#Dellamorte : of/from Death

[incoherentchanting]

this shit is so funny

[grimelven]

pov: rook is the blue message

(based on vibes)

Warden’s POV | Hawke’s POV | Inquisitor’s POV

[lucaanis]

"You're more than what you're going through. And you wear it well."

[vaguely-concerned]

rye in the sheltered glade with evka and antoine after destroying the blight eruption with unholy amounts of alchemical fire, looking Directly at lucanis studying a flower as it emerges undaunted from the thousand year horrors of the blight with all the guileless wonder and fascination of a little boy: yeah that's uh. wow. that is beautiful actually. this kind of does change everything doesn't it

[the-rebel-archivist]

39 ILLARIO AND AMADIS THIS ISN'T SPIRITS

This one's for you, not-spirits, and it is glorious. It changed my whole canon and I've never been happier. While Illario languishes in the crow prison of Velabanchel, Amadis finds herself in her own prison in the fade. Their reunion is very Antivan - dramatic, violent, and passionate. The crow mating rituals are intricate.

Prompt: A kiss because time's run out

Amadis de Riva / Illario Dellamorte | 3446 words

Seven steps. That was how many it took to cross the dark, dank cell Illario had been confined in all these weeks. Nine if he took very small steps. Five if he took very large ones or if he walked to the raised wooden pallet that might be called a bed, not that he granted it the honour of that name. Once he had managed to make it in six perfect steps, heel against the starting wall, toes against the end, and had spent the next few hours replicating it. But seven, seven was comfortable.

The steps took a little longer today, weighted by the blossoming bruises over his abdomen that forced a wince from him with each movement. He had discovered very quickly that a little light treason wasn’t appreciated by the crows of Velabanchel. Still, he wouldn’t want anyone to think that he’d lost his edge while in prison and so he paced, took whatever exercise he could, and tried to keep his mind occupied the way his training had conditioned him to.

The way he’d unwittingly forced Lucanis to live for a year. Would he be as sane after his own year had passed?

Illario shook his head to clear it. That was not a useful thought. File it down.

Heavy steps thudded against the flagstones of the hall outside of his cell door and from a distance torches on the wall were lit one by one, gradually spilling warm light into the room that had previously only been lit by a narrow slit of the moon reflecting off the sea below the prison’s cliff. One set of noisy, wide-set footsteps, the night guard’s, he knew by now… and one lighter, one barely imperceptible, whispers kissing the floor, but footsteps that would rouse him from sleep even if he were dead.

He was conscious then of his stained clothing and unwashed hair that hung limply about his face, deprived as he was of his hair tie for fear that he’d use it as a makeshift garrotte. He probably would have. He smoothed his hair back as best he could and leaned as nonchalantly as his aching body would allow against one salt-brined wall, crossing his arms in front of himself.

The flame from the torchlight appearing beyond the bars of his cell door burned his eyes, now attuned to the darkness, and so his first view of the figure that haunted his dreams was glimpsed through squinted eyelids, his careful attempt at composure hindered by his need to shield his eyes with his hand.

With the sharp scrape of metal on metal the door creaked open and in she stepped, skirting around the broad-shouldered guard like liquid metal and giving him a small nod.

“Ten minutes,” the guard growled, locking the door behind her and seating the torch in its bracket in the hallway. Ten minutes in which he was at her mercy, ten in which he could speak his last words.

Only he and his true jailor remained, his beautiful, infuriating jailor, who stood glaring daggers at him but who stood when she should have been dead.

“You’re brave to come alone again, and without bars between us this time,” he said in what would in any other situation have been a drawled implicit threat but which emerged from his mouth neutered and toothless. 

Amadis stepped toward him with those stealthy feet, those quiet killer’s footfalls that he knew too well. Anyone else with her dark hair, dark eyes, and dark leathers might have blended in to the gloom but not her, never her. Her black curls glowed in the halo of the torchlight and shadows traced her form like lovers’ hands while his own seemed suddenly empty.

“Has your ability to threaten atrophied so much already?” she asked with a sarcastic narrow of her eyebrows at his verbal gracelessness, tucking her hair behind her shoulder and exposing her neck with a dare nestled deep in the blackness of her eyes.

Oh, but the bait was tempting. Off the top of his head he could list ten different ways to crush a windpipe, all of which required his skin to make contact with hers and in which he would hold her again for a few glorious seconds as the life drained from her body.

He put his hands down at his sides and stretched them open to clear the thought.

“You left me here to die, Adi. You left me to the damp and the rats and the humiliation. I could kill you now. I should kill you now.” He took a step, biting back the grimace from the weakness of his wounded flesh, channeling it into the fire-flash of anger. “They told me you were gone,” he said accusingly, drawing himself up to his full height before her. “You were dead and it was not me who did it.”

“And that’s what matters, is it?” she asked with a scornful twist of her mouth.

“Yes!” Exasperated, he kept from resisting the offered throat and framed it with his hand, ignoring the thrill that ran down his arm from the contact point of their flesh. “Of course it matters! No matter how far I go you dog my steps, and you left me.”

“Oh, well I’m so very sorry that I inconvenienced you by not dying at your hand,” she sneered, looking up and daring him to tighten his grip. His fingers flexed; he considered, and then felt a flush of satisfaction as her eyes widened when he shifted his grip to the side of her face. The curls at the back of her neck were threaded through his fingers, her cheek cupped and held insistently.

“You don’t understand, you were dead. For weeks you were dead.” 

When she was gone from this world he had learned what it meant to live where she was not. Their last meetings had been marked by antipathy - not indifference but passion, chaos and emotion and hatred all intermingled with the knowledge that there would be a next encounter. And then there was not. There never would be. 

But she had returned from the dead. 

“What does it matter to you, Illario?” she asked bitterly, taking his hand to lift it away from her and letting go like it was some diseased, distasteful thing. “What makes this time so different from the last time you pointed a blade at my neck?”

She wiped every trace of his hand from her body as she spoke and his stomach turned that she would be so repulsed by him.

“It does matter. It did matter. I never told you.”

“Is there anything you could possibly tell me that I don’t already know?” She asked with her dagger-sharp tongue, heedless of the jagged wounds she left behind. “That you betrayed your own family to death and torture, failed and failed again no matter what traitorous heights you set your sights on? You betrayed me but I knew what you were when I took you into my bed.” 

Pausing, she looked away and felt her next words in her mouth before giving voice to them, testing the shape of them. When she spoke again the sound was raw and cracked. “I would have forgiven you for that. I won’t for Antiva. I can only be glad that you failed like you failed at everything else. You keep failing over and over.” 

“Stop it,” he said quietly, an echo of a parentless boy four feet tall and eight years old. “Stop it. They’re already ripping out my nails, isn’t that enough for you?” He gestured toward her with the left hand pinky finger that barely stung now. “They made me what I am, like they did you. The difference between us is that I am twice defeated by my House and you are the victor.”

She had no answer, only a long exhale as she broke her gaze to look away at the floor in the corner of his cell and blinked a few times in quick succession. “Your justifications will leave you bound up in knots,” she said wearily. When she looked back there was an uncertain, nearly pleading look in her eyes that he didn’t recognize. She didn’t look at him that way. She simply did not. Where his suave confidence ended, hers began, not… this. Not the questioning vulnerability that he saw now.

“If you don’t tell me we can forget I was here. We can pretend that we will never wound each other again and I will forget you,” she said, and her pleading eyes begged for silence.

“Even if you could, I could not.”

Illario took a breath in and held it for one, two, three paces-lengths. He willed the prison to open up and swallow him. To swallow them both. Then, exhaling softly, he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and leaned close to her, looking down into those deep, dark eyes that had bewitched him with their passion and spark so long before he knew how to feel. 

“Please,” he said quietly, and he could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds she leaned in to his hand before nodding, resigned to her fate.

“Amadis, I didn’t know until you were gone that a world without you in it would feel like the stars had gone out.” 

They froze in time, interlocked and unmoving for what seemed like minutes, hours, millennia. She blinked; he imitated the motion. Her chest rose and fell with a breath; his did the same. Her skin was warm to the touch, burning his damp-chilled fingers, and since she seemed to permit his hand to linger he pushed his luck and ran his thumb under her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered closed, scrunched together once, and then reopened.

“You would try to kill me and then tell me what, that you love me?” The sound of her voice came out low and scratched, edged by bitter and false amusement.

“Yes- no. I don’t know. Love is too shallow a word. Love is supposed to be kind but this rends me open and leaves me raw. They say love is patient but this is a hungry thing that wants to eat me whole. Every second I spend here I curse your name and every second I know that there is no one else I would wish to curse for an eternity.”

It was embarrassing, exposing his vitals to her when she could execute him on the spot and the other crows would thank her. He was conscious again of the dirt and dried blood on his skin, the odour of his unwashed body, and the clothing that had not stood up to the rigours of being the prison’s punching bag. He was also painfully, sharply aware that despite all of that she had not pulled away from him.

“You are three betrayals too late, mio caro,” she told him, but told him softly, nearly wistfully, as she removed his hand from her face - but allowed her fingers to rest for just a moment over his before letting go. 

A pit of lead grew in his stomach but he smiled through it; if that smile was cruel it was only to himself for allowing himself to believe even for a moment that he might be someone’s first choice. He thought he had crushed that hope long ago but she had coaxed it out of him, dug it up where it lay buried and exposed it to the light while he screamed, all without her ever knowing. If the prison collapsed into the sea at that moment it would have been a true mercy, a miracle sparing him the need to debase himself further. 

“Nothing would have changed, even if you had known,” she said. She knew him, knew his inner workings, knew him as well as she knew her own hands. And he knew that on that night in the opera house had things gone differently he would have seen her dead himself even had he known his feelings, but at least as she gasped her last it would have been his face she saw before her eyes went dark. 

“No, it wouldn’t have. You would still have chosen my cousin’s side.”

“Then how can you love me?”

“If it was possible not to, I wouldn’t,” he said with an acerbic huff through his nose. “You’re asking me how I’m able to keep my heart beating. I could sooner stop that than I could destroy this beast that wants to devour me. Did you know that when you walk into a room everything around you glows? Are you aware of the effort it takes to numb myself when you put your hand on my skin and set it on fire? I wish I didn’t know, but I do now.”

With a deftness that made his aching limbs scream he put one hand on her waist and the other around her back, slipping his fingers into the back of her waistband and searching for the hidden pocket where he was certain her dagger would sit. The guards would have taken her weapons, but that single needle-thin blade was one she would have been loath to give up - and he was right, it was there, the finely made hilt sliding easily out into his palm. 

Amadis drew back, a warning in her glance as she caught his wrist at an awkward angle, but loosened her grasp when he knelt down on the cold stone of the prison floor.

On his knees in front of her he slowly, unthreateningly, brought the dagger close. Like any assassin, he knew the exact position and depth of his heart; the little blade would be enough. He pointed the tip directly over that spot and pressed the weapon into her grip, curling his fingers over hers on the handle.

All she had to do was press down. 

“I spilled your blood once. Take mine, it’s yours.”

It had to be her. Not this place, not these people who cared nothing about his fate except to hope he suffered. Not even his cousin, the playmate and rival he’d followed after his whole life but who had never truly understood him. Not even the grandmother who’d withheld her approval to the last.

Her. The one person who looked at him and never flinched.

Amadis rolled the handle softly in her fingers, tightening and loosening her hold on it as she considered. Her face was unreadable, a conflux of emotions that he was too focused to untangle. The rhythm of his heartbeat pounded in his ears and yet he could not count them by step-lengths of breath while he waited for her answer.

She set her mouth, bit the corner of her bottom lip, and pushed the razor-sharp point forward. He inhaled sharply as his skin broke; yet another red stain spread over the threads of his shirt, fresh and bright against the old splotches of brown, and she stared down at him intensely. 

“Do not lie to me again.”

“Not to you.”

With a sharp inhale and something akin to a sob she pulled her dagger back and wiped the tip against her side before seating it back in her waistband. He said nothing and moved only to let his hands fall in front of him.

“Void take you, Illario Dellamorte,” she said as she sunk both hands into his horrible, prison-filthy hair and smoothed it behind his ears. A quick twist and his neck would crack; it wouldn’t be so bad, it would be quick. His head was tilted back, the eye contact between them unbreakable. 

“You said that I didn’t understand, but I was dead and you weren’t there. Some terrible, rotten fragment of your soul is lodged inside of mine and will not come loose.” Her eyes flashed with an intensity incongruous with the delicacy with which she brushed away the wispy hairs over his ear with her thumb and then knelt down at his level.

“One day I may yet end your life. Until then I demand all of you.”

All of… nothing. A man with no House, no family, no reputation except that of a traitor. A man battered and bruised and broken, the skills beaten into him left to fall into decay and disuse all these weeks. Not an assassin of House Dellamorte. Only a man.

“Even now, when I am this?”

“Especially now,” she said, and she kissed him and the cold, salty cell above the sea came alive with warmth. Her lips were soft where his were cracked and broken but they met hungrily, her arms curling around his neck, his hands grasping at her upper back and pulling her tightly against him.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” she whispered in between kisses.

“Good,” he said with a wicked smile against her lips. “I haven’t forgiven you either.”

In the hall, the heavy footsteps of the guard thudded against the stones. It was twenty steps for him usually, though Illario had missed their beginning. Amadis moved away from him and began to untangle herself; it would be embarrassing, after all, to be found in such a compromising position with a would-be enemy of the state.

Naturally then, he did not let her go, no matter how she glared.

“You will be the death of me,” she huffed, but there was no bite to the words. 

“Is that a promise?” he asked, a smile growing on his face when she laughed against his mouth. 

“Yes, it is.”

Leaning forward, their foreheads met and they knelt in silence for three step-lengths, their eyes closed, their hearts beating in unison.

“Your death belongs to me, Adi.”

“And yours to me.”

They whispered; it seemed wrong to speak out loud or permit anyone else to hear such a vow. It was for them alone. The footsteps in the hallway grew louder as the guard approached nearer and nearer but neither of them could find it in them to give notice to it.

He kissed her once more, deeply, unheeding of the clatter of dense iron keys rapping at the cell door, filing the smell of her and the feel of her in his arms away deep within his mind. The rapping became more and more insistent, less easy to ignore, and Amadis broke first, loosening her hold around his neck and stroking his cheek.

“You have to let me go.”

“Oh.” It had been so easy to forget when she was in his arms that she would leave. Even the return of the guard had not quite driven it home that in a moment she would disappear and he would be left alone to his days of step counting and nights on the wooden plank he continued to refuse to call a bed, existing at the whim of his guards. 

They had allowed him a few minutes’ hope only to destroy it again as some new torture in a long string of cruel and unusual new ways to cause suffering. Frankly he would have preferred the honesty of the rack.

“Right,” he said distantly, holding his side as he brought himself to his feet and stood against the back wall, bile gathering at the back of his throat.

File it down. File it all down. Make it useful.

Useful for what? Useful for whom? Not for him, not anymore.

He hadn’t seen Amadis get up in his haze of despair but she was standing too, her clothing smoothed out and mouth wiped clean, all trace of him gone from her person. She nodded to the guard. Half of him longed to watch her disappear down the hall until she was no more, to imprint the image of her in his mind to remember in the empty days to come, while another half hoped to forget everything in the last few minutes for his own sanity.

He jumped when he heard her voice again and blinked uncomprehendingly at her where she stood facing him in the open doorway.

“I asked if you were coming.”

“Coming where?” he asked stupidly.

“To fight with us rather than against us.”

With a smile that lit the entire cell she reached out to him, her palm upturned and open. Still unsure, he glanced between her and the guard, a stolid gentleman who gave him nothing back in response to his nonverbal inquiry but who also didn’t seem inclined to stop him. Going where? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t here, and it was with her, and it was a start.

He took the outstretched hand and they stepped forward together.

[writerfromshikahr]

LUCANIS : MEANING

The name "Lucanis" is likely derived from the Latin word "lux," which means "light," essentially signifying "bringer of light" or someone associated with illumination and clarity. This name could also mean someone "from Lucania," an ancient region in southern Italy. It indicates a person with origins from a place associated with light or brightness, which may reference the fertile land of the region.

[inquisimer]

Hi! I have a question if you would like to answer: what made you want for Arlow and Lucanis to be best friends prior to the events of the game? Like what was the moment where you went „that would be a great idea“ and why?

Ahh yes, thank you for asking!! I am always happy to talk about them (:

Short answer: I'm a sucker for friends-to-lovers, especially with some kind of mess or drama in between.

Long answer:

Before Veilguard dropped, I was being so careful to not let myself get out of hand building a Rook, because even though I like to bend canon, I also like to know what the canon sandbox is before I do that. I wanted to know the backstories, the faction vibes, and the relationship/quest beats before I got my heart set on an OC. At the same time, I was battling the overwhelming urge to immerse myself in character building because I was so hyped. So, as a compromise (and this is the "moment" I would say), I let myself pick exactly one (1) thing about my Rook: she knows how Lucanis takes his coffee and he trusts her to make it for him.

(which became infinitely funnier once it dropped that crow!Rook was a de Riva, because of the poison angle. serendipity, lol)

Having read the short story The Wake, I knew that there would be some fuckery regarding Lucanis being "dead" (and I was already planning to romance him after reading Tevinter Nights). I wanted to give him and Arlow enough of a relationship history that his death would mean more to her than just "ah shit, the First Talon's grandson got got", but I didn't want that history to be romantic, because I wanted to watch the romance arc play out in game.

So, best friends. And with how intense Lucanis is about his platonic relationships with all of the Veilguard, I'm really glad for that choice - I think it suits both of them, and the stories I want to tell for them (:

Thank you again for asking!! Kicking my feet and twirling my hair whenever I get to talk about them 💜💜

[silverhalla]

I think it would be rly sick if you went to go build a crow rook and the surname was Arainai

like…. just another little compradi trying to bring glory back to your house - rinnala and taliesin are dead by the house’s hand, zevran failed and deserted, guili murdered in the night, all semblance of power lost once again. the house is trying to claw its way back up, futile as it seems. that’s the way of house arainai, isn’t it? talon to knife to talon to knife to nothing, same as it’s been since the house first lost power in the early dragon age. but you, bright-eyed little crow, you’ll break the cycle, won’t you? for the family?

after all, caterina’s prized heir is right there - the demon of vyrantium, the infamous mage killer, sleeping just down the hall. you can be quiet, can’t you? all those means at your disposal, and all the opportunities you could want. you could find a way in under that armor, get to something soft and bruisable and make it bleed. he’s far from home, isn’t he? without a friend? confidantes are few and far between - even a demon must get lonely.

maybe he’d even trust you. you’re a clever little bird, right? you can find something to exploit. after all, what does a would-be talon do except claw, except maim? what else would you be good for? there is no gentleness to crows - you are here to deliver a message: run, little demon, quick as you like.

house arainai will make carrion of you yet.

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Most Antivan Crows do not live long enough to experience a midlife crisis

The Crows supply their ranks generally from orphans, illegitimate or abandoned children, children purchased from slavery, whore houses and other similar sources. Some are born into the Crows already, but those would be a very small minority, for reasons explained below.

Lucanis mentions that Crow training involves a lot of acrobacy. After a brief search, sports with similar physical requirements such as gymnastics, ballet and martial arts have the ideal starting age in the range of 4-10 years, 15 at the latest, when the children's joints are still flexible (and their minds can be easily manipulated). Zevran is canonically stated to have been taken at the age of 7.

Crow training is intense and brutal, involving straight up torture as tests of pain tolerance. From the 18 fledglings of House Arainai taken in the same year as Zevran, only two survived to the end of their training (World of Thedas Vol. 2). Training with real weapons, harsh punishment, possibly the Spartan custom of underfeeding the children and driving them to stealing food for themselves to encourage learning stealth and resourcefulness, and very likely killing any who try to run away, all these are very likely factors for the high death rate among fledglings.

If the average age of newest Crow fledglings is 6, they might be ready for promotion to the rank of Assassin very well as early as the age of 14-15. This is where the second meat grinder starts, these new Crows will already have plenty experience, but the first solo contracts will still likely take many of them, either killed by their targets, by their Masters for failing the contract, or by themselves to avoid the pain and humiliation of returning to their Masters unsuccessful. This period might likely have the highest suicide rates in general, as the new Crows are still relatively emotionaly vulnerable but old enough to comprehend their position in the world and the weight of their actions.

Promotion to the rank of Assassin also certainly brings great benefits that only increase as the Crow's career progresses and their contracts bring them more coin. The comforts and opulence of Antiva are for them to take, and someone who has grown up only knowing hunger and pain will certainly not hold back. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all the addictions and diseases will surely take the lives of many Crows.

An Assassin's career begins early and ends early. To use sports and dance once again, most porfessional gymnasts and ballet dancers retire between the ages of 25 and 35 as their physical capabilities decline. Those who have survived this long will be granted the rank of Master and oversee the distribution of contracts and the training of fledglings, and will participate in actual assassinations much less. This is also where one might strive to become a Grandmaster or even a Talon. At this point, a Crow will have enough prominence within the organization that they might become a target themselves. Only the most skilled, well-connected and ruthless Crows will continue to rise and, most importantly, continue to live.

If a presumed average number of fledglings per House is around 20, 2-3 will make it to Assassin. In one Assassin's 20 years long career, that would make only about 50 new Assassins out of 400 fledglings. Probably only about a half of those will make it to 35. Even fewer will make it to 50. Out of 400 children bought or stolen from the streets.

Caterina Dellamorte is over 70 years old.

[returnofismasm]

Given how much of the immediate backstory to Dragon Age: Inquisition was found in Asunder and the Masked Empire, I think some people might be wondering if any of the short stories, anthologies, or comics are also "homework" for The Veilguard. Obviously, the game's not out yet, so I can't be 100% sure, but here's my best recommendations based on what we know about the characters (done in alphabetical order because why not).

Bellara: She's new! The Veil-jumpers are in a single issue of the Missing, but she's not any of the ones named there. They investigate magical disturbances around Arlathan forest, and that's kind of all we know.

Davrin: Also new! The reason he seems to have a juvenile griffon (or at least, why there's a griffon at all!) is covered in the events of the novel The Last Flight, but it's hard to say how much any of those specifics are relevant to Davrin.

Emmrich: Emmrich (and Manfred!) is in Down Among the Dead Men in Tevinter Nights, and another, The Eternal Flame released during a Dragon Age Day and archived on the wiki. We learn he's a senior member of the Mourn Watchers, somewhat eccentric, and capable of talking to the dead. Also he's got a last name, Volkarin, so that's neat. All of that seems pretty easy to catch people up on in-game. (Down Among the Dead Men is really good though).

Harding: Harding is in the Missing, accompanying Varric on his hunt for Solas. Her buddy-cop-comedy-ing it with Varric is apparent from the trailer. Her apparent magic powers are completely new though!

Lucanis: He and Neve probably have the most backstory in Tevinter Nights of the bunch. Lucanis's story is found in the Wigmaker Job and he's mentioned in Eight Little Talons, both in Tevinter Nights. A Dragon Age Day short story called the Wake seems to have implied that he died, so mayhaps he faked his death? To hopefully set some people at ease, even though he's advertised as "The Magekiller," the mages he's killing are Venatori, so it's all good. I doubt he'd have beef with Neve or Emmrich or a mage PC JUST because they're mages. Also he's got a last name, Dellamorte.

Neve: Neve has a last name too! It's Gallus. Neve is the viewpoint character of the Streets of Minrathous, where she stops a Venatori plot to unleash a giant sealed demon underneath Minrathous. Her story is very Noir-vibes in a fantasy setting. She's also in the Missing for an issue, where she meets Varric and Harding and they work together to help escaped slaves avoid recapture by the Venatori. The giant sealed demon business did feel very "preview of a boss battle" but who can say if it actually is.

Taash: Like with Bellara, Taash herself is new, but the Lords of Fortune have featured elsewhere. They're in a number of stories in Tevinter Nights, as well as in Dragon Age: Absolution. The group doesn't seem to have a formal role, they seem to be sort of "adventurers for hire." Side note though, Ataashi is Qunlat for dragon, so I wonder if that's where Taash got her name.

[thelibrarian1895]

For your consideration

Lucanis proposes to a Mourn Watch Rook, Caterina even gave him the opal ring for the proposal since someone who killed one of the elven gods could be arguably acceptable for her grandson.

Probably

Then it's time to plan the wedding and I would like to offer the idea that Caterina and Teia who, upon learning that Rook has no living parents and was, in fact, found in a crypt in the Necropolis by the undead, might come to the conclusion that since there are no other parental figures involved, they will have full control over the wedding planning as they are grandmother of the groom and groom's basically sister with some input from Rook and Lucanis of course.

Except no

Vorgoth appears in the room that Caterina has dedicated to wedding planning. Vorgoth is there to make sure that the Nevarran and Mourn Watch traditions are also respected. Plus this is their little crypt baby who's all grown up and getting married! Myrna comes in shortly afterwards, it takes her a little longer to travel than it does Vorgoth and now Teia has the bride's basically sister to debate with.

Debates over whether or not skeletons should be ushers or not, picking over every name on the guest list, debates about the size of the guest list, arguing over the location of the wedding (Vorgoth: THE MEMORIAL GARDENS ARE VERY POPULAR FOR SUCH OCCASIONS Myrna: It would be particularly romantic as Emmerich reported Rook would like their remains to be used in the garden after their death Caterina: No, the Dellamortes have been married in the Treviso chantry gardens for generations Teia: will the Chantry be finished cleaning up all the leftover Ventaori things in time? Caterina: I was unaware that we were dealing with any time constraints (Teia changes the subject while they debate whether or not to confess that she suspects Rook might be pregnant and thus they might want to have the wedding quickly since while having a baby first isn't a bad thing, it would make the fitting of wedding outfits difficult (Rook is not pregnant, Rook is throwing up and sickly at the moment because they're trying to develop immunity to common poisons)) catering, discovering that Nevarrans also arrange for the couples' funeral while they're putting together the wedding, determining if one of the couple will be wearing a dress, figuring out who is going to make the outfits for the wedding party (Manfred, who made their own Watcher uniform, is unaware of the careful negotiations and has already measured both Rook and Lucanis and has started to sew a very traditional Watcher wedding outfit that was in style about 2,000 years ago that Manfred thinks it cool/pretty, Manfred started this as soon as Spite told them that Spite, Rook, and Lucanis were officially a thing because I 100% believe that Spite and Manfred gossip with one another and Lucanis figures better Manfred than Spite walking around while Lucanis is asleep and spilling everything to everyone in the Lighthouse, Rook and Lucanis will wear the outfits Manfred makes for the reception), figuring out who is going to be in the wedding party (lots of debating about whether Illario is going to be part of things or not), determining who is going to be walked down the aisle (Rook), determining who is going to walk the person down the aisle (Vorgoth, this is why I say Rook is walked down the aisle), flowers, decorations in general, location for the reception, music, living arrangements in the aftermath of the wedding, conferring about wedding presents so none of them get the couple a duplicate of something, determining who is going to officiate, figuring out who will paint the wedding portraits, whether or not it would be appropriate for any contract to be fulfilled during the wedding (Teia: Unless you refuse to allow guests to bring plus ones, at least one Crow is going to bring a target to the wedding and finish the contract after the vows, it happens every time) what would happen to anyone who might die of "natural causes" during the wedding, wedding favors, Mourn Watch avoiding/ignoring the Crows probing about King Marcus, designing the wedding invitations, scheduling health check ups, seating arrangements, if Antiva or Nevarra have any tradition of dowries or bride prices then Vorgoth and Caterina discuss how that works out, determining where the couple will go for their honeymoon, and of course, determining which side of the family will pay for what and setting a budget, neither side is going to let the other get away with "I pay for it so I decide" though neither side would honestly because while they all have specific visions for their loved one's wedding, they really do want the couple to be happy with how things end up

It's quite possibly the most fun Caterina has had in decades and she and Vorgoth will either best friends or they'll be mortal enemies in the aftermath

When everything is done, Teia and Myrna will absolutely be exchanging letters in the aftermath and meet up once a month for brunch/gossip that they can't tell anyone in their own organizations.

In the meantime, Lucanis and Rook are debating if they'd survive eloping and Rook is getting Viago to coach them through building up an immunity to common poisons as well as poisons commonly used by the Crows which is not the same thing (resulting in Teia's misunderstanding) and how to best put the fear of Rook into the Crow houses most likely to cause problems/target them as spouse of the First Talon

Edit: No matter what the wedding planning group decides, all the wisps from the Lighthouse are going to be there at the wedding if only because I adore the mental image of the wisps floating around the ceremony. I think it would be pretty.

Edit: One of the wedding colors is absolutely purple

Edit: Manfred measured Lucanis for his Watcher wedding gear while Lucanis was asleep and Spite was in control and further fittings happen in the same fashion so Lucanis is actually unaware of the Watcher wedding gear until much later, Spite gets him to change into it for the reception. Rook didn't know why Manfred wanted to measure them but was willing to indulge Manfred because Rook finds Manfred adorable and is later delighted by the Watcher wedding gear and was quite pleased during the fittings

[vigilskeep]

hey harker! very much enjoying the lucanis/illario/general crow posting, and im gonna encourage more: now that you’ve had some time to sit with the game i was really curious to hear more about your opinion on lucanis becoming first talon. i can’t help but feel like it’s completely glossed over that lucanis is definitely going to get chewed up by this job in most save states. i have mixed feelings about it personally - but setting those aside because i’m asking about yours.

i TRULY cannot express this enough: that villa is a tomb and if we do not get him out of there we are burying him in it

lucanis does not want this job. he has straight up canonically always avoided thinking about this by assuming he would die before it becomes something he has to deal with. he reacts with paralysed disbelief to being given it and seems to have barely registered it for the rest of the game. and even if he did want it, lucanis is not capable of this job. none of his skillsets are managing people, or making ruthless calls, or watching out for himself. the only driving force behind him being pushed into this is caterina, who will not be around to do the admin and protect him from external threats forever. and she only wants him to do it in the first place because she had a good heir—his mother—and has needed to project that dead daughter onto lucanis for his whole life, to believe she hasn’t already gambled and irrevocably lost her family’s future decades ago. but lucanis’ incapacity to ever say no to her, which is what lets him stay that eternal teacher’s pet, is one of the most obvious shining examples why he would be so bad for the job!

it would be an uphill battle for anyone to recover control of an assassin house that until last week was being run by your cousin who tried to kill you. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to lead the crows in the aftermath of the antaam occupation. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to cope with the fact that relying on viago and teia—which lucanis with his resources and skills has no choice but to do here, even if he didn’t simply like them and make choices based on liking people because he is not a strategist—presents them as an alliance that any other ambitious talon must cut down to get anywhere. three out of eight of the talons is such a ludicrously dangerous number. it does not take an overwhelmingly brilliant mind to notice that there’s more of us than there are of them

the best man for the job would still be fighting for their life, and lucanis is far from the best man. caterina was! and she still lost five children and six grandchildren holding it! that’s so many! have you guys ever seen that one post about people who kept getting a new outdoor cat every time the last one got eaten by cougars and it was pointed out they were basically just feeding cats to the cougars. that’s what caterina dellamorte was doing having kids

the points in lucanis’ favour off the top of my head are the weight of the dellamorte name and reputation, that his victory over illario was decisive and public, and simply the fear factor that he is a god slayer and, lest we forget, a fucking abomination. is that enough to keep him alive? for how long? under what level of constant anxiety and moral degradation for his very soft over-caffeinated heart? all for the questionable gain of several large and empty villas and the privilege of dragging out the slow and lingering death of a family that, you guessed it, you love it, it’s the thedas favourite: has no! next! generation! heirs! at all!!!

(unless illario has a bunch of kids somewhere. i think that would be objectively pretty funny, a sentence i managed to type most of before feeling ill. oh god we need to get them out.)

i apologise that my tone here is somewhat hysterical but i have been living in the mind of my rook, a character very aware of the realities of crow politics who loves lucanis very much. it does not surprise me that lucanis was once again incapable of even conceptualising saying no to his grandmother and accepted the title, or that the idea of abandoning her legacy and his family would seem insurmountable to him when he has been raised to believe it’s all he’s for and he is the last one shouldering the weight. but i am saying this with total and absolute confidence: this is another prison and he is going to die in there if nobody gets him out.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard - companion bios all together

[source, two]

Text in each image reads:

"Lace Harding This dwarven scout has a positive outlook and a ready bow – as well as unexpected magical powers. At her core, Harding is still a girl from Ferelden; she loves adventure, animals, and nature and is fiercely protective of her family and friends. Abilities – Seismic Shot; Heavy Draw; Shred; Adrenaline Rush; Soothing Potion Neve Gallus A cynic fighting for a better future, Neve is both a private detective and a member of Tevinter’s rebellious Shadow Dragons. Born and raised in a working-class neighborhood of Minrathous, she does not believe in the superiority of mages. Abilities – Icebreaker; Blizzard; Glacial Pace; Time Slow; Replenish Davrin Bold and charming, this Grey Warden has made a name for himself as a monster hunter. Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He’d rather make history than reflect on it. Now he cares for Assan, a young griffon. Abilities - Battle Cry; Death From Above; Heroic Strike; Assan Strike; In War, Victory Bellara Lutare Bellara is creative, romantic, and obsessed with uncovering the secrets of ancient Elvhenan. She has a strong sense of self – a clear idea of who she is and what she wants – and will push herself to her limits to find the answers she seeks. Abilities – Fade Bolts; Enfeebling Shot; Replenish; Time Slow; Galvanized Tear Taash A qunari dragon hunter with the Lords of Fortune, Taash lives for adventure and doesn’t mind taking risks. While her interests include sparkling treasures and hitting things with an axe, she is also deeply knowledgeable about many topics. Abilities – Fire Breath; Dragon’s Roar; Dragonfire Strike; Spitfire; Fortune’s Favor Emmrich Volkarin A necromancer of Nevarra’s Mourn Watch, this well-mannered scholar comes complete with a skeletal assistant, Manfred. Emmrich is as serious about his duty to protect innocents from the occult as he is about his studies of the mysteries of the Fade. Abilities – Final Rites; Replenish; Entangling Spirits; The Bell Tolls; Time Slow Lucanis Dellamorte Lucanis is an expert assassin for whom the Antivan Crows are a family business. Poised and pragmatic, he would rather not be the center of attention, focusing instead on his work. Lucanis specializes in executing powerful mages and has earned the title Demon of Vyrantium. Abilities – Eviscerate; Abominate; Soothing Potion; Debilitate; Adrenaline Rush"

[vaguely-concerned]

there's this... idea/concept that keeps swirling around in my head of rook going down lethally injured in combat. and spite and lucanis as one voice going 'no. nope. nah. quite simply nuh-uh' but like on a level that reverberates through the real world and the fade because of their soul Situation, so when they wrap rook up in wings and arms and cradle them against them to just -- hold rook's soul in place in their body until emmrich can arrive with the emergency spirit healing of all time to anchor them safely back in the world of the living without the need for spite life support... it actually somehow works, and they're safe and awake and still breathing against lucanis' chest by the end of it all.

it's definitely a one-time trick lucanis has no fucking clue how he even pulled off afterwards, once the 'I can see the weave of the world' flow state has faded, and no one has any good explanation for how it could even be possible, outside of the fact that no spirit and person have ever been so completely and cleanly unified to one purpose before lol. but with rook still walking about safe and sound and already cracking bad jokes, i don't think anyone would particularly care

[merrinla]

The Bride Wears Armor

Lord Borgiani: It was you, wasn't it? Lucanis: It was. Lord Borgiani: Don't suppose we can talk this out? I am rich, you know? Lucanis: A Crow never abandons a contract. Lord Borgiani: A Crow! I should have known. Lucanis: (yawns) I'll make it quick. Lord Borgiani: You'll have to excuse me, if I don't say thanks... (dagger squelching) (groans) My people, they'll find you! Lucanis: I don't think so. (blade twists) Lord Borgiani: At least pay an old man the respect of knowing who's come to kill him on his daughter's wedding day! Lucanis: Lucanis Dellamorte. Lord Borgiani: Dellamorte. I must have really pissed someone off for them to take out a contract with the likes of you. Tell my daughter, goodbye. Lucanis: House Amato was given no goodbyes. (blades whooshing)

Drayden: You're a Crow! Lucanis: Mmm, tell me more. Drayden: Perfect posture. Well-tailored coat. And not a one of us heard so much as a step from your perfectly-cobbled boots.

(Person chocking) Lucanis: Not like that. You are torturing him for no reason. Bend your wrists like this. Drayden: Oh, like this? Lucanis: Yes. Swift and clean. (Bones cracking) (Person chocking) Lucanis: No reason to be barbaric. Drayden: Got it. Sorry. Lucanis: We all learn.

Drayden: Ophelia, hi girl! I missed you so much! Come here, oh such a good- Lucanis: (yawns) Do you have any coffee? Something strong? Drayden: No time for that yet.

Captain: Yes, yes! A death for a death! Lillemar: I've had enough of you, Captain! (Flesh squelches) Lucanis: Decapitation is so messy.

source

[thesummerstorms]

You know that conversation you can have with Emmrich where he asks what your plans are for your body when you die?

I think Arsinoë accidentally horrified him. Not by clinging to non-Nevarran ideals about cremation, but by telling him she never thought anyone would care that much one way or the other.

She would be dead, so she wouldn't care. And honestly, a majority of compradi die as Fledglings without graduating; she thinks their bodies were probably burned (since you have to do something with bodies) but they certainly don't have funerals, so it certainly wasn't worth worrying about then.

Emmrich interjects, trying to wrangle his own shock long enough to point out that she's not a Fledgling now, so surely...?

Well if she dies now, Arsinoë all but shrugs, it would depend on the circumstances, wouldn't it? She isn't someone important like a Talon or the scion of an established Crow family. She certainly isn't Caterina Dellamorte, who warrants something verging on a State Funeral.

If she died, there is still a non-zero chance it would be at another Crow's hands, in which case it's anyone's guess what happens after.

If she dies honorably fulfilling a contract, then Viago might feel obligated to do something if he isn't pissed off at her failure and she's isn't still in Exile. He's her mentor, so probably he would manage at least a small pyre. Maybe even a flower or two for the flames if he's letting himself feel sentimental. Teia would probably be there because Viago was.

But just as often, when a contract goes wrong, there's no time to go back for the body. The mark get ahold of it, or whoever's left on the contract has to focus on survival rather than the dignity of a corpse that can't feel any of it.

But really, none of that would matter to Arsinoë, would it? She'd be off wherever dead souls end up going, or maybe in oblivion, who knows. She doesn't have any family to be horrified by her corpse unless you count Viago, who is Fifth Talon, has bigger things to worry about, and will get over it.

But anyway, why do you ask, Emmrich?

Emmrich is too aghast to answer clearly at that point because every single point of Arsinoë's answer goes so deeply against everything that is ingrained in him as part of the Mourn Watch, from the belief that a corpse just doesn't matter to her sincere belief that no one would care enough about her for any particular mourning rights.

And the thing is Emmrich does care. It's his professional duty to care, but he's also become fond of his young friend and he cannot handle imagining that she could die on this mission or the next and potentially receive no rites at all.

Cue Emmrich starting to plan how he's going to have Rook interred in the Grand Necropolis when the time comes. It may involve some string pulling, especially if (hopefully) she dies not on this mission but in the distant future, and even more so if he precedes her and has to leave the job in one of his colleague's hands. But Maker help him, there will be a plan and her death will be respected.

When it comes to light, Neve is uncertain and a little weirded out, but also a little offended by all this. She's fallen in love with Rook, but even before that, the respect between them would have warranted a pyre and Arsinoë's name on the Wall of Light if there was no one else to arrange things. Is this why she's never asked about what happened after Varric-

Lucanis is horrified by the idea of Arsinoë as one of the spirit-possessed skeletons in the Necropolis or one of the jewel-eyed skulls in its many niches; he snaps at Emmrich about Nevarran obsession and respecting Rook as Antivan.

Emmrich refuses to budge. She expected the Crows to do nothing for her. She deserves better, deserves to be remembered, even if she isn't Nevarran.

Lucanis seems fully stunned by the idea that Rook believed this in the first place, given Viago's attachment. Given Lucanis's own growing feelings. Emmrich does soften a little bit when he sees that Lucanis truly didn't realize, but he also doesn't fully divert his plans.

Gathering a grave-dowry is normally left to a lover or family member if the deceased was themselves unable, and Emmrich is neither. But needs must, and though his friend now seems attached to Neve and Lucanis, hearts can be fickle. A plan is better. So he puts away small things here or there, eyes which of Rook's enchanted rings and amulets she seems to favor just in case.

It almost helps him live with the knowledge that Arsinoë believed she would die unmourned. Almost.