Name: Iona Archeron

Nicknames: Ona. 

Gender: Female.

Species: Demi-Goddess. Witch.

Titles: Bringer of Woe, Rage Witch.

Coven: Sisterhood Of Shadows. 

Orientation: Picky.

Relationship Status: Now Whoever Has Time...

Height: 5'9.

Figure: Slender, with a Willowy form. 

Hair: Voluminous Waves of Midnight.  

Eyes: Steely Chipped Onyx.

Skin Tone: Ghostly Pallor. 

Unique Features: Creeping shadow vines wrapped around each of her forearms, which move as if they're alive. 

Rage can birth a great many things, it's a force few can stand against, a reckoning of hellish destruction and supernatural might. One such being knows this story very well. It all started with a Goddess whom one might say cared too much, Morana, known as the Silver Goddess favoured humanity to the point her rage at seeing them harmed grew too much to contain within her. It burst forth like a spark and manifested itself as a new being. As dark as Morana was light this new being would become a tool for vengeance and destruction, her shadows decimating vampire nests. Butchering zombie hordes and eviscerated the Spirits of the Vengeful dead. She was given the name Iona Archeron and would come to be known as the Bringer of Woe, the Rage Witch and several other reverent names by those who grew almost worshipful of her. When task grew to great for one being alone, the spark split, creating seven more. Together they would become known as the Sisterhood of Shadows. 

Eventually as most beings are wont to do, they formed relationships, started families that would one day bloom into a society all their own, following only one mandate, destroy the unnatural to safeguard humanity. Eight distinct bloodlines made up the society that would begin to call themselves "Hunter Witches." Though each generation the power got less and less potent, these warrior women grew more human the further away from their celestial ancestors that they got. 

Whilst Iona and the fellow members of the Sisterhood were practically immortal, they were not it would seem infallible. Those that disproved of Morana's blessed protectors, deities whom the hordes of the walking dead were actually doing a service for banded together their considerable power to destroy Morana's creations. When they found that the could not, the universe deeming it that such beings needed to exist to maintain the natural order of things. They instead forced the Sisterhood of Shadows into a deep hibernation, a magically induced sleep they thought they could never wake from. 

The Powers That Be however had other ideas, it could be said a fail safe of sorts was put into place. Within each of the Eight Bloodlines a catalyst was born, a witch who's soul bore a spark that identified them as one with their slumbering ancestor. For those that believed the original eight to be dead it was often surmised that these catalysts were reincarnations, like phoenixes that had been born from the ashes of their own destruction when the times most needed them again. More powerful than your average witch the catalysts are unaware of their purpose until the moment it comes to pass. 

For the Archeron bloodline that moment came on the wings of betrayal, blood and death. Twenty-Six years prior to the reckoning notorious witch hunter Aleksandr Grigorovich married a witch of this bloodline and with her had a daughter and a son two years apart from each other. When he found out his wife and eldest child were witches he walked away, vanished into the ether sowing seeds of heart break and abandonment everywhere. But this would not be the last we hear of Grigorovich, quite to the contrary in fact, the man returns hell bent on righting his own wrongs even if that means killing his own flesh and blood. 

A battle rages and in the midst of it Aleksandr murders his estranged wife, leaving the bloodline without it's matriarch.  Grief, sorrow and a burning rage fills all those that still stand against him, but none more so than his daughter. It was a fight the girl could not have hoped to win, much like Natasha had been she was at a disadvantage. Her magic was harmless to the living. Her father had her subdued within moments of their fight beginning and yet...

As the blade of his weapon pierced her skin, dug deep into her gut a chain reaction of events occurred almost simultaneously. I sonic boom sent a shockwave rippling through the dilapidated warehouse, blowing the glass out of the windows to shower like needle sharp arrows into the skin of those who didn't seek cover. The young hunter witch collapsed as if the strings of a marionette had been cut yet she was still very much alive, although bleeding from the wound sliced across her gut. From her chest was released a spark of abyssal shade which expanded outwards into a wall of roiling shadows a mass that grew so big it almost blanketed the whole building. Only to be sucked inwards as if drawn into the depths of a black hole. 

And when the dust settled? There she stood.

Vengeance. Rage. Reckoning. Iona Archeron...and she was pissed. 

Nobody can say for sure what happened that night, it was all just a blur after the explosion. But when the dust settled, someway, somehow Grigorovich and his men were all dead, necks broken at sickening angles. The witches were alive and unharmed but the body of Natasha Archeron was gone and the unconscious form of her daughter Coralie had also vanished. As if the strange figure of rage incarnate had spirited them away some place. 

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