***Somewhere near 1650***
A lonely figure stood in the moor amid the long-abandoned stone huts of neolithic men. She herself was responsible for their extinction, though she would seldom admit to such an atrocity. She looked out over their forgotten bones, but she could not muster an ounce of remorse for their deaths. This single village of men had once helped her to birth and perfect more than a dozen new breeds of hell-hound throughout it's short existence. Now, she returned to this place of great luck to test her newest breed. The Beast had yet no name, but he was the massive height of a prized stallion and held all the rage inside him of the demons that had created his ancestors, long ago. In essence, he was perfect in the eyes of his maker.
The Beast wandered only in the shadows of the moor, but he never ventured far from his beloved mistress. Many an hour into the night, he called to her and set off for the Hall of the Baskervilles. His mistress followed like a ghastly shadow, her feet seldom touching the earth. Upon arrival, the pair witnessed a timid maiden fleeing from the Hall as if the devil himself was chasing her. The mistress laughed at the expression. She had met the devil many a night and even dined at his dinner table. He would never sink so low as to chase after some poor human in the dead of the night.
Shortly thereafter, the two heard the unmistakable stumble of a drunk and the clatter of glass. A man who could be none other than Hugo Baskerville, Master of Baskerville Hall, crashed down the length of the table in the dining hall. His drunken shouts were hard to decipher, but his meaning was clear. Hugo Baskerville was offering himself to any force of night; any power of evil that could allow him to catch this 'wench' could henceforth have his body and his soul.
"My young pup, I believe we can be of assistance. Who are we to deny this man his prayers?" The mistress said unto her beast.
"How would you please that I may be of assistance, my mistress?" The hell-hound's voice was distorted from speaking through the muzzle of a great wolf. His six hungry eyes watched as Hugo Baskerville climbed astride a massive stallion.
"Spook his steed. Chase the beast directly to the young maiden. Then you are to allow Master Baskerville to bask in the glory of his victory." The mistress smiled in grim delight. "Only then may you take what Master Baskerville has promised us. Feast on his body, my dearest pup. I request only the soul of Master Hugo Baskerville tonight."
When the dark mistress caught up with her hound, he was feasting on Hugo Baskerville's flesh, while the master still lived. She left Master Baskerville to the pain of his mistake and went instead to the now dying maiden. Her womb was now torn beyond repair, and all the mistress could do for her was comfort her in death.
"My lovely avenging angel," The maiden reached to touch the mistress's face, even as she breathed her last few breaths. "I don't ask for much, my angel. I am aware that I am ruined for heaven. I ask only one thing, in return for my tattered soul, I beg of you, my lady in black, please rid this world of that man's evil kin. Kill every last man with Baskerville blood in my name, I beg of you, my dark lady."
If such was the dying request of a murdered woman, what kind of person would the mistress in the night be to deny such a simple request? A good one, that's what kind of person she would be, and we can never allow anyone to think something like that of her.
"Kill his men, my dearest hound. Slaughter them, but leave his sons and a single witness to tell the tale. We shall return for them later." The dark mistress ordered. "From this night on, you will be called the Hound of the Baskervilles."