Falmouth’s sea serpent
The real tale of Morgawr begins within my humble home, three hundred years before the first sighting. With the new age of civilization my magic had to be hidden. I moved to Falmouth, into an isolated cottage built before a beach. My magic was strongest near the glittering sea and sand. My home was quaint, only shared with my dear cat. I kept myself to myself, only venturing into Falmouth when necessary. I never revealed my magic to anyone in the town, apart from a select few who earned my trust. One stumbled upon me by accident, a young girl no older than 6. I was busy tending to an injured badger and she wasn’t afraid of me or my abilities. She still comes to visit from time to time, usually to deliver a pasty. I would use my earthly magic to cure the sick, mend bones, give fortunes and heal the nature around me for the people who cared for me. However, not everyone trusted me. They regarded me as the ‘crazy old crone,’ a suspected witch who they never ventured towards, no one was brave enough.
I woke up one morning with the sun shining through my window, the sound of the waves on the shore singing through the air. I set upon my day collecting and crushing seashells for my practical spells, noting down any type of shell I discovered along the shore: razor clam, cockle shells and little limpets Once I arrived back home I worked on my spells, sometimes having to shoo away my pesky cat when he walked along my paper. I was enjoying my peaceful day when a sharp knock on the door disturbed me. I opened it a crack and gazed upon an older looking Cornishman, his eyes glistened with tears.
‘Please ma’am, you must help me. My mother has become terribly ill and no one else in the village can help me.’ He said, his voice cracked slightly ‘I’ve been told you are a witch with great healing abilities…I beg you…’
With such worry in the man I had no choice but to bring him into my cottage, we hurried in and I began to make a remedy for his mothers illness. I turned my back on him for a moment to grab some heather root and Piran bound my hands in rope.
Piran’s mother wasn’t sick nor did he need my help. The hideous man created this ruse to get to me, to bind my hands and punish me for my magic for all of Falmouth to see. A witch hunter, one who thought himself brave enough to end my days. I almost became a chapter in a history book, taken to the stake buried within the golden sand of the beach. As I was being dragged to the stake the rage of a thousand earth witches brewed inside me. Those foolish men underestimated me. With the mystical energy of the Cornish coast at my side I uttered a dozen incantations to punish each one. I cursed them, each one transforming into small crabs to be a seagull's lunch. Some were marked, to be taken by kelpies as soon as they touched the sea. As for Piran, the man who undermined me and attempted to end my magic, I gave him a fate far worse. I held his gaze in mine, his face contorted with fear as I continued to recite spells.
There was a pause, as if the waves themselves stopped. Silence rang in our ears before Piran let out a yell. His bones twisted and reformed. His arms and feet became flippers at his side. His fair skin glittered and shimmered in the sun as dark blue scales. On the shore before us all Piran was cursed, cursed into Morgawr, the beast of Falmouth.