Morgan

**Morgan** is a Homini necromancer introduced in Asphodel's second iteration. (Played by *Captain Whitehawk.*)

## Biography

### *Pre-Asphodel*

Morgan named themself after Morgul, the place of their birth and first hell they would learn to love.  Morgan does not remember siblings, but they do remember playmates: a herd of dirty children fed three times a day and kept in a pen, waiting to grow strong enough to be paired to some older, stronger, much taller individual with dark skin and horns and sharp teeth and nails that would dig, dig, dig into their skin.  Though they slept with the other children in piles and were not without playmates, Morgan longed to be with someone bigger, someone smarter, someone who would watch over them and maybe hold their hand.  It would be comforting to be known and recognized.

They got what they wanted, though the cut on their hand with the blood dripping all over their palm and into the dirt and then into the dark blood on another's hand, no one had told them about that.  The man asked Morgan their name, and Morgan gave it to him.  The man seemed surprised that Morgan had a name at all, but Morgan knew names were important, and that's why they'd given themself one when they were very small.  It sounded good in his mouth as he tasted it and said it back to them.  Crow, he said back, and they cherished the weight of his name on their lips.

Morgan knows bits and pieces after that.  They cried a lot in the beginning, as they often found themself hurt or bleeding from low places that ached and scratched and scabbed and oozed, only to heal up again within a matter of days, faster than Morgan could remember to remember.  But those pains would return when the people returned, and they stopped checking themself for wounds.

Crow was happy when Morgan was in pain, sometimes when they peeked out of the corner of their eyes they would find him watching, smiling, eyes tight and watery.  Morgan tried to be very quiet after that and didn't fuss when people came to touch them.

With little else to go off of, Morgan thought him the best person they ever knew.  He let them sleep in his bed and only sometimes put his hands on them but every time he did he said "please," and "thank you," and for that Morgan would do maybe anything.  He taught them how to cook bread and how to burn meat so the maggots would fall out and that kept them full even when he was gone, even when he left them.

There were many strange things about Crow, the most notable Morgan remembered being that he had only one foot, seven fingers, and that he made Morgan play a game with him: Morgan would make him dinner from whatever they could find that day, and Morgan was to make it taste as terrible as possible.  As long as there was a lot of it, Crow would eat it and Crow would tell them very solemnly, "thank you," and those two words made the day seem bright so they didn't ever say no, not to him.  Morgan tasted some of the food they made sometimes, and they knew it was worse than dirt.  They could cook better than this, even at seven years old.  But Crow would turn with those bleary eyes to the plate Morgan put before him and tuck in without complaint, only saying a harsh word if it didn't nearly make him vomit.  This is also the way of the world, Morgan, said Crow, all people must suffer, and those who suffer are blessed.

"Die?" They asked him, because they knew that word.  "You die?"

A thin smile stretched across his face.  "Some day.  I'm hoping it'll be terrible."

Morgan knew what "terrible" was, and Morgan also knew that "terrible" could take the form of many things, one possibility being the dark berries at the edge of camp.  Animals ate them sometimes in desperate hunger (their hides were always thin and patchy) and Morgan would find their corpses near the bushes.  In the past, Morgan had never taken their bodies because they stunk and the people near the bushes would scream and chase them away.  But this time, Morgan knew exactly what kind of gift Crow would be happy with.

When Crow lurched into bed that night, there was dark blood spotting his lips.  His eyes had seen the berries, they knew he'd taken notice of them because he smiled so wide, so sadly as he began to eat.  He was crying as he brought kisses to their forehead, cupping the sides of their face and darkening their dirty skin with sticky wetness.  "Thank you," he said, and his voice was thin and rasping.  "Thank you."

It was lonely in the hovel all by themself, and his body stunk but they didn't want to move him an inch.  They spent these new days in the dirt and drew circles in the sand, over and over again as they thought about Crow and the berries.  Sometimes they'd turn their head just to see his watery eyes again, but they were cold and dry, and his skin was thick, stiff, and rubbery now.

When the Elysians took the camp some weeks later, Morgan was upset to see someone disrupt their vigil.  They didn't want anyone to see them, they didn't want anyone to know they were there, and no no no -- they did not want *help.*  They kicked and screamed and begged for the people with wings to let them go, but they didn't listen.

In a white city far above the ground, they shaved Morgan's head and dunked them once, twice, thrice in a bath.  You have lice, said the people with wings like birds, you are covered in filth and rot and scabs and *maggots* -- maggots!  These bird-brains squawked like they'd never seen a wriggler before.  They tried to put cloth on Morgan and would holler "indecency" every time they ripped the clothing off.  "No clothes," they demanded, but the bird-brains tutted and wept a little and tried to clothe them anyways.  Morgan heard them talk, used strange words like "abuse" and "maltreatment" and swear words that felt much more familiar, though they said all this when they thought Morgan wasn't listening.

Morgan taught the bird-brains to leave them alone.  They ripped their books and tore their clothes and locked the doors on anyone following whenever someone was foolish enough to take them to a room with a door.  Bird-brains did not understand "no touching" and "do not speak to me" and "leave me alone" so Morgan stopped talking all together.  They would jump off this island if it would free them, even if it meant they got soggy and swollen like Crow after the berries.

The first time Morgan almost died, they put Morgan in a cell.  The second time Morgan almost died, they put Morgan in a quiet room with a too-soft bed and too-nice sheets and barred windows that let them see the dawn every morning but only from far away, never outside.  They sent people to talk to Morgan -- quiet people, soft people with wide, watching eyes that maybe saw as much as Morgan did -- but Morgan would not talk.  Morgan did not want to.  For a time, with only meals to break the day apart, Morgan was completely alone.

The woman that came to see Morgan was sharp, with short hair and hard eyes and very large wings and a face that did not smile.  Morgan liked that.  Morgan liked seeing someone that scared them, it felt normal and real.  This woman did not ask to come in, simply banged the door open, slid a chair in, and sat down.  From their place on the bed, they stared her down.

Will you talk, or are you going to be a bastard and send every nursemaid in the district aflutter? asked the woman, and Morgan liked that.

No, Morgan said, and the woman nodded.

I checked the list, said you've been in here thirty-seven days.  You could stop at thirty-eight, said the woman.

Morgan thought hard about numbers.  Why? they asked, and the woman explained that she had no patience for problems that refused to be solved.  You work hard with me, she said, and I'll give you something to be.  And she added, stupidly, like it mattered to Morgan at all, that they wouldn't be alone anymore.

Their nose curled at that.  The woman saw.  Can I have your name, she asked, and Morgan said no.

We'll try forty-five days then, the woman said, and she dragged her chair out and left Morgan alone.  By the time she returned, it was all Morgan could do not to beg.

The woman cut their hand again as Crow had, but Morgan felt bigger this time, stronger, a little less stupid.  I stay with you, the woman said--Uriel to Morgan now--I am with you, I am for you.  It was nice of Uriel to say as they mashed their hands together and someone tied a ribbon around their bloodied palms, the whole thing was very ceremonial and maybe cute.  Someone had given Morgan a robe to wear, and it felt soft, warm even.  But when Uriel watched them, eyes wide and expectant, Morgan couldn't say the words back.  Uriel's face fell but she waived it off, said it was fine, Morgan was just a child.  Maybe that was the beginning of the end.

Uriel tried to be close.  Too close.  It made Morgan nervous.  She didn't *hover* per se, but Uriel was there in a way that Crow had never been.  Uriel was always trying to be more, to make things better and fix things that Morgan didn’t want fixed.  So what if they preferred isolation?  So what if they hated touch and kindness and all the nice words?  Some things Uriel would never understand, and Uriel didn’t want to understand.  I want to take you to Zion, Uriel suggested once, there are healers and scholars and thinkers of great wisdom that can help you, to which Morgan screeched and refused.  It was a trap, certainly.  The great walled fortress of Zion was a citadel, a place of planning and great movement.  There would be no peace there, nor safety.  Uriel had been a great soldier once, they would snatch her in a second and take helpless Morgan with her.  More than anything, Morgan did not want to fight.

No going, Morgan said.  No going, we won’t go.  Uriel smiled sadly through the tirade like a mother watching a foolish toddler, but said okay, we won’t go.  Morgan did not thank her.  They knew better than to think that would be the only time they heard the request.

Uriel said it again, after decades of retired peace.  It’s time, she said.  The battle is raging, my people are dying, we must go down to Zion.

No fighting, Morgan said.  No fighting.

And Uriel smiled sadly again, that chiding, irritating smile.  I’m sorry, she said.  But my duty calls.  A duty higher than you.

She was too close to the edge.  That's how Morgan told themself it was over and over again, she was too close to the edge.  They did not like to admit that it hadn't been a slip, it had been a ... a fall.  A push.  A shove.  Morgan watched Uriel fall all the way down.  Their Bonded had careened over the edge so swiftly and violently that the entire movement had been ... too hard to follow. Uriell had gasped, maybe.  This is the way of the world, Morgan had meant to say, but in the moment before the deed it had been too much to say.  They let gravity do the talking, and cursed when agony bloomed in their chest, a sharp ache that took their breath away and left them wobbling, tears wet on their cheeks.  So that's what death would feel like.  So that's what it would feel like when Uriel left them.  Morgan hadn't thought she would die.

By the time someone had found the body, Morgan was gone.  No more of Sheolfolk or Elysians and their silly, stupid Bonding.  The scars on their still-young palms had healed but they'd drunk their fill of companionship and its associated mourning.  No more carefully maintained ignorance and calculated kindnesses.  No more.

Since their flight from Elysium, Morgan has found themself much more at home with the Homini, who are very strange, often do not follow a regular set of rules, and do not mind if Morgan does not want to talk.  "You are just like us," said a pilgrim once.  "Too tired to speak, too sad to try."

These days, Morgan travels with a small pack of Homini scholars--priests perhaps--of Asphodel's natural order and all its careful systems.  Dutifully suspicious of the current structure, these cosmologists have good reason to believe that there is more to Asphodel's power than mere Vice or Virtue.  The disappearance of divine tyrants have opened new paths and inspired new ways, and it is with eagerness that Morgan and co. wish to explore the fabricated limits of Asphodel's power.

## Physical Appearance

Morgan wears gloves to hide their scarred palms and usually dresses in layered robes with a hood. They don a metal mask when not with the scholars.

## Personality

Scared.  So scared that on some level, Morgan isn't afraid anymore.  They're numb to toil and aching, and don't remember that a person could *not* feel that way.  Distant and detached with a finger constantly on the trigger, ready to lose their mind at a moment's notice should it save them. Melancholic.

**PERSONALITY TYPE:** ISTP // 5w4 9w1 3w4 // SP/so.

### *Strengths*

Morgan is very interested in understanding how the world works.  This interest could be more accurately described as an obsession, as if knowledge could replace feeling and thus repair some fragmented sense of stability.  As such, this desperate drive makes them an able scholar.  They're also not hard to get along with, as Morgan is generally non-aggressive and finds violence scary, even crippling to watch.  Their dissociative qualities are, in the long run, a perk: it allows Morgan to distance themself from otherwise traumatic memories and stabilizes their day-to-day living, allowing them to ease through stressors after a few minutes of hesitation and confusion.

### *Weaknesses*

Morgan is usually non-verbal and, if they do speak, it's in short, fragmented sentences.  Even writing out sentences can be too much, though Morgan can write fairly well (albeit with spelling errors and some misunderstanding of grammar rules.)  Their issues with dissociation occasionally lessen functioning, sending them back into unhealthy patterns of behavior or into more withdrawn states with no awareness of why they're doing what they are or what prompted it.  Morgan is, on some level, subservient and performative.

### *Dissociated Parts*

To indicate switching, Morgan's text changes color. Morgan does not have names for these parts, and thinks of them as aspects of themself, even if those parts distinctively clash with each other.

* Black: "normal" Morgan. Non-verbal, hums instead. Thoughtful and studious.
* Dark red: combative, aggressive, selfish, and social. Likes to swear.
* Light green: submissive, shy, apologetic, freezes in conflict. Cannot feel pain.
* Blue: meditative, intuitive, aware, has greater cognitive capacities and better physical awareness. Holds knowledge that black text Morgan does not have.

## Abilities and Skills

In the world of Asphodel, "magic" is contained and defined by Virtues and Vices. Since the Sundering, however, Morgan has encountered a strange power that deviates from this set system, though how exactly they acquired it and why is confused. Morgan believed they swallowed something, and since then has contracted a strange set of necromantic abilities that they use with variable effectiveness.

## Relationships

* **Crow:** Morgan's first Bonded, deceased.  A Sheolfolk who followed Despair and delighted in making everyone around him privately miserable.  Friendless, lost, and disabled, Crow believed that he was on the cusp of transcendence. He was not well-suited for childcare but he never intended to be; Morgan was not the first vulnerable child he'd Bonded with, though Morgan was perhaps the longest lasting.  Initially, Crow believed that the classic methods of mistreatment (such as neglect, abuse, and manipulation) would break the child and that in turn would further his own Despair.  When Morgan did not break, he was left with a conundrum.  Not even his own provocative acts could stir them to disquiet, a state of calm that made him almost stable.  Guilt and shame is where he found his new peace, and he let it degrade him with every act of harm he subjected Morgan to.
* **Uriel:** Morgan's second Bonded, deceased.  A follower of Charity and pretty powerful, all things considered.  Uriel had led a hard life of war and loss and was on near retirement when word came to her of a diseased Homini child recently rescued from a Sheolfolk slum near Morgul: the child is lawless, the child is insane, we're not even certain if the child can speak.  In isolation, Morgan was meant to be a study before being quietly turned loose on the Surface, maybe killed if the child's condition would not improve.  Uriel, feeling like maybe she had one last part of herself to give, roused herself to be the child's caretaker.  In a way, Morgan flourished under Uriel’s determined tutelage, but their inexperience with attachment and love made the relationship high-strung and volatile.  Bonding did not sit well with Morgan either.  She loved Morgan, even to the end.
* **Luka:** Morgan's favorite friend.  They found him, well, mostly accidentally.  It'd been an accident really, the priests wanted Luka and his friend away from the temple and they were getting too close. Morgan thinks Luka's probably forgiven the scholars now, as he doesn't seem upset and rarely, if ever complains.  Sort of ditzy and confused, but Morgan doesn't mind and is in fact quite possessive of him.  They try to put a few sentences together for him, on occasion

## Trivia

* Morgan has a dissociative disorder, specifically OSDD-1A.  Morgan experiences time loss but does not consider themself to have multiple parts, or their body to contain multiple people.  Morgan instead would probably describe themself as being able to switch into different "modes," and this switching in and out occasionally comes with forgetting, feeling indistinct, or disconnected from themself.  Morgan also experiences high anxiety and occasionally depression.
* Morgan's Spotify playlist.
* The piano solo Whitehawk composed for Morgan.