Zauberin

Her hate is a nightmare, like her love.

Three Witches Rise...

Zauberin is a Witch, one of three dark entities capable of completing a Ritual that would shatter the world as we know it. These particular Coven Models are never Summoned and cannot be put in play voluntarily. In fact, it goes against the Coven's interests: the Witch Hunters are tasked with their destruction. The Witches of Hexerei are not historical, human figures, they are more like an embodiment of the ills of an era, and in this case Zauberin is harrowing insanity incarnate.
The entity known as Zauberin is kind of an evil Trickster figure. She exist to drive people to extremes, to shatter conventions and impositions, to turn children against their parents. Her name is a sword. At her pipe's melodious tune the saintly and pious, albeit imperfect and human, turn into perfect devils wearing a human guise. Early Modern society was complex and is difficult to judge with absolutes, but we are pretty sure it felt as stifling and pitiless to those born into it as it does to us now. Next to nil social upward mobility mixes explosively with religious turmoil and war. Zauberin's powers make a veritable fuse out of her, and human make for such interesting bombs!
More importantly for us concerned with tabletop gaming, they make Zauberin a terrifying enemy in Combat, as any Hunter will come to know. She's capable of sending enemies away, and can drive mad a staunchly religious fanatic or a debased brute with the same ease. And as a Witch, she is one of the best-performing fighters in the game.

Portrait

by Igor Krstic

by Alessandro Depaoli

Imperium

A Witch's power surely comes from the Devil's grace, but maybe instead it spawns from the conviction of her followers. If Hunters die, it seems to please the Witch greatly, and probably is tantamount to unholy human sacrifice. And thus she waxes all the greater in her devilry.
Zauberin can target one Hunter and damage their sanity. She will also send him reeling away in an Abyss, if the Imperium is strong enough.

Tactics

A Coven Model is always frightening and useful in a fight.

Possession

Zauberin can shut down one attack per Combat. That's an Exchange in which the Hunter will be harmless.

Critical Hit

This Witch damages Sanity when she hits with a Critical Result.

A Ledger in a Silent Convent

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In those days you could find peace and prayer neverending beyond these walls, as it was wont to be. A place of virtue, the Convent was a beacon of rectitude and religion, a white lily among the thorns of the valley.

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Zauberin came at Matins. If anybody could have seen that incident, they would have deemed impossible that nuns and servants could fail to see her, for there she stood. Of course, the awfulness of her countenance was mostly hidden in the night, but our lamps shone back from her nightjar eyes. Regardless, it did not occur to me that it was strange for so many women to keep their peace in the face of horror, as if they were blind. I did the same, I staggered for a moment, my breath heavy, just to sneak a blank stare, hiding my pallor or any sign of swooning.

“O Sister, what is it?”

“Nothing at all.”

Or again: “Are you quite all right, dear?”

“Yes, Mother, ‘twas just my old game leg. It torments me grievously in the damp air. God bless you.”

So it came to happen that the Psalms, which were still echoing in such a gathering of pure souls, withered on the branch like forlorn fruit. The Convent staggered on like an old man who felt an heartstroke, but still keeps puttering along his daily chores in bull-headed denial. We went back to sleep and we told ourselves lies: just a dream; just a fancy.

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At Lauds we went to the church, and were forced to parade in front of Zauberin. She was playing her panflute, a gloomy march. She was in full light, now, but everybody acted like it was normal. No one spoke about her, but I saw Sister Grete and Sister Klárisza failing to suppress a tremor, an agitation of the limbs. They cast their eyes about feverishly, beseeching support or at least some sign of acknowledgement. I am shameful to say I ignored them and Zauberin. And more, I noticed with consternation that the two sisters failed to notice each other. It was like we were all trapped in our personal oubliette. After Lauds, the Holy Mass went on as usual, and everything was as it should have been.

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Prime came after the busy work in the kitchens. We warmed the food prepared the previous day and dealt with what was going to be served fresh. Fussing with worry, we fortified the broth with the blood of Sister Klàrisza. Nobody commented about it, since each of us was far too humble to boast about crafting such a scheme, and we were afraid to be upbraided by the Abbess. Such a hardy, severe woman, always disinclined about being spoiled, but we knew the holy nuns would need such a strong repast. In the refectory they all ate with gusto, all the while listening to Sister Adelheid reading from the Bible. She had the fairest voice among all. No other Convent could humbly display a nun such as Adelheid, cold as a buried angel and very nimble of tongue, reading the Scriptures backwards, fast as a wren. Sister Grete was not in the refectory, but Sister Klàrisza was present, for the most part, among her Sisters.

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Terce saw us all laboring. Zauberin’s music was vivacious. We had to prepare for the Festival. I had never seen brightly colored nuns, but it was fitting for the glory of the Convent. We liked carmine the most.

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When the Abbess held Chapter we all prayed, but some yelled and sang and spoke in tongues, and certain novices tried to convince me that Sister Adelheid, who was now holding a Lectio, had been replaced by a creature that shared the features of both a woman and a donkey. I answered to them that only the Abbess was competent to settle any matter of Form. Zauberin played accompanied by cymbals, bagpipes and an hurdy-gurdy.

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Sext came, and with it Prandium, but there was nothing to eat in the Convent. Zauberin sang: “Food is to be found in a market. Food is to be found in a market.” The Abbess asked her what she would eat, and she answered citing the Scriptures: “Let the children come to me.” We deemed her words wise, and we threw open the doors. We went to the market, then, and we were famished, and we did not return alone. I judged it marvelous for the Convent to be filled with so many voices and screams. Sister Grete reappeared, and with good news: she had sharpened all the knives, cleavers and axes in the kitchens, and still she was ready to do more work! We joined her in merriment.

[Strange scrawls follow. They are penned in unknown hands, as if a number of people had tried to write poetry in an unfamiliar script. Then the previous hand resumes.]

As I write I realize I skipped None, Vespers and I think Compline is long gone. Who could scold me? I am no Chronicler, I’m just an unlettered servant that was granted this pen and inkwell by Zauberin, together with knowledge from the Tree of Wisdom. I am indeed so wise that I grow grey and yet here I am, barely past twenty and one. Hunter, I leave these page for your perusal. We know you are stalking Her. If you find this, you surely stand in our Convent and wonder at the glory of the World that Zauberin wishes to share with Man. If you are brave enough, follow our parade. You will soon match our step.

The panflute draws fainter, and farther. I must depart.