This evening I met with Lord Dahlen, at his request. He shared a concern that there have been… disturbances at the cemetery. His family, of course, have long made use of the Royal Mausoleum. The Caretaker, as is custom, answers to the ruler of Darkmoor. Dahlen, it seems, fears that someone else, or some other force, holds sway there.
I visited the site, though it was late. The gate was locked, but I had no difficulty in letting myself in. Cemeteries are not prisons for the dead.
Walking through those rows of graves, some tracing back two thousand years, I was reminded of the great legacy of Darkmoor and the Grey family who has ever ruled here. I know that many feel dread finding themselves amongst the deceased, especially after dark. That has never been my experience.
There was a light, I discovered, at the Caretaker’s shed, which sits atop the mausoleum. I made for it.
The shed was locked. That provided no more barrier than did the chains at the cemetery entrance.
Inside, the Caretaker sat at his desk, a lantern flaring. His throat slit.
The door, I reiterate, was locked from the inside. Amongst the ornate tombs and sarcophagi, I found no one, living or otherwise.
What this all means, I have nothing material to add.