Her debut is impressed with many appellations such as misconstrued, mutated, and suspended; warped by death, woe, and savagery in the fickle wounds of love, family, and pure devotion. Suspended by the correlations of spiritual aptitude and sheer mass of her own ability, Magdalena appears stranded in the visual cues of her younger self, wizened only by the depths of her eyes that are sheer pits of sapphire that blaze an eternal intelligence and keen apathy. Her countenance borders stoic and indifferent, porcelain and unwavering in every faceted possibility of a mortal shell, but fissure and crumble from her acute pain that seems eternal; a constant war within the small frame of a battered soldier. With fair complexion, and nearly translucent blonde hair giving impression to someone delicate, this is additionally compounded by her short stature that brims with both fire and shadow. Her identity seems to waver, often witnessed battered and struggling, an eternal seed of hatred that has long corrupted her presentation. Evidence of her inflections are illustrated in the fine weaves of obsidian taint that stains the blue of her crippling stare, dying the roots of her hair to soot, and staining the beds of her nails and pores that seem consistently warped by sludge and ink.

The beautiful tragedy that once scored both infamy and rumour has been driven to a mere reflection of her former self, begetting the woeful inquires of where the once proud warrior vanished to.

Apathetic and swathed in a multitude of grey, Magdalena’s ideals and consensus of her surroundings have eternally been muddled, deluged and dreaded in a bland existence. Drowned within a imbued perception of black, she adheres to the belief of predetermined existence, destiny, and Fate. Her worships are pessimistic and sopped in woe and agony, a degree of misfortune embellished in the infections of a curse. She views circumstances and situations with a universal certainty that it has been meant to be and thus must come to pass. The relationship she has cultivated with her spirits are deeply ingrained, enough that the barrier of self and soul have become blended and nonexistent, her methods of communication embellish a sense of Eternity, as if she has lived a thousand lives and seen a thousand deaths, as if she has seen all the evil and dread in the world and wears the misfortune of others and empathy on her shoulders. Whilst impressed as the terrible creature of pain, therein lies the extreme of desire, the qualms of a being that finds purpose in misery and terror, a masochistic adhesive betwixt death and life.

It is an inquiry commonly bequeathed of where life and purpose began. Was the initial prologue written in the tundra of Thuringia, or later in Helston where a home of daisy wallpaper and scarlet tulips reined, or did they come to fruition in the Army where tragedy began and found purchase in the grace of a savior? Or, was happiness and life found within the gift of children, where twins were bestowed to a woman who knew nothing but torture and woe, who smiled and wept whilst clutching both babes to her breast. She grieved over their Fate but found a wealth of pride in their own grace. But, Magdalena was never meant for a family, though she was saved by the adoration of her husband, Rene, it was never enough to staunch the flow of destiny in the figures of shadows and molten tears.

Magdalena had reaped an infamous tale within the ranks of the Army, her contingent of companions that had sired root within the town of Helston also bearing their own fame in the fortunes and stories of Guardians. Being among the first and left in the initial terrors of the Calamity, spirits had found succor and sanctuary of her family, her brothers and herself bearing the darkest and most misunderstood swathes of void like existence with remnants of elements corroding their souls even further. At first, the objectives of relief and evacuations had been the intentions, to save all they could from the increasing Mordrem as the Dark Zone increased and swelled, bringing storms and quaking earth in its’ reach. Magdalena oft feared for her children, with Rene constantly fixated in a wrath to keep his family safe, but to also find the remains of the Faye tribe and families that had retreated and vanished entirely when Libra was sanctioned and penned into a state of decay.

The Abendroths were an eternal moniker in the Army, founded by the initiation of Kristoff and his children, a vast family that followed in the falls of his own rite. However, a mission had gone horribly wrong, a critical error and mistake that ended within the tale of a hill of bleached bone and the remnants of a man seated upon the throne of Death. The myriad of fissures within Magdalena had splintered and yawned wider, exposing the abyss if her spirits that would see to her Fate. The curse of her family, the Abendroth’s of wavering dusk and dawn, also fell onto her companions. The entire squadron found death on the impalement of terrible creatures that stole both heart and soul, gained their spirits and left them to rot. Magdalena blamed herself, her body broken and shattered, her heart deadened and forsaken and with her husband having fled back to Anatolia to see to their children and their own life, she herself retreated and left to the Dark Zone, intent on decimating the Modrem that had reaped the lives of her beloveds, but a missive of even further loss illustrated the final infection of her cursed life.

The death of her son.

She could only blame the curse of her own family and that of her husband that had robbed her child of life and potential and sired on so much dissolution, it was no wonder the destiny of something more found fixation in her deeply seeded spirit of necrosis. Her wrath and agony swelled into a terrifying swath of shadow and magmatic wrath, the sin of her anger manifesting into something beyond conception. In the remains of her empathy, scorched earth of blackened soil has been left with the terribly sensation of loss and despair lingering within the stagnant air.

Magdalena has vanished since then, leaving behind a smear on the Abendroth and Faye names, her husband also forsaken elsewhere. Her whereabouts have been unknown for years, but her induction as a Guardian has thus remained with the hopes of a particular general hoping for her return, and a young woman wondering if she yet lives or has long since passed.

Magdalena once bore a giant circlet as her primary weapon; a massive and bladed Chakram utilized within hand-to-hand combat of brutal elegance. However the sheer mass of her spirits have forsaken psychical combat, relying solely on the powers in her being to see to the intentions of offense and defense. The accumulation of her spirits are so vast and have manifested into physical notions, constant and eternal swathes of shadows and pulsating ruby cores discovered within the gloom of her shadows. Her own persona shadow is a warped pool of ink, moving and fluctuating to the bends of emotions of those around her, and sometimes her own empathy inflections.