Morrigan
(#19815214)
Level 9 Nocturne
Familiar
Fluorite Windsinger
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Female Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
0.53 m
Wingspan
1.77 m
Weight
1.42 kg
Genetics
Jungle
Jupiter
Jupiter
Emerald
Peregrine
Peregrine
Leaf
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 9 Nocturne
EXP: 10818 / 21526
STR
7
AGI
12
DEF
12
QCK
16
INT
40
VIT
13
MND
12
Biography
Morrigan
Celtic (Irish) Goddess of war, fertility and vegetation, who has many aspects, both generative and destructive. Sometimes she is also seen as the Goddess of horses..
Celtic (Irish) Goddess of war, fertility and vegetation, who has many aspects, both generative and destructive. Sometimes she is also seen as the Goddess of horses..
Gardener/Warrior
Loving || Kind || Caring
Destructive || Cold || Loner
She was going to die.
She could feel it in her body, in her soul. The strength leeching from her muscles, the breath torn from her lungs, and she knew.
How much? How much longer until she was impaled on the end of a spear, until she was dead and gone and no one would even remember her. Just some nameless soul, a rotting corpse on the ground, and a muttered question of, “What happened here?” and a similar dismissal, “Who cares.”
The Beastclans moved with practiced synchronization, speed and strength and no reprieve, striking so quickly that Morrigan stumbled, nearly fell, but caught herself just as an arrow whipped past her throat. Her vision was hazy, nerves on fire. Every part of her ached.
But Morrigan made herself get up, to face them with a smile even as her mind screamed at her to give up.
Death made for a terrible story, after all.
When he arrived, she snarled at him. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was all in her head. That she was already dead and dying, dreaming of what could’ve been. It was hard to stay awake, to focus on anything but the ground beneath her feet and the blood roaring in her ears.
He might’ve said something, he might’ve done something. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he was beautiful and strong and she was exhausted, so dreadfully tired of everything and everyone and just wanted to—
She was embarrassed when she woke up. Fainting like some damsel in distress, having to be saved by some knight in shining armor. And she told him as much when he appeared.
“I didn’t need your help.”
Her wounds had been bandaged, her world a familiar drugged haze of painkillers.
He looked surprised, mouth parted slightly before blurting out. “Of course not. Did you see how many you killed?”
She hadn’t. And he laughed, regaling her of the fight, of helping her back and how, even half-conscious, she had still argued with him every step of the way.
Love at first sight. Such a cheesy, romantic thing to say when the world was so brutal and cold. But as she listened to him talk, watched his eyes light up as he laughed, she supposed that that phrase was as good as any.
Loving || Kind || Caring
Destructive || Cold || Loner
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Some would say that Morrigan is a bit of an odd duck—not to her face, of course, or anywhere within earshot of her, or to anyone who could possibly relay it back to her. Despite her oftentimes gentle demeanor and kind smile, Morrigan's capacity for coldness and brutality, especially towards the enemies of her clan and loved ones, had garnered her quite the reputation. Some say that her mate, Shiva, is one of the few who can handle the shifting winds of her dual-personality, loving both sides of her in equal parts. In peacetime, Morrigan enjoys whiling the days away in her gardens. Her nursery is famed for its lush greenery and sweet-scented flora. There she houses all manner of creatures, hooved and winged and finned, which take shelter in her shade and glut themselves off the bounties of her labors. In times of war or hardship, however, her nursery becomes a place of refuge for Morrigan. Her destructive personality shuns the company of friends and loved ones, including her mate. In this state, she prefers to keep to herself, and when she is with others, it's generally in the heat of battle. This side of Morrigan is one you don't want to be on the wrong end of—she makes for a ferocious fighter who strikes fear into the hearts of friends and foes alike, leaving corpses and smoldering ruins in her wake. The same claws that till the soil rend wounds and scars in her enemies and the land around them. Morrigan is dangerous like a warm ocean's breeze—pleasant most of the times, but with the capacity to form a terrible tempest.
Bio Written by msnoodles(#89701) [size]
 Relationships
Relationships Written by blackflamewolf(#15007)
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Other / Art
Two sides of the same coin,
Two sides that are joined,
One will beat you to the bone,
Another will offer you a home,
One will fight and lives in solitude,
Another heals and comforts you.
She loves, she hates, she morns, she celebrates,
She's both a devil and a saint,
Wearing the same coat of paint,
Only plants don't feel her tide,
And she'll hide deep inside,
Waiting for her turn to strike.
She'll turn a caring hand,
But only one can understand,
Knowing how to dodge around
When her mood starts to drown,
Watch her smile and watch her frown,
Flipping colors but has the same old crown.
Two sides that are joined,
One will beat you to the bone,
Another will offer you a home,
One will fight and lives in solitude,
Another heals and comforts you.
She loves, she hates, she morns, she celebrates,
She's both a devil and a saint,
Wearing the same coat of paint,
Only plants don't feel her tide,
And she'll hide deep inside,
Waiting for her turn to strike.
She'll turn a caring hand,
But only one can understand,
Knowing how to dodge around
When her mood starts to drown,
Watch her smile and watch her frown,
Flipping colors but has the same old crown.
Poem by NovaBorn(#345687)
She was going to die.
She could feel it in her body, in her soul. The strength leeching from her muscles, the breath torn from her lungs, and she knew.
How much? How much longer until she was impaled on the end of a spear, until she was dead and gone and no one would even remember her. Just some nameless soul, a rotting corpse on the ground, and a muttered question of, “What happened here?” and a similar dismissal, “Who cares.”
The Beastclans moved with practiced synchronization, speed and strength and no reprieve, striking so quickly that Morrigan stumbled, nearly fell, but caught herself just as an arrow whipped past her throat. Her vision was hazy, nerves on fire. Every part of her ached.
But Morrigan made herself get up, to face them with a smile even as her mind screamed at her to give up.
Death made for a terrible story, after all.
When he arrived, she snarled at him. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was all in her head. That she was already dead and dying, dreaming of what could’ve been. It was hard to stay awake, to focus on anything but the ground beneath her feet and the blood roaring in her ears.
He might’ve said something, he might’ve done something. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he was beautiful and strong and she was exhausted, so dreadfully tired of everything and everyone and just wanted to—
She was embarrassed when she woke up. Fainting like some damsel in distress, having to be saved by some knight in shining armor. And she told him as much when he appeared.
“I didn’t need your help.”
Her wounds had been bandaged, her world a familiar drugged haze of painkillers.
He looked surprised, mouth parted slightly before blurting out. “Of course not. Did you see how many you killed?”
She hadn’t. And he laughed, regaling her of the fight, of helping her back and how, even half-conscious, she had still argued with him every step of the way.
Love at first sight. Such a cheesy, romantic thing to say when the world was so brutal and cold. But as she listened to him talk, watched his eyes light up as he laughed, she supposed that that phrase was as good as any.
Story by Rosoidela(#16328)
Code Written by Noctiferous(#175953)
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Exalting Morrigan to the service of the Shadowbinder will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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