Not so much ritual evil, though. This was more a good background motivation for being who she was.
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If you ever asked her, Djrra might say that she is the smartest, quickest, strongest, and most cunning hunter there ever was. For all practical purposes, she isn’t. But she isn’t terrible. However, knowing that isn’t all that important. What is important is knowing why she does what she does, to a certain extent.

Like any felar with malign intent, she is ruled by the need to hunt and kill. A “civilized” felar with an evil heart is somewhat of a running joke in felar communities. She was raised among wolves, so to speak, in the plains north of Voralia. The tight-knit group of bandits that comprised her “family” waylaid travelers, robbing them of their belongings and money, and often killed them. As there was no other example for her to live by, this is how she grew up.

A day came by when Djrra, off on her own and learning to waylay travelers by her lonesome was distracted by a rabbit. She decided she was hungry and gave chase, frightening the poor thing as it darted this way and that across the plains. Dusk was approaching and she didn’t want to lose her prey in the darkness, so she doubled her speed. The rabbit dashed between the legs of a creature Djrra didn’t notice until it was right in front of her. The creature, which appeared to be a horse, stomped furiously, distracting the fela’s attention and causing her to lose her prey. In a fit of anger, she swiped at the face of the horse, raking her claws across its maw. It neighed furiously and charged her. She was so taken aback by this that she leaped into the air and landed on the horse’s back. It then sped up. Djrra dug her claws in and held on, too frightened to let go and jump off.

Over plains, hills, and mountains it strode until reaching the walls of a city. Djrra found that she couldn’t move, held in place by some unnatural spell. In the waning light of dusk, she could see large men with whips beating the backs of stooped laborers carrying rocks and adding fortifications to the wall. The eyes of the laborers looked dull and complacent, like those of cows who knew what fate awaited them and had no spirit left to hope for something better.

With a shot, the horse was off again. It galloped through forests and on top of rivers. It seemed to go so fast that its hooves didn’t even touch the ground. It stopped again in front of the Imperial palace. Several Imperials gathered around the wriggling, writhing, trussed body of an elf. They took turns branding the elf with iron as he screamed in pain. They jeered at him and reveled in his torture.

The horse lept into the air and came down running at full speed again. This time, it charged straight at a wall and just as Djrra tried to brace for the impact, she and the horse flowed through it as though it were nothing but mist. The horse skidded to a halt as a legion of armed guards cornered a criminal. As the criminal threw up his hands and begged for mercy, one of the guards stepped forward and ran his sword through the gut of the criminal.

In the blink of an eye, Djrra and the horse were back on the plains where she first saw it. She was able to move again and released her claws from the flank of the horse. She tentatively lept down and turned to look at the creature. Staring straight back at her, it started to speak, but oddly, without moving its mouth. “I am a pooka, an ethereal spirit of the hills and plains. Because you have insulted me, I have chosen you as the victim of my curse. On the ride, you have seen the death of spirit caused by slavery, you have seen the fruits of torture by the hands of the Empire, and you have seen the ‘mercy’ of the law. Your eyes are now open to the darkness in the world. For the rest of your life, you will struggle to end these injustices and bring the world back to its natural state before these ideals of civilization existed. That is your curse. Before I go, I leave you with one choice. It will determine the nature of your soul, and once you make it, you will never be able to go back.” And with that, the voice stopped. Djrra waited a moment for more words about the ‘choice’, but nothing. A few more moments and still… nothing. Frustration was mounting. After all that was shown to her, how could the pooka present two choices and then not state them? Frustration quickly mounted into anger, and as it welled up and reached a crescendo, Djrra struck out with her claw, ripping out the throat of the ghost horse. Its blood gushed out, and as it touched the fela’s fur, it started to burn, yet there was no flame. As the ghostly immolation consumed Djrra, she started to scream. The pooka’s voice came into her head as its knees buckled and the horse began to convulse on the ground. “You have chosen a path of darkness and despair. As it will be your strength, it will also be your greatest weakness. There will never be one you can trust, nor any you can call friend. Your thirst for the hunt will override your sense of wanting any kind of peace for yourself. While someone of a goodly soul will find happiness in what they do, you will only find your dark, tormented needs never sated. My blood sains you and curses you. Do you feel it pulsing in your ears? Your hunt begins now…” Then, everything went black for the poor fela.

She awoke back at the hideout of her bandit family. As consciousness and awareness slowly came to her, she realized there was no movement. She stood as quickly as she was able and scanned her surroundings. Every bandit was dead, looking as though they were ripped apart by some wild animal. Djrra looked down at her claws. Bits of flesh and dried blood still clung to them. Some vague sense of sadness washed over her, but was immediately replaced by a.. a hunger. More. Blood.