Coria Luzi

Starling — Offline

Coria Luzi

Need to Know

- She / Her
- 2,095 (Nov 2)
- 5'11"
- Dark Brown Hair
- Light Brown Eyes
- Private Arms Dealer and Expert in North Portland
- Lives in North Portland


Ᵹ Hair is a dark, wavy mess.
Ᵹ Pale and bare faced, eyes always rimmed by the slightest tint of exhaustion
Ᵹ Slender and lean
Ᵹ Her casual posture belies an innate readiness, her features rounded, yet keenly sharp
Ᵹ A myriad of alarming scars, the most visible of which begins at the crest of her left cheekbone. It extends at a jagged diagonal to the top of her ear.
Ᵹ Her clothes are picked on the basis of comfort, and rarely deviate from a grayscale
Ᵹ Never seen without a specific silver Torc around her wrist
Ᵹ No tattoos or piercings

About Me


⥣ Unrelenting, Loyal, Formidable
⥥ Violent, Vengeful, Stoic
⥧ Tough, Adaptable


TW = violence. implied rape. implied suicide. self-harm.

Her longsword felt miles away from its target, within the frozen seconds, the metal seeming to pull like a clumsy taffy. Still, Coria rebelled, fingers shaking and white from pressure, sharpened edge anointing Trebonius's shoulder with a taste of her people's rage. Teeth flashed as blood trickled down the center ridge of her grandfather's sword before coalescing in the fuller, with an audible groan, the family heirloom slipping from her grasp as it was countered by a heavier metal. Her body joined its decent to the sanguine tinged earth, lungs jerking as she fought to take in the air the impact had siphoned.

A foot against her spine made the recovery impossible, with a jerk of her hair, and a blade at her throat, forced into the ignominious as she helplessly watched the battle continue to rage. Alessia remained fortified, but Vercassivellaunos’s army was being forced backward, eyesight darting past the circumference of injury and death to follow the last spasms of revolt. At the retreat, her vision snapped back towards the fortifications, through the thick fog, spotting the signs of surrender.

Following Caesar's banners was not a solitary affair, the sadists within the Roman forces continuing to tether those still alive enough to provide amusement to the line that currently dragged her. Miles were covered before encampments came into view, her people secured and anchored until drink and victory convinced they be paid more attention. Men were tortured and eventually executed, their deaths tainted by innumerable humiliations. Those that remained were enslaved.

Women suffered a long voyage's effects on already wanton men, their violence bleeding over into the physical. At least the physical provided an advantage, Coria's twisted arm finally slipping through loosened knots after the many hours and countless faces. Finding a sharpened bit of debris was not difficult, with it, creating a window of opportunity. She helped as many as she dissected a path through the hostile encampments, but her reach was limited by the threat of detection. A blade was offered to those who still faced indignity but could not hope for a chance at freedom, many gratefully choosing the alternative. Coria did not wait to see who resolved to suffer, bending her way through shadows until bruised feet touched the freedom a vast darkness provided.

It took days to work her way back to her village, pyres and shallow graves serving as breadcrumbs that ironically pointed towards the living. Those that remained walked upon ashes, the scorched earth casting a haze that made breathing all the more painful. Hope abandoned her as she reached the ruins of her twin’s hut, by rummaging through what was left, finally unearthing the skeletons of her brother’s young wife and children. It took hours to bury them properly, choosing the banks of the Rhine in the hopes it would speed their burned spirits towards a more serene oblivion. When the night finally fell, Corius found her.

As her brother’s eyes rose to meet her, Coria’s breath stagnated, his carefree countenance transfigured with a degree of torture that surpassed anything she’d thus been forced to endure. Setting her jaw, she made her way forward, pressing her forehead to her twin’s as she cursed him not being lost in battle as she’d surmized. It would have been a kindness, but kindness had fled their lands, leaving cold flesh and bloodlust in its wake.

The order had not been Ceasar’s, but he had paved the way and granted permission. The uprising had to be quenched and legions needed reinforcements. The Etiam provided a practical solution. Scorched earth campaigns were a cover for the brutality of genocide, villages drained of the weak, and robbed of the strong, warriors forced to turn and join the ranks of the undead. Corius had fallen at Alessia, but the night saw him converted, escaping his sire to return to his mortal family…too late.

Coria could not kill him.

Despite his will, Corius’s need outweighed the rational, and keeping him fed and safe called for a stamina that was slowly being depleted. She would have joined him in darkness had the practicalities of humanity not been a necessity, but the ability to move in daylight and camouflage his presence proved a requirement for survival. After a year of contemplation and preparation, she knew the druids were her only solution.

The cave was known to her- a pathway, infinitely sacrosanct and linked to the domain of the ones who summoned the carrions circling overhead. She had wondered into the mouth as a child, but had been warned not to trespass otherwise, the unseen best left to peace and not provocation. Now, she’d been instructed into its depths, after a heady payment of accumulated riches and blood, descending into the unknown recesses. The screaming of crows and the embrace of the cold were the only recollections she'd been allowed from inside the cave, squinting her eyes against a sunlight that was not new, but was seemingly more profound.

When the pair reentered civilization, a century had passed, but their purpose had not dissipated. A vendetta. A focus to find Corius’s sire, Vitus, and avenge their tribe and family— the pure eradication of whatever remained of the vampire clan that had called themselves the Etiam. The hunt was not easy, the years proving her immortal, but not immune, by the time they traced Vitus into the Americas, Coria having toed a true death too many times for any trace of complacency to root.

Coria protected and fed Corius when there were no alternatives, her brother serving as a silent sentinel when spell-demanded sleep overtook her. Technological and societal advances made the chase all the more convoluted, identities shifting with eras and corresponding countries. Sometimes two centuries would pass before a clue about Vitus would reemerge, throughout the years becoming experts in a great many lines of work. However, weapons seemed to be a congruent thread in their history, their collection spanning two millennia’s worth of wars. Serving as a private arms dealer and expert was a lucrative enough business, from time to time selling off a prized piece to maintain the complexity of their housing and travel.

Whispers of Carmine had reached Corius while she had slumbered, waking eyes parting to study a horizon that did not seem feasible. The potential to strike a deal with another devil teased, but she hadn’t a fragment of soul left to sell. Already, lucidity was shortening, and dreams were stretching. But Vitus...if they could only reach him, Coria could finally put an end to her own ceaselessness.


Face Claim: Emma Appleton

Ᵹ Sterile. Cannot have children.
Ᵹ Has lost her accent over the years, but can several languages fluently
Ᵹ Knows about the existence of supernaturals, but cannot detect witches, vampires, or shifters by any innate means