The Call of Corruption
From Lord Of Utterdom
You are called The Red Queen. Yours is the way of the ancients, of knowledge, of power, of fearful magics. Legends are told by campfire and songs are song in both fear and praise of your name. To most, you are little more than that legend. To some, you are much more.
As a young girl, you traveled with your parents from township to township, peddaling wares such as cloth and jewels. When they were beset by rogues on a wooded road, you were the only one left alive. Too young to fend for yourself, you wandered the forest, lost, until you were found by an old woman who lived in a small hut amongst the trees. Her only companions were wolves, who treated her as if she was one of their own.
She raised you as if you were her daughter, teaching you the forgotten knowledge of roots, elixirs, potions, and ritual magic. As you grew, you surpassed even her in your wisdom. When the old woman passed, you became as she had been: a friend to the wolves and a woman alone amongst the forest.
Your contact with others was seldom. A lost traveler. A wandering shephard. Rogues who retreated into the forest and met their end at the fangs of your wolves. Still, your legend grew, as did your power.
Now, you linger amongst the woods, growing restless. It isn't until you find a wounded woman outside your hut that you find reprieve from the boredom that has beset you.
She lies just outside our hut, cuts across her face and arms, and a deep gash across her back. She is barely coherent, but looks to you with pleading eyes as six of your wolves circle her, growling, awaiting your command to dine upon her.
