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Warrick was a lively child. Bright, full of life. Unlike most of the Morgan children (see: older brothers Holden and Aleksei), he took far more readily to their mother's profession than their father's. He fell in love with bread. The feel of dough between his fingers, the smell of it baking to its full delicious potential. The first time he was allowed to bake unattended in their shop was a disaster. Whoever ate his creations fell violently ill. No more baking for Warrick. He lost his passion overnight and never really recovered it, there or elsewhere. His attempts to find work in the years since number in the dozens, with various reasons for dismissal - being blamed for theft, being plain-old forgotten, accidentally looking at the wrong person twice. He manages to get by, at least. Recent events have taken him from Sanctum to Arx.

Crowning the top of his rangy height, the springy fluff of his brown hair loans him at least another inch. Built lean and strong with definition to the breadth of his shoulders, placid eyebrows center his high brow above deepset eyes, in hue an oaky brown. High cheekbones make a frame for a cleanly angled face with thin lips.

In a word, Warrick is fatalistic. It's not that he believes in fate, so much as he believes whatever is going to happen will happen, no matter what. Paired with an unlucky streak longer than most baronies, this has left him remarkably unambitious and practically unquestioning. He doesn't believe everything he's told, he just doesn't see the point in trying to force answers out of people. No matter what happens, he accepts his lot in life and moves along. If something good happens? That's great! He'll smile, accept it, and move along.