Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a lifetime since my last confession, and I am living a life which I am not sure is right.
I was born in a noble Schloss in Wische Konigsreich in the year of Theus
1645, during a cold winter storm that temporarily alleviated the marching
of Vaticine and Objectionist armies across the beaten, tired ground. My father
was a proud man, straight and tall, and my mother was beautiful and strong.
I was the third of four children, and the only girl thus born. My eldest brother
was training as a swordsman and soldier, though that last bit was training
all of my siblings endured, myself included. My youngest brother was born
when I was five years of age, and my mother, forced to watch while Father
worried over the fief, died during childbirth.
I was raised thereafter in a strict fashion. My father sought to make his
children strong, able to weather whatever they did. My eldest brother was
being groomed as heir, and my second-eldest brother was being given the education
necessary in a priest. He and I grew up trusting in Theus and Eisen and our
Father.
My eldest brother, when I was sixteen and he was thirty, left our home to
fight under the Objectionist army of General Wulf. Father was both grieved
at his son's choice and proud that he had made his own decision.
It was later that year when Father received news that one of his oldest friends
had been killed fighting the Objectionists. My older brother had taken his
Vows, and I was being groomed as a Lady for prospective suitors, having inherited
some of my mother's beauty.
Father therefore said to me, "Daughter, I am going to find Vincent's
killer, and send him to Legion. You must watch over the house and the lands,
so that they are still good when I return." and he kissed me on the forehead,
took his dracheneisen panzerhand and helm, and rode from our house.
It wasn't more than six months when Karl and I found an army surrounding our
house. Neighbors, jealous neighbors, had decided to take advantage of the
absence of Father, and take our holdings, which were still only barely fertile.
The house, being the reconstruction of an old dark ages fortress, was equipped
to handle a siege, but I was not going to let the house stand at the expense
of the lands and the people.
Myself, my brother, and our thirty staff made our stand at the gate, and would
surely have been slaughtered, had not fate intervened. Another army, that
of one of our Father's friends, attacked the enemy from the south.
The battle was fierce. I fought as I had been taught, first with musket fire
and good aim and then with swords, knives, and fists. The last thing I remember
from that day was kicking an enemy from my blade and starting to turn, only
barely noticing the bayonet coming straight for my face. I raised my hand
to shield myself, and then blacked out.
I awoke on my back, in bed, clad in a soft cotton robe and not my leathers.
There was something strange about the sight, which I was not immediately able
to identify. Turning my head, I saw Karl sitting on the edge of the next cot
over, fingers laced in his lap, watching me.
"Slowly, Sister; you have been grievously wounded," he said gently.
"My responsibility," I replied. My entire being ached.
"Not anymore. They burned it; they couldn't take it, so they burned it."
It was true. In shock I listened as Karl related the end of the battle and
the burning of our home. Then, he slowly told me what had happened to me.
I cried for a mirror, and tore the bandage from around my head to behold my
face, a bloody hole where my left eye had been. I wept, but I took some comfort
in Theus' love, and the love of Father and our brothers. All this would be
washed away the next day.
The next day. I hate that day, that cold day in the middle of summer, when
the rain never stopped falling. Karl, then the stronger between us, despite
his tender years, took the three notes. He read them, then re-read them, then
again, before he slumped down. The last thing he did was cry, a single tear
rolling down his cheek, before his gaze unfocused.
Fearful, I snatched the notes. The first read, "Regret to inform you
that Gunther Heinrich von Weiss was slain by Objectionists during the Battle
of Three Hills." The second read, "To the family of Faulk Bertrand
Weiss, Schloss Weiss. Faulk Weiss has died, commanding a regiment of pikemen
in a brave defense against the Vaticines, at Three Hills, Fischler."
The last read, "Dearest Gunther, your elder brother Erich has died. He
passed away in his sleep, peacefully. In his will, he left you half of his
possessions, which totals out to the sum of two hundred Guilders. The funeral
is in two weeks, at Insel." And thus passed my second-to-last living
relative, my uncle Erich.
Then, it was as if my world was collapsing. I felt a great sadness welling
in my breast, and I felt like surrendering, like dying; then, I looked at
Karl. My youngest sibling had not moved since he finished the letters. I resolved
then to never give in; at the very least, I had a brother to take care of.
With a resolve I had never known before, I stood up, and went to speak with
our savior.
He was discouraging. He held out little hope. Two weeks later, I was in the
Church of Theus in Siegsburg. Unfortunately, my elder brother had disappeared
some two months before. After praying for guidance, I went to seek audience
with Eisenfurst Wische. He was, unfortunately, ill-disposed, and his seneschal,
Gisela Inselhoffer, apologized deeply, saying there was little to be done.
The Weiss lands had been destroyed.
Then I asked about employment as a soldier. Reluctantly, she agreed. And I
have served for two years, until my discharge recently from the Embassy guards
in Frieburg. While in Freiburg, I happened to find myself placed to prevent
the kidnapping of Helga von Rottschram, the young daughter of Baron Otto von
Rottschram, who thanked me profusely for saving his daughter and gifted me
with a fine dagger of Dracheneisen. I protested that I could not possibly
accept such a valuable gift, but the Baron passed it off with a wave of his
hand, and I humbly accepted the dagger, and vowed my assistance if ever he
needed it.
To make ends meet, I took employment helping to plant flowers around the Wachturm.
When the job was completed, I inquired about being hired as a guard for the
Montaigne Orchid Society, with the condition that my brother accompany us.
On the road to Tannen, we were beset by a beast of unnatural origin, obviously
Legion-spawn. I did my best to protect my employers, but found they were more
able to protect me than I them. When we reached Tannen, I took on a new identity.
I had asked if the path before me was a blessing in disguise, and I was told
that it was, but I feel I have done more harm than good in the time since
then.
My comrades:
Father Renard Bonaparte: Father Renard is both mystery and conundrum to me. On the one hand, he can be kind and very caring. Yet he can be completely without remorse or feeling, and slay another person as easily and with as little emotion as putting down a rabid wolf.
Doctor Gaspar Gallegos: Doctor Gaspar is the heart of the three, the voice of reason and sanity and compassion. He is pleasant, comforting, and intelligent, but unfortunately, his voice can be drowned out by the louder voices of others. His preference for firearms matches my own training as a soldier.
Johann Barenschloss: Whereas Father Renard's morality can be ignored, and
Doctor Gaspar only reluctantly commits acts that are of questionable methodology,
Johann is perhaps the single most brutally rational person bereft of conscience
I have ever met. He is a swordsman and a skilled soldier, and treats the entire
world as a battlefield filled with enemies, which is a sentiment I understand.
But it seems to me as if he has let that turn him into something...less than
human, or let it burn away his humanity, which is, to my mind, almost synonymous
with defeat. Almost always, his voice is that of cold logic, and he doesn't
couch anything he says in niceties or pleasantries.
It also makes Johann the single most trustworthy, honorable person I have
ever known.