Warhammer Fantasy (WG)- Witch Hunger Captain Part 2 by Sulla or Westmetal

Credit to Sulla or Westmetal

Witch Hunter Captain,
As instructed, I have reached the castle of the Von Bov family near Averheim. I would hate to be impudent but the assigned itinerary, while safe, took me at a glacial pace from inn to inn. And traveling in a carriage was unnecessary, a horse would have been better.
In any event, I found the Von Bov estate suspiciously peaceful and prosperous. The sign over its gate boasted of the fattest cows in all of Averland, which seemed ominous and boastful although the immense heffers in the fields seemed to make the claim based in reality.
The Lady Von Bov was a stereotypical Averland matron: an over plump woman in her forties clinging vainly to a long vanished youth, an overworked corset fighting to keep her waistline below forty inches and to keep her breasts from resting in her lap, while too much makeup tried to distract from her chins. What was unusual was that she was happy to see me.
A younger woman dressed incredibly sinfully (with exposed ankles, sleeves that showed her wrists and immense bosoms almost fully exposed) at her side was introduced as her second eldest daughter, Rachel. She was respectful although I found her a little plumper than a maiden should be, clearly the gentle climes of Averland has made her soft.
Lady Von Bov, although fat, was not the victim you had assigned me. After Rachel served us tea, sandwiches and cookies (before leaving and saying she had to go and feed the cow) she began the tale of her eldest daughter Isabelle.
Isabelle was counted the eligible girl in Averland. Firstly, all of the Von Bov children were girls, meaning that her son would be heir to immense tracks of lands.Secondly, her younger sisters 36X28X36 figure was comparatively chubby and under developed. Isabelle was a staggering, ridiculous and sin inducing 38X22X38, a stupefying hourglass that was the result of a strict diet and dancing program and would surely go to pot the moment she wed and became pregnant. Isabelle had a great many suitors competing for her hand, but she held out to become Queen of Love at the grand tourney in Averland.
I do not need to tell you of this sinful waste of time, a weeks long party of vainity and decadence , of the bawdy shows, live stock judging and excessive consumption while knights from as far as Estalia compete for the grand prizes. Just as tight a contest was that for the title of Queen of Love, where the most lovely noble girls in the county compete through dance to be named the fairest in the land. Never has a winner not been betrothed by the end of the tourney. It is common for Queens of Love to marry the son of an Elector Count or a Brettonian Duke and even the sitting Empress can trace her station back to how her twenty year old self danced.
Isabelle was ambitious, vain and lustful. When she should have been on her knees praying for Sigmar's mercy, she was practicing to win the title and the hand of some nobleman even richer than herself. She seemed a shoe in for she had won the same title at many minor tournaments in Averland and was counted as graceful as a wood elf. But her hopes were dashed when word came that a Brettonian Princess with a supposed 41 inch bust was to compete.
While her mother suggested that she merely do her best and perhaps marry the handsome Baron across the road, Isabelle doubled down. An invitation came from a past winner, a Viscountess Johanna to help train Isabelle to her best and the girl took it without hesitation even though it was on the other side of Averland and she would be gone for a year.
That was as far as the Lady Von Bov knew, for the rest I had to speak to Isabelle directly. This was difficult, Isabelle had seen and spoken to no one but her family since her return. Lady Von Bov was hesitant to allow me to see her but after Rachel returned and topped off our refreshments she relented.
After a very long seeming set of stairs to the top floor of the castle, I was brought to a room at the very back of the structure. As I approached, tired by my travels, I began hearing strange sobbing noises intermixed with disgusting munching and slobbering noises. Through the door and in between bites, Isabelle's husky voice clumsily explained what had happened to her.
At the castle of the Viscountess Johanna, she had on the first day been bid to dance to complete exhuastion. Johanna, although herself well gone to seed, was an exacting master who declared that everything Isabelle knew from her pirouettes to her breathing was wrong and that she would have to be retaught from fundamentals. As for her figure, Johanna produced a potion that she said would give Isabelle perfect breasts at the cost of some mild confusion.
Isabelle remembered very little about her missing year. Her lessons began as grueling, Johanna teaching her things that she could have sworn were completely wrong and she became increasingly clumsy. Her tutor put her on an ever increasing diet, claiming it would build up her muscles even as she limited the girl's actual dancing by the day. Days turned into weeks into months and before she knew it Isabelle was stumbling onto the dancing stage, back and knees sore from what she assumed were hard workouts.
Instead of the usual wolf whistles and catcalls, she was greeted with stunned silence that only grew deeper when Isabelle began a simple dance, beginning with raising her leg up behind her head. Her graceful body refused to obey, leg not moving past her knee. Her other leg trembled and she lost her balance, falling back onto her rump with a rip of fabric.
Isabella stared down as the laughs and hoots began. The absent year had turned the talented dancer into a balloon, each of her thighs were twice the size of her old waistline and were a road map of spider veins. She could feel her belly rolls jiggle but she couldn't see her protruding gut, blocked as it was by her gigantic breasts. Isabelle had always been very large, but her bust line had swelled into ludicrous proportions. Veiny dugs sagged down past her her hips, more slack than a woman with ten children and larger than the tits of her family's prized milk cows. Tears streaming down her face, the obese ex-beauty tried to get up but found her limbs far too weak to push herself up, having to jiggle helplessly before several stage hands dragged her off.
Isabella, humiliated, was shoved into a carriage and sent home. Refusing to go into her old room, which held many portraits of her at her peak as well as champion ship ribbons and letters from old suitors, she waddled to the guest room at the rear of the castle and swore not to come out until she was thin again. Her jubilant younger sister, engaged to the handsome Baron across the road, tells me that Isabelle tried to dance every day for the first few weeks but had become so clumsy and uncoordinated that she gave up and turned to drink. That now she sits in complete darkness and gorges herself on ten meals a day, each hand delivered by the once overshadowed younger sister.
I have looked into this Viscountess Johanna and have found that she disappeared shortly after winning the Queen of Love title. The castle that Isabelle was brought to burned to the ground the day of last years tournament. The Lady Von Bov has graciously allowed me to stay at her castle while I run down leads..."
The Witch Hunter Captain smiled to himself, knowing that there would be none to find. He selected another file and began plotting out an itinerary that would take her to the Moot, hitting every inn along the way...