Flora Mortis

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She is not fond of papparazzi
Flora Mortis
Player: @OnyxPenumbra
Origin: Magic
Archetype: Dominator
Threat Level: 33
Personal Data
Real Name: Flora Mortis
Known Aliases: Confidential
Species: None; she is a unique creation
Age: Unsure; perhaps 1 1/2 years
Height: Confidential
Weight: Confidential
Eye Color: Confidential
Hair Color: Confidential
Biographical Data
Nationality: ?
Occupation: Vengeance
Place of Birth: Nerva Archipelago
Base of Operations: Confidential
Marital Status: Confidential
Known Relatives: Confidential
Known Powers
Entangling vines, poisonous thorns
Known Abilities
No additional information available.

The Mage was frustrated. Like his Circle of Thorns brethren, he lusted after power, and the return of Oranbega to its rightful position as the Navel of the World, dominating and subjugating all the living races. This much she gathered from his rantings, after a time. But this particular Mage (she never did learn his name) lusted after more than power. Pain was his aphrodisiac, and he brought many captives to his "special" rooms, there to commit unspeakable acts upon their bodies.

The frustration came from the regrettable fact that these creatures of mere flesh were unable to withstand all the torments his febrile mind could invent, and expired long before he was ready. He tried experimenting with the rock, fungus and tree creatures of the Devouring Earth, but found them insufficiently "expressive" to suit his needs.

And so he created her.

Created her with a spell of his own devising, from the toughest, most durable living tissue he knew of: a carrion creeper vine. Created her in the form, and with the emotions, of a human. Created her to bear his most inventive tortures, his most exquisite agonies, to bring him to the pinnacle of his pleasure. This much she gathered from his gloating.

How does a child understand the sickness of its parent? When does a creature comprehend the madness of its creator? She knew no other existence. And yet there are things that no being can endure, despite being told they were created precisely to endure them. Rage and despair continually deposed each other in her mind... and she began to grow a thorn. Deep within her the thorn grew and hardened, and she concentrated all the poisons of her being in its tip.

Did he know she could do this? Perhaps he did not. Or perhaps he did, and the knowledge that it was possible added to his excitement. He will never tell, because she slew him with this thorn, piercing him as she had been pierced so many times, and he died.

Her human side was all magic; the plant side was real. And so, although she could reason, she did so as a plant. If one plant bears fruit, all its kind bear fruit. If one plant has thorns, all its kind have thorns. If one plant is poisonous, so too are all its kind . Why should humans be different? And so she hated all humans, and hunted them down and killed them, for HE had been a human.

And the rage and the hatred and the despair drove her and sustained her, for a time. But she neglected to feed herself, thought only rarely about water, and though she was strong, her leaves grew dry and brittle, her plant fiber muscles became shrunken and stiff, and she might very well have died. But a human came upon her, trying in vain to reach the water too far below her in a storm drain on a back alley in Mercy. And mercy he had on her. Too weak to resist him, she let herself be carried to his home, and there he gave her water and potting soil and fertilizer, and she mended. And when she tried to kill him too, he held her at bay, for he was a swordsman of great ability, and she could not hold or impale him. And slowly she came to understand that although he could hurt her, yet he would not. And thus began her education.

She remains quite naive in many ways, and all too worldly in others. She does not trust easily, in fact very little at all, but she has been shown kindness and some measure of understanding by several members of the Agency to which the swordsman belonged. She is confused, and frightens easily, not from the possibility of combat, but from the possibility of betrayal.

She is learning...

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