Aries Morganna

Aries Morganna

"Some smart guy once called her a "flagellant". She decided she liked the word and kept it."

"If you wanna keep that hand, you don't touch my hair. No exceptions! Don't touch anything else either. If I want your paws on me, I'll put them there myself. Don't wait on me to let you know. That ain't going to happen."

"I hear I got something of a reputation, so let me set the record straight: If the mission is to get the goods, I get the goods. If the mission is to kill the person, I kill the person. The mission ain't ever going to be to drag your sorry ass the whole way. Carry yourself, or stay here. I don't need you. You might be useful, but I don't need you. If you got a problem with that, stay here. I could care less."

Strange words to come from a devout follower of Arithelia. It takes all kinds. However, her kind was the kind to sneak to altars of Nevyne and Kupiec in the night and give lavish offerings in hopes they might fulfill her life's obsession: that Elijah becomes hers. She often thought of stealing children, a meal she'd heard Kupiec greatly enjoys, as she conducted her missions. She stole much else. It reminded her of her youth, yet she had no way of knowing if her frequent and increasingly lavish offerings were appreciated. She didn't care. She wouldn't stop. Divine assistance was another method towards her goals, and she'd stop at nothing to achieve them.

She'd never failed to complete a mission. She'd returned from quite a few on a stretcher. She'd had to explain some reports of using her companions as sacrifices in certain missions to accomplish them. She'd faced countless reprimands. It didn't matter. Even when they ordered her not to do missions, she'd disappear, and return with another successful mission, the most dangerous she could find. 

There were some who looked up to her for this: those she'd saved, those she'd assisted; those who believed her devotion to the cause was what would win them this conflict. However, to her, anyone who was not Elijah was like an ant. One does not care if one steps on an ant. One might burn or destroy ants without remorse if it suits them. If an ant benefits from one's actions, it is merely a matter of coincidence. She was brusque, sometimes cruel, when people shared their appreciation for the things she did, but there are always those kind souls who'd simply attribute that to her nature, and speak fondly of her despite her shortcomings.

It didn't matter. She would prove her love, prove her devotion, this was Elijah's movement, and she would sacrifice everything to prove her worth to him. Surely he would see. Surely he would love me.

Her wool is not sheared unless she lets it, and she trusts only those Elijah insists she trust to do so. She can't get him to do it himself. Insists he's blind, and that he can't. She didn't care how it looked, especially if he did it. It got too heavy, got in the way; made her neck hurt. She still kept a large, woolly afro as an act of defiance for a life where it'd been denied her, which hides her curled horns, and she made sure her knobby little tail had more than enough wool to attract notice, but other than that she kept it full but maintained.

If the mission called for her to be out long, only then would she shear it short. It was then her curled horns could be seen, making her look like some sort of demon. Her clothes were always utilitarian. Her existence was conflict. She never knew when she needed to run, needed to climb or jump, pursue, or to fight. She often savagely mangled her clothes as she fought. She didn't always bother replacing them. Some smart guy once called her a "flagellant". She decided she liked the word and kept it. She also slit her own arm with the jagged end, and let him feel it. It wasn't that bad. He, like so many others she met in life, was a crybaby.

She's riddled with stabs, cuts, scars, and wounds, many of which come from her days as an orphan, and many more from her time in the M.L.M.. Her style is known: cutting herself to disable others through extreme pain, sometimes shock, walking up as they writhe in agony, and delivering the coup de grâce. Because of this, she always has tourniquets fastened to her limbs, only tight enough to hold in place. It is a much simpler matter to apply one in an emergency if they were already on your limbs, especially for one such as her. 


Bland, mass produced or easily stolen utilitarian attire. Her tourniquets give her distinction. She likes her boots. Her clothes are generally ripped and torn, but not for fashion. You can often see the still healing wounds, or lingering scars beneath those tears. She's a walking canvas of scars, and the brush of her knife is always eager to add more paint.

Parents
Mother: Unknown
Father: Unknown

Extended Family
Unknown



She's been alone as long as she could remember. As an orphan, they sheared her hair for the money. She didn't see a dime. She learned to play, and play rough. Others noticed her lack of empathy, so they separated her from others. That was fine. They didn't want to play the way she wanted them to play. They were cry babies. They tattled when you hit them. They tattled when you ate their food, played with their toys; borrowed their things. Now she always had her own toys to play with, her own space, and everything was hers.

When they made her play outside, she took what she wanted. She learned to be fast, to be quick; to have a sharp wit. She was caught plenty, and they punished her thoroughly for her actions, and for being what she was. She grew accustomed to the pain. She taught herself not to cry. As long as she didn't cry, she won. It was all a game, and she got good at it: stealing and punishment.

She was a teen when they forced her in to camp. They made her work alongside others again, and she hated it. They hurt her when they sheared her hair. That wasn't right. No matter how she'd been beaten or punished, they'd always been careful when they sheared her, even though she hated it. She hated it more than anything.

There was this old guy, Elijah, didn't much care. Told her to be quiet and keep working. Jerk. She hated him.

Luckily, there was this sweet lady, Serena. She listened, was patient, was kind, and didn't seem to mind when she said terrible, awful things. She'd try to correct her, and Aries found herself actually changing to please her. The woman showed appreciation for her efforts, and she strove to be everything Serena wanted her to be.

- but there was just one problem: Serena was married to Elijah! Why? How? She was the kindest, most wonderful person in the world. She listened to her. She cared about her. She... (Does she love me? Is this what a mother is like?)

Aries was furious. Elijah must be cruel to her. He must hit her, must beat her, must abuse her, must neglect her; something! She grew too confident in saying so, and when she crossed the line, Serena lost her temper for the only time she ever remembered, and used her magic in a way she never had before.

She felt it: the depth of her love. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and would have given every part of herself that love touched for him. She felt the memories of his love and kindness in those fibers, and knew from the warm, radiating feelings of adoration, appreciation, and the overwhelming happiness she felt just thinking about him, that he did none of those terrible things. He wasn't like the police or those who ran the orphanage, that hated her for being a magi, even as they profited from her wool. He, despite never showing it to her, was a gentle, kind; loving man.

She left in silence that day. She never spoke of Elijah again. The feelings Serena felt for him were stronger than any feeling she'd ever mustered in her whole life. Her whole world was dwarfed by this love, a love that was not of her, but she felt it inside her: a lie.

She didn't speak to Elijah either. Never really had, but now blatantly avoided his gaze, rather that shooting him indignant glares every time she thought he wasn't looking. She thought she hated him. Now, she had no idea what to think, what to feel; what she understood. Elijah was confusing, and Serena loved him.

It seemed those days would never end. It might have been better that way. Instead, some new guard took something precious from them all, even as Stella, their baby, the one she secretly called "little sister" all to herself where no one could hear her and no one would know, was still too young to speak. She never found out what, but it had brought Elijah to violence.

Elijah was a stern man, but he'd never harmed anyone as far as she knew. Since that day with Serena, she'd began to notice his kindness, his gentleness, and all those tender qualities that made Serena love him.

He'd beat that guard within an inch of his life.

The fool turned himself in, and things got worse. It wasn't even a week before their whole world fell apart.

The earth shook, and fires burned. The wind howled, and even water rose from where it lie in protest. Pandemonium reigned in the camp, and in those moments Aries could not find her: Serena, her secret mom.

Then she did. She walked alongside an Elijah who leaned against her heavily for support. She recognized the way he acted as if the drugs still ran heavy in his system, and saw the fresh burns beneath his brow. She didn't often react to pain, but that elicited a wince from her then.

It was nothing compared to what would follow. Before she could run to help her friend Serena, a thunderous explosion pierced through the cacophony. The sight of the gaping hole forming in her dear friend's head, and how blood and flesh and brain matter fled in the bullet's wake and stained the ground behind her, how she'd collapse limp and lifeless, instantly, upon the ground, and how the blinded Elijah struggled to find the source of her injuries: it was the closest she'd ever gotten to truly crying; not just those manipulative crocodile tears that get people to help you. She still swears that a tear fell that day, and the thought that she didn't know for certain if she did still eats her to this day.

Alas, Elijah would find it. Then Elijah, despite his drugged state, would react. She'd seen many cruel, unspeakable acts in her life, but this went beyond that. This reminded her of the callousness an item falls upon an unsuspecting person, caving in their skull, or the way a vehicle who's brakes had failed pins and severs a passerby without remorse. He was nothing like how she'd ever seen him. Even she knew this was wrong. She ran to stop him.

Until now it has not been mentioned, but Aries was a late bloomer. Until this moment she had never felt her magic stir within her. She'd never felt its power; never felt her birthright. She was flooded with Empathy, and she knew the intensity of his loss. It carved itself in her mind, just as Serena's love had. She'd never felt much herself. These two weights bent the space and time of her mind, and all else was pulled close, like light and matter to a black hole.

She was consumed.

He collapsed. Elijah had gone far beyond his limits that day. Had it not been for her, he would have probably died. She found help, and stayed by his side, ensured he only received benign care, until he awoke. From that day on, she vowed to live for him: the man Serena loved; the person who felt her loss with magnitude she could never muster. She resented him for that. She loved him for that.

My Elijah.

When he joined the M.L.M., she followed despite his protests. She did everything in her power to help him rise. Now he leads, and she follows the orders of none but him. Many have complained of this fact, so she listens to those Elijah tells her to. She doesn't listen to them. She listens to Elijah, who allows them to speak on his behalf. She does as she is told, no matter how long it takes, what it costs, or who it might hurt. She'll sacrifice her comrades, innocents; even herself to see his will done.

Her life was his, and her only wish that his would be hers.