Lucius Severianus (LOO-kee-oos seh-veh-ree-AH-noos)
A Resident
Lucius Severianus (a.k.a. Luka)
Lucius Severianus once marched under the banner of a forgotten Roman general, his youth spent gripping a gladius and staring down the dust and heat of battle. Stoic by necessity, Lucius was a man carved from discipline—his voice rarely rose, and his eyes rarely wandered. But beneath the hardened exterior was a thoughtful observer of the world, someone who noticed the curve of a well-made amphora or the way wind whispered through cypress groves. When military victories no longer kindled purpose, he purchased the freedom of his young attendant and left the army behind, traveling east in search of something undefined.
Lucius had never imagined love—not in the way it unfurled slowly, like the petals of a cautious flower. Amanellus was no longer his servant but his companion, a quiet anchor in unfamiliar lands. Their dynamic had shifted over years of walking—more equals now than they ever were in Rome. It was on one of these quiet paths that they found Velkorim, bleeding near the rocks, bright eyes dulled with pain but defiant. Lucius had tended wounds before, but this was the first time he did so with gentleness instead of necessity.
The mist came one morning without warning—curling like incense from the earth. Lucius stepped forward first, trusting instinct or fate, and felt the weight of his years vanish like a cloak falling from his shoulders. In Tír na nÓg, his back no longer ached, and the memories of war softened. The three of them wandered together for a time before settling in a wooded region, where Lucius took to carving—shaping tools, instruments, and small figurines from living wood. He claims he doesn’t understand poetry, but his hands say otherwise.
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Male
Sexuality
Omnephilic
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