#.muse ( emmrich volkarin )

[timethehobo]

Quick animated thingy cos I was just imagining a romance route greeting.

[queenmuzz]

Emmrich's hair looking disheveled because he just got out of bed: HOT

Emmrich's hair looking disheveled because he's getting busy with Rook: SCORCHING

Emmrich's hair looking disheveled because he's not taking care of himself while Rook's trapped in the Fade:

[heylittleriotact]

“I had jam and toast an hour ago.”

This is just shit that Emmrich says in ambient banters that burrows into my brain and takes on a life of its own. Like that’s such a whatever line, but what if the whole time he was having said jam and toast he was trying not to get caught staring smittenly at Rook across the table as she poked her tongue out the corner of her mouth and frowned a little while drizzling syrup over her pancakes and oh dear he fell just a bit more in love with her and now even jam and toast reminds him of her and what a mess he’s in, get a hold of yourself, Volkarin.

[agent-smiley]

Umm hello?? Why hasn't anyone told me that if Rook don't romance Emmrich and you choose to save Manfred he starts dating Strife?? I needed this info in my life. I think they make a great couple. Looking forward to seeing it in my next playthrough.

For now though I can't stop thinking about the final assault, if you pick Emmrich to go with the Veil Jumpers to break the wards.

Emmrich, having disposed with the Venatori closest to him, starting to unravel the wards after being prompted by Strife.

Strife, defending him, trying to not focus on the beautiful hands moving swiftly and competently as they work, having a new burning motivation for those hands to not get hurt, for the world not to end today.

Emmrich, faltering for a moment as he hears Strife taking the hit to his gut, starting to turn to his beloved to help but stopping himself, knowing that he cannot cease what he's doing, cannot fail his task or Rook and their party is doomed.

The relief they feel as the wards break, Emmrich hurrying to Strife's side and patching him up. They are going to make it, for Rook, for themselves, and for the future they deserve together.

[gaysparkler]

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here

Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Garden" Read on AO3 Spoilers for the choice directly following "A Warden's Best Friend" under the cut!

Rook was pacing. Emmrich could hear them go from room to room withing the Lighthouse – and no doubt in the courtyard, though there was no way he could be certain. There had been an air of disquiet around them, and that, Emmrich could say with certainty, was due to the number of difficult decisions they had been forced to make. As a Watcher, Emmrich knew how sheltering the Grand Necropolis could be. The “choice” boiled down to which classes to take, which role to ascend to, which tasks to do for the day, what to eat for each meal.

Not which city should be saved, and which should burn. Not thrusted with the fate of the world in their hands.

Emmrich wondered if he could even handle it half as well as Rook had, though part of him wondered how much was hidden away from them all. From him, despite his and Rook’s not-so surprising closeness.

Perhaps, then, it was not surprising to see Rook push past the doors to the laboratory, their dark circles remarkably worse than usual. The door closing behind them was heavy and loud in the previous quiet of his reading. They stood in the middle of the laboratory and fidgeted with their glove in silence, mouth twisted in a frown. The sound of Emmrich’s book closing seemed to make Rook remember why they were here.

“Could I help you with anything, Emmrich?” They spoke again before Emmrich could answer. “Please, I just—I need…something normal. Something real.”

In the dim light of the room, Emmrich could see tears pearling in Rook’s eyes. He carefully set his book aside before standing and gently approaching them, as if the wrong move would send them running.

“It’s not much,” he said as he extended a tentative hand towards Rook, “but there are some bones that could use some sorting.”

Rook let go of their glove to grasp Emmrich’s hand, and nodded. A tear slipped. Emmrich watched it slide down their cheek, leaving a trail of kohl in its wake. Before he could think, he raised his other hand to Rook’s face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“I—” he stammered, “please forgive me—”

But Rook only closed their eyes and leaned into his touch, wisps of jet-black hair falling across their features, weightlessly. Emmrich heard them take a slow breath in, and out.

“I can handle some sorting,” they finally said, keeping their eyes closed. “I wouldn’t be worth much as a Watcher if I couldn’t.”

“Now, now. None of that.” He tapped Rook’s cheekbone with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand away from their face so he could fetch the adorned box containing the unidentified bones he had brought with him from the Necropolis. He carefully placed it on his examination table, and gently tipped it over so the bones would spill, without rolling too far, on the marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rook worrying at their bottom lip. The weight of the world, on such delicate shoulders…

“Right,” he said, cheerfully. “We’re all set!”

Manfred, on the second floor, gave an excited hiss. And that was what Rook needed to crack the smallest of smiles. They made their way to the table, on Emmrich’s opposite side, and the moment they started their work, the tension in their face and body disappeared. Something normal, usual. Something that did not generate an impossible amount of doubt, guilt, and hypothetical similes.

“Thank you,” Rook whispered without looking at him, their voice rough with tears.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied as he watched their fingers deftly and carefully handling each individual bone, and already beginning to separate them in neat categories. In that moment, Emmrich wished he could have seen Rook fully in their environment, in the Necropolis. To see them fully immersed in their work, how their necromantic talents manifested outside of combat, know them as they are—pressures of apocalypse removed. But would that truly be the person in front of him now?

Emmrich finally reached forward, his fingers brushing against Rook’s, and joined them in their meticulous sorting.

-

Their work finished and laid out in precise reconstructions (partial, in some cases) on Emmrich’s slab before them, Rook finally looked up at him, and to his heartbreak, fear remained in their eyes. Emmrich laid his hand on one of few cleared areas of the table, his palm up and inviting.

“Rook?” he softly called. Their hand found his.

“Pénthos,” they said almost in a whisper. “My name.”

An old Nevarran word, before the trade tongue was favoured.

Mourning.

Their dark eyes, sunken in purple deep as bruises, said everything he needed to know.

Do not let this be forgotten. I beg you.

“Pénthos,” Emmrich repeated, inclining his head towards them. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

They scoffed. “Everyone’s been telling me that.”

“Then that should provide you with enough evidence to lend it credibility.”

“I know that,” Rook—Pénthos sighed, “I know…that I should sleep. I just—I can’t.”

And just like that, the tension that Emmrich worked (not so) hard to dispel returned to their body. Pénthos began fidgeting with their gloves again and picking at their lip—and it broke his heart. He wished so dearly there was something, anything he could do to help once more and then—

Manfred appeared behind them, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

“Well,” Emmrich said, “may I invite you to stay for tea?”

Pénthos smiled again, the brightest thing he had seen all day (save maybe for Manfred’s jewelled eyes, but he would tell neither—not yet, anyway) and replied, “I would love to.”

“I have heard that resting with good company can almost be as beneficial as a night’s sleep.”

Pénthos chuckled. “Did you, now?”

“I have, of course, my sources!” Emmrich pointed to a specific section of the many bookshelves lining the walls, somewhere on the second floor. Pénthos’ smile turned into a full laugh, and the lines of tension slipped away, even if just for a moment.

[profoundlyfaded]

You can tell it’s about 3am and I can’t sleep because I’m lying here thinking about why offering Emmrich the chance in-game to become a Lichlord is such a fucking, stupid idea.

Luckily, the game has clad all our companions in plot armour prior to the Point of No Return but realistically, Rook would be beyond stupid to support Emmrich in becoming a Lichlord at the point it is presented to us in the game.

Emmrich is easily your most powerful ally; I’m not talking about him in the combat sense, necessarily, but in terms of what he is actually there to do for Rook. Fade expert. Ultimately, he is the one who manages to track down your point of escape from the Fade.

So why, when poised on the edge of an apocalypse, would you support him to do a ritual you know could kill him?

Imagine for a moment that DATV had the decision systems of BG3, in particular, I’m thinking about Gale’s God mechanics here, you missed something and Emmrich died as the result of the ritual. What then, particularly if that thing was ten hours of gameplay ago?

Soft locked in the Fade is the answer to that!

It’s such a high-stakes decision to put on the mortuary table. It’s not at all comparable to what the other character decisions are either. Emmrich’a decision is actual life or death. It’s mental.

Ultimately, I think if he chose to give up Manfred, the Lichlords could have been called upon for aid with Emmrich undergoing the final rites at some point after the events of the game.

And actually, that is possible to simulate in the game leaving that open to him because you just don’t finish his personal quest after deciding not to revive Manfred. So long as everyone else is levelled up, your factions are levelled up then Emmrich can survive the final battle without being having Hero of the Veilguard status (I did this with Taash in my second playthrough because I was so heartbroken by her mothers death, that roar…. Poor baby).

This post is in no way a jumping board for a bit of Emmrich/Rook angst as he nears the end of his life with the option of Lichdom still open to him… nope.

[piipaw]

Considering Nevarra's history with dragon hunting, perhaps it was oddly fitting I took Emmrich and Taash on every dragon fight...

Not that I think Emmrich HAS experience with dragon hunting past attending a hunters ball, it's just a funny thought of Rook being like "let's go!" and Emm just excited to go on the mission until they get there.

Emmrich just staring up at this dragon from their hiding spot like. My father was a butcher, I swam in a creek as a child, I teach in a crypt-- why did you think I'm qualified for this-- until they do take it down and it's like. An instant adrenaline rush.

The sensation of when you eat trail mix and feel connected to your hunting/gathering ancestors x100

[trashwithvariety]

Ahem hello so I wrote a second chapter to my fic if anyone is interested

It's ... spicier

Summary: Rook has a Warden!Nightmare and Emmrich is there to witness. Also Rook has a gift for Emmrich.

[hopefulstarfire]

I respect the people who romance Emmerich like you know what good for yall but I can't be the one to do it. I can't.

Because he looks too much like a certain character to me.

I can't romance Necromancer Alfred alright. And I cannot be the only one that sees the resemblance.

But then this also raises the question that boggles me more and I'm more focused on.

Does that make Manfred Bruce? Or would it be funnier if that made him Jason?

[forallofthedas]

Emmrich Tag drop

💀

Emmrich is a member of the Mourn Watch within Nevarra's Mortalitasi. He is a companion and romance interest in The Veilguard.

Default World State: Chooses to save Manfred, Survives final Fight

IRL FC: TBD

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[faultyconscience]

weird man dad possibly willing to let his 'child' go for the opportunity to become immortal and avoid his crippling fears of dying? ngl.....does check some boxes re: my type of muse

[timethehobo]

251 doodles of Emmy to end the year with! He’s got so much love, I’m so happy for him. 💚

[queenmuzz]

A scene I have in my head. Solas, who romanced the inquisitor, is taking a momentary breather from the battle of Minrathous, alongside Rook and Co. (This would take place where your party members have banter with him)

He sees Rook and Emmrich standing close together, the latter (which is the only party member who he has a respectful conversation with) healing a cut on Rook’s forehead, while offering soft assurances that he will be by their side until the end.

And then Solas hears Emmrich call Rook ‘My heart’, and his thoughts go back to his own vhenan, who is most likely in the ‘safer’ south. It reminds him that these mortals are not to different from him. They have love and loss, and the determination to persevere no matter what.

And he knows his betrayal will kill them both.

And when Rook looks at him, he realizes they KNOW he will betray them. That hurts even more than if they trusted him.

[heylittleriotact]

If you think it’s weird that I won’t shut up about an old man like Emmrich Volkarin you obviously didn’t know me during the height of my Nick Cave obsession when I was 23.

Joke’s on you, I’m into that shit.

💀

[agent-smiley]

I just saw the DATV game statistics for the first time, and while I was not surprised by Emmrich being the least romanced companion (the tumblr/fandom bubble is real), I was very surprised by how even the choice between saving the cities was [M 49/51 T]. I would have thought that saving Treviso would be much more popular.

Maybe it's because of how many who were playing as Shadow Dragons? But all those Wardens blighting Treviso? Huh.

[gaysparkler]

And yet I quickly might arrive / Where my extended soul is fixt

Early romance moment... Read on AO3 Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Definition of Love"

There was a small, shy knock at Pénthos’ door—and had they been doing anything other than staring mindlessly at the fish swimming on the other side of their window, they would have missed it. They didn’t doubt the magical nature of the Fade, but was their room somehow submerged underwater, or was this an illusion that would end and begin again, in a loop?

“Come in,” they replied eventually, not leaving their contemplation, hoping to catch the loop. Or—prove that the room was underwater. Somehow.

“Hello, neighbour,” Emmrich’s voice rang behind them. Pénthos couldn’t help but to turn around at the sound of it, a smile already on their lips.

“Emmrich!”

Pénthos stood from their couch to meet him halfway, though the nervous flutters of early romance kept them from reaching for him, so they left a small distance between them. Face flushed, they turned their attention back to the large window.

“You’re the Fade expert,” they said, bumping into Emmrich’s shoulder as they walked back to the couch. “Do you think we’re actually underwater?”

They sat down next to each other, legs almost touching. Emmrich brushed imaginary dust from his thighs as he settled; Pénthos crossed theirs.

“I would not discredit it entirely—the Fade works in mysterious ways, to be cliché about it. I suppose we’d need to test it, somehow. However,” he chuckled, “I would not recommend it.”

They smiled. “And that’s your professional opinion?”

“As professional as it will get.” Then it was Emmrich’s turn to lean on them playfully. “Which possibility would you prefer?”

Pénthos blinked up at him. “Preference doesn’t seem very scientific.”

“Not everything has to be. The Lighthouse is a marvellously impossible place. Science need not apply. Maybe this room was even shaped by what lies in your heart.”

Emmrich’s smile was warm and kind. Eager. Pénthos ducked their head forward and bit their bottom lip as they felt their heart skip a beat.

“I think…I’d like to believe we’re truly underwater. And…the light reminds me of the green flames of the Necropolis,” Pénthos said quietly. “I hadn’t been back until we met.”

Emmrich leaned ever closer to them. “Do you miss it?”

“You said you envied me for my travels, but…Emmrich, I miss it terribly. There’s something…comforting, simple, about a Watcher’s purpose. When I left the Necropolis, I felt like I arrived in a world that didn’t understand the very being that I was.”

Pénthos would never be able to get a number of things out of their mind from their travels, but what haunted them was the way so many people looked at his facial tattoos and pointed ears, the constant and literal demonization of spirits, the misunderstanding of their gender expression. The world outside the Necropolis felt so…hostile and determined to reject what it did not understand.

Emmrich sought out their hand; Pénthos laced their fingers together.

“I cannot imagine what that must be like,” he said, compassion written across his features. Pénthos gave him a small, defeated smile, and a shrug of their shoulders. After a moment, they looked back to him through the curtain of their hair partially hiding their face, spying the fond look in his eyes. They straightened up and cleared their throat.

“You’ve only seen the window—can I give you a tour? You were kind enough to show me around the lab.”

He softly gasped, “I would love to!”

Their hands still linked, Pénthos walked Emmrich around the room and pointed out their scant personal items strewn here and there: the Ever-Turning Orb, their final project made during their magical training, still perfectly tuned though it had been created over a decade ago, the (probably counterfeit) elven scroll a peddler rewarded them with after saving his caravan—when Emmrich asked about provenance, what was written across the parchment, Pénthos had no answer, which only served to confirm its false nature, but they were attached to it at this point—the mirror Varric had given them what felt like ages ago, and—

Pénthos did not doubt that Emmrich was interested in everything they had been showing him, but the urn of Baron von Markham did get more of a reaction than anything else.

“The leader of the undead rebellion?” he exclaimed. “You have his urn?”

They feigned nonchalance, though they knew how rare it was for remains to ever make it out of Nevarra. Kind of like Watchers, they figured.

“I suppose Myrna thought it would be a good reminder. To not act so…rashly.”

“Oh, I do believe the reaction was disproportionate. What disorganization this uprising would have caused! And to think of the paperwork…”

They couldn’t help but laugh—of course that’s what Emmrich would be worried about; not the destruction of the undead, not the possibility of corpses invading Nevarra, but paperwork. Ever the pragmatic.

“An ungodly amount, to be sure. I hesitate to even imagine,” Pénthos chuckled, before concluding the tour with a sweeping motion of their free arm: “And here we are! You’ve seen it all.”

“You don’t have a bed?”

They indicated at the green couch in front of the meditation altar while Emmrich settled his hands on their waist.

“This is enough,” they replied. Not like they got a lot of sleep lately, anyway.

“Well, it’s not quite—”

“Emmrich.” Pénthos tapped against Emmrich’s chest, right under his skull collar pin. “The only thing I’ve seen in your laboratory is a slab for bodies.”

Emmrich made the face characteristic of every time Pénthos had flirted with him: raised eyebrows, a slight widening of the eyes—though the teasing smile was new since their talk by the balcony.

“You make a compelling argument.”

Pénthos shuffled closer until they were squarely in Emmrich’s arm, a proper embrace. Partly because they relinquished that closeness, and partly to hide the blush creeping on their face due to the praise.

“Thank you for visiting,” they said, still hidden. “I was—getting in my head. No good usually comes from that.”

Emmrich hummed, “I rather like your thoughts, my dear.”

He leaned back slightly to grasp Pénthos’ chin, his gold bangles clinking delicately with his movement, and angled their head up so their eyes would meet. They could feel their cheeks still warm and their heart fluttering, but did not dare fight Emmrich’s gentle direction, not when they saw the smitten smile on his face.

“You’ll come back?” they asked, hopeful.

“As long as you’ll have me,” Emmrich replied, and Pénthos dived right back in the embrace.