Gretchen

"Mea culpa..." —Sinner's Plea "Kneel," she would say, and they did. After campaigns, they came to Gretchen. Beneath her banner, they confessed: the weight of lives taken, the quiet doubts that crept in when prayer met silence. Gretchen laid a hand upon each bowed head, drawing their burdens inward. Officially, she was appointed a confessor of the Supreme Arbiters, a spiritual balm to unburden their deepest thoughts. Unofficially, she was something else entirely—an instrument. Confessors were meant to listen, remember, and report. Even faith required witnesses. Still, some things Gretchen kept silent. Men spoke of villages erased without sanction, of prisoners butchered rather than judged. One man admitted to ordering a chapel burned with its refugees still praying inside. Each story settled in her like poison. If the Arbiters existed to defend order, why did so many delight in cruelty? Surely, she could not be alone in seeing it. Indeed, one man among them stood seemingly untouched by rot. Oren fought fiercely, yet never reveled in slaughter nor hid behind doctrine, appearing to live the values the Supreme Arbiters claimed to uphold. For this, Gretchen admired him deeply. Then came the order. The demon Gul'Drak had risen beneath Valderon's black hand, leading a horde which threatened the frontier. She was to hold the tower in the wasteland, and when the horde gathered, Oren would flank with reinforcements. At dusk, Gul'Drak's horde surged toward the tower, shrieking. As planned, Gretchen held the line. The sky ignited. The first volleys tore through the demons—but the barrage did not stop. Fire rained closer. Stone split beneath her boots. High up, Arbiters stood on the horizon, Oren's forces in formation. The bombardment crept steadily toward the tower itself. Toward her. As the parapet shattered beneath her feet, Gretchen leapt from the burning walls. When she crawled from the wreckage, ally and foe alike lay mangled. The realization came slowly, like a knife turning in the dark: The tower was the target—she was collateral. Whether through calculation or convenience, Oren had not halted the barrage. Still shellshocked, Gretchen began to tear away at the golden sigils on her armor, as a shadow moved beyond the rubble. Through the smoke, a towering figure approached—horned, scarred, and very much alive. Gul'Drak regarded her amid the ruin, not as prey, but as something newly born. Gretchen met his gaze, hatred burning where faith once stood. In that moment, she swore that one day, Oren and Praetus would kneel at her feet, as so many had before. They, too, would confess their sins, begging for absolution. She would offer judgment.