Orphelia backstory

Buzzing.
                Vertigo.
                                 Heart thumping.

Orphelia drops into the long weeds, hands curled up to her chest. She feels her lungs like acid and her throat tightening, burning with every panicked breath. Her body feels electrified yet numb.  She cannot help but maintain eye-contact with the now dead Urth, that lays still across from her. Cold, pale eyes staring her down in disgust. Tears stream down her face as she slumps to one side, waves of nausea trying her constitution.

The wind roars across the plains, whipping the grass flat.

 “Is this what you are, child ?”
The corpse of Urth stands towering above her, finger pointed in mockery.
“An atrocity...a demon posing  actions under the guise of holiness ?”
She grabs the sword and hurls it at the shadow, yet it continues lurching forward, towards her.
“You face me with the visage of a holy entity, a justiciar among men ?”
Orphelia lashes out in desperation “You murdered them !”
“So I did. Wouldn’t you have done the same in my position ? Starving, a wife and children counting on me to survive the harsh winter…”
“No.” she manages to mutter under heavy breaths.
“Then why did you kill me ? Why are the scales of life so dipped in favor of your companion’s memory ? Are they so much more important than me ?”
Orphelia collapses into the grass field, clawing her temples to blood. “Yes, yes they are.” she whispers.

----background [rough idea]

Not many days ago, the caravan of Great Inquisitor Julius Horus was to arrive to Solitude to pick up what was believed to be a dangerous wizard. The group consisted of a four other inquisitors among which Orphelia was numbered.

Halfway to their destination Mathias Sabine, an inquisitor of a more noble order, not much different from Orphelia, spotted a peasant.
He was crying for help, his village being raided. Burned.
The Great Inquisitor could not stand such acts of barbarism happening. He took the inquisitors and leaved Orphelia to keep the caravan safe as they followed the peasant.
Minutes.
Hours.

Orphelia grew restless. She followed the tracks the horses left.
Bandits...heretics...blasphemers… No word was fitting for what she saw.
The brigands were looting the corpses of her fellow companions.

She took the caravan horse and rode.

           Rode south.

                     To the first town she could see.