Name: Morgan Duffbraon Underwood
Nickname: Morgan
Age: 17
Year: 7th
House: Gryffindor

Special ability and/or breed:[Animagi, metamorphmagi, vampire, werewolf, etc..] Seer, and very good at Transfiguration and can do wandless magic

Appearence: A thin boy whose black hair is usually spiky, but sometimes he tamed it into a down style long around his face and over his eyes. His eyes were black, but he often wore blue or turquoise contacts just for something different. His skin is pale, and he has snake bite piercings, although he doesn't always wear them. His clothing was typical Americana... hoodies, jeans (either skinny or flared depending on his mood) and fitting t-shirts. He had a large collection of tennis shoes, which ranged from Converse Chuck Taylor's and Nike's of every color to Doc Martins and GBX boots. They would be his distinguishing feature...he rarely wears the same pair more than once in a month.

Personality: Quiet and observant, could appear stand-offish but was really just aloof and curious. He knew that to listen was to learn. Very faithful and loyal to those he deemed his friends. He was exceptionally intelligent, and although ambitious, not self serving enough to land in Slytherin...his loyalty to his friends and gallantry must be what placed him in Gryffindor. He was as at home in the library as in any form of physical work, and enjoys working out and sports of all nature.

History:Morgan is the oldest child of Patrice and David Underwood. He has a younger brother (who might appear at a later time as a student).

Person portraying the character in avatar/signature: Unknown combination of pics found on the internet...and Sonny Moore..with spiked hair; and Matthew Lush.

Wand: Alder, 13", pliable yet strong; core of phoenix and golden eagle feathers; handle embedded with calcite and crystal quartz stones

Loyalty: Neutral

Relationship status: single, but hopeful

RP sample:

Morgan woke to the sound of bustling at his headboard. He glared at the infernal creature with disdain, what had his mother wanted this time. He didn't bother to get up; instead reached and took the small scroll from the hawk's foot and unrolled it and read her words. He grumbled as he finished the three lines of tiny script. Visiting day already? he thought as he rolled his eyes.

He rose from his bed and stood, he pushed through the curtains with his body, he wasn't in a good mood...mornings never were his forte, and knowing his mother was coming to visit was exceptionally taxing. She was actually a terrific woman, a Shamaness, but he always felt inferior in her eyes...as if nothing he did were good enough. His visions weren't reliable in that he couldn't make them come, they came when they wanted to and revealed only what he needed to know at that moment. This was a point of contention between them, and had always been.

He pulled his robes from the top of his trunk and slipped them over his bare chest. He had on trousers--well sleeping pants-- and that would do for breakfast, he reasoned as he headed to find what the house elves had prepared for the day's first meal.