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Your Houses are in shambles. Focus on the Venatori or lose your ways into Minrathous. – The Viper ♥
Illario Dellamorte stares at the note. A very short, curt letter stating that the Shadow Dragons did not appreciate the fledglings he had arranged to target smaller cells. Emil Kortez was too distracted these days to notice a contract for a few essentially nameless Tevinter terrorists. All Illario had to do was baselessly assert that the targets were Venatori spies. No guildmaster in House Kortez was willing to look past the promised payment for a true motive, and low level Venatori spies were minor first targets for a fledgling regardless.
The perfectly drawn heart confuses him.
The Viper was a spectral, frightening concept to The Venatori. Lady Zara Rennata had bemoaned the man’s insistence and his charming crusade to uplift the rightfully subdued. She had asked him to put some of her gift to him towards limiting the terrorist cell’s operative freedom. Illario had pointed out that asking him to use her gift in a particular way stopped it from being a gift, but she had just smiled at him and kissed his lips before kissing the rest of him for hours and hours. Perhaps it makes sense a blood mage knows anatomy with a kind of capacity bordering on madness.
Why would The Viper send a flirtatious note on the returned body of House Kortez’ fledgling? The man should be much more interested in threatening reprisal than confusing whoever reads the note.
Illario sighs, shakes his head, folds the note into his chest pocket, and sends the body on to be cremated. Fledglings die constantly; no one will look into it too closely, and no one will question why he is here to do the debrief. Everyone looks into the latest grand failed fledgling to mock them. He just got here first. No one need know he got here first because The Threads sent a missive to him.
A failed fledgling contract is nothing special. Not even worth following up on. Rarely is one so important that it is attempted again, unless it is truly a paid contract. A low stakes contract to prove their worth isn’t even an outside job. It is how Crows are made. As far as anyone knew, House Kortez was simply testing their fledgling, and they had failed.
I’m starting to think you just want love notes. - XOXO, The Viper
The second note is unambiguously flirtatious. Illario can’t hide the bemused smile that crossed his lips as he read it. It’s cute. The terrorist leader felt secure in his station and untouchable. Good. The contract House Arainai had taken on him would be all the easier to complete if he felt safe.
Illario keeps this note as well. He enjoys the idea of showing them to Zara when the Viper’s head is mounted on Minrathous’ chantry gates.
House Kortez loses another fledgling, but they are the fifth one this month, so no one notices it was the same contract as the other that died four months ago. In another few months, they can try again. The Shadow Dragon’s aren’t going anywhere, it seemed.
Dearest Talon Whoever You Are,
Long has it been since your last overture. I find myself… wanting for you. I never thought myself vulnerable to such advances as you have made, but I nevertheless am not too proud to admit that I am… I shall not put it to paper. It would be a crime for you to see the words before you hear them from my lips.
And you shall hear it from my lips. Perhaps you hear it now, in the soft wind blowing through your hair as you read my words. Such a soft, gentle thing for you to have in the lonely nights that have left you bereft of me. I speak those three words every night before I climb into my achingly empty bed.
I hope you understand why I shall not write those words here. They are too powerful. Too perfect for a simple thing as a letter. A confession, no, not a confession, for we have done no wrong in this… a declaration such as ours must be done perfectly. A beautiful, momentous celebration of what we are, amatus. I would not, will not, desecrate our relationship with words that spoil on breakable parchment.
I will honor our bond as I have honored none other. No grand declaration save for the ones that matter; those that will be etched into our bodies when we first know the other completely.
Yours, always,
The Viper ♥
Illario Dellamorte once again stares at a letter delivered by The Threads shipping a Crow corpse back home. As the contract stipulated; all Crows were to returned to where they came from. There was no clause as to the Crows being alive upon delivery.
The Viper was getting cocky. Or perhaps always had been.
But the man was writing nothing less than poetry now. Promises of momentous celebration. Knowing the other completely. It reads like one of Lucanis’ romance novels. Something deeply saccharine in the writing, but it strikes of something almost genuine.
Tihan Arainai’s corpse is utterly sundered. It is a wonder that the Threads found enough to ship back home. The Crow’s legs have sprouted horrid tree-like veins, the knees either severed by a great sword or popped off by the pressure of the blood-branches. Tihan’s thighs were simply gone. All that remained was a splintered, shattered pelvis connected to a flattened, blood branch sprouting torso. The corpse had no arms, just the sleeves of the Crow’s armor, but the true horror was what was left of Tihan’s head. Their mouth opened wide in a permanent scream; dried brown blood branches extending nearly a foot out of their mouth. More poking through the Crow’s eyes, ears, nose and pores. Tiny blood lesions that makes Illario’s stomach churn and skin itch just thinking about it.
Tihan Arainai’s death is not ignored like the fledgling’s. Tihan, even being shackled to the damned and disgraced House Arainai, was good. They were very good at their job. Eighth Talon Giuli Arainai had been rumored to be looking at them for an heir to her Talon seat. A moot point now.
Illario has to be fast to get the letter from the body. He’s not supposed to interfere with other true Crows. No one cares about failed fledglings, but everyone cares about someone like Tihan Arainai. The Lesser Dellamorte steals the letter from Tihan’s corpse and disappears from the dock where Giuli and the Arainai guild masters will soon be.
Illario Dellamorte sits at his desk in Villa Dellamorte and reads the letter for the fifth time.
I will honor our bond as I have honored none other. A threat that reads as a love declaration. The Viper has sworn to return every attempt on his life and the lives of his people with vengeance. As he saw in Tihan’s corpse, The Viper was not afraid of desecration.
I would not, will not, desecrate our relationship with words that spoil on breakable parchment. Etched in stone, or perhaps blood and bone; The Viper will not forgive The Crows.
And you shall hear it from my lips. He will find the Talon responsible and his words will be last they hear.
I speak those three words every night before I climb into my achingly empty bed. Had Tihan or a fledgling killed The Viper’s lover before being killed? Were the Viper’s words an oath sworn in the blood of a lost love? His bed is achingly empty, apparently. Perhaps the Three Words were ‘I’ll kill them.’ or ‘I’ll avenge you.’ Something charmingly old fashioned and suitably romantic.
I never thought myself vulnerable to such advances as you have made,- This at least made Illario smile. Tihan must have gotten close. Must have found The Viper’s nest, as it were. Good. Remind the man he is mortal and can be found. Fear makes people sloppy. Sloppy people are easy to hunt.
Giuli will send another Crow for The Viper. She can’t ignore a failed contract, even one that has little evidence of existence before Tihan had been assigned. House Arainai was not in the place to be picky about their contracts. It’s almost too easy to arrange a nearly endless stream of capable Crows trying for The Viper’s head.
“’You shall hear it from my lips’, mi amore. I shall sing it from the rooftops when all else lie dead save you and I.” Illario sighs to himself, looking up as his window opens to the lock pick of De Riva’s protege.
Dear Talon whoever you are,
Long are the days between your messages, but I have found the sweetest of solace in knowing I am ever in your thoughts. If you ever feel lonely, know that you are ever in mine. I long to know the delicate lines of your face, the temperature of your flesh, and most ardently, the sounds of your pleasures.
Were you here, as I write you this missive, I would demonstrate how not only are my hands practiced in the art of literature, my lips and tongue are as capable of worship as any Chanter. Moreso, I would say, for I have dedicated my life to serving others.
Yours in abject longing,
The Viper ♥
This is getting ridiculous. Illario reads the fourth letter from the Viper and feels his cheeks grow hot at the salacious promises in this stupid letter. The Viper might not even be sending these as veiled promises of violence. He might just be sending these for fun.
Illario sets his forehead against the cold wood of his desk and breathes deeply, mastering his fluster and anger. This should not be so hard. This is the third fledgling to fail at the simple contract of killing a small cell of terrorists. It should be easy to find anti-slavery terrorists. You show up to a slave auction and wait to see if anyone shows up. Or you find a local tavern and ask around. It’s not hard to find people who want to reset a cultural standing. They’re very loud by design.
“’Yours in abject longing.’ Mierda eating fool. Mocking us like we’re just random killers.” Illario pours himself a drink and stares out the window, watching his Grandmother and Cousin discuss something important without him. Maybe he should send Lucanis. The Viper is probably a mage, given what happened to Tihan. A blood mage too. Lucanis loves killing those. Maybe Illario can get rid of two problems at once. Send Lucanis to kill The Viper, send Zara and her cronies to kill Lucanis when he gets back in port.
“Let him have a glorious success before he gets what he deserves. It is only fair, Cousin.”
Illario deserves to be First Talon. He’s already running three other Houses in the shadows. He could make The Crows fearsome again. All he needs is the damn chance.
All in due time. Illario finishes his drink and files the letter away with the rest.
The next letter is utter filth. Pure, hedonistic, completely uncensored smut. It didn’t even open with a customary “Dear Talon Whoever”. It just started with a description of oral sex on genitals that were never properly described and yet that never became an issue while reading. It wasn’t until he read his favorite paragraph for the fourth time that he noticed.
Illario would be impressed by the writing if reading it hadn’t ruined the lines of his tailored pants and he had to essentially sprint to his bedroom office to spare himself the embarrasment. As it is, he is once again at his desk, warm in the collar and flustered beyond reason.
“It’s just words, sciocco. Pull yourself together.” But he can’t stop grinning. The visuals the letter encouraged him to imagine were almost enough to make him forget what The Viper had done to Kira Arainai. She had come back as mince. Just meat and a bundle of clothing and a few broken weapons.
Giuli had called a meeting of all her House. No one was saying anything, but the rumor was that she said The Crow Killer’s name for the first time in years. The specter that was Zevran Arainai clung on tighter than a burr on cotton. The damned elf was evidently unkillable and still happily married to his Grey Warden. Illario couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderfully convenient it is to have a disgraced House fill in the blanks as to why its most tenured assassins are dying without any trackable contract. All Giuli knew for certain was The Threads were sending corpses back as per the agreement. How and why her Crows were in Minrathous to begin with was so far from her mind she didn’t consider that sending another and a fellow from house Balazar to scout the city and whatever Tihan and Kira had been assigned was a terrible idea.
Illario licks his lips and looks back at the three pages of pornography The Viper had so lovingly written for him.
“Well.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair and picking up where he left off, setting his lamp to a more appropriate glow. He pours himself a glass of wine.
“It would be rude to ignore your gift, mi cara.”
Your cries of delight would be a song the old gods would weep to hear. A defiant victory call of utter joy and devotion to our union. For we will have become one in that glorious moment of culmination. I would lock in my mind forever; the sight of you, sated and satisfied, and I would know that any gift of spirit and flesh would never compare to the beauty of knowing that you are safe in my arms.
My Talon, these are the wants you have stirred within me. Feelings I never expected for anyone, let alone a person who may yet seek my death, but my heart beats ever stronger the more I think of you. Perhaps there is a way for us to be together. The politics of our lands, our societies and vocations… If it is the honor of The Crows to seek a completion of service… perhaps we may yet draw up a new contract? One where perhaps there is only… a little death?
-V
By the time Emil Kortez and his House are killed, House Arainai is leaderless and so is House Balazar. Things could not be better for the man who seeks to take over all of them and turn the Crows into something worthwhile.
The side benefit of getting more and more pages of The Viper’s love poems is not why he’s doing this. Certainly not.
The words he’s been using to woo De Riva’s protege are shockingly effective. So what if he does send a few extra fledglings to disrupt the Shadow Dragons despite the knowledge that it won’t work. It’s a worthy cause for securing the Wraith of Arlathan as his lover. Zara would know of ways to make the elf able to bear children again. His legacy would be complete and secure, and one day, he may get to meet The Viper in person. The day of course, that the man will die, but you can’t have everything.
He’ll thank the man for his lovely words over the years, and how he used them to woo the killer on his right. The Viper will defend himself as best he can, but simply, they would be too much for him. The man would die in the arms of his Talon, and the contract would be complete.
I have been thinking of you, my Talon. My heart breaks for you. To know you may need to keep me a secret. These words a noose around your neck; ever tightening with each missive. Yet I cannot help myself. You are so alone, and I cannot help but weep for you. I cannot help but hope my missives allow you to feel less alone.
I think of you, alone in a beautiful room decorated in silvers and blacks as the colors of the Crows you have sent to me. I think of you standing at a window, wondering if this time, you will not receive a letter.
I wonder if you feel as I do when you go months without sending me proof I am in your thoughts. The knot in my stomach that eases when your cohorts come for me. I pray that you know you never leave me. You are in my thoughts always, my Talon. I catch myself sighing often at the thought of you in despair over the dance we share.
Would that I could be at your side always. A warm hand to hold you in the cold months. Gentle touches to wipe away your tears. Would that I could be more than what I am to you now; a weight around your neck and death sentence for the people you must send to me. Oh, my dearest Talon, I would give anything for this to be different. For our… no, I will not say it. I swore I would not. Not until my words grace your ears as warm winds cradle us in sacred holding. I shall not write it, My Talon.
Instead, I shall weave it in words that cannot touch its meaning any more than a spirit can touch a soul. Pieces of it, My Talon. Fractions of our bond. Fragments of the devotion we have for the other; for those three words are everything, My Talon. And I will have you know it in no other way than the purest manner possible.
Wordless in the best way.
- Viper
Illario doesn’t even need to wait for Crow bodies to be shipped back any more. He collects his mail every so often from the Thread drop off point and he has new love letters from his Viper. He can’t help the wistful smile that crosses his lips at the man’s earnestness. It’s sweet, really. The bleeding heart revolutionary terrorist would be given to romantic notions of wooing the people trying to kill him.
His words have really worked wonders on Aldwir. The wild elf is easily gentled by soft words stolen from a love sick missive. Gentle words of care and obsession to calm even the raging blood lust of the elf that shares his bed and reads the gifted pornography sent by the love sick Viper. The elf loved to drink with him and explore the explicit words of a man who should publish books instead of fighting a losing battle with his country. Illario had to choose the letters that were not incriminating, but it was endlessly entertaining to have Aldwir perform a dramatic reading of a sinful sex act and then perform a sinful sex act.
Why do I feel like this is all too soon going to come to an end, My Talon? Why do I feel that things are changing faster than we can predict and adapt to? Things have not changed for me and mine; we continue to work, to make better what is broken and breaking.
Do you feel the noose tightening as well? My Talon, I fear for you. I wake at night, worried I will never hear from you again. I wake and fear you do not read my letters. I fear you have been found out. I hope you are safe, My Talon. I pray to The Maker and… oh My Talon I cannot do this anymore.
I have been strong. I have restrained myself. I have whittled down to the marrow of my being and I have no more strength left. I am left aching and broken open, My Talon.
My Talon.
You must know. In no less than perfection. In nothing less than the broken words of someone who has tried to deny the truth of themself for too long and can no longer bear the weight of the sin of denial.
My Talon.
In simple words. In the truest words I have ever… Said…
Shall I make a liar of myself this way?
To have forsworn the breakable in favor of perfect truth written in breathless wonder when finally we meet?
Have I been a liar this whole time? To dance so close to knowing you may see the truth with your own eyes, and yet I hesitate to show you written in paper and ink for fear of what?
Reprisal? Contempt?
You already send Crows to me, My Talon. This is your contract with me.
Do I fear you call me a liar and know my words as not worth the ink?
My Talon. Whoever you may be.
There are three little words that can extend past time and distance. Race and creed.
There are three little words, My Talon, where Maker and mortal are made equal.
I…
My Talon, you must know.
You must know.
You must.
- v
Illario cannot explain the way his hands shake as he reads the latest letter. He is not Lucanis. He is not some inept, seductionless man reading fanciful stories where love is a panacea to all wounds, mortal and spiritual. Yet his heart is beating apace in his chest. His breath is quick. His hands shake as he believed for a moment, that The Viper would write out those three words that every person wants to hear.
“Mierda, just say it, you fool.” He curses, angrily shoving the letter in with the others and slamming the drawer closed.
“You do not know when you will lose the chance to have it heard.”
Dearest Talon Whoever,
I have never felt this for anyone before, My Talon.
I have only ever had the weight of my work and the noose of discovery. How can I describe a feeling so innate and yet unknowable? Something I have no words to describe but in metaphor and simile? A concept so alien that I have sought absolution from The Maker and been left wanting still?
Pleasures of the flesh are cheap, my dear, and while I hope my words have brought you joy and satisfaction, I wish for you to understand that I write them as frustrated proxy for the connection I seek.
I wish to taste your lips and tongue. To know the beat of your heart as pleasure overtakes you. To see the softeness in your brow as you have allowed none else to witness. I wish comfort for you, My Talon. I would cherish one day, one hour at your side, even if we must battle before an audience and cleverly drag ourselves to solitude and privacy for our connection to finally be graced in person.
Your pants of exertion and exstacy breathed into my skin. Mine into yours. For even now, we cannot be found, we cannot shout our contract from the heavens themselves.
An affair in private, My Talon.
Perhaps it is sweeter to have it at all, but I wish to feast on more than sugar.
- v
The Viper sends more letters, and still he does not say it. He fills the letters with perversions so profound that Illario isn’t sure even The Maker would forgive them; but Illario keeps them all the same. Viper is, if nothing else, a very imaginative man. Aldwir quite enjoyed the bindings and struggling concepts, although Viper’s versions did not involve needing healing potions afterwards to fix his bleeding wrists from elven bites.
Illario Dellamorte looks out his bedroom window as Aldwir jumps rooftops to avoid the direct eye line of the guards. He sighs and feels something in his chest ache.
He isn’t sure what he feels for Aldwir anymore. Possessive right to the Dalish De Riva protege, perhaps. The want to drag them from Viago’s poisoned hands and into his own razor sharp talons.
All he does know is that whatever The Viper described in his letters was not what he felt for the elf.
“He is a fool if he believes he loves a stranger sending other strangers to kill him.” The Lesser Dellamorte says to himself, unsure if he said it for a reason. Maybe he needed to hear it. Maybe he needed to say it. Maybe none of it ever fucking mattered.
His cousin is dead. Zara finally held up her end of the deal, and Catarina will have no choice but to name him as heir. Soon enough he will be First Talon and he can finally get things working for The Crows again. They have been languishing under tradition and inept Houses for too long.
“If she would have named me heir, Lucanis…”
The bodies of Giovani Arainai and Devi Balazar come back more intact than usual. Clear sword cuts and no signs of blood-branches like every other Crow and occasional fledgling. Magic and spell work, but no sign of The Viper’s unyielding and unwavering desecration.
And no letter.
Something terrible writhes in Illario Dellamorte’s stomach, and he feels like he is going to vomit at the docks where Viago, Teia, and Catarina view the corpses of two tenured crows with thirty high value kills to their names. He keeps it together as he is still ignored by Catarina in favor of anyone else.
“Find out what contract they were working. We cannot afford to lose the capable ones.” His grandmother orders, walking past him and speaking to Chance Candide instead. He barely manages to keep his cool, but he knows Viago and Teia see his anger and frustration. They’ll be talking about him tonight while they rest their pretty heads on Teia’s pillows.
Illario Dellamorte makes it through the day and drinks his sorrows away, reading old letters and wishing he could strangle The Viper himself.
“You should have fucking said it. You damned fool.”