There are none more wicked than the vile sorceress, Morgan Le Fay. With a heart as black as a raven’s wings, she gleefully wields her twisted gifts to overwhelm any who oppose her quest for power.
“I am not wicked. You are just weak.”
—Morgan Le Fay
Morgan Le Fay’s dark magic is born of an unparalleled curiosity and fueled by contempt for the natural order of life and love and the false promise of hope.
When she looked upon the good kings and queens of her age she felt nothing but disgust. Their ambitions mundane. Their regal authority a façade when judged against the forbidden knowledge she sought to control. Knowledge held within arcane tomes from a lost time when the secrets of the natural world were open for interpretation, manipulation, and – if one dare stretch the limits of truth – subjugation.
Knowing her pursuit of the blackest texts and the blood-inked secrets that filled their pages would draw the ire of the weak-minded cowards who ruled the lands, Morgan retreated far from the prying eyes of the pure and just.
She scoured the edges of the waking world to gather the books – all thirteen volumes – and, deep within a gothic forest where the dead trees grew and the still water festered with rot and disease, Morgan began to study.
But one does not feed on the secrets of the dark world without drawing the watchful eyes of dark things. And so the ravens came.
First a few. Then more. And soon hundreds by the day.
The dead forest became cloaked in night and the raven’s spoke.
They questioned Morgan’s frail human body and mind.
They doubted the full depths of her commitment to the path she had chosen.
Their words rang in chorus; in a tongue no pure soul could stand.
Still Morgan did not flinch.
And so the raven’s offered.
Dark secrets in return for a favor – Morgan must reclaim the world from the ignorant hands of her kind.
Morgan agreed, but the world could not be cleansed by magic alone. She would need power – raw and unchecked.
The raven spoke once more of a far off Realm and the power hidden there within a Relic as old as time.
But to claim this power Morgan would need to prove herself.
“I am proven,” she hissed defiantly.
“You are wicked, but you are no warrior,” the ravens clarified, a sinister glee in their chorus. “To claim this power. To claim the world. You must fight.”
Morgan laughed, “War then. I welcome it.”
So, with sinister magics conjured from the darkest pits and artful seduction whispered upon fragile hearts, Morgan Le Fay built an army and corrupted the land in search of the Realm and the power.
And the world would never be the same.