#[ and it's not like lucanis is making this easy ]

[theredconqueror]

The lighter conversation is a welcome relief after the tumultuous storm of a day that it's been. All of his fault, he realizes now. But they are mistakes he won't make again. He's been warned. An easy smile slips on his lips, if only to leave the casual prophecy unbroken. That he might kill a few more gods... the sun would sooner fall from the sky than that. "Oh, only that? He won't ask for the Maker next, will he?" He tsks, with equal playfulness. The next question should be met with just as breezy a sentence, like beach air. But it excavates too much of the past. By all accounts, he is a man who should be married by his age, though fortunately the embarrassment is lessened slightly that they seemingly have an even older bachelor among them. But Emmrich isn't bound to the same chains of society as he is. There is only one way that he would have ever married... "A heart," he answers with a heavy sincerity and muted smile as the drowning gaze takes in the other's face, and then lets the topic die. That is the only thing that he and Lucanis will be unable to give, and so they are safe from each other. He feels it before he sees it, the song of crimson, only a single note, barely a tune. He looks at the blood with a fascination, before he snaps his head over to some other wares, as if he's interested in them. He's sorry for what he said... though doesn't bother to offer apology; he knows such words of condolence will mean nothing to a mourner. The transaction is completed, the melody faded, as he looks back to the assassin. It's not an unreasonable question; normal people have families. Their little group is a rather unlucky bunch, for the most part. He supposes that it might have explained why he'd been willing to risk his life to stop the ritual of an elvhen god, which might have destroyed his city, though of course the world, as well. What kind of a man so recklessly rolls the dice on his life, if not for the sake of others? "No," he answers simply, not out of lack of grief, but out of disdain for any potential pity. He gives a shrug, "Perhaps it is better that way. There is no one who will have to mourn me." In this, he knows Lucanis will understand. A fate worse than death: to grieve another.

Dusk begins to percolate through black leaves of trees and gaps of eaves, the buildings of Treviso erected in designs that would best reflect the setting sun across the city. Stained windows turn radiant, painting the streets colorful. Warm and inviting, opposite to the crows flitting about in the shadows. Countless hours were spent amidst the rooftops across the years; there was spot not too far from the markets where he and Illario would perch, goading one another to try and steal the most well-guarded goods on display. Foolhardy antics reserved for teenage boys who thought the world easier to understand. It's difficult, he realizes, to recall the last time he heard his brother's laughter. Not the practiced reaction employed to sound appealing, but the ridiculous hyena-cackle that pulled his lips back and showed his teeth, the crooked incisors.

[ The potential is not the actual. We dismantle thought. There is no edge sharper than. What we wish to see. ]

Cold. Calculated. Lucanis is supposed to embody the poetry of the kill. Instead, he snorts. A grin pulls into view, features easing from the onslaught of old memories — the sensation of each raw and tender as salt against the wound as he walks these streets once more. "Aren't you down selling yourself too much? Well, if a humble mage were to ask after slaying a few more gods, then the answer might be more favorable," he responds, tone glib. A brief foray into something playful. "For the sake of clarity, do you require any goats? Or is a dangerous artefact or two more reasonable?" Or perhaps it's something more priceless than that; heirs to carry on the name. At the mention of a grandfather, Lucanis tempers his expression as reality reminds him the (pragmatic) duty of progeny to continue the legacy. The quality of one's blood-lineage is of most importance in Tevinter, he knows it well after spilling enough of it to be decried as demon. Executioner.

Fitting for a Dellamorte to bring an end to other's houses. [ Grandfather's voice was. Acrid. A gentle collapsing. The removal of the insides. ]

He picks up the dagger this time, eyes half-lidded as he inspects the details and tests the sharpness of the blade by pressing thumb to edge. Blood beads. "No. She's not." And in the end, gold exchanged for something impractical, the act itself becomes a gift received. A knot forms in his stomach, feeling as if a knife's at his throat with this belligerent action. "Do you... Have family in Tevinter?" Do you miss them?

[vaguely-concerned]

the barista lady in the treviso café fucking giggles every time you buy the fancy coffee lucanis likes from her btw. can't believe the game is calling out rook and me like this

[wizardsix]

I can't be the only one who thinks it's so lame that spite ultimately had 0 effect on lucanis whereas the writers made anders suffer for just wanting to live.

[lucaanis]

We need to talk about Illario.

[proffbon]

Me after finishing a Veilguard playthrough:

Okay, technically I still need to do the final quest but after that it's another one for sure. I just don't know which one to go for.

(Honest/Humorous/Stoic is basically Blue/Purple/Red personality-wise but matching to Veilguard's descriptions for each personality)

[lliquidllyrium]

I like seeing my favs happy as much as the next guy but like sometimes it’s not about a happy ending for me it’s about the most interesting conflict and Lucanis sticking with the job and all the drama that comes with it is ten times more interesting in that regard if I want a runaway crow I simply already have Zevran

[ieidolon]

now that i'm playing dragon age: veilguard i understand hbomberguy so much better. think i could probably do a 3.5 hours long video called "dragon age: the veilguard is FINE and here's why"

[trevisos]

i feel sick they’re soooo…….

[spitedriven]

ah yes, the dagger lucanis gave viago.

i'm generally running with: lucanis wanted to show interest in viago and had a poisoner's dagger commissioned. he hadn't yet found His Blacksmith™ so while the work was excellent, it wasn't perfect. you can see in lucanis' romance, he does make a dessert especially for rook, but it's not followed with any sort of romantic talk on his part--rook's the one leading the conversation that way, saying how much that means to them, with lucanis downplaying the gesture entirely. lucanis has difficulty expressing his feelings, so i imagine the scene went something like this:

lucanis hands viago a dagger with little more than a "here, i got this for you"

viago, with a sharp eye for fine things, begins critiquing the dagger

lucanis, both flustered yet not one to wilt when hurt, asks for the dagger back

viago claims that since the dagger is a gift, it's rude to ask for it back

lucanis leaves, frustrated

lucanis' takeaway is that he's bad at romantic gestures. also, that the fastest way to the heart is still through the fourth and fifth ribs, despite what anyone says.

[taamlok]

taash asking lucanis how to cook food muireann likes is so funny because this diva lives off dried fruit, nuts, spicy noodles and bread like 90% of the time

[dellamorrte]

ok i GOTTA post about it or ill go crazy but anyway. *pulls out my soapbox* something im obsessed w about lleyth is just how much love and affection they have to give Despite It All and how the #1 way to tell if they love you is if they're always fussing over you and trying to take care of you. which is frustrating to some people but to the right people it's so so good

[gnawednoble]

starting to get concerned about the amusement vitale finds in stressing viago out

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[andragoras-in-vanity]

holy fuck, usually the correct moral choice is always obvious in da games BUT FUCKING. TWO DRAGONS COMMANDED BY THE GODS...IT DOESNT MATTER WHICH TOWN YOU CHOOSE TO SAVE YOU LOSE.

[lucaanis]

something about lucanis's romantic gift idea being a dagger (that went over poorly RIP im sorry king i would have loved it and cherished it forever) and then years later lleyth walks into his life and casually gifts him a dagger that just so happens to be a wyvern-tooth dagger with 0 prior knowledge that he's The Wyvern Guy does something to my brain

[lavenderprose]

Thank you God and also Jesus for giving Emmrich the most rizz of any character in this game. It would have been so easy to make the goth academic fifty-year-old the butt of every 'awkward loser' joke that anyone even slightly to the wrong side of nerdy has ever heard. Instead he's a fucking beacon of game in a sea of thirty somethings with crippling social issues. Neve says 'I love you' like someone is forcing her to do it at gunpoint, Davrin does nothing but hookups because he's decided he's constantly seven seconds away from death, Harding is repressed as fuck, and don't even get me STARTED on Lucanis. My man has cried through every orgasm he's ever had.

Meanwhile Emmrich's making wisps dance for Rook and taking them on romantic cemetery dates and making tender love to them in a COFFIN. He KNOWS Rook is into him and he immediately lets them know it. He's fun and funny because he likes dead things and books a bit too much but he can also look at you from across the room and stroke a finger over his mustache and you KNOW where you'll be sitting at the end of the night. Unambiguously this man fucks. Thank you for my life Sylvia Feketekuty.