.
Meanwhile, literally high on his horse, the Great White Pope tired of chasing lights and discovered that a passage leading north off of the main trail through the swamp was lined not just with the remnant of the wicker man from which the Circle had freed the tart Dark Cloak, but a series of them. What of that?
My research, dear readers, tells me that these wicker men date back at least a hundred years. Perhaps several hundred years in this depressing duchy. In particular, there is a perambulation of these wicker men stories that may prove pertinent. This story involves a terrible beast of the swamp known as the shambler. This shambler, the legends recount, was literally lured to the edge of the old Moat House as the smelliest possible guard dog. Perhaps, more likely, the shambler found itself at a structure — the old Hay Barn — and set up shop, so to speak, and the occupant of the Moat House realized that there was some possible benefit from having a murderous pile of garbage camping on the front lawn. In any case, this shambler is as afraid of these burning wicker men as the San Nicholite is of wandering brightly-colored swamp gas. So, the master of the Moat House deployed these wicker men to keep the shambler at bay, but to also discourage it from moving along. Supplemented with occasional live offerings, one assumes.
Thus, the wicker men, at least in times of old, were deployed by the Moat House to control the shambler. One imagines that whatever the veracity of these tales in olden days, that the shambler menace has long ago faded into the moors and any on-going occurrence of wicker men can be put down to modern superstitions no longer grounded in purpose other than inertia.
So there it is, dear reader. The history of the wicker man and the crucial role it has played in the historicity of Darkmoor. Supposedly.
The Circle returned to the Carriage House, battered, covered with frog gore and swamp mud. Except for the fine priest, who if he had soiled his clothing at all, it was at the thought of lights in the swamp. They rested. Recovered. And, as the sun once again climbed into the sky, a local approached, trailing the horses that had been lacking from the Carriage House on their return. It inspires me that so many want to participate in what many are calling the resurrection of Darkmoor. The Circle have created the perception that some positive change is possible. I don’t, dear reader, scoff at these ideas. I understand that matters in Darkmoor are terrible. And that the common man desires to play some role improving matters, that warms even the chilly heart of your narrator. That the Circle are certain to fail and disappoint the masses, well that seems as inevitable to me as the rising of the full moon and the concealed implications of that phenomenon upon a certain noble.
I digress. Now armed with a full handful of steeds, the Circle, after some significant debate, set out once again on the road and down the muddy path. They arrived, as had the Nicholite, at that intersection of the well-carved wagon path and that narrow, mostly overgrown trail. The one, you will recall, lined with wicker men. Except now, as the heroes discovered, the wicker had been set ablaze.
The heroes moved up this trail, the Aldmaar man alone clever enough to hang back — to safeguard the horses, you understand. The others proceeded up this trail, investigating the still smoldering wicker men. As the passed one installation after another, each more recently set alight than the last, they began to notice that:
- a body had recently been dragged up this trail
- that body left blood and gore in its wake
- a spot off the trail to the left was recently tamped down and the line of evidence of the body seemed to originate from that area
And, most importantly: - the tall thatched roof of a structure seemed to lie at the end of this muddy trail.
The Circle had been warned a number of time, my friends, to do whatever they must to avoid the Hay Barn. That some dire threat resided therein. And yet, here are they, within a few short strides of that site, mouths agape and unmentionables freshly sodden.
And that is where I must leave the tale, dear reader. Until next time.
- There is the question as to where specifically on the Port Road the heroes find themselves. There is, as you may know, a dispute as to whether the Circle of Darkmoor has any legal or jurisdictional basis to be operating on this stretch of land, given that the Port Road east of the Third Stage Road lies within the Earldom of Eregore. We will return to that question at some future point, I am certain. ↩︎
- These are not squirrels. Do not, patient reader, interact with the “black squirrels,” I implore you. ↩︎