Deep in the bowels of Lassinda's fortress of Ostran-Tôr, a young elven maiden was strapped to an old , bloodstained oak-wood table. Her skin was pallid, her eyes wide with terror as the Imperial Magister approached with a wicked smile on her lips.
"You are a rare specimen, my poor dear," Lassinda mocked the idea of kindness with feigned watery eyes, running a curved embalming knife down the trembling girl's cheek. "I've been waiting for someone like you."
The maiden whimpered, tears streaming down her face as Lassinda began to chant in a language that was not meant for mortal-kind, feeling like nails driven into her ears. The room was filled with an eerie light as the air grew thick with the stench of rot and decay.
Suddenly, the maiden's body began to twist and contort, her limbs elongating into a grotesque and vague wolf-like shape. She let out a blood-curdling howl as her clothes ripped by the changing furless skin, ridden in dark green veins and patches of black rash and her teeth grew into long, sharp fangs.
Lassinda cackled with delight, revelling in the terror and pain of her victim. She continued her twisted incantations, her power growing stronger with each passing moment. The transformation was complete, and the changed maiden lay panting on the table, now an amalgamated form of elf and beast. Leaning in close, the Raven-Witch whispered in her ear.
"No Great Wheel waiting for you, my little pet," she hissed. "Hunt, hunt and kill, and bring me back the flesh of your kind. You belong to me now."
The hairless creature snarled, its moon-silvered eyes glowing with an unnatural light. It bounded out of the laboratory, eager to do its mistress's bidding. Lassinda watched the monster go, cackling maniacally in the rush of her dark creation. She was a master of the dark arts, a sorceress of the highest order, next to the Emperor himself. If life itself would not bow, then she would make it.
Cruelty was not just a means to an end for the Raven–Witch; it was a way of life.
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