Chapter Text
Lucanis gathered his cape in one hand, pulling the fabric far to the left, as he steadied his foot along the slanted edge of the roof. His right hand curled around the tip of the spire as he waited for the ship to pass beneath him.
One chance to get to his target. Illario had assured him that the ship would leave on schedule, so he waited, peering toward the haberdashery down the street. His cousin should be stationed there to signal him when the boat would turn through the canal and into his vision. The Sanguis Sirenum was due to leave at 10:52; if Lucanis heard the 11th-hour bell, it was too late.
Illario had complained about being out in the ass end of Tevinter; apparently, he was missing some party he’d been invited to in Rialto. Lucanis would have to pick up some good liquor after this job. Illario had earned it by helping prepare these dossiers. Maybe the Fereldan whiskey they’d found at the Rivaini bazaar.
Then, there it was, the flickering light three times. Lucanis would trust his cousin with his life and, without a second glance, he jumped.
As he fell, the brigantine came into view, with its twin masts reaching towards the stars, its square sails unfurled and beginning to catch the wind. The ship had but a few moments before moving into the open sea. Lucanis gripped his cape in one hand and counted the seconds of his descent.
One, two, three, four - he released the cape and reached his right arm back to grab the far edge. Too little material for a true parachute but enough to slow his fall, increasing the drag so he could aim for the top of the higher mast. Brigantine ships generally had two masts, with the shorter one having the crow’s nest. He would make his own on the taller.
He grabbed the mast, circling it to disperse the excess force. He struggled to find purchase, his feet sliding against the wet wood. The moisture in the air kept the wood slimy; the slaves hadn't done a good job scrubbing. Being this close to the water’s surface, he could hear the ores hitting the water. The wind was too gentle, too soft this close to the city. Its eddies and turbulence prevented the sails from gaining volume so in these shallow waters the slaves below deck would push the oars to their limit.
As a standard Tevinter Class Brigantine ship, it was large enough for a military century to safely travel but small enough that it could navigate more shallow rivers. Vessels like this were required in the sieges of the First Qunari War.
The Sanguis Sirenum was bound for the oceans outside Treviso. Multiple times scouts of House Dellamorte had seen the vessel on the horizon but it would disappear before ever making it to port. It had taken Lucanis a month before discovering its home dock in Pyr.
Lucanis scanned the ship and found the targets he knew should exist. The navigation team huddled at the stern of the ship while the bow-facing mast had a crow’s nest, its lone occupant lazily facing forward. The slaves manning the oars were below the deck so little chance for witnesses there. Not that it was likely even if they did witness his work that they would go against him.
Calivan was a brutal man. A lackey to more powerful Venatori agents, his impotence resulted in misdirected aggression that his slaves took the brunt of. He was only one small piece of the political mess that Tevinter was embroiled in but that was outside of Lucanis’s pay grade. His contract was simple. Calivan would die by his blade.
Calivan would most likely be in the captain’s quarters at sea, but Tevinter's military procedures would have the commanding officer at the navigation table. Until safely at open sea with masts unfurled, the ship was vulnerable.
The Navigation Mages were trained to compare the stars and weather patterns. It required a series of rituals that followed a pattern Lucanis had studied. Three candles on and then all off before five candles would flare again. At that point all the mages would be focused on the table, curious to see what the diving bones predicted. Lucanis could hear snippets of their chanting under the drone of the oars below deck. It wasn’t the same as the one his previous targets had used, but the buzzing sensation behind his eyes didn’t lie. The veil was thin here, their ritual the culprit.
He spied behind the mages required for the ritual one last figure, most likely Calivan, was alone in supervising. Two guards were stationed at either end of the deck, giving their employer a wide berth. A difficult task taking out six simultaneously, but Lucanis had the advantage of surprise. Lucanis pushed off the mast.
He fell directly on the mage beneath him, his main hand blade finding purchase down his shoulder. Breaking his fall, he used the target’s body to step off of, pulling his blade out at the same time. His main hand sliced before him, targeting the mage to the right of the circle while he lifted his offhand to parry if needed.
What Lucanis didn’t predict was a trapdoor. He heard the click of its lock and the creak of its hinges before it burst open. Venatori agents had been ready to leap out. His operation had been blown.
Lucanis didn’t hesitate, he just had to kill Calivan and he could jump overboard. Caterina had trained him to swim from a young age unlike most of Thedas. He pushed himself forward, lunging his main hand into the mage in front of him, piercing the woman’s chest. Her hands grasped at his arm, icy crystals building up his arm and shoulder. He took his offhand and grabbed her collar. With her collar in hand and chest pierced on his blade, he flung himself backward into a roll, letting go of her and sliding his blade out. The mage went over the side of the boat with a large splash as Lucanis sprung up to his feet.
Another Venatori attacked from his left, his sickle connecting with Lucanis’s thigh. A shallow cut that he was able to ignore. He slid his offhand dagger through the man’s neck, spraying blood. Lucanis felt another sickle pierce his right forearm, again a shallow cut but the blood pearled.
“I do love it when my birds come trained,” a whisper swept through the deck.
With his free hand, Lucanis grabs one of his attackers and swings them over the ledge of the ship; a splash confirming he’s no longer an issue. Ice crystals rain from above, latching onto him and crystallizing him in place. Each swing of his arm became a labor.
“Now there’s no reason to fight.” that whisper seeps through the group, chilling everything. The salt air and crisp sea breeze hold no cold compared to that voice. Something in Lucanis’s veins halts with each syllable. Blood magic, freezing him from the inside out. “You were given to us after all.”
Lucanis struggles against an unseen force. Something pushes him down, his blood a weight yoking his neck and strangling him from the inside. The only release was to bend to its commands, the blood in his veins warming only when submitting. The degradation of falling to his knees, the chill of every attempt to look up or rise. The buzz behind his eyes burned, he could sense the fragility of the veil, how it weakened under their exploitation. Lucanis barely pulls his head up to meet the voice commanding him, the frigidity of his blood making the experience excruciating.
“Don’t worry with my help, you will fly, little crow.” the beautiful, cold face of a Tevinter woman looks down at him. Her face, sharp and beautiful, chilling in its harsh angles, frozen in an inhumane smile too wide for a normal face.
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Sunken, immersed in the possibilities, She did research,
Purpose firm but morals loose, unshakeable resolve,
But the machinations of Creativity brought enemies.
Undone by Her hubris, what was gained did dissolve,
And what was inspired, left to grieve.
Mightest of creations, behemoths remembered by myth,
Formed by the hands, gently scarred into cruel,
Mirrored by spirits, Excitement, Pride, Wonder, Determination,
Devised by Her hands, a devoted pupil,
They were only a slimmer of Her, a fraction.
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Six paces across, 12 paces down, 13, and a little hop diagonal made up the confines of his first cell. Two other cells on either side of his, facing a circular rotunda. He can’t see the other prisoners but sometimes he hears the muttering and the screams.
He could hear the scribbling on the walls, their fingernails etching into the softer stone, desperate to leave something that would impart a memory. Or, something that would help them remember themselves. Through the walls, the muttering of a man named Nerys caught his attention. Whispering his name, again and again, in a frantic way. The lingering notion, that with each time he said it, he held onto it for dear life.
He heard the screams of both demons and mortals alike. The electric shrieks of pride demons pierced the air during his first waking session in the cell. Lucanis had only started specializing in mages about five years ago and had trained himself to feel it when the veil thinned. Manifesting as a headache with a heavy ache behind his eyes, Lucanis made it a point to avoid mages of that ilk. He made quick work of his targets, better for business and his health. But since the moment he awoke, the band of tension behind his head had only intensified.
Each guard that came up to his cell felt the brunt of his glare, the cold calculations of his fingers that ached to reach around their throats, and the knowledge of how he would kill them. He couldn’t help it. It was so easy to whisper when they dropped off his food all of the ways he could kill them without his knives, and so many more once he found a blade. The look of fear on their faces kept him sane.
It was the little things. It had only taken him three sleep cycles to memorize their patrol rotations and determine which guards were newer and which were more experienced. The routine they followed was like clockwork. The Tevinter legions, mage or not, were always standardized. Venatori were no exception.
He had limited view outside of his cell. If he could guess nothing else he must be underwater. It was the only explanation for the whales he saw in the distance. Lucanis's studies in magic had always been theoretical, focused on the applications of his targets. But a magic grand enough to hold back the entire ocean? That we beyond the mettle of any mage in the Tevinter Imperium. Far greater than all the circles in Tevene too.
“Feeling restless Lucanis?” a metallic voice rang out. “I’ve been thinking of all the fun we can have together.” Six guards approached in unison, a chain grappling him from inside his cell. This prison was designed with control at all points. “I have such big plans for you, the Demon of Vyrantium.”
The guards were terrified of her, that was clear just by the space they gave her as he was escorted from his cell. Every cell they passed had wards placed, in some, he only saw demons, and in others undead, but in the rare few he saw other humans and elves. Most of them muttering to themselves, praying, or locked in states of catatonia.
One cell had a different group of Venatori, including his target Calivan standing around it. Lucanis got a glimpse of their focus. An elf’s body, elongated, stretched beyond the norm. Where eyes had once been, crystal shown, and its veins shimmering through the dark skin like rubies. Lucanis had battled despair demons before, and this looked like some strange despair demon forced into the body of a mortal. This entire underwater affront to the Maker was just her playground.
Her laboratory was just as cold and unnatural as she was. Bodies hung from spiked struts, stretched across racks, both flesh and demon suspended in the mortal world. Lucanis' muscles ached as he pulled against the chains and guards but whatever magic permeated this place prevented him from even rattling the chains. “The real question is will it be envy, wrath, or pride we can inspire in you?”
Lucanis locked eyes with the mage, her dark beady eyes were lit up while an unnaturally large and crooked smile stretched her skin. He could see the almost dagger-sharp point of her canines and almost missed the actual dagger in her hands. Her guards locked into a strange chair and she descended upon him, her dagger readied.
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Eons, ages, what they knew the world to be was lost,
The ossuary, the grave of their birth, a waste of desolation.
Without reminder the miasma lost its purpose, shrinking,
And alone they became small, shadows below the ocean,
And with every passing year, desperately claimed memory, clinging.
When the waves parted, the crypt awoke,
Not just to the Venatori, but to its original children.
In their experiments, impressions of themselves, found.
Spirits saw their evocations, first since the ancient elvhen,
Remembered themselves, and grew with each victim spellbound.
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Lucanis could barely keep his head up. The blood dripping from his arm had slowed but every motion brought on a new wave of nausea. His training kept him focused, the blood loss would resolve with time and liquid. Torture had a purpose, to keep him alive, or else they would have killed him already.
Despite the spinning and buzz behind his eyes, he memorized the phylactery. His phylactery did not have his name in common, but he recognized a marking associated with the Crows on its lid.
It was important to study your enemy but he had never had to do it from captivity. She was a blood mage, that was obvious. Her hand was stained red, the underside of each fingernail filled with gore. She dressed in what Illario called, “Classical Tevinter Fashion”, angular, strong base colors, with multiple layers of fabric that fought with the eye for control. Every motion, from the delicate slicing of his tendons to the exaggerated features on her face, stretched the skin and muscles to extreme extensions.
“I see you found your blood. Don’t worry darling, it's all for our protection.” The mage said with almost a flirtatious tone. “Can’t let anything get to you that we don’t plant.” Lucanis had not realized that you could feel blood magic settle, even in a passive form. But as her command was issued, Lucanis could feel its weight settle in his blood and bones. Her hand swept over his smooth chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers.
“We plan to have you stay with us for a long, long, time.” Lucanis couldn’t guess where his preparations had faltered. He had researched Calivan for weeks before the attack on the ship, but at no point had a blood mage of his level shown up in his work. “And we have work to get started.” She gestured to another mage, Calivan’s second-in-command Felicia if any of his research could be trusted, who nodded with a perverse eagerness as she retrieved a metal rod from the fire.
Lucanis gritted his teeth and readied himself for the burn. He would escape. He would complete his contract; Crows did not fail except in death. He was not going to die here.
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Determination’s slumber, kissed by negligence,
Not roused by the violence that enticed her peers,
Pride, Envy, Cruelty, Malice, Despair evoked in the sea,
Stirred anew, its dreams disturbed by willpower fierce,
A new resolve bordering on hungry.
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Lucanis smothered his mouth, trying to hold back the cough. He couldn’t afford another broken rib. He held back the cough but not without shifting his weight onto the burn on his lower back. A hiss escaped him. Normally torture came with a goal of information, power, or leverage. So far none of these made sense.
His captors had asked no questions. Finding out who hired him or what leverage they could extract from the Crows was not their aim. Explained the sadism. Torture served a purpose but without that a more fatal consequence was realistic. The violence of Caterina’s cane still stung, the scars acting up when it was cold, but their ache was a reminder that any assault could be worse.
Lucanis had to be patient. He couldn’t tell time here. It may have been one week but could have been up to three. Illario and Caterina knew of his mission and had assisted in building the dossier.
He knew the name of his abuser, Zara Renata. A senior Venatori agent, the superior officer of Calivan. While he was the Warden of this prison, she was the visionary. Her existence was a well-kept secret if it had eluded both Illario and him.
The cold pit he called his stomach growled, gnawing itself in frustration. The lack of food was becoming painful and making his recovery difficult. They hadn’t denied him water, even if it was only by pressing his lips and hands to the wall to collect the runoff. He was starting to feel ravenous, a gluttonous hunger building up in him. He had to resist these urges. So far they were feeding him just one small bowl of porridge a day.
They were implanting demons into nonmages. He didn’t know how it worked, it shouldn’t work. But he could resist the Demons by keeping himself from their baseness.
He recited the Chant. He hadn’t in a long time but it was an easy way to keep his mind off the pain. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world Or beyond. Transfigurations was appropriate considering the circumstances. This verse was popular in the Divine Amara I Catherdral in North Treviso.
House Dellamorte would be working on a plan to recover him but he had to be ready for the opportunity. He would not die in the Ossuary.
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With lazy watch and careful distance,
Determination waited to see if the patron was true.
Pride found inspiration in the mage,
Her delicate hand led Envy to breakthrough,
But Determination needed more time to gauge.
Little care for life and soul, the crow resolute,
Stewed within, passion temper’d by mistakes and lineage,
Dreams of utility, falling into line,
Eyes focused always on the target to engage,
On how he would rip apart his spine.
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Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Lucanis allowed himself to rest. Exercise has become one of the more reliable ways to tell time in prison. The lack of day-night cycles made it impossible for him to track accurately. His sleep was fragmented and disrupted, and the frequent awakenings from the guards made it hard to know how much time was between. While he was still tracking the guard's rotations there was no telling if he had passed out for more than eight hours when they would shift.
His muscle aches however were consistent. The soreness from multiple sets and the time it took to heal should last about thirty-six to forty-eight hours. With the training regime, Caterina had set him and Illario as children, his recovery times were consistent.
Illario must be worried. He was probably beating himself up for failing to provide cover. This wasn’t his fault. Lucanis had asked him at the last second for the signal, he wasn’t even supposed to be in Pyre.
Lucanis had to focus on the tactical approach. A strategy that would allow him to make the next move. His plans revolved around knives, usually. The more complicated strategy was Illario’s purview. His throat tightened at the thought of his cousin.
Time to move to the next part of the set. As he pulled himself into the crunch position he forgot that the fingernail of his left pointer finger had been ripped off. The delicate nerves stung but he pushed on undeterred.
“You were given to us.” The phrase Zara had said on the boat. It had become a form of self-inflicted torture. Someone had given him up, set him up for the ambush. But no one knew he was going after Calivan but his family.
Shaking his head he focused on his exercises. He would not allow this place to break him. To change him. He knew that his family would sacrifice for him the same way he would for them. To think differently was insanity. Zara, even from afar, was simply trying to torture him. Just as Nerys was in the cell over carving his own name into the wall again. Crow torture resistance training cautioned that the most effective forms were always the ones that were employed against you by you.
Lucanis would escape and return to them. He had a contract to complete.
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Determination, buoyed and empowered, by the Crow
Its purpose nudged, molded, and grown anew.
Eons lost, but faith restored, by one man’s resolve,
The spirit rallied, its existence intertwined with his life continue,
But Zara’s abuse took steps to evolve.
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Lucanis lashed out, his hand wrapping around the Venatori’s throat. He gripped with all the force he had left, his heart nearly pounding out of his emaciated chest. The target’s windpipe collapsed in his grasp, a rasping breath and body shuddering beneath Lucanis’s hand.
Lucanis released the first and turned to attack the guard to his left, his hand curling into a fist. Just as he connected with his adversary’s jaw, he felt the fire on his back. Calivan was stepping away, just out of the corner of his eye. Lucanis didn’t have to get out of the Ossuary alive, he just had to make sure Calivan didn’t either. He shoved the guard in his hand away and pulled his weight to the left side, preparing to jump and using gravity to give his strike extra strength.
A bolt of arcane fire struck, reopening a wound that had just started closing. Lucanis crumpled under the pain but did not cry out. He would not give them the satisfaction.
“Don’t waste one thought on that love,” Zara cackled, “You’ll be staying right here.” she seemed to emerge from the shadows. A minute ago he had been certain she wasn’t even in the Ossuary, on one of her many trips. He felt his blood curdle as she waved her hand, his body outside of his control. The guard he’d thrown to the side was stumbling, but the glare he received from Zara smarted more than Lucanis’s fist. Not for the first time, Lucanis missed his knives.
“We can at least put that corpse to good use can’t we?” she walked over, standing above him and his target. With a quick flick, the clothes and armor were burned away, leaving the blemished corpse. “I’ve been working on this trick just for you.”
Lucanis steeled himself but could not stop the bile that rose in his throat. Blood dripped from every orifice on the Venatori’s body, and gore split at the fingernails and spread under the skin rapidly. In a grotesque wave, the body bloated and deflated, the sound of lungs manually creaking and teeth chattering. Every facet of the body shifted, its skeleton shrinking, the skin reverting to a less burned tone, and the face rearranging. In only a few minutes, Lucanis was looking at himself, down the moles on his face.
“I’m sure your grandmother will be glad to have you home. Well, at least this version of you.” Zara’s voice. His own dead eyes stared at him, a vacant broken expression on his face. “Do you think they’ll hold a funeral for you? Or is the Demon of Vyrantium too secretive to have enough people to fill the church?”
Lucanis did not respond. His silence, the refusal to play her games, had been one of the few joys in the Ossuary. It took little to see her rage simmer under her features.
“Felicia, see to it that Amatus gets the body. He’ll make sure it makes it to the right part of Treviso.” Felicia was quick to respond, “House Dellamorte has so few members left. The First Talon will have to move on quickly, but you already know about that.”
“Should I get his old gear? We could dress it up, and send back the sword and dagger as part of the message.” Calivan posed, Lucanis had nearly gotten the voyeur’s presence.
“Yes, that sounds like a delightful idea. I’ll leave you and Felicia to it.” Zara said brightly. He could hear the clinking of her vials, the sloshing of some new mixture being prepared. An alchemical draught, he guessed, from the sound of the carbonation bubbling low.
Lucanis would be alone and no Crows would be joining him. It was up to him to leave this place alive. Calivan was his main contract, but he had no issue adding Zara to the list.
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Ritual candles, lines drawn in blood, the grimoire open,
Their favorite Crow’s name on their lips, sung their chant,
Determination intrigued, a participant in his luck,
Its presence, transfiguring it to a supplant,
The spirit was truly and completely fucked.
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Lucanis shifted onto his stomach, trying to alleviate the pain on his side. The wound under his left ribcage had to be carefully held in his hand as he shifted. His new position allowed him to cup the water that dripped down the wall of his cell.
It took an inordinate amount of energy to sip the water. Its tangy, metallic taste gave little reprieve but at least stabilized him for a few minutes. It had been four days since his last meal. It was difficult to know if it was part of the torture or because of his reputation. When he first arrived the little stream of water had often disturbed his slumber, but now he clung to it, the closest thing he had to a safe sound in this place.
The guards were scared of him. They should be considering he had killed eight of them since his arrival. They were abysmal numbers by Lucanis’s account but excellent numbers considering the circumstances. The younger ones often whispered the Demon of Vyrantium moniker when their superior officers weren’t near.
Lucanis was startled as he heard a large clank. It was the bridge of the far entrance coming down, a ways away from his cell. His body is constantly on edge and tense from the sounds in the distance. The Ossuary had quite the echo. Someone was coming from the Warden’s tower. Lucanis leaned against the wet wall, today would not be the day when an opportunity to escape was realistic. He could barely sit up.
“You awake?” the gruff voice of Calivan shuddered. The man didn’t even wait for a reply before he dropped the food on the ground inside his cell. Calivan was already pulling the wards back up as he continued, “Special meal, straight from Zara herself.”
Calivan didn’t want his company for the meal. Quite rude. House Dellamorte would never have allowed a guest to dine alone. For all their talk of Tevinter Superiority, it was obvious that Tevene hospitality left much to be desired.
Gingerly, Lucanis lifted himself onto his knees and moved towards the plate only to freeze in his steps. His stomach turned at what he saw on the plate. In all his time at the ossuary, Lucanis had only been served some kind of porridge or gruel.
Raw intestines, swimming in a bowl of blood. It was too thick to be a tomato or pepper soup. He could smell the iron wafting from the bowl.
He moved closer and dipped a single finger into the broth (Maker, he hoped it was broth).
It was lukewarm. Maker forgive him, he hoped it was an animal ( Mierda , it wasn’t).
If he was to complete this job he had to eat something (Crows completed their contracts).
House Dellamorte had trained him to do whatever it took ( Por la sangre del Hacedor ).
Lucanis, hands trembling, raised the bowl to his lips. (There was a reason the Maker turned his back on humanity.)
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Determination did not understand,
Connected to Lucanis it was trapped.
The spirit felt wrong, its connection sundered.
The mortal realm left it overwhelmed.
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Lucanis had not felt pain like this before. It felt like a needle had been slipped into every pore on his skin. Each needle was then heated while pouring some kind of chemical into it. Every single pore on his body at the same time.
The torture was wrecking him. He prided himself on his professionalism and tactical approach. But he kept seeing things on the edge of his vision, hazes and shadows that haunted him just out of sight. Lucanis believed that they must be breaking him.
There was no Maker in this place. Prayer no longer helped distract him from the pain. Whatever divine powers that the Chantry spoke of must be myth. No benevolent power would allow this house of horror to stand.
The heat spiked through him, he could feel the rush of his blood, bursting at his fingers under the nails, threatening to burst through the skin. It felt like a poison injected into his blood, but he had studied poisons in the past. Anything he could do to impress Viago. Nothing in the crow apothecaries would make the blood boil like this. Every beating of his heart was a violence he enacted on himself.
For the first time since his incarceration, Lucanis wasn’t sure he could survive.
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No No no, The Crow was meant to be strong.
But something had to be going wrong.
He was losing himself, falling to their machinations.
Determination lost its edge.
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Lucanis saw it for the first time when Calivan decided to remind him of how he was captured. He saw the purple haze first, not a fully formed figure, but rather a miasma. He wondered if one of the other experiments had gone wrong enough that it would finally take him out. Put him out of his misery without letting them win.
“You delivered yourself to us, like a present.” Calivan was not a particularly clever man. His tortures were generally banal. A beating or a whipping. The more inventive flavors were the work of Felicia and Zara. “Seriously you showed up exactly like we were told you would. You crows are a predictable lot.”
Lucanis ignored him. He would not allow his target to sow doubt in his mind. He had messed up and failed to do the proper reconnaissance. Lucanis only had himself to blame for why he was here.
“Know. That’s not. True.” he heard the hissing in his ear. His eyes connected with his own. A purple ghost of himself that stood at his side. “You lie.”
Lucanis was certain. He was losing his mind. Or Zara had won and turned him into a demon like the others here.
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Determination was losing.
It could not feel itself the way it should.
Everything here was too confusing.
If the crow did not survive, could it endure?
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Lucanis awoke in a haze. Every muscle, joint, bone, and fiber of his skin felt like it was on fire. The rush of his blood was not still. He didn’t know how long it took him to gather the energy to sit up, and even then the motions were slow, and controlled. He didn’t want to alert the guards if they were watching his pain.
“AWAKE! GET UP!” a shrill voice in his ear. Lucanis jumped and turned, his body groaning, stabbing pain across every extremity but he moved into position. He would not be unprepared for a fight. Lucanis was instead greeted by a spectral version of himself. Eyes glowing, it could not be mistaken for anyone but him.
Lucanis took a step back, but the apparition did not copy him. Instead, it swerved to the left and got up in his face, “Want out! Want Back!”
“Out and back to where?” Lucanis couldn’t help but reply. He should have been more cautious. Should have been quieter in his response, it wouldn’t do if the guards saw him talking to this, or worse talking to himself if this was brain damage.
“Back. Fade. Where it works. Or out of here!” Spite hissed back, the apparition clawing at the icy walls that enclosed them. Lucanis had not noticed it when they first woke but he was in a different cell this time.
But no guards within eyesight and there was a large red ward between him and the outer hallway. And what the apparition said rattled him, back to the fade. Did Zara succeed in planting a demon in him?
Lucanis had to take the risk, whether this was a demon or brain damage. “Back to the Fade? I don’t know how to do that.” Lucanis whispered low and gently. The best he could do was prevent his voice from carrying. If this was a spirit or demon there was little he would be able to do now.
“Out of here.” The spirit, no demon, moved through the room. It could slide through the ice separating him from the walls but couldn’t pass the red ward over the main door. “Need to live.”
A desperation to live. That was something Lucanis could relate to. “You don’t want to live under the Venatori?” The demon's snarl was answer enough. “I think we may have some common ground.”
The demon was restless. It paced back and forth, its hands leaving invisible scratching at the walls. “No. But can’t. Won’t. Stay here.”
“If you possess me here, then they win. They’ll control you.” Lucanis kept his voice low, wary a guard could be watching or listening. “They have my blood and they can force you to do whatever they want.”
The demon was still circling but Lucanis continued, “Help me get out of here. Stay quiet. Don’t possess me. If you make it so they think you’re not here then they won’t use the phylactery to control you.”
“If I help. I want to live.” The demon responded quickly, “I live. Outside of here.”
Lucanis hesitated. Life as an abomination was barely a life at all, but it had to be better than this. He had little to no hope for a future either way. “Okay. We help each out get out of here. We find a way to live.”
The demon responded with an uncomfortable smile.
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It did not like this. It should not. BE HERE.
NOT HERE. Nothing works. SPEAKS. Only him. TRAPPED.
LUCANIS. NOT. LISTENING.
Binding hurt. Not what it used to be.
Memory SHATTERED, DISRUPTED
Claw at the wall, fighting for CONTROL
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“Still no progress?” Zara asked. Her voice was cold as she addressed her warden.
“No Mistress Renata.” Calivan’s voice was low, apologetic in the way that Tevinter nobles were trained to be. Lucanis watched as Felicia threaded a needle. The spool it was attached to was soaked in a bowl of poison. Jokes on them, he had inoculated himself to that particular venom by the age of twelve. Lucanis kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, so as not to betray his interest in their discussion.
“I expect you to make progress. We have spent too much time and resources on him. It has taken nearly a year but he is in the perfect state.” Zara commanded. “Cultivating this particular demon has taken more work than the last four combined, considering its host it should be the most powerful of its kind.”
“I understand Mistress. We are following the plan you set forth,” Calivan replied quickly. A little too quickly. He had been using a lot of red lyrium to keep up with running the Ossuary. It was making him jittery.
“Make sure that you do. Or else you will be on the front lines instead of the demon.” Zara hissed as she left. Lucanis froze his features as Felicia inserted the needle. Technically she was administering aid, stitching a particularly deep cut left after he had killed another of his guards. But the poisoned thread did leave a sting, even if it wasn’t fatal to him.
“Maybe we should just kill him.” Calivan mused as he crossed over to inspect Felicia’s work. “Cause the demon to come out that way.”
Felicia simply hummed in response as she continued her work. The gore never caused her to falter, if anything it seemed to excite her.
“Soon,” Spite jeered. “Not yet. Can’t come out yet. But Soon.”
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Spite. Lucanis called him SPITE.
SPITE. To hurt, destroy, annoy. He likes. Annoying Lucanis.
Felt good to annoy Lucanis.
But Spite want. More. More to see.
More to annoy. More to be than Ossuary.
But Lucanis body. Spite Body. TRAPPED here
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Lucanis realized he hadn’t heard Nerys in a while. The scratching on the side of his cell had stopped at least two sleep cycles ago. He pressed his ear to the wall, desperate that his premonitions weren’t right.
“You know. I know.” Spite cackled, “He’s not there. Nerys no more.” The demon took great delight in annoying Lucanis. He was a worse form of torture than his own thoughts. Or perhaps that’s why it was so effective.
“Nerys no longer Nerys. Name forgotten, replaced,” Spite slid up next to Lucanis, invading what little personal space they had in a cell this small. “A demon took him.” Spite’s voice had a uniquely unpleasant twinge to it, an exaggerated caricature of his own after too many drinks.
Lucanis couldn’t reply. A guard was stationed not too far outside the cell. Only just down the hall, if he was gauging the shuffling of his feet correctly. Too close to get into a fight with Spite right now. Not with how the Ossuary echoed. He put a finger to his lips, a plea to Spite to quiet.
“You said. Complete job and leave. Spite ready to leave.” The demon pointed angrily at the door. “Calivan come and go. Come and go! And we no leave.”
Glancing furtively, “Wait for an opportunity.” he breathed close to his chest. Spite grumbled, “Always waiting. Can’t wait too long. Become Nerys.”
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Spite miss Fade.
Annoy Lucanis. Take Body. Live!
Bring Spite Glee.
BUT. Make Zara. Venatori. Guards. Happy. NO GOOD
Spite not take body. Lucanis Happy but many more people ANNOYED.
SPITE WIN.
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Lucanis waited for his next meal. The two mages assigned to move the ice away from him had just arrived. He watched carefully as they slowly lowered the red outer wards before reapplying while they were inside. One held the tray of food while surreptitiously looking back and forth at the doorway they just entered. Lucanis remained calm, this kind of reaction was not uncommon. This guard was young, he believed possibly the 4th son of the Sulla Family from Eastern Tevinter. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen if he was to hazard a guess, and he was staring at the fabled mage killer. Even shackled, his reputation would inspire some reaction.
Lucanis wasn’t certain how long he had been in the Ossuary but he knew it had been at least a year. Several meals ago Felicia had revealed that they had wasted twelve months on him. It had left him and Spite feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
Spite was restless, basically clawing at the venatori agents, despite their inability to feel it. It was like a large dog that hadn’t been taken out to run in a while. Quite sad if it wasn’t a demon sharing his body against both of their wills.
As the ice was melted away in one section by the other mage, Lucanis noticed something he hadn’t seen before. There were two figures in the outer chamber, past the red barrier, that were not Venatori. One wielding a bow and another a dagger, their clothes did not appear of crow design. But they were not Venatori. Lucanis had been waiting for an opportunity, so long that he had given up hope, but he saw one now.
The shimmering red wards that usually kept him sealed came down as they dismantled it from the outside. His guards turned to meet the interlopers and Lucanis prepared himself with their attention diverted.
“We’re not here to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte,” the elven woman said, but her weapon was drawn and her pose betrayed practiced instruction. The lead guard, a mage, started to invoke a ritual of the Old Tevinter Gods and Lucanis saw the opportunity he had been waiting for.
Spite was not sitting idle. The moment he saw Lucanis move into position he launched himself into place, clinging to Lucanis like a lost child. But rather than weight, Spite uplifted him. Gone were the rags that he’d been reduced to after a year in the Ossuary. Spite’s magic wrapped around Lucanis, and the Crow armor Caterina had commissioned to him knit itself over his skin. Woven from the fade and pulled into the material, it felt as hardy and real as any other set he’d ever owned.
Lucanis sprung from the back of his cell to drop behind the mage and wrap himself around the mage from behind. When the guard to his left struck, he moved the grappled mage in his hands to make him a human shield. The Venatori swordsman pierced his mage counterpart. Lucanis threw the mage to the ground before kicking the swordsman away.
He ran at the two other Venatori guards looking on, and felt something at his back, a push of power that he hadn’t felt before. Spite was doing something else in addition to the armor but he’d have to investigate later. For now, he could take advantage of the increased speed, far more than he should be capable of after a year in confinement. As he ran past the two guards he grabbed their arms, bringing their blades up to their necks, and slitting their throats.
One guard remained. He quickly turned on his heel, grasping the last man in the process. Lucanis spun around the taller, heavier man, and cracked his neck with a resounding thud. Were those wings?
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucanis saw purple feathers. It looked like they must be coming from behind him. He could feel a kind of joyful glee emanating from Spite within him. An interesting new trick.
“I guess you’re the reason we’re here.” the elven woman again. Blonde, with the face tattoos that the Dalish wore. She lowered her dagger slightly but the orb still did its lazy rounds, ready for use.
“Who are you? Who sent you?.” Lucanis started carefully.
The elven woman responded with an easy smile. “Are you Lucanis Dellamorte? Caterina sent us. My name’s Rook.”
It was the first pleasant sound Lucanis had heard in over a year.