Little Miss Annie

As the youngest daughter of an old king of Kaerok, Annie was used to getting her own way. Courtiers and nobles often spoke of her brattish volatility, though they did so privately and in hushed tones, as the king would brook no complaints about his favorite child. So, Annie’s misdemeanors went unchecked, and as she became a teenager, her arrogance and insolence only grew. One day, Kaerok’s most famous toymaker, his name now long-forgotten, was putting the finishing touches on his greatest work yet: a life-sized doll he was making for his own daughter’s birthday. Annie learned of the project and, descending on the workshop accompanied by the royal guards, demanded the doll for herself. When the toymaker refused, the enraged teenager snatched up one of his tools and killed him with it. What Annie could not have known, however, was that the toymaker was more than he seemed. He was a secret practitioner of magical arts. As he lay dying, he gripped the leg of the doll with his bloodied hand and spat a terrible curse at the ruthless princess. The effect was immediate. Annie’s body collapsed to the floor as her spirit was ripped from her mortal flesh and bound. Via the toymaker’s blood, it was transmuted into the shell of the doll, which in turn twisted as it took on part of Annie’s appearance, her face melding with that of the artificial construct. Wooden bones cracked and twisted as she pawed at herself in horror, clawing at the frozen, rictus mask that was now her face. Annie’s guards hastily returned the shrieking doll-girl to her father, along with her now-lifeless former body, and the king sought by all means to break the curse. No cure could be found. Fearing the attention of the Sacred Order, he chose to hide his daughter away. Imprisonment for Annie was twofold – not only within the darkest dungeon cell, but in the unfeeling body of the doll, without the ability to taste, to touch or to smell. It drove Annie to madness, a madness that saw half of her family and the royal guards slaughtered before she made her escape. The Sacred Order, hearing of this abomination, sent one of its most ruthless purgation squads to track down and exterminate it. None returned. Legend has it that Annie made skin-puppets from their remains. It is perhaps no surprise that the tale of Annie has become one of the most infamous bedtime stories in all of Anhelt. Wayward children from Frostheim to Aravia are reminded of the curse that befell the girl who would not listen to her parents and wards, who was arrogant, greedy, and vengeful, rather than dutiful and merciful. Annie, Princess of Kaerok, became Little Miss Annie, to most a bedtime ghoul, and little more. But there are those who know that Annie’s tale is no mere story, especially those who have dealings with the Undead. Little Miss Annie did indeed escape her father’s castle, and did indeed destroy those who pursued her. Ever since she has continued to seek out a way to break her curse, a way to end the unfeeling, stultifying existence forced upon her. Down the centuries, her cruel demeanor has become even more marked, turning her into a bitter, twisted creature who takes what she wants and expects every demand to be met, one whose only true delight is in the suffering of others. Rightly believing the magic that infuses her is tied to the dark arts of necromancy, Annie suffers the kinship of other Undead only insomuch as she bullies them or forces them to aid her machinations, caring not if they are vampires, restless spirits, wight lords, or necromancers. She has discovered that despite being entrapped in an artificial construct, she is still able to learn and practice dark arcane spells. Her greatest delight was when she mastered the ability to raise the dead – now she had puppets of her own, ones ironically made from rotten flesh and moldering bone. Turning all those who defied her into deathly dolls dancing on the ends of her necromantic strings became a goal almost as central to her being as being as breaking the curse. Whether Little Miss Annie is bestriding battlefields amid an Undead horde, or stalking her prey alone through darkened alleyways or across desolate moorlands, her abilities remain unchanged. Unable to feel pain, and with spells that reknit broken stick-limbs or stuffing-gouged torso, she is almost impervious to damage – it is said she can only be slain by piercing the black magic at the core of her being, and even that is a myth. On the attack she is wickedly fast, and the blackened, bloody talons that sprout unnaturally from her gnarled fingertips can rend even the finest plate armor. She is a relentless sadist, cackling at the pathetic efforts of those trying to resist her, taunting them with promises concerning how she will make their bodies dance and contort, both while they are alive, and long after their death.