café con muerte

affiliated lucanis dellamorte. HOUSING: APARTMENT 312 RANK: NEWCOMER mobile links

[decuervos]

❧ LUCANIS DELLAMORTE // DRAGON AGE // ISOLA RADIALE

❧ APPLICATION // STATISTICS // PERMANENT PLOTTER

Orphaned at a young age, raised by his grandmother as an Antivan Crow; a deadly assassin working to reinforce Antiva's political strength by taking out their enemies.

Garnering a reputation for his contracts against Venatori mages, he caught the attention of a high ranking Magister who dubbed him "Demon of Vyrantium."

This reputation caught up to him, leading him to be kidnapped and forcibly experimented on in an underwater Venatori prison.

Forcibly merged with a Spite demon, the two came to a begrudging truce to escape their watery prison and enact vengeance on those who did this to them.

Now lending his blade to a more noble cause, he struggles to balance his own mind from that of Spite, who takes control any time he falls asleep.

...so he has taken to not sleeping at all.

Not that it helps.

[corvisque]

Dellamorte. Even in his time House Dellamorte had managed to sink their teeth into the title of First Talon after House Arainai's fall, and they had held onto it with all the ferocity one might expect of their breed. No small feat, with power among the Crows as fickle as the ocean's tide. Not just an assassin, then, but a master assassin. As if he needed more reason to be wary.

"'Not one for lovers?' A great shame." Alright. He's wary, not blind -- he can honestly admit when even an enemy is particularly easy on the eyes. Actually, depending on who you ask that might be considered one of his (many) failings.

He shakes the hand offered to him, but debates whether to give a name in return. His looks are blessedly disguised at the moment. His name isn't. It is already a miracle that this man has not put two and two together -- and a bit disappointing, really, what are they teaching Crows these days? -- he does not know whether to take the risk of pushing his luck. There is a part of him that wishes to accompany this bird to his temporary nest, just for the thrill of it, even still.

"I would not wish to impose, but if you insist..."

"This man you mentioned earlier. His name would not happen to be Zevran, would it?"

[decuervos]

There is a touch of recognition there, Lucanis thinks, that causes him to second guess his own previous judgements. The overt flirtation catches him off guard, once again. Call it a weakness, call it a blind spot in his training. Call it the face of an assassin who does all his work in the dark, who is wholly unused to being so brazenly teased.

"What can I say? Too many are quick to pounce, nowadays." Lucanis raises an eyebrow, moves into a state of mind more suited for... business. "I enjoy the chase."

He leads the way, guiding the stranger towards his apartment. He found little danger in bringing him back to his current dwelling, at least; it was temporary, and public. Any assassin worth their weight would already have eyes on them.

The name immediately changes the parameters of the game, however. House Arainai. It would seem that Lucanis may have been correct in his first assumption, after all. There is no visible change in his demeanor, no reaction outright. Perhaps, in the world of animals, were he a true corvid, the feathers at his neck would have ruffled at the danger, those adorning his crest flattening back.

That was what they were, wasn't it? Two caged birds. Lucanis still had questions. About the horns, mostly, but several potential answers sprung to mind, and none were particularly reassuring.

He does not stop walking, nor does he change course. He only grins.

"One name among many that came to mind, yes." He turns, just slightly. "Though the Arainai I know of was less... horny."

[punisheye]

"Coffee?" He echoes. "Well, there's definitely a bunch a' coffee 'round here, looks like."

Actually, when he digs deep into his brain and into the odd memories he has of this place, he thinks he must have some degree of power in a place that makes coffee. A little café off in another ward. Even if things are all jumbled up, his hands still remember the motions.

Still, he doesn't recall having anything of Antivan make there.

"Don't know if there's anything from Antiva. But I heard there's a place in this city that's got food from all different worlds."

Honestly, he's been kind of craving those savory scones they got everywhere in Ferelden. Nicholas could probably eat his weight in those, was absolutely obsessed the moment someone offered him one the day he got off that boat. Probably worth a look around... hm.

His stomach gurgles. It's not audible over the bustle of the crowd, at least. Hopefully.

Wolfwood clears his throat. This guy, despite being a Crow, seems— well, not harmless, but isn't acting like he's going to jump him and slit his throat. Not that he could, with that hunk of wood. Could probably get a good thump on the head with it, though.

And he's feeling a little like Mister Congeniality today, so he says: "Could help ya look around." Not like he has anything better to do.

[decuervos]

"All different worlds..." Lucanis repeats, brow furrowing just slightly. The nature of the city hasn't quite clicked for him. The scope of what exists here. He does his research, certainly, but this is more than just... field research. This is something entirely foreign. He nods, after a moment, licking his lips in quiet contemplation.

It's true, Lucanis is remarkably... tame, for a Crow. He is well trained, after all; etiquette was still the name of the game. His ears do, however, quirk just slightly at the sound of a stomach gurgling, below the sound of the crowd. His lip quirks into a hint of a smile.

His guard is not down; it's never fully down, really, even in the company of allies. And this man was hardly an ally, regardless of the threat he posed (or lack thereof) at the current moment. But he still relaxes, somewhat, at the lack of outright aggression. It would suit him well to gain a contact here, in any case.

"I would appreciate the assistance." He nods, letting a smile grace his features now, meeting his gaze with a friendly, if not cautious, expression.

"Might I ask where you are from?" Lucanis's brow quirks once again, looking him over for just a moment. "You carry yourself like a templar, but I would not want to assume."

[theheartmold]

aren't we, indeed, the keepers of our dead?

José Saramago / Powell, Robert, trans. Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism. / Calvary, W.B. Yeats / The Wigmaker Job, Courtney Woods / The Wake, Mary Kirby / After the Movie, Marie Howe / Screenshots from Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Bioware) / Art by Matt Rhodes

[corvisque]

Face to face with this stranger, Zevran knows for certain that he is a Crow. Assassins always have a certain something about them that mark them as assassins, to those who have eyes to see -- and the Antivan Crows have always been remarkably distinct. Likely it is their flair for the dramatic, one of the few aspects of the guild that he can still respect. But this man does not seem to know who he is. Or, perhaps, he simply wants Zevran to think he does not know who he is.

Whatever the case may be, it would be foolish to lower his guard.

"Is that so?" he inclines his head, the perfect picture of ignorance. "Do I remind you of an old friend, then? Or perhaps a lover?"

He should decline this man's offer of help, but curiosity has gotten the better of him. It would be valuable to know if he is alone or if there more of their number here. Really, he has gotten too comfortable in this city and it would be a shame to have to flee into the outer wards. And he isn't interested in picking fights he may not be able to win.

"If you would be so kind as to offer your assistance, I can hardly refuse."

[decuervos]

Lucanis is taken aback by the question very briefly, then something a bit more amused quirks at the edge of his lips. The resemblance truly was uncanny; from the way he carried himself to the practiced, silver edge to his words. Even this. . .seduction felt as though it dripped with venom. His eyebrow quirks up, the tiniest hint of a smirk as he shakes his head.

It really was uncanny.

"I am. . .not one for lovers, typically." He is not one for friends, either. Though he does not say that, of course. "Though you certainly strike me as familiar. A very... remarkable resemblance. If I did not know better, I might wonder if you're related."

Spite chitters at the back of his mind, surprisingly quiet, given the circumstance. It would seem as though the demon is as curious about this stranger as Lucanis.

"Of course," Lucanis nods his head once, a polite gesture. "It is the least I can do. I am Lucanis Dellamorte."

There is a certain stiffness to his movements as he offers a hand; Lucanis paints a strange figure of a Crow. He certainly has some degree of natural charisma to him, yes, but anything beyond pleasantries seems to bring a slight prickling to the back of his neck. This is a Crow who was not properly taught how to preen.

"It is a pleasure." A pleasure? The word feels strange on his tongue. Spite purrs at the back of his mind, and he swallows thickly.

"My lodging is fairly close by. If you'd like, we can see about that shirt."

[brittsmemes]

Send 💭 + a topic and my muse will tell you what they think about it.

[decuervos]

Finally free of holiday chaos... will get onto replies/starters soon!

[decuervos]

To be a Crow, Lucanis thinks, is a very odd thing. Especially one in his position. Many of those among his ranks are not born into this, after all. They are recruited, sometimes bought, pulled into this world like a shade hooked into a mage-killer's gut. Captives who long for a time before daggers and poisons, contracts and targets.

There is no before for a Dellamorte. No childhood memories to return to at your darkest hours. The memory of a mother's embrace is cold, if it ever existed at all. Caterina was not a mother, nor did she try to be one. She was a guardian. A teacher. A shield. A woman who watched this world take her children.

Who knew that they would take her grandchildren, too, if she let it. Who burned the rules of the world into his mind, who left the marks on his back to prove it. Lucanis knows this was not an act of love, but survival, so he cannot blame her alone for the life that he lived. She is a victim, too, of a larger illness that plagues Antiva. One that Crows seem to be very skilled at spreading.

Perhaps that is the conflict of such a life. To be a Crow is to live life by the contract. Notions of good and evil are absolute; the target is the enemy, plain and simple. For many, even outside the Crows, this is how life is. The villain, the monster, the boogeyman. The Dread Wolf.

But reality is not so simple. Because in any story, any novel that Lucanis read, Caterina would be nothing less than a villain. He would be, too. There are many stories where he is the killer, many cautionary tales where he is what lurks in the dark. But he knows Caterina is not the evil-stepmother; she is a woman who has been grieving longer than she has been living.

So that begs the question. Is he not the killer? The monster? The beast? He cannot recall a time when he was anything else. His presence is an omen of death, his face that of the Demon of Vyrantium. Nobody knows of his grief. To Caterina, he is a continuation of her legacy. To Illario, an obstacle to be overcome. To Viago, an ally. To Teia, a friend. But who is Lucanis to himself?

A weapon, he thinks. A blade to be deployed. He doesn't have the skills for anything else, does he? He can cook and clean, he supposes. But better than the average homebody? He is not charming like Illario, does not have the command that Caterina or Teia do. He was not given the words to speak for himself, not given the skills to be anything else. He is not a leader like Rook, by no means a First Talon.

Perhaps the life of a Crow is one of contradictions. Raised in wealth that was not his. A pantry full of food while his belly ached from hunger. Killing for a cause he was not given the tools to ever fully know. He fights for Treviso, knows nothing but Treviso. But he is not in Treviso now, is he? What is he, here, but a knick-knack, collecting dust on a shelf?

The story is over. The monster is gone. There is no villain, and the heroes have new adventures to pursue. So what becomes of Lucanis Dellamorte?

He’s never been fond of epilogues in his novels. But it seems he finds himself in the midst of one.

[decuervos]

"I don't think I want to know."

[decuervos]

"What are you looking at?"

"A triangle, I think."

[decuervos]

" I think i just burnt my nostril hairs out."

"That is..."

"...impressive, I must admit. Why don't I take over the cooking for tonight...?"

[decuervos]

"Whoa, hey - sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"Please."

"Think nothing of it. It takes a lot to startle me."

[decuervos]

"Are you ignoring me?"

"Ignoring you?"

"Of course not. I'm merely... giving you room to breathe. Over there. Somewhere else. That's not here."

[decuervos]

011, 063 & 091!

100 Random Character Development Questions

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

Very... very slowly. Acts of service, first. Cooking for them, cleaning for them, offering to help them with their daily duties. Constant praise, words of affirmation, appreciation... when it comes to taking the final step to actually court someone, he finds himself a bit... reticent, for personal reasons. Love is a complex thing; one he is not at all familiar with, not like this. But he is just happy to be able to ease some of the burden of living at all, even if his affections go unnoticed.

063. How well does your character handle difficult people?

Killing them Assuming the difficult person is someone he has to make nice with for professional reasons, or just common courtesy, it's simply a matter of apathy. His job requires a great deal of disconnect to cope with, and this is no different. He's gotten very good at tuning people out and getting through an interaction as quickly as he possibly can.

091. What type of music does your character like?

Classical and opera music are his general go-to's, but he could be open to new genres. Anything he can listen to while he cooks, things that flow and swell slowly. He likes to be consumed by what he is listening to. Lucanis is a very romantic man, in the artistic sense; he likes music that you feel.

[memepocalypse]

Something's Wrong With You (senses)

Eyes

"Can you focus on me?"

"Hey... I'm over here?"

"What are you looking at?"

"Whoa, hey - sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm - I'm right in front of you."

"Can you... can you not see?"

"When did you lose your vision?"

"Hey, it's okay - it's okay. Let me take your hand and lead you."

"Don't be scared - it'll be okay. We'll fix it."

"Don't flinch - I'm going to touch you."

Ears

"Hello? Hellloooo?"

"Are you ignoring me?"

"God, you never pay attention -"

"I'm talking to you!"

"Why aren't you listening?"

"Pay attention!"

"Listen!"

"Can you not hear me or something?"

"Why are you looking at me like that..?"

"What - wait... you can't hear? Why am I saying this you can't hear it."

Mouth

"Why are you making that face? I spent ages cooking that."

"Why are you adding salt to that?"

"Whoa, you're drooling like crazy."

"Are you choking?"

"Bland? How can it be bland?"

"I can't taste anything."

"My mouth just tastes like blood."

"Everything tastes of nothing."

"My tongue's gone numb."

"Bleh."

Nose

"Eugh, can't you smell that?"

"Oh, that smells hideous."

"It reeks in here!"

"You stink."

"I think I broke my nose."

"I can't smell anything?"

"I think I've gone nose-blind."

"Should I... be able to smell anything?"

"I think I burnt my nostril hairs out."

"Everything just smells like smoke."

Feeling

"I think I just burnt my fingerprints off."

"My hands have gone numb."

"I can't - I can't feel anything. At all."

"Are you touching me? I can't tell -"

"Your hands are shaking."

"Okay - if you're going to keep dropping things you need to put them down."

"Can you feel this?"

"I'm going to run my fingers through your hair."

"I'm taking your hand."

"It's okay - it's okay. Just take a breath. The feeling will come back."

[givemeameme-blog]

Please tell me your favorite things about my portrayal/muse?

Anon is acceptable.

[decuervos]

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

100 Random Character Development Questions

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

It's a complicated question with a complicated answer. The truth of the matter is that he works in a business were violence is not always justified or deserved, at least not as far as he knows. It is not his job to know what a person did to deserve their fate, just to carry it out.

But that doesn't mean there aren't people he doesn't think are more deserving of it than others. Those who take advantage of others, those who use their position of power to harm others. It's why he made a name for himself in taking contracts against Venatori mages; his training, his ability to sense those tapping into the fade put him in a unique position to do something tangible.

Lucanis thinks himself, to some degree, a beast. An attack dog. So the simple answer to when violence is deserved is that it is when someone chooses to anger the beast. Nature takes its course. He is just her blade.