#askmorgana

Well, we know Ivy played the violin, so it's very possible that Dusk Manor had a music room with other instruments in it. If anyone played the organ, it was probably Morgana (since she literally has "organ" in her name, hurrhurr)

Otherwise, I can imagine Dimitri randomly slapping away on the keys just to annoy the hell out of everyone lol

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Alternate Universes! | Not Accepting 

// Ah, this old chestnut.

   She gives very few fucks. Like, if you look in her fuck bucket (or “fucket”) you will find it’s rather dry and all but empty.

   Of all the members, Sona probably likes Yorick the best. If just because he’s the most chill. Sometimes Karthus is just too intense for her and talks too much. She appreciates his skill and vocals and character on stage, but that guy just doesn’t know when to stop working sometimes, you know? Mordekaiser and Olaf are cool too, but they can sometimes spend hours talking shop about equipment.

   Sona goes to the same spa as Olaf. He goes to get a deep-moisturizing treatment for his beard now and then. It’s much cleaner than you’d think overall.

   Her tattoo is real and everybody found it hilarious when she got it, because Sona could only go “HHHHHHHHHHH” the whole time rather than actually crying out in any sort of pain. It’s the only tattoo she has and she’s not going through that shit again no matter what anyone says.

Their group had come to a pause later than what would have been ideal but it could have been intentional considering circumstances. A quarter of Noxus' Crooked Company had been selected to partake in what one of the higher ups called a training exercise. There had been a great emphasis on reconnaissance. Tekun was far from an ideal scout, but his superiors would do as they pleased and he would not dare protest aloud. Only a handful of them would need to depart for this "shift" as they had taken to calling it.

The sun was on the verge of dipping below the horizon, twilight had established itself but would see itself out soon. They would split off from one another to make sure that they covered as much ground as they'd like. They were always armored, much to Tekun's surprise but their commander would always get what they wanted.

They drew straws to see who would have to brave the night, at least this close to home there'd be no danger of running into Demacians. 'He cheated.'

Tekun always drew the shortest straw. It was because they still considered him a foreigner.

'Thankless work.'

Their commander demanded that they be thorough during their scouting. The last man who had been sent out had been disciplined for coming back "too early" for their liking. He was certain that during the day someone shadowed them to make sure they weren't neglecting their duty. He would have to assume the same for the night.

He come across a cavern, his expression grimaces with a little disgust. Tekun reminds himself.

'Be thorough.'

He decides at the first sign of any sort of beast, that he'll flee. He won't throw his life away because his commander demanded he'd wake a Noxian Dire Bear for this senseless task. His armor would offer protection but anything like that would tear him apart.

The Freljordian steels himself and advances in with caution. The sound of steel toed boots against rock resonate. The calm sounds of the forest are left behind, exchanged for the distant dripping of water. His torch bounces off the walls and the cavern narrows more.

He looks into the inky black ahead and his imagination dances with the torch light.

In the Freljord, there are monsters. His father warned him as much when he was alive. You feared the elements, the cold would take you just as soon as a beast or rival clansman would. But if She found you, you would have wished a troll had dragged you away kicking and screaming into the night.

He finds courage, he's been away from the north for a time. There's something he misses about the biting cold. There's a loneliness that creeps in. Like his homeland, the monsters are far away. The cavern twist and narrows further.

At the edges of his fire is something he can't make out well that's about knee height. There's movement and it creeps closer until the begining of a pallid face surfaces from the abyss. Eyes are wide and white like something blind, they're boring into him. The wall behind it is moving. Tekun scrambles for his scabbard in surprise as he extends the torch somewhat and illuminates more.

Pointed teeth and a bloody mouth. It's arms are blackened and the burns extend well past it's forearms. That isn't a wall but... wings. Twisted and they expand as it rises to his face height.

His imagination has gone more than wild. He's since stopped reaching for his scabbard. He's no longer able to keep the torch steady or find the means to shriek. Only watch.

#edgy

I actually don't remember if this was stated in the series or not, but I think at one point Dario mentions that Morgana is his "mother" (not to be confused with Morganya, a totally different character).

Of course Morgana isn't his real mother, as no one in the Dusk clan is related by genetics. So we can safely assume she was probably his night mother, meaning she's the one who turned him.

Dario contracted vampirism in Barha centuries ago, so if this is true, it means...

A) Morgana also lived in Barha at one time.

or B) She just happened to be passing through Barha in her travels.

It's actually quite common for vampires to live a nomadic lifestyle, travelling from city to city, even region to region, to escape all the chaos they create. I imagine Morgana was likely a nomadic vampire who infected Dario, then followed him up to Taybiya after she realized how much money he had. I'm sure she was his mentor for many years, teaching him ancient vampire spells in exchange for money/shelter.

So technically, you could say that the Dusk clan was originally led by Morgana. In "Ghoul Beneath the Guise", she states her position is clan ritual master. While this is a high-ranking position, it's still below clan master. This means she must have stepped down at some point and let Dario take her place. Why she did this is unknown, but considering what a cruel, festering piece of trash Dario is, I'm going to say he probably bullied or blackmailed her until she stepped down.

*

Questions/Comments?

The cell is stark, smooth, without cracks or flaws. The man within looks pristine. For all the beatings he’d received the day before, there’s not a bruise, not a fleck of blood on him. His clothes might be torn, the fine silk stained with sweat and spit, but he’s straightened himself up as best he can. He sits proudly, stiff-backed, staring out at nothing. But his hands are cradled in his lap, curled around each other. They took his claws, leaving the stumps of his fingers bare for anyone to see. He might as well be naked - his disability, his shame, for anyone to stare at. He cradles it close, like a pair of pet mice, the stubs folded into his palms, both hands pressed against his stomach.

And she walks in. The Woman. The Angel. His dark saviour. He hears her distinctive heartbeat, senses it, before the door is even opened. The cell might be warded against his magic, but there are some things he knows better than those he has grown to care for. She’s distinctive. She’s singular. She’s his, taste and scent and blood and body and soul. And he’s hers.

From the distress on her face, he knows she won’t be saving him this time. His stomach drops, not for his sake, but for hers. But he smiles, and stands, putting his hands behind his back as he moves to the cell bars. “You’re looking wan, darling. Are you worried about me?” He tilts his head, softening his smile, letting her see a look in his eyes meant for her, and for no-one else. His words might be high and arrogant and self-assured, but in the language of his gaze he thanks her, weeps with her, mourns. “I’ve been executed before, you know. I’ve been hanged, beheaded, impaled, left in the sun - ha! That was hilarious - poisoned, drowned, pushed off a cliff… I can’t die, darling.” He pauses, to glance at the guards, at the wards on the cell, and his smile fades. “… well. If anyone has a chance of actually making death take, it would be these people.” Both words spoken with disdain. “But honestly? I expect to walk out of here, like I always do. Don’t worry.”

His hands are shaking behind his back.

FEAR. -What are your muses biggest fears?

Sejuani fears very little, even less in the eyes of her fellow tribesmen. But as with any warrior the thought of a fruitless death strikes a chill into her very bones. Be it through assassination, poison, or illness as well she refuses to linger long on the thought. Sharing a similar belief, Olaf the barbarian mirrored her very own ideals. 

But something along the same lines is that her accomplishments and the energy she put into the Winter's Claw would come to nothing. She will leave her mark on the Freljord as a whole, die a warrior's death, and find glory. 

An arched brow assessed the woman before her, from head to toe there had been something truly otherworldly about her. But there had only been one other that drew such an eerie sensation from beneath her flesh. Haunting yet dark, some might have been more than capable of finding some vision of enticement before them. She however would only speak her mind.

"What hole did you crawl out of, wretch? In league with the Ice Witch no doubt."