Portia Borgia

Once known as Mary Bishop, she grew up in one of the many dirty alleys of Botwood. She doesn’t really remember who her parents were, not that it wasn't normal growing up in a workhouse and then running away with a few friends into the streets where they would join one of the many gangs in the city. Being strong, faster and cruel was something that was drilled into Mary’s head, that one couldn’t be kind in her position. Everyone was out for themselves and even giving a sign of weakness would have you devoured. You didn’t steal enough, you wouldn’t get fed.

Didn’t stop one of her friends, Bruce Moreau from always helping other kids in the street. He always shared his share of rations to those that failed to meet their quota and even helped down those that didn’t deserve it. Mary told him to stop, but Bruce would smile and say that if they didn’t help each other, no would do it either. Others made fun of him but Mary found herself admiring him for such an outlook.

Too bad, such positive outlooks do nothing when the plague hits. At first, she didn’t notice things at first as fog was normal for a seaside city. Sure, there were a few more people coughing, it was normal. It was when people started getting sores, more dead bodies on the street and the fog took to having a sickly green color to it. There was nothing natural about this as when things were at their peak, they all saw them.

The monks of the Order of the Black Typhoon.

Known for making others stronger, they do this by releasing a plague on unsuspecting villages and cities. Those who survived their sickness were known to be stronger, but it was the body count that makes others more aware of their presence. There was even the rare story that those survivors would be recruited into their order and learn their ways. People either took their chances in getting stronger, or ran to the hills to escape their wrath.

That was the plan for Mary. She wanted to live and escape the city with her friends. They could start up again somewhere else but they would need supplies for the road. It took too long and Mary soon found her coughing and sores appearing on her arms and legs. She caught it.

Laying there on the ground in their hideout, Mary barely could hear the voices as the other children finally left, leaving her to die. She weakly looked out to see Bruce, her best friend, someone who always put others before himself, leaving. He might have looked sad, that he didn’t want to leave her behind.

But Mary didn’t see that. She just saw her only real friend leave her in her moment of need. Her body was weak from illness, but her mind was fuzz with rage and anger. Why now!? Why did he decide to leave her behind now?! She struggles through the pain, the coughing and sickness haze of her mind as she continues to live. She fought those that remained behind for whatever scraps and bits were left. It was her life or theirs’ and Mary wouldn’t decide that she was her own highest priority.

Which was what brought her to the attention of Cosimo Pastora, a member of the Black Typhoon. He saw the drive of survival in Mary, how she was able to overcome their plague at such a young age. It was him that brought Mary into the Order of the Black Typhoon to learn their ways.

He said that she was reborn, that her past self had died to give way to her more formidable self.

That is when she was given the name Portia Borgia.

Portia would become one of their most skilled monks, absorbing all their teachings and skills like a sponge. All the while, she would just think about that last moment of her old life, the simpler times without the brutal training. The image of Bruce didn’t phase as she wanted to meet him again.

And make him suffer for leaving her behind.

Once she learned all that could be taught, the Order sent her out into the field to teach their lessons to others. Not her plan as Portia would only teach others that she was stronger than them. She would make herself superior over others and if they happen to survive her wrath, then maybe she will be merciful to keep them alive.

The Order’s ways weren’t her highest priority, but her own.