#MANFRED MY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[opulentshits]

EmmRook children (personal canons)

So in my DA:TV world state, Emmrich and Rook (Lenore) end up having three children together, a pair of twin boys and a girl.

Edmund Rupert Volkarin

Emile Varric Volkarin

Elannora Lace Volkarin

(At this time Edmund and Emile are five while Elannora is two.)

Edmund and Emile are exact copies of Emmrich mixed in with little bits of Lenore - Dark brown, almost black wavy hair, eyes that are more green than hazel and a very regal nose. Despite looking like Emmrich, they seem to resemble Lenore more in personality. Intelligent, excessively goofy, immensely stubborn (probably a trait from both parents, but Emmrich and Lenore love throwing that at each other), insufferably compassionate and very kind. Emmrich adores his older sons, even when the shenanigans they come up with gets to him. The boys were always strangely independent, even as toddlers, often trying to emulate their parents as much as possible.

Edmund once tried to read one of the books Emmrich wrote and started to cry because he found it too difficult while Emile attempted to cast magic after watching Emmrich do it and failed. (Emmrich and Lenore have to try their best not to laugh when the kids get worked up)

The boys like to join their parents on their home workout sessions, giving support whenever possible.

Elannora on the other hand is physically a mixture of both parents - The only child who inherited Lenore’s auburn hair, a pair of bright blue eyes and you can see hints of Emmrich’s jawline which is softened by Lenore’s more delicate features. The youngest of the Volkarin family is also the most quiet of the three children, she watches and says very little. Both parents were worried as she did not speak her first word till she reached two. She is very timid and adores her father, always climbing into his lap or requesting for uppies whenever she can.

Emmrich finds his little girl very endearing, secretly proud that she inherited her mother’s indomitable will, refusing to cry even when her top heavy toddler body topples over while she runs towards her parents. (Emmrich will say he doesn’t have favourite child but the way his darling daughter constantly reaches out for him says otherwise.)

All three children magically gifted, having a talented necromancer father and reaper mother.

The twin’s magical capabilities manifested when they were five, surprising big brother Manfred when both boys started to hurl small fire balls and lighting bolts at one another after they had a disagreement about sharing their toy blocks.

(Manfred and the house survived the attack, at the cost of the chandelier and Emmrich’s favourite curtains.)

Elannora is the only child who inherits Emmrich’s corpse whispering abilities. This ability manifests first as she starts to hear the wisps around her chatter while she was still a mere babe. Emmrich had to set up wards around her room because the chattering from the wisps often got to her and she would start crying, not knowing how her magic worked. To her parent’s relief, her magic has yet to manifest in the form of fire and lightning.

All three children adore their big brother Manfred, even if others find the wisp very odd.

Being surrounded by heroes, there was never shortage of affection for any of the children. But, if the children would have to choose a favourite adult figure outside their own parents, they love Johanna, affectionately nicknamed ‘Auntie Jojo’ the most.

Johanna went from sprit stuck in a skull to Auntie really quickly. She initially spent her days in silence in Emmrich’s study, the door usually locked to keep his children away from the potentially dangerous artifacts in his office. But one day, Emmrich left his office open when he had to head over to the Necropolis in a hurry. Bored, Emile trodded about with his story book, looking for Manfred and ended up in Emmrich’s office.

Johanna was forced to read to the young boy and brother who joined shortly after. Emmrich returns to find his sons napping in his chair in front of Johanna’s skull, he leaves his study open from there onwards, making sure to ward certain areas of his office that he does not want his children to approach.

Johanna will never admit it, but she definitely cares for the ‘blubbering piles of ruddy flesh’ that is the Volkarin children.

Even if they do eventually take her skull and glue bits of coloured paper to it.

Elannora’s first words were “JoJo”, much to Emmrich’s chagrin. Johanna will forever hold that over his head.

Of both parents, Emmrich is stricter one when it comes to their education and developmental growth but the children (especially the boys) are the most afraid of their mother as Lenore will not tolerate any attitude or rudeness. Both Emmrich and Lenore encourage their children to speak their minds and have discussions.

[birb--birb]

Its 2am and Im out here crying over a SKELETON IM 😭😭😭😭😭

[houndvoice]

I am sure this has been done somewhere before but I drew it just in case

Bonus: Rook immediately before ripping up all the couch cushions in a panic

[irenydraws]

💀 a home in life, a berth in death 💀

[cheriboms]

everybody was very nice on my last post(s) so !!! more cole and manfred be upon you :D

[curiouswisp]

His body could only take so much. But I underestimated him, Rook. What bravery in the heart of the dead! And how he grew. Manfred disobeyed me beautifully! He was his own soul at the end.

[doctorsiren]

Part 1

next ->

[farore05]

Emmrich and Manfred. (Amaretto Sour)

Read the fic here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60715576/chapters/155048638

Art commission by the ✨lovely✨ nomnomroko thank you so very much! 💚🦻

[felrend]

Manfred just being a cutie

[darbylou-art]

manfred

i cant wait to meet this fella oh my GOD

ko-fi

[queenmuzz]

Sleep is a Shallow Death

A one-shot story set after Weisshaupt, with heavy implications of Emmrook. Based of fthis idea I had.

Zea is pretty adept at passing out when she knows she’s safe.  That’s what life in the Necropolis does to you.  She can rival Lucanis when it comes to staying awake and alert when need compels her in the Lower Depths.  And yet, despite the horrors she saw at Weisshaupt, the death, destruction, the Blight and blood, the moment her head hits the pillow, she is dead to the world.  Her body demands that she rest, and she will not deny it.  Even her mind aids her by giving her a slumber untroubled by dreams or nightmares.  She’s safe in the Lighthouse, and must take full advantage of it, for who knows when the next crisis will deny her rest?

So, her body is unprepared for the insistent prodding it feels.  First the fleshy part of her upper arm, which she is completely unaware of, to the side of her torso, which she ignores.  It’s just a loose piece of straw, her mind rationalizes, you are safe here.  There is no danger.  Rest while you can.

It’s when her cheek gets poked that her mind decides that something is wrong and starts alerting her muscles that they must awaken.  She blinks.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.

The first time, she sees two green shapes, a few inches from her face.

The second time, she see’s an off white oval behind them

The third time, she sees it for what it really is.  A skull.

“SPIRITS PRESERVE ME!” she shrieks and topples off the couch, landing in an undignified heap.  She grabs her dagger, ready to brandish it…

Oh…it’s Manfred.

“Oh, hey there!”  She lets out a sigh of relief, “Listen, I know you’re curious, but you can’t go around poking people when they’re sleeping. You could get yourself hurt doing that, especially if you tried it on Taash.” She goes to get back on the couch, to slip  into sleep once more, but is stopped by Manfred, who yanks on her arm.  He’s making a strange sound, somewhere between a hiss and a whine.  There’s something agitated in his manner, and her blood freezes cold.

“Emmrich?  Is he in trouble?”

The skeleton nods and goes to yank her towards the door, but his boney hand clings to air, as Zea is already sprinting out of the room.

Her mind races.  Was he hurt? How had she not noticed? It must have happened during the siege of Weisshaupt.  Afterwards everyone was so pumped up with adrenaline, anger, and frustration that perhaps even Emmrich hadn’t noticed that he was injured.  Still, it’s no excuse, she’s their leader, she ought to have paid attention.

She doesn’t bother to knock,  deciding to burst into the room, ready to assess the situation.  He’s not at his desk.  Nor in his upstairs balcony.  It’s only after she looks downstairs again, does she notice one of the bookshelves out of place, swung open like a door, leading to a room she’s never seen before.  The lighthouse has seen fit to give him a cozy bedroom, it seems.  She still can’t see Emmrich, but she notices that the bed is unmade, something that seems very out of character for the ever fastidious professor. He can’t have gone far.

“Emmrich?”

There’s a pained wheeze from the far side of the bed and she runs towards it, her mind playing out worst case scenarios.  A broken bone, internal bleeding, head injury?

She finds him curled up in a ball, his hands clutching his chest, leaning against the mattress, almost unrecognizable, his tailored nightwear disheveled, his usually combed back hair now limp and damp with sweat, his ever alert eyes dull and unfocused.  She’s never seen him in this state, and it frightens her.  He’s always been so full of confidence and vigor, a smile on his lips and a helping hand always available.

“Emmrich!”  she collapses to her knees, her hand already reaching out to him, trying to assess the situation.  Instead, he makes what seems to be a sobbing gasp, and flinches away from her touch, as if her hands were red hot iron brands.  She doesn’t try again, afraid that she will make things worse, deciding to attempt to figure out what he’s suffering from by sight and questions.

“Emmrich, please tell me what’s wrong.” She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t respond, almost doesn’t seem to know she’s there.  He’s just gasping for air, like he’s drowning, and his eyes just stare straight ahead.  He looks so lost, so terrified, like a small child trapped in a…

“House collapse. Quick deaths”

“That’s when I discovered a great terror of dying”

The words from the Memorial Garden seeped back into her memories and she understands. He’s suffering from a panic attack, no doubt fueled by the near death experience of the previous day.  

“Oh Emmrich…” she sighs, not out of aggravation, nor even out of pity.  It’s more like helplessness, with her unable to break through to him, to assure that he is safe, that death will not touch him here.

There’s a worried hiss coming from the foot of the bed, revealing Manfred looking on with concern.

“Manfred,” she asks, knowing that he cannot give her a detailed answer, but trying anyway, “has this happened before?”

The skeleton nods with a sad rattle.  That means Emmrich has gotten through them, (although the thought of him being in this situation multiple times during his life causes her chest to hurt), maybe he has a way of dealing with them.

“When Emmrich has one of these episodes, what does he or you do to make the…” she doesn’t know how much Manfred understands about panic attacks.  This sort of thing isn’t part of Curiosity’s wheelhouse. “How do you make him feel better?”

Manfred animatedly goes to the side of the bed, pointing at roughly stitched together pillows and blankets, no doubt of his own handiwork, all bundled together around where Emmrich would have been sleeping.  If it wasn’t the seriousness of the Professor's condition, her heart would have swelled with how adorable it was for the spirit to try to comfort the older man.

“Hmmm, didn’t work this time”

Another sad rattle.

“Well, it’s not your fault, he’s had a… pretty rough day.”  That was an understatement.  Between the fall of the impregnable fortress, the death of so many brave wardens, and yes, even the fate of the First Warden himself, it was a wonder anyone had come back mentally whole.  Mila and her father seemed to be the most well adjusted of the bunch, followed by Evka and Antoine, but the other Wardens?  Davrin?  Lucanis?  Even Zea herself, despite how easily she had fallen asleep, knew that the horrors she had seen that day would never be forgotten.  Emmrich had hidden his burden from them all, being the diplomat that had defused a tense situation after, while no doubt trying to keep the terror of what they had just been through at bay.  She should have checked in on him, should have known his preoccupation with her own wellbeing was a front.

Well, there was no changing the past.  She can only hope that her presence would help calm him down.  Although…  She has an idea.

“Manfred, could you make a cup of tea for Emmrich?  Just need one cup.  Do you have that blend you made for us in the Memorial Gardens?”

The emerald eyes light up, and he nods, before scurrying away, happy to help.  She sits down beside Emmrich, close, but not too close to be threatening.  She’d love to give him a reassuring hug, tell him everything will be alright, but she knows that even if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable state, it would cross a boundary she dares not touch.  This man is her friend, nothing more.  No matter how much she wishes otherwise.  So, instead, she does what comes naturally to her, she talks.

“What a day we had,” she starts off in a tone reserved described by Varric as ‘talking about the weather’, (she wonders if she can wake Varric up to assist her once Manfred returns, he’d know what to do… but just the thought of it makes her head hurt, for some reason.  No, she’ll stay here).   “I know when I asked you to help us stop the Gods, I may have neglected a few small details of what it would entail…okay, maybe a LOT of details.”

Emmrich doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to be getting worse.  His forehead is dripping in sweat, but it takes all her willpower to resist the urge to wipe it with her sleeve.  She mustn't touch him, not in this state.  

“I have to thank you, Emmrich.”  she chuckles to herself, trying to exude an aura of joviality that she doesn’t quite feel, “For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually punch someone out who hadn’t attacked me first.  The First Warden, his attitude… his complete buffoonery.  But…” she thinks back to that moment where everything stood in the balance, “You were there, and I KNEW you’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t at least attempt to be diplomatic.  And the craziest thing… It worked!”  Were the present situation not so serious, she would have laughed.  She could sense even Davrin rooting for her to knock him, his own boss, down a peg or two.  But it was Emmrich alone who seemed to be relieved that she hadn’t resorted to violence, and that had made her feel… good.  “The man was being an arse, yes, but I realize now he was terrified out of his mind.  He refused to look Death in the face, tried sticking his head into the ground, tried denying it was there, and by doing so nearly got every single Warden killed.   I can’t fault him for being terrified, it’s a natural, uncontrollable reaction,  but I can’t in good conscience condone his actions.  He should have been leading, if not from the front, helping the evacuation.”  

If Emmrich hears her, he gives no sign, save for rocking back and forth a bit.  His breathing is hard, and if she can’t somehow soon calm him down, he might pass out.   And while that would solve the immediate problem, she feels it wouldn’t help the situation, or his mental state.

There's a cheerful hiss, and Manfred clomps over, arms outstretched as he shows off a single tea cup, steaming hot with a warm brown liquid, set on a hexagonal shaped plate, with two sugar cubes.

“Ah, thank you Manfred!” she smiles, truly thankful for the distraction, and nods as she takes it from him, setting it on the nightstand.  This action earns her a quizzical wheeze from the Spirit, as he clicks his  jaws together in confusion.

“Oh, he’s not going to DRINK the tea” she explains, “it’s the smell of the tea,” she idly wonders if Manfred CAN smell, that’s something she’ll have to inquire about when Emmrich is back to normal and well rested.  If he wishes her to never mention this particular incident again, she won’t.  She has a feeling that this sort of thing is a shame to him. “Hopefully the smell of the tea will remind him of pleasant, peaceful times, and will slowly remind him that he is safe.”

A metaphorical bouquet of floral scents  begins to permeate through the air, and it has its desired effect, both on Emmrich, who ceases his rocking, but keeps himself tense as a wound spring, and herself, who momentarily remembers her first (but sadly not last,) clumsy attempt at flirting with him.  She shakes her head, now is not the time.

Instead, she positions herself so that she is kneeling in front of him, an arms length away.  Close enough to reach out to him, but far enough to give his space.  He is still clutching his chest, his shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing pallid skin that shines with sweat. On closer inspection, his left hand is actually clutching something tightly.  She can’t make out what it is, but for the briefest of moments, she sees the unmistakable brilliance of gold peeking between his white knuckles.  An amulet of some sort?  Something he apparently finds great comfort in. 

“Emmrich, may I…” this is a critical moment, and she must be careful.  “May I touch you?”  

For a brief moment, there’s no response, and she despairs.   She’s failing him.

And then, he stirs, and she sees the glimmer of recognition for a split second.

“Rook?” His voice is ragged, but her heart swells.  It’s like he has only noticed her presence, or finally recognized her after much struggle.

“May I touch you, Emmrich?” she repeats, and he gives out a faint nod.  Carefully, she places her right hand on that exposed skin.  He flinches slightly at her touch, but does not shrink away.   She feels how clammy he is, that he’s liable to catch cold from how much he's been sweating.  She feels his heart beat, faster than a runaway gear in the Necropolis lift.  No wonder he’s terrified, if she felt her heart racing like that, she’d think she was dying too. 

With as much gentleness as she can muster she takes his free hand, and brings it to her own chest, letting him feel her heartbeat thrumming along at a slightly higher than normal rate.  Hopefully, this will ground him, remind him that he’s not alone in this, that death will not claim him, not yet.

“Breathe with me, Emmrich, one breath in… hold it in …3…2…1, let it out.   Breathe in again… hold… 3…2…1, let it out…”

His breaths try to follow instruction, but he’s clearly having difficulty, with the pattern being interrupted with gasps and hiccups.  Worse yet, his eyes are becoming glazed over, as he no doubt is reliving the previous day’s events.  All the times he could have nearly died.  She must find a way to avert those thoughts from spiraling him into darker depths.  Distraction will not work, she must change his perception of them.  

“I saw you at Weishaupt, saw how you fought.  How when that Ogre noticed Mila and ran towards her, YOU were the one that cast the spell to distract it, putting yourself in danger.”  His eyes begin to regain their focus as he recalls that memory. Good, she thinks, I’m getting through to him.  

“I saw you there on the battlements, as the walls crumbled, and Davrin would have fallen with them, had you not extended your hand and caught him, despite the risk of you plummeting down with him.”  His breath begins to slow down, still rapid, but he’s no longer at risk of hyperventilating.

“I saw you Emmrich Volkarin,”  his eyes snap up to lock on hers at the sound of his full name, and he goes completely still.

“You looked Death in the face, and You. Did. Not. Flinch.”

It’s working!  His heartbeat is slowing down, still rapid but losing its intensity.  His chest now rises and sinks with hers, with only a few hiccups along the way.  The worst is over, but the task is not done.  He must be assured of her support, that he does not have to go through this alone, or even just rely on Manfred.  

“Upon my honour as a Cryptguard, Death shall not touch you.” 

His eyes now look completely alert, and hep gasps, perhaps catching an errant breath, or more likely, at what she’s just uttered.  He knows all about Necropolis oaths, and the price for breaking them.

“Rook… you cannot…”

She gives out Oaths sparingly, and usually with not such insurmountable conditions, but in her heart, she knows she means every word.  The world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  HER world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  She smiles at him, shoving that last thought deep down.

“I just did.  I would be a terrible leader if I didn’t protect you all to the best of my abilities. After all,” she pushes her hand on his heart, “I’m merely doing what you did yesterday, protecting people.”  Hopefully he never notices that he’s the only one who received that binding oath.  For the others, it’s more of a ‘handshake’ agreement.  She would do anything to ensure their safety, of course, but Emmrich, she’s especially fond of him.  She can’t let him die, not again, not like she did with-

She winces, a stabbing shoots through her skull  for a brief moment, but quickly goes away as she focuses on the man in front of her.

His heart is now matching hers beat for beat, while he utters the most relieving sound, a chuckle.  A weak one to be sure, but considering what he’s just been through, it’s much better than she would have expected.

“You are…” he’s thinking of a word, pausing for a moment before settling on one, “remarkable.”

That’s not the word he wanted to use, she thinks, idly wondering what he really wanted to say, as she slowly, reluctantly withdraws her hand.  She doesn’t mind that his hand lingers on her chest for a few moments longer, missing its warmth the moment he pulls it back.  There’s a brief moment of tension, where each of them are unable, or unwilling to do anything that will break this moment of peace.  Finally, she takes the plunge.

“You feeling better?”

“Quite so.”  It’s a bit over-confident, and definitely a lie  but the fact he’s able to put on that mask of quiet bravado is a good sign that he’s over most of it.

“We ought to get you back to bed, Manfred’s brought you some extra pillows and blankets to keep you warm and toasty.”  She suggests, as she looks up at the Spirit, who's been watching this all transpire with rapt interest.  She helps him up, ignoring the pain in her ankle that has flared from both the battle and from kneeling.  She’ll tend to it later.  Right now, looking after Emmrich is her priority.  Taking a towel off the nightstand, she mops up the sweat off his forehead,  trying to be as gentle as possible.  Already, his eyelids are half closed, he’s probably exhausted from the panic attack, not to mention the battle. She idly wonders if she can take whatever is in his hand to set it on the nightstand, to prevent him from losing it, but thinks better of it.  It obviously brings him comfort.   Manfred is rearranging the pillows and blankets, tucking him.  It’s frankly cute how much the little guy cares for him.  Emmrich is in good hands, and she decides to make her exit.

“Rest well, Emmrich.” She murmurs as she leaves his side, intending to head back to her quarters.  She should have no problem passing out, now that the danger has passed.

What she does not expect is how quickly his hand shoots out, how strong the grip on her wrist.  Instantly, her eyes snap up to his, worrying  how wide they are.  Not frightened, but… something else?

“Stay…” he rasps, “Please.”  There’s a pleading in his voice, one that  her iron will, despite being so strong that it stood up to the First Warden, crumbles to bone dust with those two words.

She doesn’t have to fake a smile as she nods.  If it will help him sleep, she’ll do anything for him.  She lets him pull her down until she’s sitting beside the bed, in the same place as he once was.  Only then does he release her.  

“I’ll be here however long you need me, Emmrich.  You’re safe.”

He doesn’t respond, although the sound of his breathing, now slow, deep, and even is thanks enough.  It’s not much longer until she’s pretty certain he’s fallen asleep.  She hopes that whatever dreams he has, whatever journey through the Fade he takes, it will be pleasant and peaceful. Still, she made a promise to stay, and just like her oath, she’ll honour it.  She settles down to keep watch as Manfred approaches.

“Thanks for coming to me Manfred,” she smiles at the skeleton. “You really helped out Emmrich there.”  The spirit hisses softly in happiness.

“Listen, if Emmrich ever has any more trouble like this, you come to me, okay?”  If she needs to spend a week, a month, a year here to make sure that Emmrich doesn’t suffer from another attack, she’ll gladly do it.  Besides, this room is quite cozy, and even sitting at the side of the bed is just as comfortable as laying on her couch.  She’s safe, there’s no dang-

She remembers no more of that night.

Emmrich blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he wakes up, rather more refreshed than he expected.  Yet, he feels odd.  His eyes feel gummy, like he had finally recovered from a day spent surrounded by copious amounts of gravedust.  And his pajamas  they feel stiff,  like they’d been overly starched.   His left hand aches, and upon further examination, he realizes that it’s been tightly clutching something the entire night.  Wincing slightly, he opens up to see the skull brooch he’s carried on his person since he was a boy.   Ah… he comes to the sad realization as he surveys his bed, covered with pillows and blankets, all of them created by Manfred.  He must have had another panic attack the previous night.  It was to be expected, he concedes, after the horrors of Weisshaupt.  Still, he thinks, he was quite impressed that at the time, he had not faltered when things looked dire, nor collapsed in terror at the horrors he saw. That they were able to save as many poor souls as they could.  He could have frozen in fear of sight of the Archdemon, but he hadn't.  Facing off against almost certain death he…he…

He did not flinch.

He frowns, wondering why that particular phrase came to his mind. He sighs, breathing in deeply and then freezes.  There’s a scent in the air, familiar and comforting, but out of place.  It reminds him of the memorial garden, of that particular blend of tea he’d found while perusing the Nevarran market.  He’d only had it once, with Rook, which was a pleasant enough memory, but why did he smell it now?

He surveys the room, and finds his answer, although it leads to more questions.  There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand, room temperature based on the lack of steam, and full.  This is exceptionally odd.  He never drinks tea while in bed, due to the risk of spills and scalding.  And definitely he would not let a cup of tea sit there going cold, risking staining the porcelain.  And as helpful as Manfred was, and as much as he enjoyed the task, he only made tea upon Emmrich’s request.  Unless…

The memories come back to him in sickening clarity as he covers face with his hands. It was one thing for him to have one of his attacks, he’d dealt with them his entire life.  It was quite another to have someone witness them.  Manfred, innocent soul that he was, gave no judgement on these episodes, trying his very best to make him comfortable until it passed.  Johanna surprisingly had been rather kind, in her own unique way.  She’d just pretend she saw nothing.  But she’d pat him on his head, calling him a ‘foolish cowardly man’ as she patiently waited until he recovered.  But she’d never used it against him, even when she could have used it as leverage or, even in revenge when he’d stood by as she was expelled from the Watch.  She had even prevented others from discovering his shameful secret, letting people that were looking for him while he was ‘indisposed’ that he was far too busy for whatever ‘trifling’ matter they had.  He never had told her how grateful he was for that small act of kindness.

But Rook?  Not only had she witnessed his weakness, she’d seen him in the worst state he’d been in for years, perhaps decades.  He could only imagine how wretched he looked to her now.  He was supposed to be a learned Fade expert to her, not a boy she needed to coax back into bed after a bad dream.  What must she think of him now?  He knew exactly what she’d think.  That he was pathetic.  Or worse, she’d pity him.  Leave him here at the Lighthouse, safe from the danger of the outside world that she knew he could not handle while she faced the Gods without him.  Somehow, the thought of her, hurt, alone, with him unable to aid her, drove into his chest like a knife, deeper than any fear of death.

Still, he needed to get to her. To explain himself, to assure her that whatever she had seen was not all who he was.  That when she needed him, no matter how dire the situation, he would not…would not…flinch.  

Her words echoed through his skull. She had said them with such conviction, hadn’t she?  Like she truly believed that he’d be willing to stand against the Maker Himself if she asked him to.  Still, the darker part of him argues, she merely said it to calm you down, you deluded old man.  Did you expect her to believe a man with night terrors would be worth anything in a fight?  The only reason she stayed is because you asked -no, BEGGED- her to.  She probably left the moment you fell aslee-

He stops, hearing a noise coming from the side of his bed. It goes quiet, then starts up again, a slow rumble, like the shudder when the Necropolis halls shift.  He looks down…

Rook is there, sitting there, legs sprawled out, head tilted back as she softly snores.  There’s a look of peace and contentment on her face, free of care or worry, a side of her he rarely has seen.  It would be a shame to wake her up, especially after all she’s done for him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, not out of terror, but of what it meant.  She had promised to stay… and she did.  So instead of getting up, rinsing out his gummy eyes and changing out of his sweat dried night clothes, he lays back in bed, willing to tolerate them a bit longer if it allows her to rest a bit longer. Perhaps he can even slip back into slumber again.

He can’t help but notice that someone has carefully covered her with a badly stitched up quilt.

[landfilloftrash]

seeing ghosts everywhere you go?

are they all in your head or are they here causing that chill in your bones?

[mothtato]

I missed my son

[cheriboms]

[spite] has entered the chat >:P

[curiouswisp]

I encountered him as a wisp in the Necropolis years ago. A simple spirit, but so curious! He refused to leave my side.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

Manfred Volkarin - Beloved Son and Apprentice of the Necropolis

[doctorsiren]

Part 2

<- previous | next ->