Red Crystal Cultist

Up until a month ago, you were Mildreth, the Farmer's Wife. A minor NPC in the sleepy village of Hambleton, a starting area for human PCs to get to grips with the game's controls and interface. Your days were spent feeding chickens, milking cows, and asking the adventurers that stopped to talk to you to take your husband's lunch to him out in the fields, because the silly old fool had forgotten it again. Not many bothered - the quest reward was a trifling amount of XP and a pie, so they could learn about food buffs - and that number had slowly reduced over time as less and less adventurers bothered to come through. Not that you minded particularly, as adventurers were an unruly lot, and not having to make pies all day to feed the ingrates freed up a lot of time!

That all changed with the release of the new expansion, Trials of the Temptress™. Now you were Mildreth, Initiate of the Crystal Coven. Along with the change in title (which was only visible to players belonging to the new special Witchfinder Character Class, and then only after certain conditions were met), you also received a rather substantial 'upgrade' to your character model. Gone was the dumpy farmers wife, in its place you were now a busty, wide-hipped MILF with a sultry tone of voice. Your days remained much the same as before, but your nights were spent in the company of your fellow cultists doing things that would have shocked your rather staid programming a month ago, but now only left you eager to be done with the drudgery of the day. Oh and then there was the dying. A lot of dying.

Whereas before your life was generally dull, but peaceful, now your zone was awash with new PCs, all eager to try out the new class features by hunting down you and your fellows. At first you'd been shocked, why were they doing this? You weren't hurting anyone.

You'd tried demanding answers as you were cut down by swords and axes, riddled with arrows, or burnt alive by magefire, but the only answers you ever got were from the more zealous rp'ers who followed Amari or Valdur who spat and called you a witch, or a heretic.

Then you'd been angry. You'd tried to get rid of them, sending them on spurious quests into increasingly dangerous zones. When that hadn't worked, you'd resorted to poisoning the pies that you still gave out as a relic of the old you. None of it seemed to work - if anything it made them even more determined to kill you.

Now you were just resigned. Hoping that eventually the players would lose interest in Hambleton and leave you to enjoy the delights of the cult without fear of fire or blade. You sigh as you hear the unmistakable approach of a character...