Warhammer Fantasy (WG)- Witch Hunger Captain Part 1 by Sulla or Westmetal

Credit to Sulla or Westmetal

"Greetings and salutations in the name of Sigmar, Witch Hunter General.
I present you my promised report into the investigation of the riot at the Altdorf Opera House and have found a most sinister thread running through Imperial High Society. My first subject of interrogation was one Rosalina Hildegrand, the new prima donna of the opera and cause of the riot. She was in a most distressed state, having been fired and blacklisted from the opera across the Empire. Opera is of course a most sinful and decadent pass time and I had not been surprised at her appearance as she sobbed in her changing room. However, I was struck by a portrait of her in her changing room from a year before.
This Rosalina was waifishly thin. Lean of leg, tiny of waist, narrow of hip, small breasted and slim necked. She had to weigh perhaps seven stone, and while beauty is but a trap for the simple minded was quite aesthetically pleasing.
In contrast, the sobbing woman on the groaning chair was easily a quarter ton of lard. She was in only her unmentionables, sinfully skimpy black stockings and panties. Her thighs were merely plump and jiggly, pouring out of her tights. Her hips were wider than she was tall and her ass was bigger than a cart horse's.
Her waist was a shapeless apron of fat plunging towards her knees. She had no trace of a neck and her face was so covered in fat I could barely see her eyes.When thin her small breasts were girlish and enticing, but when obese her dugs had been swallowed up by the rest of her. She wheezed and puffed at every word, barely able to draw enough breath to make herself heard but I ripped the box of chocolates from her hands until she made a full confession.
Rosalina's story was that the year before she had had a grand premier, earning standing ovations and full audiences. But several reviews had said her lean body needed a few more years of growth to reach the very highest notes. A helpful patron, a noble man named the Viscount Von Holbard had offered to bring in a Tilean expert to allow her to reach perfection early.
Rosalina accepted and found herself living in the lap of luxury, the expert declaring that she must increase the size of her body to hit the very highest notes. A halfling staff fed her around the clock: rare chocolates from Lustria, dwarven beer, elven fruits, averland steaks, Marienburg oysters, Brettonian wines, Tilean pastas and halfling pie after halfling pies. Claiming it would soothe her throat, she was bid to smoke mind clouding halfling leaf round the clock which only made her hungrier and lazier while damaging her vocal chords.To rest, she was forbidden from singing even a note or raising her voice. Saying that she needed to relax, Rosalina was forbidden even from moving, porters carrying her too and fro and she confessed that many lovers had been brought to her of both genders, tying her feeding into her sexual climax.
A year of such treatment passed while a grand opera celebrating Rosalina's return to the stage was planned. That the leading lady wasn't at rehearsals was explained as her preparing privately. When opening night came, she was brought to the opera in a black coach with closed windows through a private entrance and arrived on stage without being seen.
As the curtain rose, the audience gasped to see the porcine form waddling onto stage instead of the slender starlet they'd expected. The twenty year old needed a cane to support her pathetically weak body, all of her quivering like jello at the mere act of walking. She had been crammed into a dress made for a merely fat woman, fat rolls pouring out of the waist and skirt, seams ripping with each step, a corset wrapped painfully tight around her bulbous belly.
Sweating as she heard whispers about her shocking obesity, Rosalina tried to sing, reaching for the notes that had once been second nature to her. But between the year of smoking around the clock, a total lack of practice, pentuppling in size and being shoved into a corset the pathetic woman could barely squeak. Panicking, she tried again and again, producing only a hoarse, squeal that coincided with her corset laces bursting from her groin to her chest.
Fat poured into view, kicking off the angry, insulted crowd breaking into fist fights in the aisle. Many people were injured and a dozen duels spun off from the event, ruining several carefully planned marriage alliances.
Rosalina, ruined body and voice, has been offered employment by the Viscount as a servant although I fear what task she could be assigned.
Our orders holy books speak of a foul daemon entity of Old Night who loves both excess and perfection. I believe that Rosalina's gain was done intentionally, her excellent figure and voice ruined via excessive vice as a sort of living sacrifice to their dark god. More investigation is needed but there may be an entire cult at play."
Witch Hunter Captain Montheim tapped his magnificent goatee and set the vellum onto his desk. He looked up at the eager recruit, Caronell Von Voltmartz, a tall, lithe noble girl who'd rejected a life of ease to serve the church as a witch hunter. Montheim took in her toned thighs pressing tight against her hose and boots, the tight sword/gunbelt around her tapered waist, the firm muscles on her arms and chest, her fatless, patrician face and intelligent blue eyes.
"Hmmm, there may be something to this," he said, drawing another file from his desk and handing it over, "here take this, there has been a similar case in Averland. I want you to investigate."
"Of course Captain!" Von Voltmartz said, snapping off a crisp salute and turning, her cape spinning to let him glimpse her toned derriere.
The Captain smiled. So driven, so brave, so fit, so strong and at the start of her career...Caronell would be a perfect sacrifice to She Who Thirsts.