Age: 23 ~
Species: Witch
Powers:
Aquakinesis
Necromancy of the recently deceased (Not yet strong enough for the long deceased)
Basic Witch Skills:
Casting spells/enchantments with the coven
Making potions/tonics
Skilled knowledge of herbs
Group healing
Other Skills:
Poetry
Blending into Crowds
Deciphering Ancient Text
Apt Climber
Persuasion/Bartering (Wordsmith)
Personality:
Rash
Distrustful
Cunning
Quiet
Morgan is fresh to the coven, and has kept mostly to herself speaking seldom to anyone. With a keen eye she is able to read individuals quite clearly without conversation which she can utilise to find weakness or present necessary compassion when she sees fit. Though beloved to her, Morgan is wary of the witches of her Coven – paranoid of rejection or betrayal. Trust comes from a great deal of time and patience alongside Morgan, however, generally, Morgan places the Coven before herself yet only after analysing every detail of the situation, and not before. She often reads alone.
Bio:
Morgan was raised in the Moorlands of Scotland alone with her father, Allaster Clayton, a warlock. Their life was one of solitude; Morgan had never even seen another soul until she was forced to flee. She spent most of her time studying dead and ancient languages in the depths of her father’s library. When she was not doing this her father would teach her the basics of alchemy and apothecary, whilst also slowly training her how to control her unique powers. Her father had always boasted of the purer life free from the conflicts of the world – Morgan’s inherent distrust towards anyone was founded by his teachings. She was never taught about the wider world beyond the endless grass plains; her father assured her she would never need to.
Until, one autumn eve, her father returned from his foraging ravaged with a sudden, blinding desire that seemed to border the edges of madness to contact the deceased: Morgan knew not who. Powerful as Allaster was, he was not strong enough for the depths of the void to continue. And so Morgan, a mere child of 14, watched her father writhe in agony for hours until he finally died. To this day she knows not what had grieved him so to perform such a dangerous task. She fled, now with nothing left for her here.
She spent the remainder of her life in, unusually, London. She had wandered the plains of Scotland for weeks without seeing a sole, before stumbling upon the village of Aviemore. Taken in by strangers, she endeavored to go where more people than she had ever seen before resided: she went to London. She quickly grew accustom to the lifestyle and lived in a tiny, dingy room above a raucous bar – here she carried on her reading and practiced her magic, desperate not to let go of the roots her father had so dearly treasured. Then, one day, mingling with the common people, as she rarely did, she was consumed by a bout of rage induced by a drunk’s persistence in sleeping with her. She, unintentionally, drained the water from his brain. On the run once more, her Coven found her then.