Morgan

Real Name: Morgan Scott
Villain Name: Lady
Title: The Luna Dragon
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Hair: Waist-length
Eyes: Dark
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 121lbs
Blood type: A+


A tall, thin, Caucasian woman with long, brightly-coloured hair and a plethora of tattoos and piercings, Morgan very much looks the part of the whimsical psychic medium. If she were to stand at her full height and don an elegant, form-fitting gown, the girl could appear gracefully intimidating; however, she prefers to curl up inside an enormous sweater, with her slender fingers wrapped around a mug that is held protectively to her chest. While her style might vary, one constant is the talisman that hangs from her neck; a small, leather-wrapped deer antler set with an opal.



A typical Virgo, Morgan is fastidious when it comes to her surroundings. Her peace comes from cleanliness, and although she is partial to collecting bones and other weird oddities, her space is always pleasant, leaving the girl herself with a somewhat calm and uncluttered aura.

June 13th
Spoke to Aunt Cass today. She said she’d had a dream that I’d asked her about our family’s history (why would I do that? Half of them won’t speak to me) but she did it anyway. It was actually really cool. Apparently, we came from a long line of witches before my great grandmother (her grandmother) converted us to Catholics when we came over from Europe. She asked me not to tell mom about it. No worries, haven’t spoken to that bitch in months anyway.

June 29th
When push comes to shove, I don't think I'm afraid to die.

And as someone who has consistent suicide ideation, that idea really scares me. The ideation is pretty normal; it's a wistful little daydream like one might daydream about being some noble hero or simply fantasizing about punching an unruly co-worker.

The idea of the pain - agony, if you like - growing cold, distant, that tingling sensation that ultimately dissolves into numbness. Where once I used to feel safe in the idea that this was way too big and scary to ever consider, I find myself thinking about it more and more... and not being horrified.

July 8th
To whomever is reading this, sorry about the blood. I hope I was able to keep most of it in the bath, at least.
Please, if you find my Aunt Cass, tell her that there was nothing she could have done. I loved her; she was always good to me. When you tell my mom, don’t fall for whatever display of crocodile tears she might put on for you. She doesn’t care. At least she’s free of me now.

July 9th
Where… do I even begin?
I drew a bath, got in, got ready and everything. But then I saw… a vision. He looked like an angel; a tall man robed in a hooded white cloak. He had no fair and his eyes were two beacons of light. I was afraid, but somehow, I knew he wasn’t there to harm me. It was the opposite, in fact. He came to stop me, to tell me that I had a purpose. I was to be the one to guide my family line back to our roots. I asked him how and he said “your first footsteps onto the free land” I wonder if he means my great grandmother’s first home here, I’ll ask Aunt Cass when the sun comes up if she knows anything.

August 17th
I can’t fucking believe it.
Aunt Cass… I can’t believe it. I’m writing this from the gate lounge, waiting to board a flight! Great Grandmother had a little cottage in the hills, and it’s still standing! It sounds so beautiful, a little stone building with one bedroom about 20 minutes outside of this cute little country town. Aunt Cass said it was left to her and she’s added indoor heating and plumbing but otherwise left it because her and Uncle Mortimer are nomads.
And she’s thinking of just signing it over to me, if I decide I want to move in
Like… what the fuck. If I ever see that angel again, I need to thank him. I wonder if there’s actually anything in the cottage that might be worth looking into

August 26th
He was not an angel
I found the cottage. I found the talisman. It looks like some old gypsy relic. Where do I even begin? I put it on, and I felt something, like in the very core of my being. Even just holding it I could feel things I’d never felt before. Fuck… if Aunt Cass said we came from witches…
I saw the being again. The second I touched the talisman, he appeared. But he wasn’t all clad in glowing white this time. His cloak, his eyes… all black. He laughed; I can still hear that terrifying laugh inside my skull. I think the talisman belonged to him, or he’s connected with it. It was all a ploy to get me to touch it, and now he’s here, in my dreams, following me.
I’ve decided to stay, Aunt Cass is sending me some stuff to sign. I’m moving in here. The being – whomever he is – I don’t want to risk unleashing something. But maybe, if I’m here, I can learn how to control this thing a bit.


Telekinesis: An extension of her own form, the most-used spell in Morgan’s arsenal is telekinesis; allowing her to move anything within her range of physical strength (up to 100lbs) that she can see (up to a mile), as long as her concentration remains unbroken

Dragon Aspect: On paper, the spell to transform into a four-legged serpentine dragon with a pair of ferocious wings sounds positively formidable. In practice, however, the dragon is far less majestic, and incapable of the fire-breathing fury of its mythical counterparts. At the size of a small horse, it offers Morgan:

• Dagger-sharp claws capable of rending flesh with ease (but not harder constructs like steel or concrete)
  
• A pair of large, leathery wings that allow her to fly (although these wings are as delicate as any leather, and as her dragon form is heavy, she’s not as agile as most other creatures of the air, reaching speeds of only up to 32mph)
  
• Protective scales that shield her from minor damage like regular blades and claws. However, they would not stop a bullet
  

[Permission required] Empathy:  The first of her two more sinister abilities, Morgan possesses the ability to reach out and “tap in” to the emotions and intentions of those around her. Although she cannot read or interpret direct thoughts; she is often able to tell (unless the target is mentally prepared) whether her target is being deceptive, is fearful, or one other emotion that might give her a clue about their intentions. However, she is easily overwhelmed by such emotions, and if unprepared can be crippled by them.

[Permission required] Suggestion:  The second of her advanced spells, Morgan is able to implant subtle suggestions in the minds of her victims. Whilst not powerful enough to make them do anything detrimental, she place a single-word suggestion into their mind, that they may unknowingly feel compelled to carry out.

The price of power: In addition to her spells each having a limited range and strength, the talisman through which Morgan channels them is cursed, and inflicts her with physical pain each time it’s called upon

The sound of anguish: In addition to the talisman’s physical chastisement; its curse lives within Morgan’s mind. Her left ear is constantly filled with foul whispering, rendering her completely deaf on her left side

Dependency: Although Morgan’s magic is innate, the talisman she wears channels her power; turning it from wild energy into practical spells. Theoretically, one day she might outgrow her need for it, but as it stands, without her talisman, she is unable to cast her spells at all

Magic cooldown: Magic resides within the body of its wielder, and thus, is subject to exhaustion, just as the rest of their body is. Between the use of her spells, Morgan must take time to recuperate, and is vulnerable during that time. (Dragon Aspect can only be used once per thread, Empathy and Suggestion each have a minimum three post cooldown and Telekinesis has a one post cooldown)


Talisman: The tip of a deer antler, set with an opal on its surface, this seemingly innocuous amulet contains a small hidden compartment inside its hollow body. Within lies a stone of unknown origin. While it may act as a spell focus to help Morgan channel her powers, it also contains a curse; the very talisman itself connected to some otherworldly being who seeks only chaos and anguish


When talking to Morgan, some people may happen to find themselves calling her “My Lady” without realising it, thanks to her subtle suggestion

Morgan is tall and slender, as is her shadow. However, if one were to look closer; they might notice that her shadow is almost a foot taller than it should be, and while slender… it looks almost like a cloaked figure, rather than the girl herself

Morgan crumpled to her knees, one hand out to catch her fall, the other reaching to clutch at the amulet around her neck. It pulsed and shivered in her hand, sending wave after wave of searing agony through her skin.

Her heart raced, her mind raced, and each defiant, trembling breath made her shoulders heave with trembling sobs. The wind whipped her hair around her face, the cityscape around her reduced to an inky black sea of twinkling lights. So many people, all so close and yet so tremendously far.

“They’ll be here” she told herself, her voice dissolving into a groan of pain.

Rolling up onto her knees, she paused to catch her breath, panting. They’ll be here. They promised. Her sweet, ruthlessly protective Aunt Cass had never broken a promise; she wouldn’t start now.

The black sky grumbled, threatening to unleash the withheld storm as the young witch felt her resolve begin to crack. They’ll be here.

Moments stretched into minutes. Every time she tried to reach out, to find the aura of the woman who had promised to come to her aid, she was met with only nothingness… and the cruel punishment of the necklace.

She had no idea how long she waited up there, crumpled in pain, as all sense of hope gradually faded away. All around her, the lights on the skyline blinked and twinkled, uncaring in their cold observation. The cold, hard concrete of the rooftop dug into her bare knees, leaving them grazed and bleeding.

Finally, as the first few grey beams of dawn light touched the clouds, her shoulders sank in a sigh of defeat. She slowly removed the amulet from around her neck and held it up in front of her face. There, on her knees, she turned her dark eyes to the object. Her voice was low, but rumbling with quiet determination;

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”