Mordred

Morgana (Sister)

## Application Sheet

Mordred was a dark brown male wolf with hazel eyes. He was the younger brother of Morgana, who found his way into the pack of Mhor, where his story is just beginning. Mordred was created and RP'd by Tygrhys.

## Personality

* ***Unobtrusive, Passive, and Meek.*** In order to avoid any conflict Mordred will let others walk all over him, both metaphorically and (probably) literally. He is a quiet, soft-spoken individual as is, rarely voicing his thoughts and feelings, so in the presence of a louder voice and more forceful character he is all-too-easily pushed around. He *lets* himself be pushed around easily, relenting without a fight. He is never one to voice his opinion, especially if it is one which may initiate conflict. In his head, if he does everything others want, agrees with everything they say, they are less likely to get angry with him: he’s less likely to do or say the wrong things. If he makes himself small, unnoticeable and submissive (which is difficult, given his build) he hopes others will just leave him be.
* ***Self-Blaming, Problem-Solver, People-Pleaser, and Peacekeeper.*** When conflict arises, Mordred’s first thought is how *he* can make everything better again. His whole life he has felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, that it is all his responsibility, even when he was just a little kid. Deep down, he feels everything that happens is *his fault*. So, how can *he* make it right? He will grovel, plead, apologise, do whatever will make the other happy just to keep the peace, just to keep things good. He feels it is his responsibility to keep the peace in not just his life, but everyone else’s (like his fathers), and when rifts do occur he feels they are his fault for not doing his ‘job,’ rather than the faults of the others involved. He takes on all the guilt himself; he is the peacekeeper, it is his job to *keep the peace* and when it is disturbed it is overwhelmingly *his fault*.
* ***Empathetic, Kind, Gentle, Sweet, and Wise.*** Despite the impressions one might form upon first seeing him and witnessing his hulking size (*brutish, violent, aggressive, dangerous*) you would struggle to find a wolf more opposite to those assumptions than Mordred. Few wolves could be kinder or better intentioned. His abilities as a peacekeeper go further perhaps than even he would realise, to deep-rooted gentleness and understanding within which bloom when he is given the space to speak freely (*when he is not spoken over*). Just his presence, his humble and surprising wisdom, can be deeply comforting. He is incredibly empathetic and can understand and feel how others do easily, so *much* that he finds it overwhelming sometimes… All these emotions which belong to others which he feels as though they are his own. He feels it and just wants to make everything better, even if he does not know how.
* ***Anxious, Sensitive, Emotional, and Easily Overwhelmed.*** Mordred is a ball of intense emotions masquerading as a wolf, a creature of extremes; when he is sad there will be a lot of tears (and snot) and when he’s happy he’ll be like a ray of sunshine (with the wildly wagging tail to match.) He feels everything very deeply, and feels everything said about him just as deeply. Sometimes he struggles to voice to others when they’ve upset him, blaming himself instead for simply being *too sensitive*. He is anxious and easily stressed, and his eyes fill with tears so fast, making his lip wobble, and he wishes they didn’t.
* ***Naive, Trusting, and Sees the Good in All.*** Mordred unshakably sees the good in the world, in every wolf and creature, even when such a view is perhaps poorly placed. Some might call that a strength; others a dangerous risk, a blindness to the real way of things. He is very innocent and easily misled, because he simply cannot see that anyone’s intentions may not be as pure as his own. He never really saw much of the world growing up – living with just his fathers and sister – and never really learned the hard way that wolven-kind are not all golden-hearted.
* ***Hardworking, Scrupulous, and Passionate.*** Mordred has a whole-hearted sense of dedication. To his friends, to whatever he sets his mind to. He’s a hard-worker, and what he does he aims to do well, giving each task special care and attention. He sometimes gets upset with himself when he can’t do a set task as correctly as he would like, finding his feelings of self-worth heavily tied to what he does, to his duties; both official and self-inforced. He can’t really see his own worth and value simply for existing; he feels he needs to work hard to earn it, to feel some love for himself… And so he does.
* ***Loyal, Protective, and Quietly Brave.*** Despite seeming over-sensitive and ‘pathetic’ in some wolves’ minds, there is a lot more to the young Mhorian: a deep-seated bravery buried within him, more than even he knows. If someone he loves is in danger he will leap forward to defend them with tooth and claw, surprising even himself. Using perhaps the only good thing he sees within himself – his strength – to protect them when they cannot protect themselves, to help them back up off the ground. To carry them, when they need it, like Blackthorn carried him; metaphorically or literally. He will be the bravery and strength they need. He will stay by their side through and through; you could not find a more loyal companion than him.
* ***Selfless, Lacking Boundaries, and Afraid of Being Burdensome.*** Sometimes, often, Mordred’s loyalty and devotion goes too far. He gives too much of himself. He sees himself as worthless, in a sense, and others as so much more worthy; so he allows himself to suffer for others’ ‘benefit.’ He lacks healthy boundaries and struggles to say no, even when he knows he is giving too much, even to things he doesn’t want to do. He suppresses his own issues in order to help others, because he feels that is his only purpose – that as the peacekeeper and the protector he cannot be vulnerable, because others need him. Others need him more than he needs himself. Furthermore, he is afraid of being a burden, as he was to his fathers, and feels that is not *allowed* to be, not allowed to talk to and confide in others when he needs it, because he’s the one who is supposed to be fine, he’s the one who is supposed to help others. He isn’t supposed to need help too.

## Pre-Group History

Mordred was born with the final warm breath of summer, in the shadow of death and the dark seasons which followed. Born with the final breath of his two littermates too, both too tiny and frail to live. Littermates who scarcely breathed at all, and then didn’t. Of course, Mordred does not remember them, too young to feel their absence as anything more than a lack of squirming bodies beside his. He does not remember Rosehip well either – the wolf who birthed him, who acted as a surrogate for his fathers, who nursed him for a time. She passed from complications about a month after the birth, quietly following his litter-siblings into the Otherworld. Perhaps that was good; the little ones wouldn’t be lonely, would be well tended to. They had Rosehip to look after them, and he had Blackthorn and Herne, so weak and sickly himself: all bones and thin fur and loose skin, born too soon. ‘*So, so small*,’ Blackthorn would murmur, brow furrowed slightly and expression unreadable as he cradled the newborn, a bear and a lamb. Mordred would live in the shadow of death until he was almost six months old. ‘*Out of the woods*,’ Blackthorn had sighed, simply – Herne had scolded his anam cara’s pessimism, saying instead that their son was a little fighter.

The first months were difficult, touch-and-go, food well-chewed by his fathers and tucked into the whelp’s mouth. When they were away hunting, his sister would stay with him. Her name was Morgana; to little Mordred there was no greater wolf in the whole wide world. She would curl up tight around him when he was wee, keep him warm and murmur soft words to comfort him. She was only six months older, still lanky with youth, but she undertook the protection of her little brother with all her heart. As he grew older they would leave the old coyote den where had been born to play. Mordred loved the game with Aewen and her traitorous knight; he loved playing Aewen, brave and gentle and kind. So Morgana would play the knight who betrayed the throne, hell-bent on taking it for herself.

Mordred was very excited when Blackthorn and Herne agreed it was time for Morgana’s first reflection vigil – he couldn’t wait for the day when that was him. As they settled down by the stream he promised them he’d be a big, big boy and keep watch, protecting them *all night*.

He fell asleep.

And was woken by a scream. Morgana’s scream. By Blackthorn and Herne rushing to her side, asking if she was okay, asking what she’d seen. She couldn’t say. Not then, not in the days which followed. Things changed after that. Mordred didn’t understand how or why, but his sister was haunted. She had nightmares, she struggled to sleep. She talked to herself – when she thought she was alone, when she didn’t realise Mordred was there. She said things which scared him.

After Morgana started having nightmares Mordred would lie awake at night to watch her sleep, as though his mere attention could keep them at bay. As though the pup could see them coming, like he could spot the demons as they crept up and chase them away or fight them off. It never worked – he never saw them coming and yet his sister twisted and cried out in her sleep all the same, tormented by something he could not protect her from. On those nights he would huddle closer to her dark form, trying to bring her some comfort, his nose buried in her fur as he drifted off himself. She smelt of lavender and poppy and chamomile.

It was on a night such as this that he accidentally drifted off while keeping watch for her night-terrors. This happened often; but this time he awoke and she was gone, her spot beside him cold. He assumed, groggily, that she had gotten up to go make dirt and, hearing the rumbling of thunder above, huddled closer to his fathers, falling back asleep.

She was still gone in the morning. A heavy rain had fallen, droplets hanging on the leaves. Her fathers quickly began searching for her, but with the storm even a tracker as good as Herne could not pick up her scent. It was as though she had disappeared. The family would spend much of the next month frantically searching for the lost daughter, the lost sister, to no avail. They regrouped, Blackthorn and Herne discussing at length. It was decided they would not travel to Mhor as previously planned, but remain in the area Morgana had disappeared in hopes of finding her.

As time passed, tensions began to rise between Blackthorn and Herne in a way Mordred could not understand – they had never been like this before. The stress of losing Morgana put them on edge, made them irritable. Rows began to occur, bitter and loud. Herne did a lot of yelling. Blackthorn was quieter, but he was angry too. Mordred did his best to keep the peace for his fathers, even though he was just a kid. Even though it wasn’t his job; but he swore it was, and had no-one to tell him otherwise. He was nervous when they took reflection vigils and refused to ever take one himself. He understood Morgana’s first vigil was where it had gone wrong, and feared that her demons would find him too, or find his fathers. So he would sit and keep close guard of them when they did; but what good had that done for Morgana? He could never see her demons coming. Perhaps the demons had already found them. Perhaps that was why they argued like this.

It was summer when the accident happened, about three months after Morgana went missing. Blackthorn and Herne were fishing together on a low waterfall. Perched on the damp rocks they caught salmon in their teeth or flipped them onto the stone with a paw for the killing bite. Mordred was too afraid of falling in to join them. He waited on the fringes and watched, standing ankle-deep with the current swirling lazily around his huge paws.

None of them sensed the grizzly’s approach; it caught them by surprise, and it was bubbling with anger. It had been *stalking* them. Mordred heard the growl first and, turning, found the beast already bearing down on him, charging from the bushes on the riverbank. He tried to dodge back, paws slipping and splashing, but the bear was faster, teeth tearing into his foreleg and holding fast. It began to drag him back through the water, jagged stones tearing his fur and turning the water red.

Herne reached him first. His son had already been dragged screaming to the treeline, his blood smeared in a trail through the dirt. The father leapt up and fastened his teeth deep into the predator’s leathery nose, paws pushing into its brow as he threw his head from side to side, hindpaws fighting for a grip on its chest. He wanted to make it hurt, to distract it enough to let him go. It worked. The bear released Mordred and Herne leapt away, baiting it into chasing him; but not before one of its claws connected with his cheek, leaving a bloody gash. He led the creature away into the trees at full pelt as Blackthorn rushed to their wounded son, helping him to safety.

Herne managed to lose the grizzly in the woods and the family regrouped. They patched up Mordred’s leg as best they could – neither of them were healers – and the three of them quickly moved on out of the area, concerned the beast would find them again.

Mordred insisted he was fine, *really*, that it wasn’t that bad. It quickly became evident it was, no matter how much he tried to push through and hide it. Already moving on three legs and never putting weight on the fourth, he began to slow down, a mixture of exhaustion and illness weighing on him as an infection festered in the torn flesh and broken bone. Blackthorn decided, firmly, that his son needed the skills of a trained healer. They would follow the directions they had been given to Mhor, where Mordred could receive proper medical attention from the clerics there.

Sometimes Mordred could not walk and Blackthorn would have to carry him on his shoulders. His father never complained, even though his son was almost an adult, and a large one at that (he took after him in that way). He never said a word when Mordred couldn’t walk any longer, just went over and hoisted him up onto his back and started walking. Slow and dutiful, bearing the weight. The young wolf hated it. It made him feel stupid, like a burden, like a pup. He wasn’t a pup anymore. And so he would cry, silently, into his Papa’s fur as they travelled, Herne off scouting their route ahead. Neither father seemed to know what to say to him to make it better, but Blackthorn did his best, finding cool bugs to bring him when they rested. Sometimes the critters would bring a small smile to Mort’s face, and that was all Blackthorn could do.

What Blackthorn and Herne *didn’t* tell Mordred until they arrived at the border and spoke with Deborah, a member of the Assembly, was that they were not planning to stay themselves. They explained to her that they were descendants of Old Mhor, that their son Mordred needed healing and that they had lost their daughter on the journey to the pack. They couldn’t bear to stop looking for her, but Mordred needed medical attention so they had brought him to dwell with their distant kin here.

Mordred begged them to stay, to wait for him, that he’d be all better soon and they could leave together to keep looking for Mori – but his fathers’ minds were made up.

They’d be back soon, they promised.

They’d find Morgana, they promised.

They would all be a family again, just like it was, they promised.

They promised, they promised, *they promised*.

## Trivia

* Both him and Morgana are named after their grandmother Morri. Her full name was Morrigan.
* Mordred takes some inspiration from Yellowstone Wolf 253, a former member of the Druid Peak Pack who was injured in an inter-pack conflict as a yearling, leaving one leg permanently damaged. Normally he would hop around on three legs, but when needed in hunts he would run on all four.
* His left foreleg is severely scarred. The result of a mauling from a grizzly bear, Mordred’s left foreleg is severely mangled and twisted – the bones were broken during the attack and partially re-healed wrong in the days after, before he received any medical attention. Currently undergoing treatment, he cannot place any weight on that leg and, when he moves, hops around on his other three with it tucked safely against his body. Time will tell how the injury heals. He hates it; hates how it makes him feel like a burden to others, especially how it made him feel like a burden to his fathers. He feels that if he never got hurt, or if he had just pushed through it more, been stronger, they would not have left him here. Feels that his injury is why they left him: because he was a useless burden who couldn’t travel fast enough.
* Mordred has a stutter. In stressful situations and around wolves who make him nervous (or flustered) he will stutter more, while in the company of wolves he feels comfortable and safe around it is much less frequent, though still present.

## External Links

* Official Application Sheet
* Tygrhys's deviantART Gallery