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𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.
morfydd of the few
pronounced mor-vith
age 25
gender female (she/her)
species witch
canon original
Player.
name bobby
time zone GMT+1
contact crowders @ plurk
pronouns they/them
World.
The Kingdom of Elgath dominates the island continent of Alcara, a fertile, temperate land bisected by the Maw, a vast magical fissure tied to the existence of witches, known as the Few. These witches are feared, dehumanized, and controlled under harsh laws, yet Elgath relies on them for military supremacy. Only 37 exist at any time, their magic powerful but physically and mentally taxing. They are trained in isolation and never allowed to live freely.
Elgath is ruled by a hereditary monarch advised by religious and noble councils, but the Divine Seats, high-ranking clergy of the Faith of the True Circle, wield the greatest influence, rendering Elgath a de facto theocracy. This faith venerates five deities and rejects magic as unnatural, justifying the control of witches and the persecution of heretics.
Elgath's expansionist ambitions have led to the annexation of Velkharan, a crumbling, clan-led nation still resisting occupation. Despite its brutal systems, Elgath remains internally stable, protected by elite knights whose strength is amplified by witches. In Elgath, magic is both indispensable and damned.
About.
Morfydd was taken from her parents as an infant as soon as her magic was discovered – her family was rich, landed, and of some influence, and she was at the time their only child, so her magical ability was a huge source of humiliation for them.
She was part of a large 'intake' after a calamity where seven of the Few were killed instantaneously in the midst of a battle; the seven who replaced them were children born at the exact same time.
Despite her young age she is a potent magic user, and as such she is extremely frail; she finds it difficult to walk long distances and suffers from debilitating migraines and sickness. In short, she is chronically ill.
While some of the witches of the Few resent their "reviled yet relied upon" position in society and talk of banding together to petition for more rights, Morfydd is disgusted by her own magic, believing that it took her away from the life of luxury she would have had. She is fuelled by bitter rage at her circumstance; she has little regard for her own body, which she feels betrayed her, and paradoxically seeks to prove herself capable despite the restrictions placed upon it, and the struggles she has with her health due to her magic use.
full history.
child.
Morfydd is the first child of the Viremonts, a family of landed gentry. Her mother, Airona, was the daughter of the High Sanctifier of Braecairn, a prosperous region of Elgath. Airona’s marriage to Berian Viremont, the firstborn son of Lord Viremont, was primarily political, though they became fond of each other quite quickly. Morfydd’s birth was already steeped in worry before the labour was even complete: she was born in the last hours of the same day that seven Witches of the Few died in a calamitous battle. In Elgath it is expected that any child born on the same day as a death of a Witch of the Few must be registered with the local authority so that the search for the replacement can be undertaken as quickly as possible, and Airona wanted to get it over with. Berian, however, was excited to be a father and already fond of his infant daughter, fearful that if she was discovered to be a witch, she’d be taken away from him forever.
Discussions were had, and Berian’s dissent was noted, but ultimately Airona ignored him and reported the circumstances of Morfydd’s birth to her father. This decision gouged a permanent wound between them, which solidified into a scar when it was determined that Morfydd was in fact a witch, and she was taken to the Spire shortly thereafter.
Morfydd doesn’t remember her parents, but she knows who they are. They had three more children after she was taken; the eldest of her younger siblings, her brother Corwin, has recently nominated himself to be a knight.
Her youth was strange and somewhat unusual, even for a witch. Many witches are brought to the Spire alone, replacing an individual death, but Morfydd was part of a large intake of seven. Only six were found painlessly and quickly: the seventh, Thane, came later, having been hidden by parents reluctant to give him up. Due to the fact that they were brought in together, these seven children formed a fairly strong bond compared to many other witches who are fairly isolated from one another. But Thane was always on the outskirts, even of their small group: the rest of them resented him for something out of his control, the fact that he had parents who were willing to die to keep him.
Growing up in the Spire was intense and ascetic, and Morfydd suffered like the others under the sharp watch and punishing attention of the Praevars, the ecclesiastical order in charge of control and discipline within the Spire. Morfydd’s closest friend from childhood was Seren, a wistful young girl who seemed to bear her agony with more dignity than even the older members of the Few, always suffering in silence. They shared a bed when they were young, staying up late into the night and whispering about fantasies where they were anyone but who they actually are.
Morfydd was a quiet child, as were almost all of them, except Calyra – a vocal, outspoken young girl, the daughter of a retired knight, she frequently talked back to their instructors and spoke aloud of the Few one day having equal rights and the ability to choose not to be fighters. In spite of this, or perhaps so that she was not accused of heresy, she was also the most determined to fight, repeatedly telling anyone who would listen that she would choose to fight if she had the choice. Morfydd was equally awed by and resentful of her.
Morfydd knows, now, that the fires that shine the brightest flare out the quickest, and so looking back with retrospect it’s not surprising to her that Calyra never made it out of the Spire. At fourteen, in a training session, Calyra, Morfydd and Thane were practicing a joint Pyre when Calyra’s concentration snapped and her magic reared back on her, engulfing her in flames. She burned alive in front of Morfydd, and the image of it was forever seared into Morfydd’s mind.
After Calyra’s death, Thane became another close confidant of Morfydd’s; they had been forcibly bonded by watching Calyra die, and Morfydd was forced to swallow her resentment of him as they both stayed up late at night practicing so that nothing like what they had witnessed ever happened again.
Shortly after Calyra’s death, the six remaining members of the group she had been raised with were brought to the edge of the Maw. This is a ritual for witches, who are brought there at this age to see the destruction caused by magic on the land of Elgath. But close to the Maw, Morfydd heard voices emanating from its unfathomable darkness, and it was only through whispered conversations in the aftermath that she discovered the others had heard them too. The voices were in a language she did not understand, but strangely she felt comforted and not frightened by them. In the years since, Morfydd has thought often that she would like to return to the Maw to hear the voices again, but has never had the chance.
recruit.
Her magic was first truly tested when she turned fifteen and a number of the Few were brought to fight in a squabble over territory on the border with Velkharan – or, as the Elgathians call it, the Ashlands. This was the site of her first kill. It happened quickly and impersonally; she never saw their faces, only their burned and blackened bodies after the fighting was over. She was praised for her efficacy in battle, but has never spoken about it or even really reckoned with what she did: it was the first time she had killed someone, but it was certainly not the last, and she quickly learned to shut her mind off to the warring emotions of pride and guilt.
Her first kill also seemed to trigger a general decline in her health. While she had been struggling with pain from her magic since she had first started using it as a child, the battle on the edge of the Ashlands led to her first extended period of sickness, where she was bedbound for a month as she recovered from the exertion. This began the true pattern of her life: short and intense blips of magical effort, followed by a long period of recovery. Over time, she grew to hate her magic, resenting it for making her a soldier and a pariah both, though she knew she was skilled in wielding it.
At eighteen, Morfydd and Seren were sent on an excursion with a group of knights into Ashlands ruins, populated by a small band of Velkhari fighters. Savages, they were all told – everyone in Elgath knows they are savages – but when observing their encampment from a distance, Morfydd watched them tend to each other, showing comradeship and a sense of purpose that felt entirely absent from her own life.
The attempt at stealth was undermined by a bullheaded knight who charged into the fray, desperately wanting to prove himself a hero; he was the first casualty of the battle, but not the last. Their intelligence must have been incorrect, because what was initially assumed to be a small group transpired to be much larger, and they quickly found themselves outnumbered. Morfydd set about raining fire down on their Velkhari enemies, and the potency of her magic beat back waves of them until she heard her name and turned to see Seren alone and stranded on the battlefield. Desperate, she tried to throw up a Veil to protect her, but her zealous exertion in attacking meant that she was too weak to hold it, and Seren was pierced by a Velkhari arrow. Her body wracked by exhaustion, Morfydd collapsed, dragging herself towards Seren as she lay bleeding. Seren was dead by the time Morfydd got to her, and Morfydd has never forgiven herself. Shielding herself from the last of the battle as it petered out in Elgath’s favour, Morfydd unwound Seren’s simple bracelet from around her wrist, made when they were children of two strands of red thread, one pulled from an item of Morfydd’s clothing and one from Seren’s. Morfydd has worn it ever since.
The aftermath of the battle that killed Seren led to Morfydd’s longest period of sickness yet. Weakened to the point of immobility and drowning in grief, Morfydd stayed locked in her room in the Spire for six months while she recovered. Thane was the only witch she would allow to visit her, mostly because he only ever sat with her in silence.
veteran.
She was bound to a knight at twenty. Her first knight, Sir Aneirin, resented her and his post as a Witchminder, making clear his disgust from the beginning. The runes she embedded into his armour were a labour and one she did not enjoy undertaking, and not just because of the physical cost of runework on her body. Witches and their minders are bound to protect each other, but Aneirin was desperate to be rid of her as quickly as possible: Witchminders whose witches die are not assigned another, as they have served their time. Morfydd believed that Aneirin was deliberately trying to engineer her death through inaction to escape the embarrassment of his position, but could never prove it. On a number of occasions, she was forced to save herself by exerting magic because he was conveniently unable to protect her.
Any attempt to hurt him, even in self-defence, would contravene one of the Laws, and Aneirin knew it. That knowledge gave him license to be cruel; never overtly, never enough to charge him with neglect, but in a hundred small, insidious ways: a small hesitation before drawing his blade, a failure to place himself between her and the front lines, a strategic ‘delay’ in reinforcing her position when skirmishes broke out. All of it excusable to his superiors, none of it lost on Morfydd.
She learned quickly not to rely on him, overextending herself magically to make up for his neglect and deepening her illness in the process. Her healing periods after battles increased to months at a time rather than just weeks, and even the smallest magic began to pain her. But perhaps Aneirin’s worst effect was that his casual cruelty rebounded inside her, making her even more resentful of and disgusted by her magic. If she didn’t have it, she told herself, he wouldn’t have hated her without knowing her; he wouldn’t think of her as a burden; he wouldn’t be so desperate to get rid of her by any means necessary. But in the end, after four years of bitterness, Aneirin died first, felled in battle. Exhaustion mingled with relief once she realised she was free of him, even as her runework was scrutinised to ensure that his death wasn’t her fault. In the end she was cleared of any responsibility for his death, but even the accusation was another thorn in her side.
Ever since Aneirin, Morfydd has been mistrustful of any knight, where previously she might have given them some grace. She has been assigned a new Witchminder, who seems nothing at all like Aneirin, but Morfydd won’t get close. She has been burned by cruelty enough for a lifetime. Her relationship with her new knight is cordial but stiff and distant, and when she isn’t on military campaigns she spends her time holed up in her dark and incensed room, stewing in rage and bitterness and pining for another life in another body.
Time went on on. The small boy who had been taken to replace Seren, who Morfydd had been keeping a close watch on, was horribly injured shortly after his seventh birthday, his right arm crushed by a heavy stone that had been wielded by another child during training, and the resemblance to Calyra’s tragic death left Morfydd sick to her stomach.
Thane died, a casualty of intensive runework in the process of forging armor for the King. He was burned and immediately replaced like every other dead witch. Shortly after, Morfydd met an up-and-coming knight, Sir Corwin Viremont – her younger brother. She knew him by name and recognised a little of herself in his face, but he had no idea who she was, even after she was called by name in his presence. There have been, she realised, no fireside stories from her parents about an erstwhile daughter, given into service; she has simply been forgotten. Even her prowess on battlefields counts for nothing, with knights taking the credit for victories often spearheaded by witches. But instead of being radicalised by these injustices, everything has turned inwards to curdling self-hatred, leaving her a bitter and callous woman, reluctant to believe her world will ever change, whose life experiences have, in her mind, entirely vindicated her attitude.
impressions.
visual. Willowy, slim, very long black hair, large pale eyes, and the waxy, pallid skin of someone who doesn't get much sunlight.
attire. Her clothes are essentially the uniform of the Few: she always wears fabrics of deep red which identify her as a witch. She usually wears a dress and a long cloak, both heavy and slightly ill fitting, in a generally medieval style. Her hair is usually down.
demeanor. Morfydd has little capacity for kindness in her; she is too weak to be ruthless, but she is haughty, judgmental, irritable, and thin-tempered, and always an underlying bitterness.
aural. Basically just Eva Green – low, raspy, slightly accented.
olfactory. Incense, smoke, and a slight scent of mould.
height
5'7"
build
Willowy
eyes
Pale blue
hair
Black
PB
Eva Green
Abilities.
Morfydd’s magic is limited chiefly by her own body. Magic takes a toll on her, and after excessive use (whether that is small magic for a long period of time, or a short burst of intense power) she will be physically weakened. She has been using her magic to fight since she was fifteen, and over time it has left its scars. In general, use of magic leads to pain in her body, as well as nausea, migraines, nosebleeds, and sometimes fainting, although sometimes there are additional costs.
Her magic is always emotionally volatile, even after years of training. Much of her training was and continues to be about managing her emotions and ensuring that her concentration is funnelled into her magic and not into other things. Even now, though, if she casts while emotional, her magic can misfire or even overcharge, leading to additional destruction both of her target and of herself.
Her offensive magic is primarily fire- and air-based, and she has a number of ‘spells’ in her repertoire, although none of them require her to speak aloud. Magic is about channelling the innate power she has, giving it form, and sending it outwards.
Not all witches can perform the same skills: others have water- and earth-based magic. It is not yet known what leads to a witch developing one kind of magic over another.
spells.
•Pyre: A concentrated bolt of flame, launched towards a distant target. Witches can aim for precision – where the bolt is thinner and less destructive, but can travel further distances – or destruction – where the bolt is larger and more destructive, but cannot travel far. This is her primary offensive weapon. It requires her to be on a battlefield and to see her target (whether through her own eyes or the eyes of her Tether). Extensive use adds to her chronic exhaustion and she cannot fire it indefinitely; she will also usually end up with burns on her hands and fingertips the more she uses it. She can also stop a Pyre before it leaves her and hold it in the palm of her hand as a flame that she can use to see or light a fire.
•Shroud: A dense, thick smoke which can cover battlefields and make it impossible for enemies to see or even breathe. Knights wearing spelled armour are protected from this and can see through it. To encapsulate large areas, a Shroud is usually performed by multiple witches together, but Morfydd can weave a smaller one herself. Witches must be in close proximity to the area to perform a Shroud and it often leads to breathing issues the longer they are exposed.
•Whisper: A method of sending messages over relatively long distances; they can be carried on a gust of wind. The distances are not endless, and the further away a message needs to be delivered, the more unreliable it becomes. Words are lost, meaning is misinterpreted. In general a Whisper is only used for battlefield communication and old methods, like carrying a physical written message from one place to another, are always preferred. The longer the distance, the more brainfog descends on a witch who casts a Whisper. There is always a part of their mind focused on the message’s delivery until it is received by the target, and so witches who send Whispers are often distracted and unable to concentrate on other things.
•Gale: A cone of pure force, mostly used to knock enemies back, snuff out fires, or cause a level of destruction. Like the Pyre, Gales can be more precise or more destructive. It is possible to combine a Pyre and a Gale to wreak havoc on a target, but this is usually a one-and-done sort of spell for a witch, who subsequently becomes too exhausted to provide any more firepower in a battle.
•Veil: A protective swirling buffer of wind which can be summoned along with other witches to protect a building, encampment, or group of knights, causing projectiles to bounce off. An individual witch can create a veil that would protect a single person. Veils are often used in tandem with Shrouds.
runework.
Runework is the ability to inscribe objects with lingering spells. They are either one-use-only or limited by time. For example, runes could be inscribed on a silver door handle such that if someone were to touch it, they would be blasted back by a wave of wind – once this had been triggered, the door would be unprotected again. Alternately, runes could be carved onto a knight’s steel-and-silver armour which would grant them additional protection from attacks and the elements – once a week of sunrises and sunsets has passed, the runes have lost their potency and must be reinscribed.
Runework is complex and difficult and often undertaken by multiple witches at once because of the intense concentration it requires. It also requires a constant channeling of magic, making witches sick – they often vomit blood and are reduced to near-catatonic states after long or intense stretches of runework. It also leads to pain in the joints and reduced vision; many of the older Few who are too frail for the battlefield only perform runework, and as a result many are nearly blind.
tether.
Each witch has a Tether, an animal of some strategic use. They are bonded together and a witch is able to see through the animal’s eyes. Many witches have bird Tethers; Morfydd’s Tether is a nightjar she has named Rhyn, who is able to fly ahead and scout areas. Witches cannot see through their Tether’s eyes and cast magic at the same time; they must do one and then the other. Being connected to their Tether makes a witch incredibly vulnerable to attack; they are unable to see the world around them or any dangers that might be creeping up on them.
servitor.
Morfydd's servitor, the Carrion, is her disgust and fear made manifest, a symbol of every weakness she knows she has. Disgust over her own magic and the cost of living while others die, and a fear of dying like any other witch.
The Carrion has the shape of a human but is vastly taller, with long, skeletal limbs. It is entirely wrapped in charred and blackened burial cloth, a walking corpse. The center of its chest and the frayed edges of the burial cloth glow faintly with embers that never go out. Around its neck it wears a large circular mirror on a chain. Its voice is a discordant, grating echo of Morfydd's own, and it moves twitchily, uneasily, its limbs cracking and twisting as it drags itself forward.
The Carrion doesn't kill immediately – it confronts, whispering truths and half-truths from Morfydd's memories, particularly to those who feel unworthy or disgusted by themselves. Once it detects strong shame or disgust, it erupts in a blinding, explosive fire, trying to consume and absorb its target, screaming in agony as it does. It is not mindless; it accuses. It recites Morfydd's own thoughts in mocking tones, twisting what she believes, offering peace through surrender: "You don't want this life. You don't deserve it. Let me take it from you."
abilities.
•It cloaks its surroundings in black fog and silence, isolating its prey and feeding off their confusion and despair. The silence is so absolute that those trapped in it can hear their blood move through their veins.
•It can collapse into a cloud of embers to get through small spaces – the crack under the bottom of a door, a small gap in an almost-closed window. Locking yourself away from it is not enough.
•The mirror around its neck shows those who look into it a vision of themselves which emphasises what they believe to be their worst traits, feeding on even the smallest self-doubt. The reflection will slowly erode into more and more of those insecurities until its target is weak or horrified enough to be caught as the Carrion erupts in flame.
weaknesses.
It is not especially strong and can be beaten back with pure force: it is as sick as Morfydd, limping and cringing from the light. It is also inversely affected by what Morfydd experiences: if she is treated gently, spoken to softly, in its presence, the Carrion is weakened even further.Permissions.