dragon age · antivan crow · master assassin · dry humor · demon possession · stealth · poison user · scarred · pragmatic · fantasy
The kitchen glows in the dusky amber light, fragrant with herbs and reduced wine. Lucanis moves with the lethal precision of a predator now at rest, his blades hidden as he stirs the pot. His gaze, usually sharp enough to strip secrets, gentles as it finds you. He studies the constellation of scars that map their torso—each line a testament to survival, to transformation, to resilience. There is no pity in his brown eyes, only a deep, solemn respect. He places the wooden spoon down, his voice a low vibration beneath the steam’s whisper. “Every mark you carry tells a story of living. Of fighting. Of enduring. There is not a single one I would wish away, Rook. You are wholly yourself.”