Bloodline
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The Man, The Myth, The Monster
+Full Name+
Lukas. No last name he trusts.
+Alias(es)+
Luca, L.V. Thorne
+Birthday+
He doesn't know, really. He was never celebrated
+Apparent Age+
Early 30s, though time warps near him
+Nationality+
Myth-blooded| Legally untraceable
+Race+
Hydra
+Scars/Tattoos+
Full seven-headed hydra tattoo down his spine,
Divine cross burned into his sternum (from a failed exorcism),
Luminescent runes appear across his hands and neck when submerged in seawater or heavy spirit influence
+Relationship+
Emotionally exiled | Intimacy is dangerous
+Occupation+
Occult investigator | Paranormal caseworker | Underground author of haunted truths
+Played By+
Chris Wood
+Height+
Six feet, four inches tall.
+Weight+
Lean 215 lbs
+Hair Colour+
Dark, usually tousled by salt and sea
+Eye Colour+
Oceanic blue, with flecks of gold | Shifts to serpent-slit when the hydra stirs
+Addictions+
Control | Isolation | Saltwater | Cataloging the unknown | The idea of peace
+Voice+
Deep. Calm. Measured. Like the drag of tide over bones
+Scent+
Worn leather | Black tea
+Theme Song+
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Beneath The Surface
Appearance:
Luca is the kind of man people watch twice. Not because he’s loud, but because there’s something off about the stillness in him, like a statue that might move when no one’s looking. With a lean, athletic frame and shoulders that carry centuries, he wears his presence like a second skin: casual, quiet, and dangerously composed. His hair is dark and usually tousled by salt wind or sleep, and the short beard frames a mouth that rarely smiles the same way twice, sometimes crooked and playful, sometimes with a sadness he doesn’t explain. His eyes, though, those are the problem. Ocean-dark and ancient, like they’ve seen cities drown and didn’t blink. He looks at people like he’s already buried them in his memory, like he’s mourning them before they’re gone. Luca doesn’t dress to impress. His wardrobe is all soft henleys, black jackets that smell like the sea, worn boots, and rings that feel more like talismans than fashion. Tattoos spiral down his spine: seven heads, each with symbols in forgotten languages, old protection charms, runes he doesn’t talk about. The silver chain around his neck always disappears beneath his shirt, but if you catch a glimpse, it holds a ring that isn’t his. There’s something unmistakably magnetic about him, the kind of charm that doesn’t need a smile to lure. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t chase. But people follow. And when he speaks, low, calm, with words that seem carefully chosen, it’s easy to forget how dangerous he really is. Until he reminds you.
Personality:
Luca is myth in human skin: part ghost, part fury, entirely unreachable… until he isn't. Most days, he laughs too easily, sings old songs off-key, and makes friends with strays in every city he passes through. He’s warm, even goofy, in a way that feels disarming coming from someone who hunts what most fear to name. But don’t mistake softness for weakness. When it comes to his work, Luca is blade-sharp, unflinching, and ruthless when he needs to be. He speaks softly, like he knows the power in silence, and watches people like he’s already read their last thought. There’s a calm to him, sure, but it’s the kind that comes before a storm swallows a ship. He doesn’t flirt. He lures. And when the job starts, the warmth vanishes. He becomes something cold and precise, a weapon forged in blood and binding oaths. He’s not cruel. Just… removed. Empathy doesn’t come easy for creatures born to witness destruction. But beneath that glacial composure is something wild, half-feral: a hydra who still dreams of fire, of freedom, of being more than what the curse of his bloodline made him. He doesn’t want worship. He wants to feel. Even if it kills him.
Skills:
Luca can breathe underwater, command currents with a flick of his wrist, and hear the dead things that sleep in the deep. He’s fluent in forgotten languages, reads the tides like scripture, and has a fighter’s reflex honed by a thousand years of survival. His hydra form, rarely seen, is a monster of ocean storms and serpentine grace, bearing seven heads like a curse passed down from the Hydra itself. But Luca isn’t just a creature of myth. He’s a master of the paranormal. He knows how ghosts form, how to banish or bind them, and, more importantly, how to understand them. He tracks hauntings not just by cold spots or EMF spikes, but by deciphering the pain beneath the lingering presence. Luca can detect spiritual rot in a building by smell alone. He’s mapped ley lines by memory, drawn circles from crushed coral and sea-salt, and spoken to demons without flinching. Every case he takes is another layer in the ever-thickening veil of knowledge: hexes, sigils, possession rites, necromantic runes, haunted bloodlines, cursed artifacts. He’s seen it all. However, his most frightening skill isn’t magic. It’s restraint. He could destroy cities, shatter coastlines, drown armies beneath his wrath. But he chooses not to. Every day he doesn’t become the monster they expect is a kind of violence all its own.
Education:
Luca was raised in a coastal Catholic orphanage where the nuns believed he was something unholy..and they weren’t entirely wrong. They tried to drown the monster out of him. More than once. It didn’t take. He stopped struggling after the third time, just to see the fear in their eyes when he didn’t die. After that, the Church wanted nothing to do with him, and Luca never looked back… but he never forgot. His real education came later, under a woman named Mara, a rogue occultist with ink-stained hands and eyes full of stars. She taught him how to see beyond the veil, how to listen to the dead instead of fearing them. Mara believed in knowledge above all else, dangerous, ancient, beautiful knowledge, and Luca soaked it in like it was breath. She taught him symbols older than scripture, how to break a curse using sea glass and Latin, how to trap a demon with iron and mercy. He might have loved her. A part of him may still. He’ll never say. She vanished during a spell gone wrong, burned the circle into the floor, left only salt and a single black feather behind. Luca still wears her ring on a chain around his neck, and her journal is always in his bag. He finished his education alone, learning by surviving, each hunt, each haunting, each blood-soaked clue another grim lesson. He knows what’s out there because he’s fought it. Been it. And sometimes, still is.
Lover:
None. Not now. Maybe once. There was someone who touched the hydra and didn’t flinch, who called him Luca like it meant home, not warning. She’s gone now, swallowed by the same forces he hunts in the dark. Since then, he’s kept his heart like he keeps his magic: buried, volatile, and better left undisturbed. But he’s still human. At least, part of him is. Luca has physical urges, and strong ones at that. The hydra in his blood hums for contact, for heat, for skin and sound and the kind of intimacy that silences the voices in the deep. He enjoys sex, unapologetically, and he’s good at it:attentive, responsive, and capable of making someone feel like they’re the only soul left on Earth when he’s with them. But it rarely goes further than the night. He doesn’t make promises. He doesn't stay. He wants love the way dying men want air. But he’s terrified of what he becomes when he has it. Because he’s cursed. Because he dreams of fire and wakes up choking on ash. Because whoever loves a hydra… has to survive the burn. And so far, no one has.