HOUSE DELLEBRON - THE HOUSE OF POISONED TEARS
Dellebron Felicia, Warmaster & Leader
Offering smiles and glares all the same from beneath a severe fringe of jet black hair, Felicia is a plain woman of pale countenance, sporting eyes of a frigid blue. Her hair, though long enough to reach the small of her back and strangely silky, is an odd, glossless affair, tied back down her temples, and cinched between her shoulderblades.
Despite initially appearing to be tall and scrawny, Felicia's frame is lean, formed of tight muscles and hard sinew. Years of stalking the decks of various ocean bound vessels have given her surprising grace despite the bladed point that has replaced her right leg from the knee down, though she is quick to play up the injury to throw off opponents.
Spending the majority of her adult life amongst thieves, cutthroats, and pirates has whittled Felicia's capricious nature to a razors edge. Her moods, already difficult to read even were they not hidden behind a veneer of mocking niceties, can change with the passing of a chill breeze, and an ill mood can bode murder most foul for those who catch her ire.
Before the war, Felicia and her twin sister, Maria, served as smugglers, traders, and raiders for the Dellebron, operating in the Sleeping Sea. For the most part, she went as she pleased, and ravaged where she went, citing her Infernal parentage as divine right to do as she wished.
During the war, Felicia's expertise on the sea led her to form a band of reavers called the Mistborne, specialising in raiding and despoiling supply lines, as well as settlements along the coast. For the most part, they weren't officially aligned with the House Dellebron during the war, but did act in an unofficial capacity against the enemies of Djuke Kali.
Dellebron Maria, Diplomat
Maria's is a quiet grace, her every movement subtle, but emphatically pronounced in its deliberation. She seems to drift from motion to motion, every part of her moving in harmony. Much like her twin, she is tall and slender, a softer reflection of Felicia's lean form, save that her hair is purest white.
Silvery tattoos trace sinuous patterns across her pale skin, often hidden beneath high necked shirts, and soft fitting breeches. Her wardrobe is pilfered from her sister's, all comfortable cotton and leather garments, and indeed, if asked, Maria will claim that the clothes she wears belong to Felicia.
Dedicated to the Eotran Monastery at a young age, Maria initially resented the control of the Eotran monks. She felt denied of her birthright, cast aside from her family, left to become a weapon to be used at the behest of others. That changed as she came to understand her Patron, Sithri, the Bitter Wind.
This was not a torment or a denial, but a test, a means to give her hope, to make her stronger, to strive for the place in the world that she wanted. And in this, she gloried in the revelation. But as she continued down the path of monkhood, she saw that the mortals of the world were weak, easily brought to heel by her Divine brethren. They did not benefit from the struggles of their pain, they did not see the hope hidden within the crucible of suffering.
When the war came, she wished to join the ranks of her House, to unleash a gale of devastation so that the world could better learn. It was here that Maria had a conflict of ideology with her fellow Monks. They stressed the importance of protecting the weak, and the innocent. Spreading war, and cutting down others would be detriment to that. She argued the opposite, that mortals would never learn, would never grow, never ascend, to protect themselves if they were not tested.
Ultimately, she left, believing that the Monks were not protecting the world as a whole, but merely suffocating it in its cradle. She rejoined her sister in latter parts of the war, putting her talents to use, and picking up several new ones as she went along.
Calm and quiet, Maria offers a small smile to all those who meet her, whether they be enemy or friend. Her diction is well spoken, her tone is forever pleasant, and she is kind to those that cross her path. But looks deceive, and hers is that which leads in entirely the wrong direction. Of the twins, Maria is by the far the more vicious, though far less a creature of impulse and capriciousness.
Maria will not maim or destroy when she can teach. She will protect the weak, and the innocent, insofar as they cannot defend themselves. But she will fell one to instruct dozens, destroy the few to educate the many, and crush the body to educate the spirit on hope.
Dellebron Hilda, Master of Coin
Stooped with age and Expression, bald as an egg, with a face like a smooth walnut, Hilda is the very image of her age. Tanned like leather by decades in the sun, somehow she still bears a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. A glistening, glassy shell covers the majority of her body, the end plates jutting out up over her neck and over her shoulders, making her appear to be some bipedal turtle. In truth, this is not far off from the mark. She retains the ability to extend her neck much longer than one would believe, and much akin to a turtle, she may also retract head and limbs inside her shell.
Born when the Dellebron controlled the Sleeping Sea in its entirety, Hilda had little taste for the wanton raiding and cruelties her family were known for. No, what Hilda appreciated were the finer things in life, good food, good drinks, good money. So, rather than deal with the procurement of wealth, she dealt with the transference of it.
She was apprentice to the previous Quartermaster, Ios, a Dellebron miser killed in a drunken bout some years before the war. But before that, Hilda built up good relation with the Yrva, with the rogue Djukanim, providing goods from the south to Imeria, and raking in profits for her house. True, there were struggles between the Powers That Be, but Hilda rested assured she was safe behind her wall of bodies that made up the Dellebron.
Somewhere along that time, she met her husband, a roguish sailor named Diamad. He swept her of her feet, and they bore three children together; her son, Cines, and the twins, Felicia and Maria.
Shortly after the twins third birthday, Diamad grew ill, and Hilda pleaded with the gods to save his life, going as far to offer a child to the monastery should they save him. Despite being bedridden for some months, Diamad eventually made a full recovery, and true to her word, at least regarding the gods, Hilda sent Maria off to the Eotran Monastery.
Still, Hilda did her job, helping the Dellebron coffers grow fat, and encouraging the rest of the House to join with Kali, knowing that war is a potent mistress to profit. Diamed died quietly in his sleep around this time, and it was a bitter Hilda that prompted her fellows to join in the war effort with all the fervor that she could manage.
Content, talkative, and relatively pleasant to converse with, Hilda has lost none of her faculties with old age. Her hairless, wrinkled head hides a vast ticking intellect and shrewd intuition, coupled with the very epitome of self preservation and selfishness.
Still, she does love her family, though she still puts herself first in any situation. But she knows that the Dellebron will protect her should she protect them, so Hilda does her best to ensure that internal conflicts remain calm, or at the very least, deeply buried.
But first and foremost, Hilda is a merchant. Her nicknames do not refer to her near indestructible physical nature, but to her stance in business; she is impossible to force or goad into any action she does not wish to take, and almost as unstoppable in doing any deal to get what she wants.
Dellebron Cines, Architect
Strangely lanky, with a short, squat body, but bearing long scrawny limbs, Cines is far from the most attractive of men. His broad, spaced, flat features, wide cockeyed stare, near non-existent ears, and tendency to visibly sweat in even the most frigid of environments, all reinforce this view.
Still, despite this, the Dellebron normally takes pains to look after his appearance. His clothes are impeccably cut, his glasses exquisitely polished, his scalp completely shaved, and his beard immaculately sculpted.
Being the eldest son of Dellebron Hilda, Cines was well looked after. He was classically educated by the finest tutors, at least, when he allowed himself to be. Even as a boy, he had always adored the sea, spending vast tracks of time plumbing its depths, diving around Castle Dour, and swimming beside his mothers anchored frigate. His father, Diamad, encouraged the boy's love, telling him fanciful tales of far off shores, mystical weather, strange sights, and marvelous fish.
It was widely expected for him to become a fine captain, though his unfortunate penchant for becoming violently seasick on any moving vessel quickly put a halt to that line of thinking. Still, Cines spent his time with the ocean, learning everything he could about it, and applying it to whatever he could. This eventually found an outlet in crafting. Whether it be liquors distilled through rocking of the waves or by the pressures of the deep sea, the shape of boats and ships that cut through the swell, or unusual flora and fauna propagated for the use of the House, designs that originated in Cines hand and mind flourished on the ocean.
Along the way, Cines met his wife, a forceful, capricious girl named Viviene. Their courtship lasted some years, consisting of ups and downs, but eventually they married, and bore a son, Sura. His brethren jokingly remark that Viviene drinks because her husband loves the sea more than her, and that Cines drinks because his wife loves him more than the ocean.
When Diamad died, Cines saw to it that a masterful monument was left to remember his father was left upon the seafloor, one that would only grow in beauty as the ocean life consumed it. Shortly after, the war came, Cines did his part, and crafted warships and weapons for his fellows, though these lacked the savage viciousness that others churned out.
Intelligent and witty, Cines is also probably one of the hardest working Dellebron alive. He is constantly designing and building new additions to Castle Dour, such as the Blue Vineyards, the Glass Corridors, and the Deep Lights, as well as being in the process of rebuilding the Dellebron Fleet, the island farms, their produce, and the tools they use. He's also had a hand in creating the Borkin, a breed of guardfrog, and is currently trying to produce a very special strain of adaptive grape vine. In short, a very busy man.
Dellebron Sura, Loremaster
For the most part, Dellebron Sura's true appearance is a mystery. All scraps of flesh are covered, hidden beneath voluminous robes which hang from his body, with tighter garments clinging to his forearms, hands, and lower legs. Thick beads are looped around his wrists, and broad set circle his neck and across his shoulders. His face is constantly secreted behind a mask, often shadowed beneath a hood. These masks that Sura tends to wear depend on the situation, but are often pale porcelain with thick brooding brows, dark featureless cloth, patterned wood, or even stark skulls.
Even listening to Sura for a few moments lets one know without a doubt that the Dellebron was born to be an orator. He speaks with such passion, with such knowledge and truth, that ignoring the man is next to impossible.
"Let the truth be a poison,"
A maxim with which Sura lives his life by. He will not spread falsehoods, but he will twist and flay the truth into whatever form he wishes, choosing his wording with surgical care, and taking a perverse pleasure in doing so.
Now twenty two, the other Dellebron treat him with a grudging respect for fear of their reputations. But more, they bear a suspicious wariness to the youth already in the midst of his fourth Ascendance, reckoning that whatever envy drove him to such strength at such an age was something that could not be entirely mentally healthy.
Dellebron Lars, Black Sheep
Easily the largest Dellebron in recent memory, Lars stands at around seven foot tall, a wall of heavily corded muscle, clad in layers of hellforged iron. All that, coupled with the man's square jaw, cropped white hair, and short beard and mustache, truly makes him a bear of man.
Lars is honest to a fault, holding his word and agreements as unbreakable vows on his part. Fastidiously cleanly, in word, deed, and demeanor, the Dellebron is a perfectionist, and exacting in what he expects of himself. This often leads to contempt or condescension to individuals who cannot meet his high standards, and he refuses to mingle with liars or oathbreakers.
