Session Notes
It is I, loyal fans, Buck Headstrong! You may have observed, given the current state of unrest in Elder Pool, that your loyal chronicler has been taken away from his preferred stool at the Gibbering Ravening Ragged Moon. Fear not! Once matters settle, you will find me once again partaking of inferior ale and subpar gossip.
Despite the troubles here in Elder Pool, our great hope, the Circle of Darkmoor continue to swat at mosquitoes far away in the swamps of the northeast.
This edition, I must turn over the narrative to one of my correspondents on the scene: my friend1 Fluffy, the black squirrel.2
The Circle of Darkmoor emerged from the filthy passage leading to the old Hay Barn and onto the flagstones of the first subterranean level of the Moat House. Dixit, the Anthracite-follower scouted the currently empty hallway. She discovered sounds emerging from two of the three doors that were revealed in this well-lighted passage. Behind the first — sounds of movement, of pacing, perhaps. Occasional metal-on-metal. Behind the second, someone was strumming at a lute.
Exploring further, Dixit identified more sounds of activity; perhaps of pans and pots beyond the final door. The passage furthermore extended east at the north and south ends. After conferring with the Circle, Dixit approached the first door. She discovered that the door was barred from the inside. Without much difficulty, she managed to pry the door open.
The Circle rushed in, prepared for combat. Inside, they found a being, fully armored, visor low, gleaming in contrast to the mud and mire that coated themselves and that had been all they have witnessed in many days. And the narrow room inside; just as pristine. The armored being attempted to push past, armed… with a mop. The Circle began to combat this creature but quickly realized it was intent merely on escaping the room and setting about making clean the hallway.
Inside, as well, was a neatly-organized pile of remains of some unlucky individual. As the Circle entered, it flared, briefly, to un-life, only to have its skull unceremoniously crushed by Sir Kog.
Why was this armored maid here? How was it trapped by a lock that it could easily have opened from the inside? And what about the arrival of the Circle caused the previously harmless stack of bones to attempt to reknit itself and rise once again? The Circle put these questions aside and imprisoned the being of plate and scale once again.
Returning to the entry hallway, there came to the heroes the sounds of shouts, of activity. Of horses, it seemed, from further inside the complex.
The ranger from Aldmaar had by this time determined that the passage at the north end of the hallway lea to stairs descending further. Reasoning that the foe that they sought — the supposed leader of these Dark Cloaks — the Gauntlet, would likely reside at a lower level, they moved in that direction.
As the Circle reached the second subterranean level, they were met at once by sounds of sparring from nearby. Not actual combat, it seemed, but training of some sort. The stairs opened onto a hallway that bent immediately right (southwards) before terminating in a passage stretching away to the east. To the west: a yawning drop to some space below. Quick scouting determined that there was a sort of cavern below with tiny cave-like cells and what appeared to be ragged prisoners toiling in the earth. This pit was overseen by a wall of glass. Torches were arrayed around this recessed space so that those below could be observed at all times.
Unfortunately, a guard in this panopticon noticed the Circle and a rolling battle began. Bandit troops began to attack from beyond the bend in the as-yet unexplored passage , and one even sprang through a shattered window to leap onto the narrow passage above the gaol space to meet the Circle head-on. Another bounded atop the half-wall of an otherwise open expanse littered with wooden swords and shields and blunted spears.
Sir Kog moved quickly ahead once he might and engaged waves of bandits by himself, while the remaining Circle held their place and fought a more thoughtful, tactical fight in the narrow hallway.
As the passage to the east bent again to the south, two new foes emerged from the doors lining this hallway. Another bandit leader, it seemed, and a sorcerous female. The bandits fought with their crossbows and swords and javelins. The female attempted an ensorcelment upon Kog, which he shrugged off. She then retreated beyond a stout door. The epithets hurled her way by her bandit associate did little to slow her retreat.
There was give and take. Cut and thrust. The bandits fought well, but they were no match for the Circle. Sir Kog slew two of the bandits and when two more approached, he slew them in turn.
Near the finale of the battle, two more bandits emerged from the panopticon, to target Sir Kog with their crossbows, only to be overwhelmed by escaped prisoners from below. A figure Kog identified as Aaron, filthy and wretched from his imprisonment responded to Kog’s questions and set about attempting to organize those amongst his fellows who could fight. However, he asserted, there were others below, sick and injured, who could not travel. He further identified the door beyond which the sorceress, Vindurain, had escaped, was in fact the apartments of the castillian; the Gauntlet. A stairway, he asserted, lead upwards from inside those rooms.
That, my friends, is the report from the marsh. As to its veracity, I can not attest. The recounting of such deeds of heroism and alacrity by Sir Kog, this humble narrator finds… unlikely.
In any case, as the Greatest Living Sage of Darkmoor, I can confirm that the Moat House of old, in times when Darkmoor was led by nobles of an actual noble sort, was favored by the lost magician of Anthracite and a number of powerful enchantments were to be found inside. Amongst them were the Caretakers, a number of objects animated to serve the castillian of the Moat House in all the mundane ways one might wish: preparing meals, maintaining and keeping kempt the grounds. Indeed, mopping the floors and tending to the laundry. were included in their charge. They were, according to legend, utterly incapable of aggressive action. Some reports indicate that they tended to an obsessive commitment to their obligations, sweeping away a glass of wine, for example, so that it might be cleaned, never mind that it was merely half-drunk.
An overabundance of fastidiousness, I need not tell you, dear reader, is not something one has to fear in Elder Pool.
I now must dash off to place this missive in the hands of the craven youths who distribute it, keeping my head down and my location secret. Hoping this message finds you… well, hoping that it finds anyone, at this point.