Harvest Moon, Day 13, Year 971
When I woke up this morning, I expected it to be a day like any other. But in the aftermath of the attack on Druthiel, my oaths have been tested like ever before. Though I harbor no doubts that what I did was honorable, I do not know if these actions will lead to future salvation, or ruin. I write these entries here as a testament to my actions and thoughts, that I might properly reflect on my decisions. And, if necessary, to seek appropriate atonement for my misdeeds.
Lady Feria, my Goddess, I beseech thee, as Your humble servant: Please provide Your Holy guidance on how You wish for me to proceed.
I shall start at the beginning.
I awoke right as the first lights of the false dawn began to dispel the night’s darkness. The chilled morning air whistled in through the cracked-open windowsill in my cell, rousing me from what remained of my slumber. After donning a simple set of robes, I proceeded to my shrine, that I might offer my morning prayers and devotions. I prayed, as I always did, for my Lady’s Holy guidance and strength. I prayed for the strength to protect Druthiel, and that my sword arm might always strike straight and true, smiting all those who would threaten those who have given themselves to my Lady’s Holy protection.
The first and larger of the two suns was halfway over the horizon when I donned my armor and emerged from my cloister to greet the day. Breakfast was simple, as it always was. Gruel of oat and barley, a small glass of milk, and some assorted fruits from the surrounding area. Mostly blue- and raspberries, though I did get to enjoy a few slivers of peach.
It was when I entered the monastery courtyard to begin my daily training and meditation that my life forever changed. My training began as it always did, but as I drew my sword and began to practice my swings and stances and combinations, the belltower bellowed furiously through the compound.
Worry filled even my steeled heart and soul as I rushed into the main chapel, eager to hear the assignment and carry out my sworn duty to defend my town and its people. I was not alone when I arrived. Hundreds of townsfolk were making their way toward the monastery, seeking shelter from whatever force dared threaten Druthiel.
I will never forget the agony and fear of the villagers, their expressions seared into my mind for eternity. Babies screaming, children whimpering, clutching onto stuffed animals. Mothers swaddling infants, fathers arms wrapped around their wives and children, carrying whatever bits of food or sentimental trinkets they could grab.
It was not the first time I’d seen such anguish, though, Lady Feria willing, it would be the last. My years of training and my Goddess’s Holy Blessing have left me intrepid to even the most heinous situations. But even still, my blood boiled and my rage seethed, eager to mete out justice against whomever threatened my goddess’s people.
“Lady Cecille!” It was Grand Abbott Maxwell’s voice. He pushed through the crowd as quickly as his aging, creaky bones would allow. As he reached me, he bowed his head slightly, and I returned in kind.
“Oh, thank the goddess we have you to protect us,” he said in-between heavy breaths.
“It is my honor to serve,” I responded. “Now then, what are we dealing with?”
“Goblin raiders from the mountains to the northwest. Friar Edwardson was attacked while out communing in the foothills this morning. By the grace of Lady Feria, he was able to escape with his life, but his wounds remain severe and he clings in and out of consciousness.”
I gripped my sword hilt in anger. Friar Edwardson was young and well trained, easily able to fend off a handful of goblins, even if caught off-guard. It would have taken dozens of them to bring him to death’s doorstep.
The situation was deteriorating in each moment as more and more townsfolk made their way into the Grand Chapel. And all I could do to restrain my righteous fury toward these wicked wretches was give a silent prayer to Lady Feria before responding.
“Understood, Grand Abbott. Gather all the monks and clerics able to assist and begin casting the Sanctuary spell at once. That will protect the people. I will buy you as much time as I can.”
“But Lady Cecille! I beseech you to reconsider. If you do that, you’ll–”
“I know. When I took my oaths, I swore, in our goddess’s name, that I would serve as an aegis toward all who were meek and defenseless, needing someone to stand in their stead. And also as a sword against evil wherever and whenever it appeared. Now is such a time. Please, Grand Abbott. Do not make me break my oaths over this.”
The Grand Abbott merely sighed and nodded his head. “If you cannot be convinced otherwise, then so be it. We will do our part to ensure the villagers’ safety. May Feria’s Grace be with you.”
I nodded. “And also with you.”
With another prayer to my Goddess, any traces of fear left within me were purged. I walked out of the chamber, passing by yet more frightened villagers as I made my way toward the foothills. I made sure to project only confidence and strength, to provide what little succor I could before the battle began.
The last of the villagers straggled into the now-cloistered chamber, and the stone doors closed behind me. I walked outside the monastery walls and around toward the foothills of Mt. Dinni, where the horde was most likely to lay in wait. And as I did, I drew my sword and chanted my Holy prayer.
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“I, Cecille Martin, humble servant of Lady Feria the Radiant, do humbly beseech thee in my hour of need. Bolster my strength, and grant me Your righteous power to smite evil!”
With those words spoken, my sword glowed with a white tinge, my Goddess’s power made manifest. With the morning sun at my back, I charged into the underbrush, ready to purge these invaders from my homeland.
It did not take long for their hideous stench to infiltrate my nose. They reeked of dried blood and mud and guts and fungal rot and scat beyond measure. But I persisted, climbing up the foothills, scouring behind every tree and stone. These creatures had no honor, showed no mercy. And I knew that if I let these invaders slip through my grasp and reach the town before the clerics could finish their Sanctuary spell, countless lives would be lost.
But fortuitously for me, goblins are as dimwitted as they are vile in appearance and smell alike. By the time I made my way halfway up the foothills, a warcry bellowed out, followed by what I can only describe as the most disgusting sounds of simulated flatulence. One by one, dozens of goblins reared their ugly heads over the ridges before me.
They were short and ugly and brutish, and yet, they were ferocious and tenacious and resourceful in the way only a brute could be. And as I made my way into the maw of the encroaching horde, I dared not let down my guard even for an instant. Goblins may be as mindless as a dumb beast, but many are those who underestimated the crazed fury of a wild beast and did not live to regret their mistake.
The battle began when I got within fifty paces of their vanguard. Screams broke out, and even before they began charging toward me, their rank odor propelled down the foothills. A lesser warrior may have been dazed and broken before the first sword was swung, but by my Goddess’s grace, I endured the onslaught and charged forward to meet it.
They were relentless. The first launched itself toward me without regard for life and limb and was neatly cut in half by my blade. Blood spattered, staining my sword and armor reddish-brown. But I was given no quarter.
Before I could regain my stance, the next two charged at me from either flank, clubs of hardened, knotted wood in hand. I stepped back as the first approached. It flailed toward me, grazing its weapon against my armor. The second charged squarely at me, landing a glancing blow upon my right shoulder before I could counter, slicing it in half. And third tried to sneak behind me and stab me in the back with a shoddily-made stick of rusted iron.
I turned around to intercept, but as I did, another goblin caught me off-guard, throwing a clay sphere at the back of my neck. Another goblin rammed a fist into my temple before I smote it from this world. Blood ran down my hair and dripped down my forehead as I ran my sword, still pulsing with divine might, through the heart of another of my village’s enemies.
I used the brief respite before the next wave of goblins enclosed me to channel Holy energy through my hands and heal my injuries. And I met their onslaught head-on. I was in every way the superior fighter. My sword, blessed by my Goddess, cut through their shoddy tools of wood and bone and iron like butter. My armor repelled their attacks. And my body and mind were honed by years of training and meditation.
Yet, where I had the advantage in individual strength, the attacking horde held overwhelming advantages in numbers. As their onslaught continued, I fell back, step by step, knowing that if I could bide my time long enough, the Sanctuary spell would ensure Druthiel’s salvation.
Pellets of rock and seed pelted me from above as another trio of goblins attacked in melee combat. And, though I could not admit it in the moment, I was growing more and more fatigued. My repository of healing magicks was growing low, and my injuries were growing more dire. The loss of blood began to cloud my vision. And pain dulled my every attack. I fought on with everything I had. But after another blow to my head, my body collapsed. I lay prone, beaten, and at my enemies’ mercy. But I knew that my salvation was nigh.
Before the goblins could deliver a mortal blow, a flash of Holy light burst forth from the chapel in the Druthiel monastery. All injury and pain vanished from me in an instant, and the hordes surrounding me vaporized into ash as Feria’s divine judgement cast Her enemies into the void. I was saved.
I stood up and looked around. As far as I could see, there were naught but improvised weapons and bits of charred, fetid flesh as evidence of the army which nearly killed me. But I knew better than to assume that all was as it ought to be.
I pushed forward toward the top of the foothills, expecting to see an ambush, a second wave, something. But I could never have prepared for what I did see.
A goblin lay prone in a small divot just above the top of the foothills. It clung to life, gripping something close to its chest. I approached, and as I did it spoke three words that shattered me.
“Look after Groznokk…” As it said those words, the creature breathed its last, passing with a smile which almost seemed human.
I wondered briefly what it meant by ‘Groznokk’. Was that a name? Or perhaps where it lived?
My questions were quickly answered when I heard a wail from within the dead goblin’s arms. A young goblin, no larger than a human infant, screamed and thrashed about.
By instinct, I saw an enemy and poised myself to strike. My hand moved to my blade. But, as I stared into the juvenile goblin’s bulbous brown eyes, I could not find the strength to act. This child— Groznokk, apparently— was no fighter. It had not taken up arms, had not done anything evil save to exist and to be a goblin.
Groznokk screamed again. I thought back to the wailing infants taking refuge in the monastery, and their screams, their cries for their mothers, were exactly the same. And I thought back to my oath as a paladin.
To defend the innocent. And to smite the wicked wherever they hid. This child was a goblin, yes. And goblins were known to be wicked creatures. But this child, perhaps only a month or two old, was still just a child. And, by Feria’s grace, Groznokk had survived Her Holy Sanctuary untouched. If my Goddess had seen fit to spare this child, then who was I to denounce Her sacred judgement?
I thought about simply leaving Groznokk there to its fate. But those words from the other pierced my heart. I could not know, intellectually. But my soul knew too clearly. The words of a mother begging for the life of her child. Or perhaps a grandmother begging for her grandchild. I knew those pleas better than I ever wished. Even across species, those pleas hurt my soul all the same.
I still don’t know, even now, if what I did was right. Perhaps my mercy will be my undoing. But it is our capacity for mercy that separates us from demons and other fell beasts. And if my Goddess has seen fit to grant Her mercy, it is my duty as her paladin to follow in Her stead.
If I have done wrong, if I have misinterpreted my Goddess’s will, if my mercy leads, however inadvertently, to more deaths, I will bear that cross on my soul as long as Lady Feria sees fit. But for now, I will carry out that goblin matron’s last request. My soul remains uneasy, but my conscience will sleep well tonight.
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