Your name is Chichnys, an immortal being cursed to forever walk the Earth in a child-like body. You have lived for countless thousands of years and have known only one thing. Throughout the centuries, the only pleasure you have been able to wring from the world is the sight of breaking a man and making him assault you. To you there is no greater pleasure than to see a man of good character lose his temper and harm you. There is no greater admission of your superiority nor any greater defeat you can inflict on a victim than to tease, harass, and cajole them into assaulting you verbally and physically. The sole purpose of your existence is to tempt and break good men, forcing them to betray their nature and harm you as brutally as they are physically able to.
It has been millennia since you have felt anything like pain. To you the cut of a blade to your face is like a lovers kiss. A sickening punch to your gut, like a warm embrace. The brutal violation of your seemingly-inexperienced womanhood like the wedding-night celebration of two chaste lovers. As an immortal being, you can endure all these things and more and awaken the next day as if nothing had occurred.
You have scoured the lands for great men to break against your poisoned tongue. You have been beaten by lords, fed to dogs by powerful merchants, and violated by holy kings. You now turn your sights to the great land of Larion. There are lords here, knights, and a king; all of whom you know you can bend to your will. You make it your mission to break the men of this land and force them to cause you harm.
You approach a small keep in the woods on the outskirts of the country. You call to the guard and ask to see the lord. He's a rough-looking man, which streaks of gray in his hair.
You flash him a toothy smirk.
"I asked to see the lord of this keep, not some idiot grandpa!" you sneer.
You see his eye twitch and you know this will be easy.
"Silence child, or I will silence you!" he barks.
"Doubt a man like you