The Order of Sancta Klarabella
Around a century ago, Klarabella, once a heroic knight of the order of the Last Prayer, departed on a crusade of her own and at the cost of her own life she breached the gates of Castly Hushabye and silenced the last know Great Horror⊠ushering in the new age of peace.
 Not accepting her name and memory be struck from the Book of Prayers - as per the creed of their order - a small group of her most loyal companions deserted and founded their own order in reverence of her name.
Soon after Klarabellaâs disappearance, a strange, yet rare disease began afflicting girls and women of the villages across the valley - known as the Pale Heart by the common man, or Klarabellaâs Murmurs by those devout to her name.
 Wracking their chests with searing agony as if their hearts were caught in a vice of noxious, eroding poison and claims of a distant voice echoing from deep inside. Death is slow, but always assured as the mind is soon overcome by madness and their bodies so weakened by pain they are no longer able to move. Their hair turning pale and the color of their eyes fading into green⊠both traits of the lost hero.
The order of Sancta Klarabella keep their doors open to these poor women, inviting them onto their hallowed grounds with promise of care, treatment and a longer life in service of something greater. Such is their dedication that only those afflicted by the disease are allowed to stay. Those whoâve heard the voice. The heroâs call.
 Each new disciple is treated like a sister, provided a cell and vestments of their own and given time to meditate and listen to the faint whisper in their heart. Beyond this, very little is taught between sisters - new or senior. There is no leader and no followers. Learning is very individual, developing through their commune with their heart. While not able to understand the words, things begin to make sense on their own and each sister simply knows what they have to do.
Every new member will soon find themselves with a hammer in hand at the cathedralâs massive forge, for just like their hero, they too, soon become masters of the anvil. With every strike at the black steel - with every beat of their own heart - their hand is guided by a blazing will from deep within. Here they will shape themselves a suit of black armor and hammers of war. For they know what must be done.
 Along with their armor and weapon, they also craft a sigil of red wax, seated on a plate of Aberrant Silver, to fasten on the left side of their vestments. Its design is very personal, often depicting something very important in their life before they joined the convent.
 It is also a custom to adorn their belongings with words theyâve managed to hear clearly from the voice.
Iconic to their visage is their extensive use of Aberrant Silver, also known as Blackened Silver, Deep Wood Silver or just Black Steel. Silver so exposed and weathered by the mistâs presence it turned completely black and harder than any steel known to man, while still maintaining its warding nature. So hard in fact that no other forge has managed to shape it after their will. A secret only known to the master blacksmiths of the order of Sancta Klarabella.
 Aberrant Silver is very rare, so where they get such vast amounts is a mystery in itself⊠and for most - a cause for suspicion.
 While the order is in good standing with the surrounding villages, they rarely see eye to eye with the other knightâs orders. Their mission is very personal and they have no patience for politics once clad for battle.
 Despite their by now rather holy reputation - due to the reverence of Klaraballaâs name by the wider population - there still lingers seeds of doubt. For the longer the knights of Klarabella endures, the whiter their hair fade and the clearer green their eyes become. White hair in itself is a social stigma - with their fate tied to the will of the mist - or such is the belief. Earning them less respectable names such as The Hammer Crones or the White Haired Coven.
 Regardless, many pilgrim to the cathedral to donate supplies or food and maybe find a moment of peace to just sit in calmness. Since prayer is no longer permitted in the valley, this is the closest they can come to to pay respects and find a connection to something holy.
Few have witnessed the sisters in battle, but those that have could swear what they saw is no longer human. For such is their furor that feats of strength beyond comprehension is not only possible, but also exceeded. Their hammers slamming down with the brutality of giants with tooth, bone and chitin shattering against their Aberrant Silver like glass. Rumors even say that those with the palest of hair, the otherwise silent ones, can boom out a shrieking howl so horrid and seething with rage it could rip any creature into bloody shreds; scattering the denizens of the mist into a panicked disarray - rivaling even the mighty chimes of the towering Silver Bells.
 Just as the disease makes their heart weak and wrung in throes - if faced with the unspeakable monsters of the mist - it can also imbue them with the last strength Klarabella mustered at her assault on Castle Hushabye. Like a remnant memory of her rage taking hold of their body, allowing them to perform monstrous feats of violence⊠at the cost of their ailment progressing faster to its final stages.
The cathedral and the surrounding courtyard of the order is considered hallowed ground as no creature has ever dared to enter. The bell tower stands silent without a bell, so it can only be assumed the close commune with the sacred hero is enough to ward the area clear from the mistâs influence. That and the constant hammering of the Aberrant Silver anvils. The collective heartbeat of the order of Sancta Klarabella.
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