DA.Lore Yael's Account
And so it came to be General Elzira, founder of the Knights of Holy Judgment, vanguard of the Knights with Nothing, and intercessor of the Triad, departed Sundabar in the predawn light of a winter morn, never to return.
With her she carried a sealed writ, brought in the darkest hours by couriers of the council meant to guide her. Instead, they delivered the denouement of decades of selfless service. She did not deem to read it. Instead, she gathered her few belongings, hastily packed travel supplies, and departed for the stables.
Bitter winds cut through our cloaks as we crossed the grand courtyard. Our boots pushed through fresh snow that rose to our ankles. Behind us, the castle loomed against the distant stars, shroud by thick, swirling clouds.
”Where shall you go?” I asked, as she readied her mare, Vigilance, while I readied my own.
“Impiltur. Home. If they will have me.” she spat through gritted teeth, her indignation smoldering.
On this, the 20th day of Uktar in The Year of Fireslaughter, 932 in Dalereckoning: For the benefit of future knights, be they of the Order in its current fashion or any who hold true to the Old Ways, I, Yael, a loyal knight of the realm and agent of Helm, seek to record the last days of Elzira’s service as General of the Knights of Holy Judgment. Now several days into her expedient exile, the clarity of hindsight offers a clearer view of the events that set this path before us. I will, to the best of my memory, recount the important moments, that they may be a candle of truth that light the way towards the Triad’s will in all things.
Though there had always been an underlying tension between Elzira and her council of knights — she is a leader of impulse and instincts, after all — matters had deteriorated in recent weeks. Their disagreement came to a head following what would be Elzira’s final contract with the Order. “I’m sorry, am I on trial?” Elzira asked. “For bringing justice to a known killer, an abuser?” “General Elzira, I assure you, no one is on trial here,” said Justice Thoril. “Then what’s with Darren practically dragging me here?” Elzira replied. “Last I checked, you are my council. I summon you. You don’t demand my attendance. Not to defend myself.” Around the crescent-shaped table, each knight deliberated silently, exchanging glances for a sense of how to proceed. “My lady, you speak true, of our purpose at least.” continued Thoril. “We gathered here are humble servants of the Order, to aid you with guidance and wisdom.” Elizra rolled her eyes, but managed to bite her tongue and not interrupt. “Yes, yes. That is precisely why we are gathered here today,” interjected Watcher Jereth. “To guide you. Yes, the target was guilty before man and gods, there is no doubt. Yes, he likely deserved death. But we are not in the business of—” “of Judgment? It’s in our name.” Elzira blurted out, her restraint already spent. “Elzira, that is no way to speak in a council deliber—” “Gods, this decorum. Should I have curtsied while you chastise me? Always this propriety. Bureaucracy masquerading as chivalry. It’s exhausting!” “We must consider our reputation, General.” said Justicar Gregaran. “We are a large organization with many moving parts. Our contracts are an extension of our honor as knights. Not completing them correctly is a blemish on all we represent. It goes against everything we believe in. And this is not the first—” ”Oh, come on!” Elzira threw up her hands, exasperated. “Not following a contract to the every letter goes against everything we believe in?! Listen to yourselves! What about Tyr’s justice? Helm’s vigilance? Torm’s courage? All I see is cowards who look the other way while their hearts darken with greed.” Her words had touched a nerve. She looked to Gauntlet Marshall, her former lieutenant, seated opposite her. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes flittering around the room. He briefly looked to Elzira with a pleading glance, but when their eyes met, he looked away. In another time, he had been one of her closest companions. He had saved her life on the battlefield more than once. Now, he could hardly meet her gaze. “You want it straight, then?” said Gregaran, his patience equally spent. “Fine. Your behavior, beyond just this incident, has been unacceptable. Embarrassing, frankly. We are Knights with Nothing no longer. We haven’t been for years. Years! Yet you insist on recklessly ignoring every bit of structure or guardrails put in place. Even those for your own good.” “Oh, as if your—” Elzira cut in. “Enough.” Gregaran said. “We’ve tried to guide you. To steer your impulses towards the greater good. But you have rebuffed our efforts at every turn. Not any more. Now we must think of protecting the Order.” “From me?!” Elzira asked. “You are a cut that won’t heal,” he replied. “Or better yet, you are a broken bone. We tried to set you, but you refused to heal right. And now the only option is amputation.” “Oh, that’s rich. What are you gonna do, throw me out? Of the Order I founded? The Triad led us here through me. My visions.” “And we are thankful fo—” “Bullshit!” Elzira’s unwavering glare swept across the room. Less than half the knights looked back at her as her indignation boiled over. Some seemed embarrassed, others uncertain, and others trying to hide in their high-backed seats. “I helped build these towers before half of you took your oaths.” Elzira continued. “I recruited our best knights, one squire at a time. I’ve completed more contracts than this entire council combined! And you’re gonna, what, expel me because I killed one measly, motherfucking murderer?” “Yes,” said Gregaran. “And for all the other concerns you have put on clear display here tod—” Elzira didn’t hear the rest of his answer as she slammed the door behind her, splintering the frame around the hinges.
Elzira marched directly for the barracks. Wood scraped against stone as Elzira threw the door open unceremoniously, her still armorclad silhouette outlined in the doorframe as she called out. “Any of you who think the council are full of shit with quarterstaffs up their shitholes, up and with me, now.” Bleary eyed knights stirred in their bunks. Cantrips illuminated small trinkets around the room, the bedframes casting long shadows across the unadorned chamber. “I said, up and with me, soldiers. I assure you, this is not some twisted test of loyalty.” The room remained silent and still, save for the creaking of beds as the knights shifted uncomfortably. “No, you know what, this is a test.” she said, scanning the dimly lit room to try and meet each individual’s gaze as she continued. “To see which of you realize the danger of what the council is turning our Order into. To see which of you put the Triad’s will, and our purpose to fulfill it, over the terms and conditions of our contracts. To see which of you are truly knights and not just mercenaries in fucking shining armor.” Elzira paused, fighting back the rage still burning in her throat from the earlier meeting. “So, I’ll say it one more time - up and with me, soldiers, if you be true Knights of Holy Judgment. Together we will show the council that real knights still stand up for the way things should be.” No one moved from their beds. The room hung static in the tension of the moment. Elzira felt her cheeks blush, resenting herself for it as she squeezed her eyes shut and forced a deep exhale. In the low light, in the awful silence of rejection, Elzira understood too late. She knew not a single face in the barracks. She recognized them, but she did not know them. Her companions, those who had founded this keep alongside her, were gone. And these knights were nothing like the ones she remembered. She turned and left, alone.
Gauntet Marshall found Elzira in the training yards. From the covered walkways of the gathering hall across the courtyard, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of her holding a wooden pell accountable for her fury. “Your form is as reckless as ever,” Marshall said as he approached, clutching his officer’s jacket against the evening’s cutting chill. Splinters burst from the training dummy as Elzira landed a strike that would have cut to the spine of her pitiable foe. “And as effective,” he continued, wiping sawdust out of his hair. Elzira spun to face him. She did not lower her sword. “Have you come to tell me you’ve seen reason?” she asked. “And what reason might that be?” “That this obsession with contracts and terms and the letter of the law is just a load of shit. It muddies the waters of what’s good and right and just.” “That is not reason, but merely one perspective.” Marshall replied. “If you would but for a moment step back and see—” “I see clearly enough.” “Then tell me what you see.” “I saw this castle when it was nothing but an empty, barren field. I saw visions from nations away. Visions of a world made better by faithful knights who didn’t let the world’s ways get in the way of their worship. I saw all of it and we made it so.” “No one is trying to diminish the work you have done. Your legacy is that of exemplary dedication to the Triad and to the Knights.” “You think I’m worried about my *legacy*? About what some scribe will say about me? Damn their words to Asmodeus!” “No, I think you’re worried about losing control. Of not recognizing the order as it evolves - as it has to evolve. I tried to tell you earlier.” “Before or after you and the council accused me of being a bloodthirsty bitch?” Elzira seethed. “That’s not what I — look. We are not some ragtag group of knights going from town to town putting out fires or hogtying bandits anymore. We are an institution now, whether we like it or not.” Snow began to fall, swirling in the relentless wind like small storms roiling across the yard. “The people of Sundabar count on us.” Marshall continued. “Our knights have families they need to provide meals and homes for. We can’t take care of the Triad’s will if we can’t take care of ourselves.” “We took care of ourselves just fine when we trusted in the Triad to meet our needs rather than signing twenty page contracts to do a single good deed.” “Well yes, the council is trying to add structure. Trying to maintain a certain reputation. But all towards the Order’s mission. I mean, think of how much more we can accomplish with these sort of systems in place. The Order could be thrice as big, our reach going far beyond the Silver March. We could—” “Well, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind about whose side you’re on. Good to know,” Elzira said as she sheathed her sword. She turned toward her quarters. Where her rage had felt like a bonfire earlier, now only sparks of a doused ember lingered. She was tired and needed to think. “Elzira, wait. We need to talk about this, the council is—” She stopped, but did not turn back to face him. “You know, I expected this from Gregaran and Thoril. But you?” Marshall took a step closer. “I know you’re angry. I know things are different. But you have to trust me. The council’s trying, — we’re trying — to do what’s best for the Knights. For all of us. Just imagine the potential. The Knights serving across the Sword Coast. We could change the world.” “And here I thought we already had.” Elzira resigned, as she turned back to leave. “But I guess you remember those years differently.”
In the days following, the council unilaterally and unanimously promoted themselves to the temporary rank of High Council atop the Order’s hierarchy. In their declaration, they citied concerns of Elzira’s “erratic behavior”, “unrepentant spirit”, and “grave concerns over the Order’s direction,” among other justifications. With their newly self-ascribed authority, they drafted their first executive action — a writ of dismissal.
“They have lost sight of the Knights. Of the Triad. All of it.” Several days after our initial departure, Radiant Elzira finally read the writ of dismal, the formal proclamation of her exile. “We never needed contracts to serve our community. Sure, it was good to have some structure, but they’ve made a bureaucracy out of our mission. Meetings instead of making a difference.” Elzira crumbled the writ in her fist, letting out a seething sigh. “They squander days, comfortable in their high-backed chairs and velvet robes, instead of saddled and armored like proper fucking knights. Who even heard of knights spending all their time sitting around a table?!” She emphasized her point punching her gauntleted fist into the packed snow. “Debating terms and squabbling over titles instead of keeping watch and serving justice. Petulant children! It’s a wonder the castle didn’t collapse from the weight of their hubris, gods damned bastards.” She stared down at the writ and then threw it into the evening’s fire, watching the page curl and blacken. “I dedicated my entire life to the knights. Everyone back home thought I had gone insane, said I’d be possessed or seduced by some devilry. They couldn’t believe that the visions I saw were real.” As Elzira spoke, she stared into the campfire, the reflection of the flame burning in her eyes. “I spent the last decade proving them wrong. And all of it taken from me by a council of my peers. By men I trained. Men I served with… Men I trusted. For all the good it’s done, this is my recompense. Exiled from the place I thought would be my home until the Triad finally beckoned me to rest. Now for the second time with nowhere else to go.” Elzira continued to watch the flames as the last pen strokes burn away, leaving only ash and the bitter taste of betrayal.
On this, the 13th day of Mirtul in The Year of the Five Jugs, 933 in Dalereckoning: For the ongoing benefit of future knights, be they of the wayward Order, buried in bureaucracy, or tho who remain Knights with Nothing in spirit, I seek to record the valiant deeds of Elzira the Exiled in the months that followed her departure. May they be a beacon of righteousness that beckons the true towards the Triad’s will in all things.
The next many tendays passed swiftly, as did the scenery around us. We followed the winding road through Everlund. Though intending to pass straight through, Elzira came across a small hamlet held hostage by the wanton violence and covetousness of banditry. By night’s end, their bodies burned in a pyre, an offering of righteousness to the Triad. For though the Knights had forsaken her, she would not forsake their mission. Bidding the grateful farmers and ranchers farewell, we pressed on southwards. We straddled the Evermoors and the High Forest while the Star Mounts watched us from their peaks along the eastern horizon. At the Dessarin River, we turned westward, watching the lazy barges make their way for Yartar. Here, Elzira slew a terrible and menacing hydra. The local fishermen pleaded to hold a grand feast in her honor. Sustained enough by their renewed faith in the Triad, Elzira humbly declined and we continued on our journey. Crossing the River Surbin, we then made for Triboar. We arrived serendipitously, discovering the town sieged by bands of trolls spilling out eastward from the Sword Mountains. Elzira rallied Triboar’s militia and together they defended the wall against the monstrous assault. Discovering the troll’s larger machinations to lay waste to Nimoar’s Hold, Elzira led all the soldiers Triboar could spare to press southward. Riding in from the northwest, Elzira and her forces flanked the trolls as they collided with Nimoar and his barbarians in the hills to the north, but the monstrous army was undeterred. The battle raged on for several days before the trolls finally retreated, much of their forces reduced to ash to prevent regeneration. By the end, the hills themselves were ablaze and the surviving trolls retreated as far north as the Evermoors.
After restoring peace to the Dessarin Valley and many days of long riding, Elzira arrived in the lands that had once been the Delimbiyran duchy. Though the region had faced many centuries of hardships and seen the rise and fall of several governments, she found herself welcomed by a community blossoming behind the strength and leadership of a young man, Tyndal. In the year prior, Tyndal had saved his family as they crossed the Delimbiyr River, fighting off some half-dozen lizardfolk with only his dagger. Since then, he and others had patrolled diligently to keep the area safe. As they did, farmers and their families began to resettle the area. Tyndal saw an opportunity to resettle the Delimbiyran duchy here in the riverbed where the seat of power could be better protected, building a keep that would allow for marshaling a militia and building a settlement along the Trade Way. Having a great deal of experience in such matters from the early days of expanding Sundabar and founding the Hall of Everlasting Justice, Elzira shared many words of wisdom and lessons learned with Tyndal, who himself was a devoted follower of Lathander. Elzira lingered in the encampment for several tenday while the winter passed, training the new militia, patrolling the region for monsters and men of evil alike, and advising Tyndal on his ambitious goals. Only after the worst of the winter storms subsided did we continue on southward toward Elturel, where we would finally meet with the River Chionthar and follow it eastward to Westgate and then across the Sea of Fallen Stars to our final destination, Elzira’s home nation of Impiltur.
On this, the 9th day of Eleasis in The Year of the Five Jugs, 933 in Dalereckoning: For the benefit of future knights who wish to follow in the ways of honor, I seek to record the last days of Elzira, the true General and Founder of the Knights of Holy Judgment, the faithful vanguard of the Knights with Nothing, the exiled intercessor of the Triad, and the Bane of Yeenoghu’s Cackle.
Elzira led her mare, Vigilance, through the ashen remains of the small hamlet. The air hung heavy with the smell of smoke and blood. A disheartening silence wrapped itself around the village, confirming that any survivors had either succumbed to their wounds or, possibly, hopefully, escaped. Elzira’s face suggested she held no such hope. Instead, she gritted her teeth, fighting to reign in the righteous fury roaring within her so she could focus on her surroundings. She dismounted, scouring the grounds and shambled ruins. Blackened wooden beams littered the central pathway, outlining where homes had collapsed in the flames. Stepping into one of the fallen structures, she found two charred skeletal remains huddled together. Where flesh still clung to the bone, it was unevenly torn and jagged. Darkened spots of mud where blood, ash, and the dirt floors had pooled together were splattered around them in an indiscernible pattern. In the neighboring ruins, she found where a desperate parent, reduced entirely to bone, had wrapped themselves around their child, a smaller set of remains, curled into a ball. Here too, signs of vicious scavengers were consistent, torn flesh and pools of blood amidst the wreckage. Across the street, the remains were found by the door. A sword, nicked and rusted, lay in the ash not far away, the aged leather wrapping on the hilt scorched. Here the blood was splashed across what remained of the far wall. Everywhere she looked, Elzira found destruction. No piece of furniture left intact, the remains haphazardly strewn about. Every home burned to the foundation. Every corpse ravaged where they fell, only a few even making it out into the street. An entire village razed and no survivors to remember it. Her righteous rage flared, fueled by the sorrow and injustice. Elzira balled her gauntleted fists, seething. She kicked the cracked remains of a wooden bucket, sending it cascading into the home across the way, kicking up ash and dirt. As she did, she discovered footfalls in the soil beneath. A pair of massive, deep prints with three claws and thick hide or fur. She scattered more ash aside, following their distinct trail. They had moved quickly, jerking in different directions, hunched on all fours in places, moving from house to house with a frantic pace. She followed the trail as it joined in with other, smaller prints, creating a cratered mess of clawed indentions towards the outskirts of the community. “Gnolls,” Elzira spat. “They’re headed south.” Elzira whistled, summoning Vigilance to her. She remounted, taking one last look over the village. “I swear by the Triad, I will send these fiends hurtling back into the Abyss before I rest." She pressed Vigilance into a charge southward, following the trail of destruction the gnolls had left in their wake. She kept her eyes on the horizon, anticipating the moment when she’d finally catch her prey. She would have vengeance and it would be swift and merciless.
Elzira caught up to the band of gnolls, but not before they had already reached another community, a larger fishing village along the Chionthar River. She cursed herself for the hours wasted losing and retracing the gnoll’s trail as the day had given way to night. Now in the dull glow of a red dawn, she watched as smoke rose and swirled above the village. She heard the muffled, distant cries of the helpless as the gnolls swarmed in the streets. She pressed Vigilance onward into a full gallop, the wind whipping her hair behind her. Elzira mourned those she would be too late to save, but simultaneously reveled in knowing her retribution drew closer with each stride. She felt the lucid clarity of the moments before battle wash over her. Each breath sharp and measured. Her nose flared, letting the stench of smoke kindle the fire within her. Her grief and regret gave way to determination and ferocity. As she reached the edge of town, she saw a single gnoll stationed along the road, where it had prevented several villagers from escaping, their bodies sprawled out in pools of mud and blood. The gnoll turned at Elzria’s approach as she lept off her horse. She drove the fiend to the ground, her knee slamming into its chest. As she broke it’s nose with her gauntleted fist, she began to pray, each phrase punctuated with another blow. “Torm, grant me your courage, that I may fight without fear, undeterred by the legion before me. Helm, grant me your vision, that I might see the way forward and carve it through my enemies. Tyr, grant me your thirst for righteousness, that I may find it quenched in the blood of unjust.” She rose from the battered heap of bloodied fur and mangled bones beneath her, drew her sword, and charged.
Elzira drove her blade through the gnoll’s chest. She pushed until the hilt met its matted fur. She kicked the creature backward, freeing her blade. Dark icor splattered across her armor and the kitchen floor as the limp fiend collapsed against the overturned table. The gnolls hadn’t been in the house long before she arrived. They hadn’t set it aflame yet as they had the others, opting to search for victims or trinkets first, perhaps. Elzira hadn’t given them the chance to find anyone. She’d found this town’s folk to be brave, stalwart people. Once she’d cleared the northern stretch of gnolls, they immediately set to dousing flames and tending to the wounded. They rallied to one another, their resolve restored by the stranger slaying the monsters that beset them. They were not, however, trained fighters. That left the rest of the gnolls to her. She’d lost track after the first dozen or so, but knew there were still thrice that many or more scattered throughout the town as she worked her way south through its row of homes. She’d already consumed one of her healing potions and knew only a few still remained. She sensed the second gnoll pressing from behind, lunging with an axe already coated in fresh blood. She sidestepped, letting the creature’s momentum take it past her as she extended her foot out. The gnoll stumbled over her, falling onto it’s axe with a shocked welp. Before it could rise to its knees, Elzira set her booted foot on its back and stomped it down into the ground. The axe met its ribs with a satisfying crunch. The room fell quiet, save for a muffled high-pitched whimper coming from the kitchen. Elzira pushed sweat-soaked hair out of the way as she walked over to the large cupboard in the far corner, which shook slightly as she neared it. She pried the door open, finding a small girl inside, trembling. The child wiped her eyes, her freckled cheeks flushed and wet. “Are the monsters gone?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “These monsters are, but it’s not safe yet.” Elzira scanned the room for other hiding spots. “Where are your parents?” “Mama’d gone to the docks. Papa went to find her. Told me to hide in my best spot til he got back.” Elzira sighed. Gnolls she could handle. Kids, though, were another story. “Look, I can’t leave you here. So you’re gonna have to run for it.” “I can’t! Papa told me not to leave and what if the monsters catch me?!” The small girl sniffled, her eyes welling up again. “I can get to someone you know. They’ll watch you.” “I want my mama and papa!” “And I need to make sure they are still alive!” Elzira said, raising her voice. “But I can’t do that until you get out. Let’s go.” Elzira’s reasoning did not have the intended effect. The girls eyes overran with tears as she wailed in long sobs and hiccuping cries. “Don’t cry.” Elzira commanded. The child’s hiccups grew louder. She was gonna draw more gnolls here with her noise. “Look, I’m going to save them. But you can’t stay here.” “But, but Papa said—” “I know. But guess what. Your hiding spot wasn’t that good, okay, kid? I found you pretty easily. And if another monster comes, they will too.” “Another monster is gonna find me!” the girl shouted, setting off another round of tears. Elzira muffled a growl. She needed another tactic. She scanned the room for anything that could help and found nothing. She considered just leaving the kid to hide in the cupboard. Maybe if she cleared out the rest quick enough, none of the gnolls would double back and find her. Too risky. She threw her hands up, exasperated, when it occurred to her. Elzira unclasp her righthand gauntlet. “Did you know the symbol of Helm, the god of protection, is one of these?” she asked, holding the gauntlet out in front of her. “So as long as you have this, you’ll be safe.” The child wiped her bloodshot eyes, blinking. “Really? It’s a magical glove?” ”Well, it’s” Elzira started. “I mean, yes. Yeah, this magical glove will keep you safe. Just put it on.” “What about my mama and papa? Will it keep them safe?” “When I find them, I’ll give them my other one, okay?” Elzira said, holding up her other hand. Finally, the girl nodded slowly, taking the gauntlet from Elzira and wrapping her small arms around it, clutching it to her chest. Elzira let out a sigh of relief as she helped her from the cupboard and led her out the door. It only took a few moments to find another neighbor who agreed to look after the girl. With the worst part of the day now behind her, Elzira could return to the some thirty demons that needed slaying.
The next hours passed as blurred moments in the frenzy and revelry of battle until Elzira found herself struggling to stand, collapsing onto a porch. Between ragged breaths, Elzira uncorked and sucked down the last of her potions. She welcomed the familiar sensation of a simultaneous soothing chill and comforting warmth that tingled as it reached her arms and legs. Her breathing steadied as her myriad of bruises, clawed gashes, and at least two broken ribs stopped screaming at her in pain. A dull drone of discomfort remained, but that was enough. It had to be. She hoisted herself up, renewed, and examined her surroundings. She’d reached the center of town and what was left of a beautiful courtyard. Walking paths wound through flowerbeds where bushes were burned to the sticks and petals of purple, yellow, and pink lay crushed in heavy footprints. Wooden benches sat overturned, hacked in two, or ashen remnants. Where the wind had carried the scent of lavender, it now carried only smoke and soil. Across from the courtyard sat the docks that stretched into the river, holding some twenty fishing boats of varying sizes and styles. A small cluster of gnolls had set the boats aflame. The smoke-stained sails whipped in the air as if trying to escape the embers. The gnolls relished in the unfolding destruction, cackling in guttural, warbling tones. Elzira had no idea how many gnolls she’d sent back to the Abyss at this point. All that mattered were there were still a few more to meet her blade. These were potentially the last, so she would savor their defeat. She let out a battlecry, rushing toward the gnolls with her blade lifted high, reflecting radiant in the midday light. The first to reach Elzira swung at her with a pair of serrated daggers. It overextended, allowing Elzira to dodge to the side. She carried her momentum into a swift strike, dismembering its arm just below the elbow. It yelped as it fell, clutching its severed limb. She removed its head as well for good measure. The remaining two did not fare better. But they were far from the last, as Elzira had hoped.
There were far more fiends pillaging the town than she had guessed. They poured out from other buildings, from the boats that still smoldered in the docks, from further south outside the gates. They circled around her, chanting in abyssal. The chant intensified until it was a wall of noise encircling Elzira. A massive gnoll, at least two feet taller than Elzira, strode forward into the circle. Two tusks jutted from its jaw, dripping blood. On its forearms, thick, knotted ropes afixed two halves of a dented shield. It dragged behind it a dark crimson spear that gleamed menacing in the light. The chanting stopped. The moment hung in the air, silent. Elzira shifted her weight from one heel to the other, studying her enemy. She adjusted her grip on her blade, still feeling slightly off-balance without her gauntlet. Better that than still talking to the crying child. At least here she was in her element. Yes, this was what she was made to do. Some women were born to be mothers, nurturing and caring. Elzira was born to be a knight. She charged forward, sword pointed at the chest of the lumbering gnoll. With a speed and fluidity belying its size, the gnoll rushed to meet her, raising its spear. When they clashed, Elzira knocked the spearhead aside, moving in for a wide, arcing slash. The gnoll spun the spear around, slamming her exposed side with the shaft. Her armor prevented bones from breaking, but the force of the blow folded her over and out of her stance. The behemoth pressed the advantage, forcing her to give ground. It continued testing her defenses, leveraging its longer reach to keep her out of striking range. She dodged, parried, and dodged again, trying to sidestep the spear to close the gap, but repelled with each effort. Elzira scowled. She had never known a gnoll to fight tactically. They were just carnal rage and chaos, violence wrapped in demonic flesh. Baiting them into rash decisions often made quick work of them, but this one seemed to savor the fight. It moved methodically, attacking with intention, working her one way with successive jabs and then trying to catch her off guard on the opposite. It had the size and reach advantage, keeping her on the defensive. She bided her time, fighting every instinct to try and overwhelm the creature with a counteroffensive. Sheer force and raw power had gotten her through countless fights, but even she had her limits. When the gnoll thought it had lulled her into a false sense of familiarity, it launched itself forward, putting its entire weight behind the spear to skewer her. Elzira feigned surprise and dove forward, the spear whistling overhead. She rolled behind the gnoll and spun, letting her momentum lift her to her feet. Her sword flashed in the light as she sliced across the back of the gnoll’s leg, one of its tendons splitting and whipping in the air like a viper. Blood splattered across her and the onlooking gnolls. Their cheers and chants became even more frantic. The monstrous gnoll let out a long, bellowing cackle. It turned back to face her, limping on its severed leg. A grim, toothy smile spread across its face. It no longer had to test her any more.
The next set of blows came in quick succession, a blur of fury and rage. Once again, Elzira found herself on the backfoot. Evading and deflecting each lethal assault occupied her remaining strength. In the first reprieve, she tried to cover the distance for another counter, but the gnoll anticipated her. It brushed her aside with its forearm, the shield bracer catching her directly in the chest. The force knocked the wind from her and sent her reeling into the row of spectators. They heaved her to her feet, still chanting with manic mania, and shoved her back into the middle. She stumbled, still gasping for air, as the gnoll champion charged towards her. The spear punctured her shoulder, piercing the armor. The stench of her own burning flesh flooded her nostrils as smoke rose from the wound and her head spun. A burning sensation coursed from it, spreading like wildfire through her arm. The gnoll yanked the spear back and a second wave of pain shook through Elzira’s shoulder. Blood coagulated as the abyssal flames of the cursed spear cauterized her wound and melted the armor to her flesh. By instinct alone, she ducked as the shaft spun overhead with force that would have shattered her skull. She managed to roll out of the gnoll’s reach, resetting her stance and steadying her breathing. Though slowed by a limp, the gnoll still navigated the courtyard with unexpected speed. Combined with the advantageous reach of the spear, it was only a matter of time before it overwhelmed her. Her form was faltering, each parry or sidestep more desperate than the last. She wouldn’t be able to fend it off much longer.
The gnoll continued pushing her, pressing the attack with a relentless ferocity. It laughed with each strike, watching fatigue slowly weigh her down. She parried, almost too late, and fought through her aches and pain to lunge backwards, giving her space to catch her breath again. Elzira had spent too much of the fight giving ground, she decided. She’d waited for opportunities to strike, only to be rebuffed. She was no duelist or tactician. Her companions had never described her as graceful nor precise. Furious, they’d called her. Vicious. More like a monster, destructive and devastating. She had more in common with the hulking demon before her than the knights who had exiled her. Her muscles tensed at the still raw memories of abandonment, then more flashed through her mind. She could see the lifeless forms of friends lost in her crusades; could hear the screams of strangers she was too slow or weak to save; could feel the immeasurable weight of pyrrhic victories and how often they tasted of defeat. The memories ignited a wrath within her. She refused to let these people fall to this demonic filth or have her life cut short by the brute before her. She channeled this monstrous fury, letting her righteous rage burn hot, burning away pain and fatigue. The gnoll closed the distance. It moved with the slow, deliberate steps of a hunter who knew its prey was trapped. It laughed with a roaring cackle as it thrust its spear to pierce Elzira’s heart. Elzira knocked the blow aside, and charged, driving her good shoulder into its chest. The gnoll’s laughter cut short with a sharp exhale as it stumbled backwards. Elzira pressed her advantage, carving a gash in the gnoll’s chest. It howled in pain, retaliating with a wild swing of its spear. Elzira caught the shaft with her gauntleted hand, matching the monster’s raw strength with her own. The gnoll lurched to claw her with its open hand. She let the spear fall and leaned into the gnoll’s strike, driving her blade through its already useless knee. The leg bent unnaturally as ligaments tore and popped beneath its blood-soaked fur. The creature collapsed, now eye level with Elzira. It raised the spear shaft to parry her next blow. Elzira feigned and shifted her momentum into a wide slash at the last moment, hacking its exposed arm to the bone. The spear fell to the ground, useless. Eyes wide with a feral desperation, the gnoll convulsed frantically, trying to gore Elzira with its tusks to no avail. She stepped back, gripped her hilt with two hands and drove her blade through its throat. Elzira screamed, her shoulder searing with pain as she tore open the wound anew. She plunged the blade further into the cackling gnoll’s neck. She twisted the blade, pressing down with all of her strength, carving a ravine through the monster’s chest. Thick streams of blood flooded into the gap as she lurched backward, expunging her blade. The gnoll gurgled, choking. It’s head drooped, its soot black eyes still fixed on her. It let out a final hollow laugh, then its body collapsed before her.
The entire courtyard fell still for a moment as Elzira stood over the gnoll champion. Elzira heard each heartbeat as though it were a war drum beating in her ear. She took a step forward, her head swimming. The pain in her shoulder surged back into the forefront of her mind as her adrenaline faltered. She stumbled, only propping herself up with her sword. She struggled to steady herself, the world tilting this way and that, keeping her off-balance. The gnolls smiled and laughed in bursts of animalistic delight. They sensed her weakness. They ran to overwhelm her. Elzira forced herself into a fighting stance, her muscles resisting each effort. The first gnoll lept and clenched onto her opposite pauldron, trying to sink its teeth in and separate the clasps. The momentum sent her reeling as she dropped her sword. She fell, but managed to twist herself to one side, landing on the gnoll hard. The gnoll’s head snapped back as it slammed into the ground. She clutched its snout with her bare hand. She grunted as she smashed it down again repeatedly until it lay motionless, each effort draining her. Elzira rolled to her side, and pushed herself back to her feet with effort, searching desperately for her sword. She recovered it, but not before another gnoll collided with her from behind. She spun, her sides revolting in pain, and slashed her blade across the fiend’s chest. On her back, only pure instincts kept her from being pinned by a gnoll’s spear. She clasp onto the hilt with her free hand and leveraged it to pull herself back to her feet, throwing the gnoll off balance in the process. With a groan of exertion, she drove her blade through its leg as she turned to face the next wave of gnolls. Exhaustion took its toll. Her form was long expired in favor of desperate swings and barely managed parries. She lost count as bodies piled around her, her own senses lost and her thoughts blurring together in the relentless onslaught of claws and fur. At some point, she collapsed to the ground, her blade slipping from her grip. She strained, her muscles burning in agony, clenching her eyes with effort, to stand. She managed to rise to a knee. The gnolls swarmed her, biting and clawing and driving her back to the ground, until she could no longer see the courtyard nor the sky, only the monsters that now ravaged her. Elzira felt her armor pulled away in long, jagged scraps. Claws, teeth, and blades pierced her chainmail and then her flesh. She clenched her jaw, her eyes blurry with tears. She screamed. Curses. Fragments of prayers. Pleas. No response came. Nothing drowned out the sound of the gnolls devouring her. In a desperate surge of adrenaline, she raised her arms. She could see the white of bones protruding where the gnolls had already pulled away the flesh. She balled her broken fingers into a fist, swinging wildly with what little energy she could. It made no difference. Elzira drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain overwhelming all of her senses. She was dying.
Elzira stirred. She couldn’t feel her limbs. She forced her eyes to blink. One was swollen shut, the other watery and blurred. She could see light again, blindingly bright, the midday sun directly overhead. Silhouetted figures wrestled over her, tussling with the tangles of gnolls, pulling and pushing them off of her. In the haze of pain and confusion, the familiar scents of blood and sweat collided with the stench of rancid meat and scorched fur.
Distant shouts and a clamor of muddled noise drew her attention. She strained her neck toward the source. From where she lay, Elzira could see through a blurry, swollen eye a stream of fisherman, housewives, and farmers charging into the courtyard, driving the gnolls towards the riverfront. The villagers fought with clubs of broken furniture, fishing nets, torches, and kitchen cutlery. They fought bravely, many sacrificing their lives in the process. She watched, drifting in and out of focus, as the villagers surged, cornering the gnolls against the river.
Elzira laid outstretched, her presence flickering like a candle in a pool of melted wax. Her body broken, her senses dull, her mind wandering through faded memories, out of focus. “General, we have won the day.” a familiar voice said. “You did it.” Elzira coughed, blood filling her mouth. Her vision darkened, everything appearing as shadows and distorted points of light. She could vaguely discern her scribe kneeling beside her. The scribe’s robes were torn and stained with the dark, fiendish blood that seemed to coat the entire village. “You saved them.” her scribe said, her voice faltering with sobs. Elzira could not feel her tears falling upon her open wounds. “I should have kept more potions on hand. I should have become a medic. I should have—” A sob broke the scribe’s words apart. As she cradled the dying knight’s head in her lap, her entire body shook in sorrow and immeasurable grief mingled with regret and insurmountable helplessness. “If you… find that girl’s parents,” Elzira managed to whisper, wincing as she lifted her gauntleted hand, “give them this.” “I give you my word, Radiant.” The scribe reached for Elzira’s blade, buried among bodies. She placed it on Elzira’s chest and wrapped her hands around the hilt. “Thank you.” Elzira said, her voice faint and distant. “For staying true. For everything.” Then, in the once beautiful courtyard, encircled by torn flower petals and the many corpses of her foes, held by her steadfast companion, Elzira drew her final breaths.
And thus, Elzira, founder of the Knights of Holy Judgment, Intercessor of the Triad, and Protector of Idyllglen was laid to rest with honor by those she saved with her final acts of heroism. In a joy entangled with grief, the survivors celebrated Elzira’s life, trusting that with her great work completed, Elzira’s soul departed the mortal plane bound for Mount Celestia where she now rests in peace, alongside their finest warriors and greatest leaders in eternal radiance. So moved by her great sacrifice, the humble hamlet devoted itself to the Triad forevermore. The stone of remembrance placed to memorialize their protector became the cornerstone for a new temple, commemorating how Elzira venerated each of the Triad’s ideals. As funds were raised and the temple constructed, the scribe of Elzira, faithful in her recordings of the Radiant’s deeds and decrees, became the first priestess to lead and serve the generous and faithful fishing village. She carried out her duties with humility and dignity in many days of peace, always guided by the example set for her by her leader, mentor, and friend.
On this, the 20th day of Uktar in The Year of Fireslaughter, 932 in Dalereckoning: For the benefit of future knights, be they of the Order in its current fashion or any who hold true to the Old Ways, I, Yael, a loyal knight of the realm and agent of Helm, seek to record the last days of Elzira’s service as General of the Knights of Holy Judgment. Now several days into her expedient exile, the clarity of hindsight offers a clearer view of the events that set this path before us. I will, to the best of my memory, recount the important moments, that they may be a candle of truth that light the way towards the Triad’s will in all things.
Though there had always been an underlying tension between Elzira and her council of knights — she is a leader of impulse and instincts, after all — matters had deteriorated in recent weeks. Their disagreement came to a head following what would be Elzira’s final contract with the Order. “I’m sorry, am I on trial?” Elzira asked. “For bringing justice to a known killer, an abuser?” “General Elzira, I assure you, no one is on trial here,” said Justice Thoril. “Then what’s with Darren practically dragging me here?” Elzira replied. “Last I checked, you are my council. I summon you. You don’t demand my attendance. Not to defend myself.” Around the crescent-shaped table, each knight deliberated silently, exchanging glances for a sense of how to proceed. “My lady, you speak true, of our purpose at least.” continued Thoril. “We gathered here are humble servants of the Order, to aid you with guidance and wisdom.” Elizra rolled her eyes, but managed to bite her tongue and not interrupt. “Yes, yes. That is precisely why we are gathered here today,” interjected Watcher Jereth. “To guide you. Yes, the target was guilty before man and gods, there is no doubt. Yes, he likely deserved death. But we are not in the business of—” “of Judgment? It’s in our name.” Elzira blurted out, her restraint already spent. “Elzira, that is no way to speak in a council deliber—” “Gods, this decorum. Should I have curtsied while you chastise me? Always this propriety. Bureaucracy masquerading as chivalry. It’s exhausting!” “We must consider our reputation, General.” said Justicar Gregaran. “We are a large organization with many moving parts. Our contracts are an extension of our honor as knights. Not completing them correctly is a blemish on all we represent. It goes against everything we believe in. And this is not the first—” ”Oh, come on!” Elzira threw up her hands, exasperated. “Not following a contract to the every letter goes against everything we believe in?! Listen to yourselves! What about Tyr’s justice? Helm’s vigilance? Torm’s courage? All I see is cowards who look the other way while their hearts darken with greed.” Her words had touched a nerve. She looked to Gauntlet Marshall, her former lieutenant, seated opposite her. He rubbed his hands together, his eyes flittering around the room. He briefly looked to Elzira with a pleading glance, but when their eyes met, he looked away. In another time, he had been one of her closest companions. He had saved her life on the battlefield more than once. Now, he could hardly meet her gaze. “You want it straight, then?” said Gregaran, his patience equally spent. “Fine. Your behavior, beyond just this incident, has been unacceptable. Embarrassing, frankly. We are Knights with Nothing no longer. We haven’t been for years. Years! Yet you insist on recklessly ignoring every bit of structure or guardrails put in place. Even those for your own good.” “Oh, as if your—” Elzira cut in. “Enough.” Gregaran said. “We’ve tried to guide you. To steer your impulses towards the greater good. But you have rebuffed our efforts at every turn. Not any more. Now we must think of protecting the Order.” “From me?!” Elzira asked. “You are a cut that won’t heal,” he replied. “Or better yet, you are a broken bone. We tried to set you, but you refused to heal right. And now the only option is amputation.” “Oh, that’s rich. What are you gonna do, throw me out? Of the Order I founded? The Triad led us here through me. My visions.” “And we are thankful fo—” “Bullshit!” Elzira’s unwavering glare swept across the room. Less than half the knights looked back at her as her indignation boiled over. Some seemed embarrassed, others uncertain, and others trying to hide in their high-backed seats. “I helped build these towers before half of you took your oaths.” Elzira continued. “I recruited our best knights, one squire at a time. I’ve completed more contracts than this entire council combined! And you’re gonna, what, expel me because I killed one measly, motherfucking murderer?” “Yes,” said Gregaran. “And for all the other concerns you have put on clear display here tod—” Elzira didn’t hear the rest of his answer as she slammed the door behind her, splintering the frame around the hinges.
Elzira marched directly for the barracks. Wood scraped against stone as Elzira threw the door open unceremoniously, her still armorclad silhouette outlined in the doorframe as she called out. “Any of you who think the council are full of shit with quarterstaffs up their shitholes, up and with me, now.” Bleary eyed knights stirred in their bunks. Cantrips illuminated small trinkets around the room, the bedframes casting long shadows across the unadorned chamber. “I said, up and with me, soldiers. I assure you, this is not some twisted test of loyalty.” The room remained silent and still, save for the creaking of beds as the knights shifted uncomfortably. “No, you know what, this is a test.” she said, scanning the dimly lit room to try and meet each individual’s gaze as she continued. “To see which of you realize the danger of what the council is turning our Order into. To see which of you put the Triad’s will, and our purpose to fulfill it, over the terms and conditions of our contracts. To see which of you are truly knights and not just mercenaries in fucking shining armor.” Elzira paused, fighting back the rage still burning in her throat from the earlier meeting. “So, I’ll say it one more time - up and with me, soldiers, if you be true Knights of Holy Judgment. Together we will show the council that real knights still stand up for the way things should be.” No one moved from their beds. The room hung static in the tension of the moment. Elzira felt her cheeks blush, resenting herself for it as she squeezed her eyes shut and forced a deep exhale. In the low light, in the awful silence of rejection, Elzira understood too late. She knew not a single face in the barracks. She recognized them, but she did not know them. Her companions, those who had founded this keep alongside her, were gone. And these knights were nothing like the ones she remembered. She turned and left, alone.
Gauntet Marshall found Elzira in the training yards. From the covered walkways of the gathering hall across the courtyard, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of her holding a wooden pell accountable for her fury. “Your form is as reckless as ever,” Marshall said as he approached, clutching his officer’s jacket against the evening’s cutting chill. Splinters burst from the training dummy as Elzira landed a strike that would have cut to the spine of her pitiable foe. “And as effective,” he continued, wiping sawdust out of his hair. Elzira spun to face him. She did not lower her sword. “Have you come to tell me you’ve seen reason?” she asked. “And what reason might that be?” “That this obsession with contracts and terms and the letter of the law is just a load of shit. It muddies the waters of what’s good and right and just.” “That is not reason, but merely one perspective.” Marshall replied. “If you would but for a moment step back and see—” “I see clearly enough.” “Then tell me what you see.” “I saw this castle when it was nothing but an empty, barren field. I saw visions from nations away. Visions of a world made better by faithful knights who didn’t let the world’s ways get in the way of their worship. I saw all of it and we made it so.” “No one is trying to diminish the work you have done. Your legacy is that of exemplary dedication to the Triad and to the Knights.” “You think I’m worried about my *legacy*? About what some scribe will say about me? Damn their words to Asmodeus!” “No, I think you’re worried about losing control. Of not recognizing the order as it evolves - as it has to evolve. I tried to tell you earlier.” “Before or after you and the council accused me of being a bloodthirsty bitch?” Elzira seethed. “That’s not what I — look. We are not some ragtag group of knights going from town to town putting out fires or hogtying bandits anymore. We are an institution now, whether we like it or not.” Snow began to fall, swirling in the relentless wind like small storms roiling across the yard. “The people of Sundabar count on us.” Marshall continued. “Our knights have families they need to provide meals and homes for. We can’t take care of the Triad’s will if we can’t take care of ourselves.” “We took care of ourselves just fine when we trusted in the Triad to meet our needs rather than signing twenty page contracts to do a single good deed.” “Well yes, the council is trying to add structure. Trying to maintain a certain reputation. But all towards the Order’s mission. I mean, think of how much more we can accomplish with these sort of systems in place. The Order could be thrice as big, our reach going far beyond the Silver March. We could—” “Well, it sounds like you’ve made up your mind about whose side you’re on. Good to know,” Elzira said as she sheathed her sword. She turned toward her quarters. Where her rage had felt like a bonfire earlier, now only sparks of a doused ember lingered. She was tired and needed to think. “Elzira, wait. We need to talk about this, the council is—” She stopped, but did not turn back to face him. “You know, I expected this from Gregaran and Thoril. But you?” Marshall took a step closer. “I know you’re angry. I know things are different. But you have to trust me. The council’s trying, — we’re trying — to do what’s best for the Knights. For all of us. Just imagine the potential. The Knights serving across the Sword Coast. We could change the world.” “And here I thought we already had.” Elzira resigned, as she turned back to leave. “But I guess you remember those years differently.”
In the days following, the council unilaterally and unanimously promoted themselves to the temporary rank of High Council atop the Order’s hierarchy. In their declaration, they citied concerns of Elzira’s “erratic behavior”, “unrepentant spirit”, and “grave concerns over the Order’s direction,” among other justifications. With their newly self-ascribed authority, they drafted their first executive action — a writ of dismissal.
“They have lost sight of the Knights. Of the Triad. All of it.” Several days after our initial departure, Radiant Elzira finally read the writ of dismal, the formal proclamation of her exile. “We never needed contracts to serve our community. Sure, it was good to have some structure, but they’ve made a bureaucracy out of our mission. Meetings instead of making a difference.” Elzira crumbled the writ in her fist, letting out a seething sigh. “They squander days, comfortable in their high-backed chairs and velvet robes, instead of saddled and armored like proper fucking knights. Who even heard of knights spending all their time sitting around a table?!” She emphasized her point punching her gauntleted fist into the packed snow. “Debating terms and squabbling over titles instead of keeping watch and serving justice. Petulant children! It’s a wonder the castle didn’t collapse from the weight of their hubris, gods damned bastards.” She stared down at the writ and then threw it into the evening’s fire, watching the page curl and blacken. “I dedicated my entire life to the knights. Everyone back home thought I had gone insane, said I’d be possessed or seduced by some devilry. They couldn’t believe that the visions I saw were real.” As Elzira spoke, she stared into the campfire, the reflection of the flame burning in her eyes. “I spent the last decade proving them wrong. And all of it taken from me by a council of my peers. By men I trained. Men I served with… Men I trusted. For all the good it’s done, this is my recompense. Exiled from the place I thought would be my home until the Triad finally beckoned me to rest. Now for the second time with nowhere else to go.” Elzira continued to watch the flames as the last pen strokes burn away, leaving only ash and the bitter taste of betrayal.
On this, the 13th day of Mirtul in The Year of the Five Jugs, 933 in Dalereckoning: For the ongoing benefit of future knights, be they of the wayward Order, buried in bureaucracy, or tho who remain Knights with Nothing in spirit, I seek to record the valiant deeds of Elzira the Exiled in the months that followed her departure. May they be a beacon of righteousness that beckons the true towards the Triad’s will in all things.
The next many tendays passed swiftly, as did the scenery around us. We followed the winding road through Everlund. Though intending to pass straight through, Elzira came across a small hamlet held hostage by the wanton violence and covetousness of banditry. By night’s end, their bodies burned in a pyre, an offering of righteousness to the Triad. For though the Knights had forsaken her, she would not forsake their mission. Bidding the grateful farmers and ranchers farewell, we pressed on southwards. We straddled the Evermoors and the High Forest while the Star Mounts watched us from their peaks along the eastern horizon. At the Dessarin River, we turned westward, watching the lazy barges make their way for Yartar. Here, Elzira slew a terrible and menacing hydra. The local fishermen pleaded to hold a grand feast in her honor. Sustained enough by their renewed faith in the Triad, Elzira humbly declined and we continued on our journey. Crossing the River Surbin, we then made for Triboar. We arrived serendipitously, discovering the town sieged by bands of trolls spilling out eastward from the Sword Mountains. Elzira rallied Triboar’s militia and together they defended the wall against the monstrous assault. Discovering the troll’s larger machinations to lay waste to Nimoar’s Hold, Elzira led all the soldiers Triboar could spare to press southward. Riding in from the northwest, Elzira and her forces flanked the trolls as they collided with Nimoar and his barbarians in the hills to the north, but the monstrous army was undeterred. The battle raged on for several days before the trolls finally retreated, much of their forces reduced to ash to prevent regeneration. By the end, the hills themselves were ablaze and the surviving trolls retreated as far north as the Evermoors.
After restoring peace to the Dessarin Valley and many days of long riding, Elzira arrived in the lands that had once been the Delimbiyran duchy. Though the region had faced many centuries of hardships and seen the rise and fall of several governments, she found herself welcomed by a community blossoming behind the strength and leadership of a young man, Tyndal. In the year prior, Tyndal had saved his family as they crossed the Delimbiyr River, fighting off some half-dozen lizardfolk with only his dagger. Since then, he and others had patrolled diligently to keep the area safe. As they did, farmers and their families began to resettle the area. Tyndal saw an opportunity to resettle the Delimbiyran duchy here in the riverbed where the seat of power could be better protected, building a keep that would allow for marshaling a militia and building a settlement along the Trade Way. Having a great deal of experience in such matters from the early days of expanding Sundabar and founding the Hall of Everlasting Justice, Elzira shared many words of wisdom and lessons learned with Tyndal, who himself was a devoted follower of Lathander. Elzira lingered in the encampment for several tenday while the winter passed, training the new militia, patrolling the region for monsters and men of evil alike, and advising Tyndal on his ambitious goals. Only after the worst of the winter storms subsided did we continue on southward toward Elturel, where we would finally meet with the River Chionthar and follow it eastward to Westgate and then across the Sea of Fallen Stars to our final destination, Elzira’s home nation of Impiltur.
On this, the 9th day of Eleasis in The Year of the Five Jugs, 933 in Dalereckoning: For the benefit of future knights who wish to follow in the ways of honor, I seek to record the last days of Elzira, the true General and Founder of the Knights of Holy Judgment, the faithful vanguard of the Knights with Nothing, the exiled intercessor of the Triad, and the Bane of Yeenoghu’s Cackle.
Elzira led her mare, Vigilance, through the ashen remains of the small hamlet. The air hung heavy with the smell of smoke and blood. A disheartening silence wrapped itself around the village, confirming that any survivors had either succumbed to their wounds or, possibly, hopefully, escaped. Elzira’s face suggested she held no such hope. Instead, she gritted her teeth, fighting to reign in the righteous fury roaring within her so she could focus on her surroundings. She dismounted, scouring the grounds and shambled ruins. Blackened wooden beams littered the central pathway, outlining where homes had collapsed in the flames. Stepping into one of the fallen structures, she found two charred skeletal remains huddled together. Where flesh still clung to the bone, it was unevenly torn and jagged. Darkened spots of mud where blood, ash, and the dirt floors had pooled together were splattered around them in an indiscernible pattern. In the neighboring ruins, she found where a desperate parent, reduced entirely to bone, had wrapped themselves around their child, a smaller set of remains, curled into a ball. Here too, signs of vicious scavengers were consistent, torn flesh and pools of blood amidst the wreckage. Across the street, the remains were found by the door. A sword, nicked and rusted, lay in the ash not far away, the aged leather wrapping on the hilt scorched. Here the blood was splashed across what remained of the far wall. Everywhere she looked, Elzira found destruction. No piece of furniture left intact, the remains haphazardly strewn about. Every home burned to the foundation. Every corpse ravaged where they fell, only a few even making it out into the street. An entire village razed and no survivors to remember it. Her righteous rage flared, fueled by the sorrow and injustice. Elzira balled her gauntleted fists, seething. She kicked the cracked remains of a wooden bucket, sending it cascading into the home across the way, kicking up ash and dirt. As she did, she discovered footfalls in the soil beneath. A pair of massive, deep prints with three claws and thick hide or fur. She scattered more ash aside, following their distinct trail. They had moved quickly, jerking in different directions, hunched on all fours in places, moving from house to house with a frantic pace. She followed the trail as it joined in with other, smaller prints, creating a cratered mess of clawed indentions towards the outskirts of the community. “Gnolls,” Elzira spat. “They’re headed south.” Elzira whistled, summoning Vigilance to her. She remounted, taking one last look over the village. “I swear by the Triad, I will send these fiends hurtling back into the Abyss before I rest." She pressed Vigilance into a charge southward, following the trail of destruction the gnolls had left in their wake. She kept her eyes on the horizon, anticipating the moment when she’d finally catch her prey. She would have vengeance and it would be swift and merciless.
Elzira caught up to the band of gnolls, but not before they had already reached another community, a larger fishing village along the Chionthar River. She cursed herself for the hours wasted losing and retracing the gnoll’s trail as the day had given way to night. Now in the dull glow of a red dawn, she watched as smoke rose and swirled above the village. She heard the muffled, distant cries of the helpless as the gnolls swarmed in the streets. She pressed Vigilance onward into a full gallop, the wind whipping her hair behind her. Elzira mourned those she would be too late to save, but simultaneously reveled in knowing her retribution drew closer with each stride. She felt the lucid clarity of the moments before battle wash over her. Each breath sharp and measured. Her nose flared, letting the stench of smoke kindle the fire within her. Her grief and regret gave way to determination and ferocity. As she reached the edge of town, she saw a single gnoll stationed along the road, where it had prevented several villagers from escaping, their bodies sprawled out in pools of mud and blood. The gnoll turned at Elzria’s approach as she lept off her horse. She drove the fiend to the ground, her knee slamming into its chest. As she broke it’s nose with her gauntleted fist, she began to pray, each phrase punctuated with another blow. “Torm, grant me your courage, that I may fight without fear, undeterred by the legion before me. Helm, grant me your vision, that I might see the way forward and carve it through my enemies. Tyr, grant me your thirst for righteousness, that I may find it quenched in the blood of unjust.” She rose from the battered heap of bloodied fur and mangled bones beneath her, drew her sword, and charged.
Elzira drove her blade through the gnoll’s chest. She pushed until the hilt met its matted fur. She kicked the creature backward, freeing her blade. Dark icor splattered across her armor and the kitchen floor as the limp fiend collapsed against the overturned table. The gnolls hadn’t been in the house long before she arrived. They hadn’t set it aflame yet as they had the others, opting to search for victims or trinkets first, perhaps. Elzira hadn’t given them the chance to find anyone. She’d found this town’s folk to be brave, stalwart people. Once she’d cleared the northern stretch of gnolls, they immediately set to dousing flames and tending to the wounded. They rallied to one another, their resolve restored by the stranger slaying the monsters that beset them. They were not, however, trained fighters. That left the rest of the gnolls to her. She’d lost track after the first dozen or so, but knew there were still thrice that many or more scattered throughout the town as she worked her way south through its row of homes. She’d already consumed one of her healing potions and knew only a few still remained. She sensed the second gnoll pressing from behind, lunging with an axe already coated in fresh blood. She sidestepped, letting the creature’s momentum take it past her as she extended her foot out. The gnoll stumbled over her, falling onto it’s axe with a shocked welp. Before it could rise to its knees, Elzira set her booted foot on its back and stomped it down into the ground. The axe met its ribs with a satisfying crunch. The room fell quiet, save for a muffled high-pitched whimper coming from the kitchen. Elzira pushed sweat-soaked hair out of the way as she walked over to the large cupboard in the far corner, which shook slightly as she neared it. She pried the door open, finding a small girl inside, trembling. The child wiped her eyes, her freckled cheeks flushed and wet. “Are the monsters gone?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “These monsters are, but it’s not safe yet.” Elzira scanned the room for other hiding spots. “Where are your parents?” “Mama’d gone to the docks. Papa went to find her. Told me to hide in my best spot til he got back.” Elzira sighed. Gnolls she could handle. Kids, though, were another story. “Look, I can’t leave you here. So you’re gonna have to run for it.” “I can’t! Papa told me not to leave and what if the monsters catch me?!” The small girl sniffled, her eyes welling up again. “I can get to someone you know. They’ll watch you.” “I want my mama and papa!” “And I need to make sure they are still alive!” Elzira said, raising her voice. “But I can’t do that until you get out. Let’s go.” Elzira’s reasoning did not have the intended effect. The girls eyes overran with tears as she wailed in long sobs and hiccuping cries. “Don’t cry.” Elzira commanded. The child’s hiccups grew louder. She was gonna draw more gnolls here with her noise. “Look, I’m going to save them. But you can’t stay here.” “But, but Papa said—” “I know. But guess what. Your hiding spot wasn’t that good, okay, kid? I found you pretty easily. And if another monster comes, they will too.” “Another monster is gonna find me!” the girl shouted, setting off another round of tears. Elzira muffled a growl. She needed another tactic. She scanned the room for anything that could help and found nothing. She considered just leaving the kid to hide in the cupboard. Maybe if she cleared out the rest quick enough, none of the gnolls would double back and find her. Too risky. She threw her hands up, exasperated, when it occurred to her. Elzira unclasp her righthand gauntlet. “Did you know the symbol of Helm, the god of protection, is one of these?” she asked, holding the gauntlet out in front of her. “So as long as you have this, you’ll be safe.” The child wiped her bloodshot eyes, blinking. “Really? It’s a magical glove?” ”Well, it’s” Elzira started. “I mean, yes. Yeah, this magical glove will keep you safe. Just put it on.” “What about my mama and papa? Will it keep them safe?” “When I find them, I’ll give them my other one, okay?” Elzira said, holding up her other hand. Finally, the girl nodded slowly, taking the gauntlet from Elzira and wrapping her small arms around it, clutching it to her chest. Elzira let out a sigh of relief as she helped her from the cupboard and led her out the door. It only took a few moments to find another neighbor who agreed to look after the girl. With the worst part of the day now behind her, Elzira could return to the some thirty demons that needed slaying.
The next hours passed as blurred moments in the frenzy and revelry of battle until Elzira found herself struggling to stand, collapsing onto a porch. Between ragged breaths, Elzira uncorked and sucked down the last of her potions. She welcomed the familiar sensation of a simultaneous soothing chill and comforting warmth that tingled as it reached her arms and legs. Her breathing steadied as her myriad of bruises, clawed gashes, and at least two broken ribs stopped screaming at her in pain. A dull drone of discomfort remained, but that was enough. It had to be. She hoisted herself up, renewed, and examined her surroundings. She’d reached the center of town and what was left of a beautiful courtyard. Walking paths wound through flowerbeds where bushes were burned to the sticks and petals of purple, yellow, and pink lay crushed in heavy footprints. Wooden benches sat overturned, hacked in two, or ashen remnants. Where the wind had carried the scent of lavender, it now carried only smoke and soil. Across from the courtyard sat the docks that stretched into the river, holding some twenty fishing boats of varying sizes and styles. A small cluster of gnolls had set the boats aflame. The smoke-stained sails whipped in the air as if trying to escape the embers. The gnolls relished in the unfolding destruction, cackling in guttural, warbling tones. Elzira had no idea how many gnolls she’d sent back to the Abyss at this point. All that mattered were there were still a few more to meet her blade. These were potentially the last, so she would savor their defeat. She let out a battlecry, rushing toward the gnolls with her blade lifted high, reflecting radiant in the midday light. The first to reach Elzira swung at her with a pair of serrated daggers. It overextended, allowing Elzira to dodge to the side. She carried her momentum into a swift strike, dismembering its arm just below the elbow. It yelped as it fell, clutching its severed limb. She removed its head as well for good measure. The remaining two did not fare better. But they were far from the last, as Elzira had hoped.
There were far more fiends pillaging the town than she had guessed. They poured out from other buildings, from the boats that still smoldered in the docks, from further south outside the gates. They circled around her, chanting in abyssal. The chant intensified until it was a wall of noise encircling Elzira. A massive gnoll, at least two feet taller than Elzira, strode forward into the circle. Two tusks jutted from its jaw, dripping blood. On its forearms, thick, knotted ropes afixed two halves of a dented shield. It dragged behind it a dark crimson spear that gleamed menacing in the light. The chanting stopped. The moment hung in the air, silent. Elzira shifted her weight from one heel to the other, studying her enemy. She adjusted her grip on her blade, still feeling slightly off-balance without her gauntlet. Better that than still talking to the crying child. At least here she was in her element. Yes, this was what she was made to do. Some women were born to be mothers, nurturing and caring. Elzira was born to be a knight. She charged forward, sword pointed at the chest of the lumbering gnoll. With a speed and fluidity belying its size, the gnoll rushed to meet her, raising its spear. When they clashed, Elzira knocked the spearhead aside, moving in for a wide, arcing slash. The gnoll spun the spear around, slamming her exposed side with the shaft. Her armor prevented bones from breaking, but the force of the blow folded her over and out of her stance. The behemoth pressed the advantage, forcing her to give ground. It continued testing her defenses, leveraging its longer reach to keep her out of striking range. She dodged, parried, and dodged again, trying to sidestep the spear to close the gap, but repelled with each effort. Elzira scowled. She had never known a gnoll to fight tactically. They were just carnal rage and chaos, violence wrapped in demonic flesh. Baiting them into rash decisions often made quick work of them, but this one seemed to savor the fight. It moved methodically, attacking with intention, working her one way with successive jabs and then trying to catch her off guard on the opposite. It had the size and reach advantage, keeping her on the defensive. She bided her time, fighting every instinct to try and overwhelm the creature with a counteroffensive. Sheer force and raw power had gotten her through countless fights, but even she had her limits. When the gnoll thought it had lulled her into a false sense of familiarity, it launched itself forward, putting its entire weight behind the spear to skewer her. Elzira feigned surprise and dove forward, the spear whistling overhead. She rolled behind the gnoll and spun, letting her momentum lift her to her feet. Her sword flashed in the light as she sliced across the back of the gnoll’s leg, one of its tendons splitting and whipping in the air like a viper. Blood splattered across her and the onlooking gnolls. Their cheers and chants became even more frantic. The monstrous gnoll let out a long, bellowing cackle. It turned back to face her, limping on its severed leg. A grim, toothy smile spread across its face. It no longer had to test her any more.
The next set of blows came in quick succession, a blur of fury and rage. Once again, Elzira found herself on the backfoot. Evading and deflecting each lethal assault occupied her remaining strength. In the first reprieve, she tried to cover the distance for another counter, but the gnoll anticipated her. It brushed her aside with its forearm, the shield bracer catching her directly in the chest. The force knocked the wind from her and sent her reeling into the row of spectators. They heaved her to her feet, still chanting with manic mania, and shoved her back into the middle. She stumbled, still gasping for air, as the gnoll champion charged towards her. The spear punctured her shoulder, piercing the armor. The stench of her own burning flesh flooded her nostrils as smoke rose from the wound and her head spun. A burning sensation coursed from it, spreading like wildfire through her arm. The gnoll yanked the spear back and a second wave of pain shook through Elzira’s shoulder. Blood coagulated as the abyssal flames of the cursed spear cauterized her wound and melted the armor to her flesh. By instinct alone, she ducked as the shaft spun overhead with force that would have shattered her skull. She managed to roll out of the gnoll’s reach, resetting her stance and steadying her breathing. Though slowed by a limp, the gnoll still navigated the courtyard with unexpected speed. Combined with the advantageous reach of the spear, it was only a matter of time before it overwhelmed her. Her form was faltering, each parry or sidestep more desperate than the last. She wouldn’t be able to fend it off much longer.
The gnoll continued pushing her, pressing the attack with a relentless ferocity. It laughed with each strike, watching fatigue slowly weigh her down. She parried, almost too late, and fought through her aches and pain to lunge backwards, giving her space to catch her breath again. Elzira had spent too much of the fight giving ground, she decided. She’d waited for opportunities to strike, only to be rebuffed. She was no duelist or tactician. Her companions had never described her as graceful nor precise. Furious, they’d called her. Vicious. More like a monster, destructive and devastating. She had more in common with the hulking demon before her than the knights who had exiled her. Her muscles tensed at the still raw memories of abandonment, then more flashed through her mind. She could see the lifeless forms of friends lost in her crusades; could hear the screams of strangers she was too slow or weak to save; could feel the immeasurable weight of pyrrhic victories and how often they tasted of defeat. The memories ignited a wrath within her. She refused to let these people fall to this demonic filth or have her life cut short by the brute before her. She channeled this monstrous fury, letting her righteous rage burn hot, burning away pain and fatigue. The gnoll closed the distance. It moved with the slow, deliberate steps of a hunter who knew its prey was trapped. It laughed with a roaring cackle as it thrust its spear to pierce Elzira’s heart. Elzira knocked the blow aside, and charged, driving her good shoulder into its chest. The gnoll’s laughter cut short with a sharp exhale as it stumbled backwards. Elzira pressed her advantage, carving a gash in the gnoll’s chest. It howled in pain, retaliating with a wild swing of its spear. Elzira caught the shaft with her gauntleted hand, matching the monster’s raw strength with her own. The gnoll lurched to claw her with its open hand. She let the spear fall and leaned into the gnoll’s strike, driving her blade through its already useless knee. The leg bent unnaturally as ligaments tore and popped beneath its blood-soaked fur. The creature collapsed, now eye level with Elzira. It raised the spear shaft to parry her next blow. Elzira feigned and shifted her momentum into a wide slash at the last moment, hacking its exposed arm to the bone. The spear fell to the ground, useless. Eyes wide with a feral desperation, the gnoll convulsed frantically, trying to gore Elzira with its tusks to no avail. She stepped back, gripped her hilt with two hands and drove her blade through its throat. Elzira screamed, her shoulder searing with pain as she tore open the wound anew. She plunged the blade further into the cackling gnoll’s neck. She twisted the blade, pressing down with all of her strength, carving a ravine through the monster’s chest. Thick streams of blood flooded into the gap as she lurched backward, expunging her blade. The gnoll gurgled, choking. It’s head drooped, its soot black eyes still fixed on her. It let out a final hollow laugh, then its body collapsed before her.
The entire courtyard fell still for a moment as Elzira stood over the gnoll champion. Elzira heard each heartbeat as though it were a war drum beating in her ear. She took a step forward, her head swimming. The pain in her shoulder surged back into the forefront of her mind as her adrenaline faltered. She stumbled, only propping herself up with her sword. She struggled to steady herself, the world tilting this way and that, keeping her off-balance. The gnolls smiled and laughed in bursts of animalistic delight. They sensed her weakness. They ran to overwhelm her. Elzira forced herself into a fighting stance, her muscles resisting each effort. The first gnoll lept and clenched onto her opposite pauldron, trying to sink its teeth in and separate the clasps. The momentum sent her reeling as she dropped her sword. She fell, but managed to twist herself to one side, landing on the gnoll hard. The gnoll’s head snapped back as it slammed into the ground. She clutched its snout with her bare hand. She grunted as she smashed it down again repeatedly until it lay motionless, each effort draining her. Elzira rolled to her side, and pushed herself back to her feet with effort, searching desperately for her sword. She recovered it, but not before another gnoll collided with her from behind. She spun, her sides revolting in pain, and slashed her blade across the fiend’s chest. On her back, only pure instincts kept her from being pinned by a gnoll’s spear. She clasp onto the hilt with her free hand and leveraged it to pull herself back to her feet, throwing the gnoll off balance in the process. With a groan of exertion, she drove her blade through its leg as she turned to face the next wave of gnolls. Exhaustion took its toll. Her form was long expired in favor of desperate swings and barely managed parries. She lost count as bodies piled around her, her own senses lost and her thoughts blurring together in the relentless onslaught of claws and fur. At some point, she collapsed to the ground, her blade slipping from her grip. She strained, her muscles burning in agony, clenching her eyes with effort, to stand. She managed to rise to a knee. The gnolls swarmed her, biting and clawing and driving her back to the ground, until she could no longer see the courtyard nor the sky, only the monsters that now ravaged her. Elzira felt her armor pulled away in long, jagged scraps. Claws, teeth, and blades pierced her chainmail and then her flesh. She clenched her jaw, her eyes blurry with tears. She screamed. Curses. Fragments of prayers. Pleas. No response came. Nothing drowned out the sound of the gnolls devouring her. In a desperate surge of adrenaline, she raised her arms. She could see the white of bones protruding where the gnolls had already pulled away the flesh. She balled her broken fingers into a fist, swinging wildly with what little energy she could. It made no difference. Elzira drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain overwhelming all of her senses. She was dying.
Elzira stirred. She couldn’t feel her limbs. She forced her eyes to blink. One was swollen shut, the other watery and blurred. She could see light again, blindingly bright, the midday sun directly overhead. Silhouetted figures wrestled over her, tussling with the tangles of gnolls, pulling and pushing them off of her. In the haze of pain and confusion, the familiar scents of blood and sweat collided with the stench of rancid meat and scorched fur.
Distant shouts and a clamor of muddled noise drew her attention. She strained her neck toward the source. From where she lay, Elzira could see through a blurry, swollen eye a stream of fisherman, housewives, and farmers charging into the courtyard, driving the gnolls towards the riverfront. The villagers fought with clubs of broken furniture, fishing nets, torches, and kitchen cutlery. They fought bravely, many sacrificing their lives in the process. She watched, drifting in and out of focus, as the villagers surged, cornering the gnolls against the river.
Elzira laid outstretched, her presence flickering like a candle in a pool of melted wax. Her body broken, her senses dull, her mind wandering through faded memories, out of focus. “General, we have won the day.” a familiar voice said. “You did it.” Elzira coughed, blood filling her mouth. Her vision darkened, everything appearing as shadows and distorted points of light. She could vaguely discern her scribe kneeling beside her. The scribe’s robes were torn and stained with the dark, fiendish blood that seemed to coat the entire village. “You saved them.” her scribe said, her voice faltering with sobs. Elzira could not feel her tears falling upon her open wounds. “I should have kept more potions on hand. I should have become a medic. I should have—” A sob broke the scribe’s words apart. As she cradled the dying knight’s head in her lap, her entire body shook in sorrow and immeasurable grief mingled with regret and insurmountable helplessness. “If you… find that girl’s parents,” Elzira managed to whisper, wincing as she lifted her gauntleted hand, “give them this.” “I give you my word, Radiant.” The scribe reached for Elzira’s blade, buried among bodies. She placed it on Elzira’s chest and wrapped her hands around the hilt. “Thank you.” Elzira said, her voice faint and distant. “For staying true. For everything.” Then, in the once beautiful courtyard, encircled by torn flower petals and the many corpses of her foes, held by her steadfast companion, Elzira drew her final breaths.
And thus, Elzira, founder of the Knights of Holy Judgment, Intercessor of the Triad, and Protector of Idyllglen was laid to rest with honor by those she saved with her final acts of heroism. In a joy entangled with grief, the survivors celebrated Elzira’s life, trusting that with her great work completed, Elzira’s soul departed the mortal plane bound for Mount Celestia where she now rests in peace, alongside their finest warriors and greatest leaders in eternal radiance. So moved by her great sacrifice, the humble hamlet devoted itself to the Triad forevermore. The stone of remembrance placed to memorialize their protector became the cornerstone for a new temple, commemorating how Elzira venerated each of the Triad’s ideals. As funds were raised and the temple constructed, the scribe of Elzira, faithful in her recordings of the Radiant’s deeds and decrees, became the first priestess to lead and serve the generous and faithful fishing village. She carried out her duties with humility and dignity in many days of peace, always guided by the example set for her by her leader, mentor, and friend.
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