#katareth naletski

[dendroaspis-viridis]

POV: You're a mummy in the Grand Necropolis and your favorite Mourn Watcher, Rook, stopped by to check on you during her patrol :)

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I read that some Mortalitasi have undead horses and ran with it.

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I'm always a slut for Leyendecker edits.

This was the reference pic, btw.

I can't wait to crank that height slider to 100% when I get my little goblin hands on the character creator. Katareth is gonna love fawning over her short (to her) king and talking about anything and everything with him 💚

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Sooo... Emmrich's hands...

[dendroaspis-viridis]

The Hunt Ball

Katareth is the unfortunate recipient of an invitation to one of the Pentaghast’s famous hunt balls. Thankfully, a certain necromancer will also be in attendance.

Rating: T (Content warnings listed under the read more.)

Read it on AO3

Content warnings for unwanted physical contact (though nothing overtly sexual), depictions of overstimulation, consumption of alcohol, and a very brief blink-and-you-miss-it mention of losing a child.

9:42 Dragon

With the Mortalitasi’s autumn rites concluded and new initiates welcomed into the Mourn Watch, Harvestmere’s arrival was heralded by cold winds and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot.

Pulling her cloak tighter around broad shoulders, Katareth walked alongside Johanna to the little Antivan restaurant they frequented for dinner. It was within walking distance to the Necropolis, and they were always greeted by the delicious scent of spiced meats and a friendly ‘Hullo!’ from the owner as soon as they stepped through the door.

After ordering their food, they sat at their usual table by the window, sipping at warm glasses of cider to chase the chill away.

“What’s been going on in that head of yours, Kitty? I could practically hear you thinking on the way over here.”

“…Can you teach me to dance?” the qunari quickly whispered, glancing around to ensure none of the other customers overheard.

Johanna blinked a few times. Of all the things she expected Katareth to ever ask of her, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

When the older Watcher didn’t respond after a few moments, Katareth hastily explained, “I know you’ve been to several balls over the years and are much better acquainted with the more aristocratic side of Nevarran culture than I am-”

Johanna raised her hand, gently halting the reaper. “First: stop rambling. Second: of course I’ll teach you what I know. Third: why?”

She rubbed at the back of her neck. “So, you know how the Prelate invites all of the higher-ranking Mortalitasi to his family’s hunt ball every winter?” Johanna nodded disdainfully, rolling her eyes. “According to him, this one will be more of a celebration of the Inquisition’s victory, instead. He stopped by my quarters yesterday to tell me my attendance ‘will be expected at the gala to display both the Mortalitasi’s and Pentaghast’s support of the Inquisitor’s divine mission,’” she sneered.

It wasn’t that Katareth disliked Inquisitor Adaar—she'd never even met the poor kid. But she did dislike how some of the same humans who once glanced at her with wary contempt now fawned over her, viewing her as an extension of the Herald’s supposedly sacred origins simply due to the horns that rose from her skull.

Johanna sighed empathetically. “Yeah, that’s politics for ya: ‘You’re not worth my time until there’s something I want from you…’”  She thought for a moment, tapping her chin as she scrutinized the reaper. “…But it shouldn’t be too hard to teach you; you’re a quick study, and it’s honestly not that different from combat footwork. We should have… what, six weeks before the ball? That’ll be plenty of time.”

-----

Six weeks came and went, stripping trees of their foliage and supplanting dormant gardens with heaping piles of snow. During that time, Johanna had resumed her place as Katareth’s mentor. Rather than imparting the qunari with the knowledge and expertise one needed to become a Mourn Watcher, she instead taught the younger woman the elegant art of ballroom dance during lessons that often ran into the wee hours of the morning. Johanna was far more patient with Kat than she’d been during their earlier days, but found that patience chipped thinner and thinner every time her feet were smashed underfoot.

Mercifully, that happened less frequently the more they practiced, and eventually Katareth was deemed a more or less proficient dancer. She was by no means perfect, but Johanna had teasingly assured her that most of the attendees would be too drunk after an hour or two to notice her crushing their toes.

“Just tie the sash around your belt once or twice… a bit tighter-too tight! Ugh, just let me do it, Kat.” The human had been helping her prepare for the ball, ironing out the finer details of the Watch’s formal grey-green dress uniform and tossing quick glances at the door every so often.

“Hm... Okay, give me a twirl,” Johanna requested as she perched herself on the edge of a table.

Katareth did as she was told, feeling very much like Thedas’ largest dress-up doll.

“Great… now do it again, but try to not look constipated this time.”

Muttering a curse under her breath, she once again turned, recalling the many many hours dedicated solely to pirouetting properly. Evidently, they paid off when the fine, crimson silk scarf that had been looped around her waist fluttered with her movements, mimicking a glittering arc of dragon’s blood. The little red ribbon that held her ivory hair in a low bun swayed as she stopped, tickling her nape.

“Oh, very good! Well done, Katareth!” Johanna praised, elated to see her teaching put to practice.

A wide grin spread across the qunari’s face. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be as miserable as she’d feared.

“And I believe with that you’re ready.” The older woman began herding her towards the door, offering advice as they went, “Remember: just grin and bear it. You shouldn’t need to be there for more than a few hours—just long enough for people to see and meet you. But there’s no shame in retreating to a terrace to get some fresh air if things get overwhelming, either.”

Opening the door and gesturing for the qunari to lean down, Johanna made some minor adjustments to the matching red silk cravat tied around her throat, plucking invisible pieces of lint from the fabric before smoothing down her waistcoat. “There should also be a few familiar faces. Most of the Pentaghast Mortalitasi will be there obviously, but I know a few other Watchers are attending for one reason or another…” She leaned to the side, looking past Katareth down the hall.

As if on cue, Emmrich appeared from around a corner at the far end of the corridor. His elegant fingers carded through greying hair as he approached, drawing Katareth’s attention to the rich maroon lacquer that adorned each manicured nail. Like herself, he was clad in their order’s formal attire, decorated with shimmering red silk that seemed to flutter and flow with his every move. In contrast to her more reserved placements, Emmrich chose a bold arrangement that accentuated his shoulders by fastening the sashes to his epaulets, letting the fabric billow behind him like wings.

“Good evening, ladies. Apologies for my tardiness; evidently I didn’t start preparing early enough,” the necromancer admitted.

Johanna’s eyes raked over his form as she appraised his work, “I’ll let it slide this time, Volkarin—but only because you clean up nicely.”

“You look wonderful, Emmrich.” Maybe it wasn’t her most elegant or articulate compliment, but an unexpectedly large portion of Katareth’s mind was now dedicated to taking in every aspect of his appearance.

He was beautiful. Not that he wasn’t attractive before, but it wasn’t something Katareth normally paid attention to, too focused on whatever trek or project or corpse they were working on at the time to pay any mind to how someone presented themselves. Suddenly struck by his visage, however, she scanned his features greedily. The carefully-applied kohl around his eyes made their umber depths seem deeper. More entrancing, somehow. His moustache was neat and tidy, sharpened to points so razor-thin the qunari could slice the pad of her thumb on one if she were ever brave enough to try, and… was that a dusting of rouge upon his cheeks?

“Thank you!” he beamed up at her. “I could say much the same about you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the Watch’s formal attire, but you wear it well. Red suits you.”

Before she could respond, Johanna interjected. “Yes, yes, you both look lovely. But ‘most everyone else has already left, and there’s a fine line between being fashionably late and just late that you two are tight walking.”

“Right you are. Katareth?” The necromancer gestured down the corridor in the opposite direction he came from, beckoning the pair’s departure. The two said their goodbyes to Johanna, including a quiet, “Thank you. For everything,” from the reaper.

Johanna waved her away. “Bah, get out of here! You can thank me by not embarrassing yourself tonight. Now go!”

-----

“I was roped into this by Prelate Pentaghast, but what brings you to the hunt ball, if you don’t mind my asking?” They made a quick detour to the stables, saddling their undead mounts with varying degrees of success. Katareth was an old pro, having worked with horses on and off at her adoptive parents’ ranch for the past two decades, but Emmrich found the near-endless buckles and straps needlessly convoluted and normally left anything involving them to their resident equestrian.

“My parents insist upon it…” he sighed. “Despite Philomena’s recent betrothal and even Ulrich’s wife giving birth to my third nephew, they still maintain that I—as the eldest child—find a suitable spouse, and all but force me to attend every high-profile event I can.” Emmrich twisted a tip of his moustache as he watched her secure the last few pieces of tack. “Some parties are better than others—and I admit the Pentaghasts do know how to celebrate—but they all still have the same insipid gentry who are far more interested in what you have to offer on parchment than what you have to offer as a person.”

“That sounds… exhausting.” Her hands hesitated as she slipped leather through metal. “…I apologize if it isn’t my place, but it’s not right that they place so much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have to tolerate that. After all, it’s not as if you could control being born first.”

Katareth had been spared from the reproductive stresses of succession simply by virtue of her heritage. Being Albrecht and Petra Naletski’s only surviving child (adopted or biological), however, meant that the more practical responsibilities related to the estate were slowly being handed over to her as she matured. That was nothing, though. She’d choose a few annual meetings to review finances over having someone constantly breathing down her neck to breed like some prized horse...

The necromancer’s fidgeting hand stilled as his eyes dropped to the stone floor, ruminating over her words. “I suppose you’re right…,” he went quiet for several seconds before stating in a lighter tone, “But I think we’ve bellyached enough about family for one night. Let’s attempt to make something fun of the evening, shall we?”

She stood, satisfied that everything was properly secured before offering a strong hand to help the other Watcher into his saddle. “I’d like that. After all, the party can’t be that awful, can it?”

-----

As a matter of fact, it could be.

Within minutes of handing their overcoats off to a servant, both Mourn Watchers were swarmed by party-goers vying for their attention, herding the two in opposite directions. The small crowd surrounding Emmrich seemed more or less familiar with him, if the way they pressed themselves against him and wantonly flirted was any indication.

The humans that corralled Katareth, on the other hand, kept at least a foot of distance. At first. With every successive question they asked and every clipped answer she gave, they inched closer and closer until she felt the uncomfortable squeeze of a hand on the muscles of her bicep.

Apparently, she’d been the center of some speculation ever since Albrecht first brought the then thirteen-year-old girl to Nevarra City, but as she’d never attended any of the social balls during her youth, they’d never had the chance to pry. The Watcher briefly explained how he discovered her working in one of Hossberg’s stables during the maladaptive sabbatical that followed the death of his only child while simultaneously trying (and failing) to subtly remove strange hands from her person. ‘Just grin and bear it,’ she reminded herself.

While the qunari’s towering height drew unwanted attention wherever she went, it did have a few advantages. One such boon was her ability to reach over the gathered gentry to pluck beverages from passing waitstaff. It didn’t matter what it was, so long as it was alcoholic. After tossing back a few drinks, she reached the pleasant state of intoxication where the sharp edges of the evening’s vexations were sanded, while still remaining more or less aware of her faculties.

After almost an hour of enduring questions that ranged from vapid to downright obscene, King Markus Pentaghast rose from his throne atop a black marble dais to give a short speech, thanking Andraste for sending the Herald and commending the Inquisition for its valiant efforts to protect Thedas. He also drew attention to a few key members of the Inquisition who were in attendance tonight, praising them before ending his speech with a warbled declaration to enjoy the night’s festivities.

As he returned to his throne, the large orchestra started up again, prompting couples to take to the spacious dance floor. Katareth turned upon hearing someone clear their throat behind her, greeted by the outstretched hand of an older Pentaghast man clad in dazzling armor. The alcohol in her veins muddied his given name, though she was able to recall that he was one of the handful of Pentaghasts competing for the throne that actually stood a chance at claiming it.

“It’s not often such a beautiful, enigmatic Watcher crosses my path, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t invite her to dance. Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

‘I’d sooner flay myself and roll around in natron,’ she bit back. Maybe if Katareth was a young blushing maiden waiting to be swept off her feet, or enjoyed any of the tawdry romance books Myrna tried to get her to read, she’d be swooning at the thought of dancing with one of Nevarra’s elites. Instead, she wanted to recoil from his insincere compliments and melt into the floor.

“I believe the honor would be mine, Lord Pentaghast.” Eugh.

The dancing itself wasn’t bad, per se, but… everything else was. For someone happiest in the dimly-lit repose of the Grand Necropolis, the bright chandeliers, intense cacophony from the orchestra, and searing touch of Lord Pentaghast’s wandering hands had the reaper wanting to crawl out of her own skin. Just grin and bear it.

When the song finally came to a close, Katareth thought that would be the end of it, and she could slink to some far corner to recuperate for the rest of the evening while still technically remaining present.

Before she could even turn to leave, her hands were grabbed by another human. This one was a cocky young man who loved both alcohol and the sound of his own voice, according to his incessant, slurred chattering.

Each arrangement subjected the reaper to a new face and new grievances until a gentle hand tapped her elbow during a lull. A tall, svelte human about Katareth’s age with dark hair and oddly-familiar features grinned up at her.

“Everyone looked like they were having such a wonderful time dancing with you that I had to see what all the fuss was about,” the woman laughed good-naturedly.

Katareth gave a quiet acknowledgement, dutifully twirling and dipping and spinning her partner when the orchestra picked back up again. About two-thirds of the way through the arrangement, the sudden off-key shriek of a violin’s bow across catgut was the final nail in the qunari’s mental coffin. The cacophonous floodgate of stimuli that’d been held back by a handful of drinks gave way, overwhelming the reaper.

The clanking of armor, the boisterous laughter of people who were somehow enjoying themselves, the blinding dazzle of crystals dripping from chandeliers, it was all just too much. Even the woman’s feather-light touch upon the small of Katareth’s back might as well have been a dagger attempting to carve out her kidneys.

By some great miracle she managed to finish out the dance, but knew she had a narrow window of time before the band would pick back up, trapping her in a snare of social conventions that she knew she'd be unable to manage graciously. Wide, yellow eyes darted, scanning for the path of least resistance to somewhere—anywhere that wasn’t here. Johanna’s earlier advice echoed in her mind. A terrace, yes! She just needed to find a nice, quiet terrace to lick her wounds for the rest of the evening before she could make her escape.

“Leaving so soon, Lady Naletski? I was hoping for another,” the noblewoman teased. Wait. Had Katareth given her name? Ah, who gave a shit—she had bigger issues right now. The reaper’s distress must’ve been apparent, as the woman’s tone became tinged with concern. “Are you okay…?”

“Hm? Oh, um, I’m fine! But I might slip away for a m-moment—if that’s alright, of course? Uh, I-I just need some air.” She managed to flounder out. Maker, even the sound of her own voice scraped against her ears.

Unconvinced, but now well-aware of the Watcher’s dire condition, the human pointed toward the closest flight of stairs that would lead her from the worst of the crowds, “That should be your safest option. It was delightful getting to finally meet you, as well! Hopefully we can cross paths again under calmer circumstances soon!”

Katareth wasted no time, tossing the familiar stranger a thankful wave over her shoulder as she squeezed passed throngs of humans.

Skulking off to a blessedly-empty terrace with only a handful of little blackbirds hopping about for company, the brisk Haring air was a balm to her frazzled mind. While she could still hear the orchestra, it was muffled to a pleasant background music that Katareth could tune out, should she so choose.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long she spent leaning on the balustrade recuperating with her head in her hands, but she supposed it didn’t really matter; she’d spent more than enough time mingling with the living for one night. She’d earned this. Lifting her head to look out upon the landscape, she breathed a long sigh of relief that billowed in the cold. Both moons were full and bright, casting Nevarra City in a silver glow that glittered gently off yesterday’s snowfall. It was nice. It was quiet. She could think.

And massage at the sore muscles of her neck. Humans were certainly an interesting bunch. They were resourceful, superstitious, and individualistic, among other things. But the one detail about them that consistently caused the qunari the most grief was just how short they were. Emmrich was one of the taller humans she spoke to, and she still found herself rubbing cramps from her neck on occasion…

“Sorry to interrupt your quiet time, but I couldn’t resist introducing myself,” a rough, gravelly voice came from her left. Katareth glanced, looking down—then further down still—to see a dwarf with red hair and mischievous eyes. You’ve got to be shitting me.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and according to a certain Seeker, ‘conniving little shit’,” he snickered, holding his hand up to shake. The man had a warm smile, though the confidence that dripped from his words left her wary. Even though he was one of the heroes being celebrated tonight, she’d endured her fair share of self-important men for the evening. When Katareth said nothing and made no move to take his hand, he let it fall to his side, carrying the conversation for her. “The strong, silent type, then? I can work with that.”

“It’s been a long night… Uh, Katareth Naletski. Mourn Watcher.” He didn’t seem offended when she didn’t meet his eyes, instead following the little blackbirds as they flapped about.

“Katareth… that sounds like a very Qunari name to hear in the middle of Nevarra…”

She manifested a handful of Veilfire before dismissing it with a clenched fist. It required fewer words than explaining the nuances between Qunari, Vashoth, and Tal-Vashoth, and most people understood just enough of Qunari culture to know mages weren’t viewed fondly by those who still followed the Qun.

“Ah. Yep, that’ll do it. So, does that make you one of the death mages I’ve heard so much about?”

“Not really,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m a bit shit at magic, truth be told. There’s another Watcher here named Emmrich Volkarin, if you’d like to talk to a real Nevarran death caller.” She felt bad trying to make the dwarf Emmrich’s problem, but the necromancer was far better equipped to speak on anything arcane. Really, he was better equipped to speak on anything.

“And miss out on the pleasure of your company? Never,” the dwarf teased. “Besides, you seem like someone worth knowing.”

She hummed inquisitively.

Varric ended up being surprisingly easy to talk to, easing her into the conversation with questions she could answer with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It almost made her suspicious, as multiple times during their quid pro quo, Katareth found herself divulging information she hadn’t spoken on in decades. It certainly helped that he made her quietly chuckle a few times, regaling her with stories of some of his earlier misadventures.

After a while, she saw his head turn to one of the doors leading back into the castle proper from the corner of her eye. “And that’s probably my cue to get back to the party. It was great talking to you, and I’d love to stay in touch if you’d be willing, Rook?"

“‘Rook’?”

“Yeah. Those birds you’ve been watching the entire time? They’re called ‘rooks.’” He began counting on his fingers, “They’re sociable, dark-feathered, chatty, and tend to stay in the same place their entire lives—it’s perfect, if you ask me!”

Ah. She understood, now. “If you say so.”

Varric gave her one last farewell, passing Emmrich on his way back inside.

Taking the dwarf’s place on the balustrade, Emmrich handed her a steaming mug of mulled wine. “Philomena suggested I come check on you,” he explained. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything…?”

“No, nothing like that! Uh, he just thought I was interesting—but nothing more. Wait, your sister?” She sipped, reveling in the warmth that spread through her.

He nodded, nursing his own mug, “Yes, said you were an excellent dancer, too. I’ll have to pass her praise along to Johanna; I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.”

“I thought she looked familiar… Please give Philomena both my thanks and apologies, I was a bit… um, unpolished toward the end of our dance and she handled it very graciously.” Katareth took a longer drink, hoping he would assume the pink on her cheeks was from the cold.

The necromancer waved her shame away, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, you certainly handled tonight better than I handled my first hunt ball, after all. And you caught the eye of one Varric Tethras.” He smirked, “…You know who’ll be kicking herself for not attending tonight?”

“Myrna!” They laughed in unison. She was probably his biggest fan, collecting signed copies of every book she could get her hands on. She was even their main source of information regarding the Inquisition due to her scouring every report from Ferelden for even a passing mention of her favorite author.

“On top of that, he even bequeathed you with one of his famous nicknames. What was it, ‘Rook’?”

“Apparently,” she grumbled.

“I could see it… After all, they’re immensely intelligent, committed, and often misunderstood by small-minded fools.” The necromancer took a long drink of wine, surveying the skyline.

“…I think I prefer your explanation.”

He smiled softly, huffing a quiet laugh.

The two Watchers stood there for several long minutes, silently basking in each other’s company as they inched closer and closer, blaming their increasing proximity on the biting cold. When their pinkies brushed against one another on the balustrade, neither retreated, and Katareth was pleasantly surprised to feel that his touch didn’t cause her to shy away. It wasn’t too much. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t enough.

Emmrich must have somehow sensed her desire, as he pulled his gaze from the cityscape to look up at the qunari. “Katareth… would you care to dance with me?” he almost whispered.

“I’d love to.” she couldn’t hide her lopsided smile. “Shall I lead?”

“If you’d prefer. I’ve no objections either way.”

The reaper nodded, moving from the railing to allow the necromancer to step even closer into her space. He placed one hand in hers, resting the other on the small of her back. Listening to the orchestra, Katareth found her place in the music, guiding her partner through the motions.

Dancing with him was overwhelming, but not in a way that had her recoiling. Instead, it was a cacophony of sensations in all the best possible ways: exhilarating and soothing and intimate and perfect. The rest of the world seemed to fall away around them, leaving the Mourn Watchers in a silvery spotlight.

Emmrich’s eyes traced along the multitude of scars and creases on her face, though she felt no judgement or derision under his umber stare. As he followed a jagged pearly scar down to where it sliced her lips, Katareth watched as a pink tongue subconsciously darted out to wet his own.

 She allowed her eyes to wander across his features, in turn. Though Johanna teased Emmrich endlessly when she first noticed the silver hairs at his temples, Katareth thought they made him even more handsome. More distinguished. Like the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that deepened whenever he smiled, or the singular paper-thin scar at his hairline.

As the music built to its conclusion, she guided the human into a few quick spins, watching in awe as the sashes at his shoulders enveloped them both in a scarlet cocoon. The grey hand at Emmrich’s waist moved to cradle the space between his shoulder blades when the orchestra hit their crescendo, concluding with a dip that left the qunari’s face hovering above his own.

The final echoes of the music faded, though neither Watcher made any attempt to right themselves, practically sharing their breaths. Maker, she wanted to close the distance… Surely, he’d taste of the rich, spiced wine they shared. But I really shouldn’t… The wine was stronger than she’d anticipated, and while she was more than capable of holding her liquor, she couldn’t definitively say the same for the man in her arms.

Besides, doing something drastic and impulsive like that would most certainly qualify as ‘embarrassing herself’ in Johanna’s bespectacled eyes.

Katareth pulled the necromancer into a standing position, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder when Emmrich swayed slightly. Whether it was from vertigo or the alcohol in his veins or an unfortunate mix of the two, she wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, Emmrich quickly found his balance, looking between the moon’s position in the sky and the ongoing gala inside before breathlessly declaring: “And with that, I daresay we’ve stayed long enough to satisfy social norms if you’d like to return home?”

“Yes, please.” Home. She supposed it really was home, wasn’t it?

They made their way back inside, skirting around the worst of the crowds before donning their overcoats and collecting their mounts. The entire time, Katareth’s mind was fogged with a warm fuzziness that she knew wasn’t brought on by the wine.

-----

“So, what did you think of your first hunt ball?” The Mourn Watchers were a little over halfway back, riding through a gentle fall of fluffy snowflakes.

“Maker-willing, it’ll be my last.” In her opinion, there were only two positives to the evening, and her favorite was currently riding alongside her.

“Can’t say I blame you…” After a few thoughtful moments, Emmrich looked at her and quietly hinted, “You know, I think this might be my last, as well…?”

“Oh?”

His brows furrowed with determination as he took a deep breath. “I… I hate them. They’re miserable, torrid affairs, and I’m quite certain this is the first one in years where I didn’t despise every moment of it.” The necromancer’s cheeks flushed. “I just… I’m so exhausted trying to appease my parents at the cost of my own happiness—if that makes sense? I mean, Andraste’s breath, I’m closing in on forty-five and still seeking their approval!”

She nodded sympathetically. While the qunari never had to grapple with disappointing her biological parents, she had given up on trying to make Petra proud of her years ago, determining the resentful woman was a lost cause. “Trust me, I understand that sentiment all-too-well. And you have my full support, should you need it.”

He expressed his gratitude, and the pair rode in companionable silence for the remainder of the trek, returning to the Grand Necropolis just as the snowfall began to pick up.

-----

Emmrich spoke again as they entered the residential area, “While I can’t say the same for the rest of the evening, I enjoyed our time together.”

They stopped outside Katareth’s door. “Likewise. Um, we should go out more.” The reaper heard her own words and realized how they could be misconstrued with a wince. “I mean—I go to that little Antivan place not far from here with Johanna on Tuesdays and get coffee with Myrna on Saturdays. We could do something like that—if you’re interested, of course?”

He either didn’t notice her misstep, or was too polite to draw attention to it. “I’d love to. Did you-,” he paused, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn. “My apologies, ah, did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“Not yet, but we can decide on that in the morning.” It was rather late, and the qunari found her eyelids growing heavier by the minute.

“I'll hold you to it,” Emmrich smirked. “Oh, and one last request: could you wait until I’m at breakfast before telling Myrna about your meeting with Tethras?” he sheepishly asked.

“Of course. We’ll have to wait for Johanna, anyway, as I’m almost certain she’d throttle me if I didn’t,” Katareth snorted.

“Good point. Well, I’ll see you in the morning…” he turned to walk away, stopping briefly with a playful glint in his eyes. “…Rook.”

When she gave him a withering look, the necromancer defended himself, “You have to admit it’s better than ‘Kitty Kat.’”

“Go to bed, Emmrich,” the reaper groaned at his invocation of Johanna’s obnoxious nickname, unwilling to concede. “Your lack of sleep is making you delirious.”

He laughed, and it was the most wonderful music she’d heard all night. “Maybe you’re right… Regardless, sweet dreams, Katareth.”

“Sweet dreams, Emmrich.”

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Proclivities

Bad behavior begets punishment, as Katareth is all too happy to discover.

Rating: E (+18) This is just more smut, y'all.

Read it on AO3

Tags: explicit sexual content, impact play, praise kink, table sex, aftercare, PWP, porn without plot, smut

9:53 Dragon

Emmrich pressed a hand to Katareth’s sternum, hastily undoing the buttons of her shirt as he guided his lover backwards towards the black marble slab that sat in the corner of his study.

When the backs of her thighs bumped against the edge, he coyly confirmed, “You remember our conversation regarding our respective proclivities all those months ago, correct?” His eyes remained focused on undoing her buttons and pins.

The qunari could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks. It was something Emmrich had insisted upon if they were going to continue being intimate with one another. Everything from favorite kinks to hard ‘no’s’ was covered, with both Mourn Watchers squirreling the information away in the back of their minds for later.

“I do,” Katareth’s hands landed on his narrow waist, hooking her thumbs through belt loops.

“Just making sure…” The professor’s smile was innocent, though the seductive trail of his fingers as they pulled the scarlet bow from around her neck was anything but. “And do you also remember how terrible you were during our meeting the other day?”

“I do…”

All of the members of the Veilguard convened at least once a week to regroup and review their findings over dinner. Their most recent meeting didn’t cover anything particularly groundbreaking, giving the qunari a bit of freedom to cause some mischief.

While Emmrich attempted to explain some of the issues that were arising within the Necropolis due to the thinning of the Veil, the reaper sat to his right, with her large hand resting firmly on the inside of his thigh under the table. He’d been a professor for decades, so he was more than capable of lecturing while ignoring distractions, though the tantalizing graze of her fingertips so close to his groin certainly put the necromancer’s poker face to the test.

“And one last question: do you remember our safeword?” Emmrich pushed her waistcoat and shirt off her shoulders.

“Mesentery.”

A wicked smile spread across his face. “Good girl,” he husked.

Katareth sighed shakily as additional warmth simultaneously flooded her face and pooled low in her gut at his praise.

“Now, I’ve thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment for such abhorrent behavior, though I believe I may have my answer…” Long fingers plucked at the laces of her brassiere before shucking the article as well, unceremoniously tossing it on the same heap as the rest of her clothes to leave her breasts bare before him. He held her gaze for several long moments, drawing out her anticipation before reaching up to quickly pinch at a pierced nipple and command, “Finish stripping—but leave your smallclothes, turn around, and bend over with your hands flat on the table.”

She stared down at him a bit bewilderedly. Emmrich very rarely needed to assert himself, so to get this rare glimpse of his stern side in a more erotic context was, ah, stimulating to say the least.

“As much as I love staring at your beautiful face, I do believe I’ve given you an order, my heart.”

With a start, Katareth hastily peeled off the specified layers, kicking aside the offending garments with her foot. Turning away from Emmrich to face the marble, she was dismayed to feel just how cold the surface was on her palms as she leaned down. Surely, he won’t expect me to lay directly on it…

“All the way…” he taunted. Damn it.

When she hesitated, the necromancer placed an encouraging hand on her back that trailed up and down a few times before firmly pressing between her shoulder blades. “Down you go…”

She hissed a quiet, “Vashedan…” at the rather abrupt introduction of her warm breasts to the freezing marble.

Emmrich hummed patronizingly. “Oh, are we feeling a bit of discomfort? Good. This is supposed to be a punishment, after all.”

The reaper felt exposed. Well, she was exposed, quite literally bent over a table in naught but her underwear—and the fact that Emmrich hadn’t removed a stitch from his own person only emphasized the disparity. But she also felt safe. She knew he wouldn't push her past what she couldn't handle, and while he may play the role of an imposing dom every so often during more intimate pursuits, it was entirely for their mutual gratification.

Standing directly behind his partner, Emmrich quietly groaned as he pressed the front of his trousers against her covered core. “Now, the rules are simple: until your punishment is concluded, keep your palms flat, your chest against the table, and count each strike aloud. We'll start with twenty after I've finished warming up, however failure to comply will result in further discipline. Before we begin, do you have any objections, love?”

“No, I’m ready.”

“Perfect.”

The qunari felt as his hands came to rest on either side of her hips, one bare, the other covered in a soft lambskin glove. The gloved hand left her skin for but a moment, returning to deliver a light smack to the center of a cheek.

It was quickly followed by another, then another, very gradually growing in intensity. They never landed in the same place, smacking and stroking everywhere from the backs of her thighs to the top of her glutes. Throughout his preparations for the main event, Katareth didn’t bother attempting to hide her pleasure, as she knew the necromancer fed off her breathy little mewls and moans.

He paused to stroke and massage at her flesh, reveling in the heat that radiated from it. Satisfied with their current progress, Emmrich hooked his fingers through the band of her smallclothes, tugging them down to bare the pewtery expanse of her backside now tinted a dusky rose under his ministrations.

He also revealed the ivory curls between her thighs that glistened with arousal. “My, my, what a mess you've made… Such a shame you won’t be getting any relief until your punishment is over, isn’t it?” he taunted, inspiring a frustrated rumble from the reaper. “Luckily for you, I’m ready for you to start counting.”

A frisson of anticipation lanced through her. Pointed ears caught the whoosh of air as his hand approached, landing with a sharp smack against the center of a plush cheek that echoed off the walls of his study. Katareth had forgotten just how firmly his long, bony hands could strike. Fuck me. This’ll be rough.

“One.” She huffed. The gentle caress of a hand across her already reddening skin eased the worst of the sting.

A second impact landed in the same spot on the opposite cheek.

“Two.” She could do this. He wouldn’t set her up for failure.

The next two swats were gentler, landing closer to her hips.

“Three.” “Four.”

She winced when the fifth landed on the tender spot where one of her thighs curved into the swell of her ass.

“Five…” she hissed.

“Six.” Katareth correctly anticipated him mirroring his smack on the other side. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Emmrich massaged the pads of his fingers into her sore flesh. “You’re taking your punishment so well, my dear...”

The seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth landed one after the other, though she dutifully counted each one. With each rhythmic smack, she slipped deeper and deeper into that warm, fuzzy space where she knew she could let go, safe in Emmrich’s capable hands.

“Eleven…” she moaned in response to a stinging clap on her outer thigh. “Twelve.” The multitude of rings that adorned his fingers only heightened the experience, contrasting perfectly with the slight give of his hands as they bit at her skin.

“Very good, Katareth… Are you ready for more?” the necromancer purred.

She nodded eagerly, pressing her forehead to the cool marble in anticipation.

“Tsk,” his disapproval was evidenced by a swift strike to her ass atop a blooming handprint. “That’s for forgetting I require verbal responses.”

It wasn’t entirely that she’d forgotten, but it was just so hard keeping track of everything… Counting, following his instructions, not rutting against the marble despite how badly she wanted too—it was a lot for her sex-addled mind to manage. “Sorry, thirteen! Yes, I’m ready,” she panted.

Through her lustful haze, she heard the gentle clinking of his belt unbuckling behind her. Moments later, the cool, polished strip of leather trailed lazily across her skin. Starting at the nape of her neck, it grazed along her spine, tickled at her ribs, and danced upon the tender red skin of her backside.

“You’re already over halfway done—barring any more unfortunate missteps, of course,” he teased. Emmrich leaned over, getting as close to her ears as he could to whisper, “But that won’t be an issue, now will it. After all, you’re my smart, brave reaper, aren’t you?”

The adoration that laced his words further melted her brain, though the qunari wasn’t sure if this was a rhetorical question or not. It was best to not take any chances now that the real spanking was getting underway, however. “I am…”

“Good girl,” he cooed.

Katareth jolted against the marble when leather cracked against the backs of her thighs, but she still managed to keep her chest and palms flat, exhaling a shaky, “F-fourteen…” into the table.

“Fiftee—SIXTEEN!” The reaper panted through clenched teeth following the next two rapid strikes. She could feel little beads of perspiration forming at her hairline.

“Seventeen,” Katareth huffed. He struck the same tender spot at the top of her thigh he’d stung before. “Eighteen.” Blunt nails scratched at the polished marble.

Nineteen and twenty were slightly easier to manage, snapping around the plush meat of her thighs. And if she hadn’t forgotten to respond verbally, that would’ve been the end of it. Instead, she-

“F-F-FUCK!” Katareth bellowed when one of Emmrich’s hands slapped her exposed core and his fingertips whipped upon her swollen clit with pinpoint precision. She took a few moments to collect herself before whimpering, “Twenty-one…” Her breath puffed across the stone.

The necromancer felt his reaper flinch under his hands when they made contact with her abused flesh, massaging soothing circles and being mindful of the crisscrossing cherry-colored streaks left behind by his belt. “Shhhh…” he mollified, “You did so, so well, my heart. You took your punishment so perfectly, and I couldn’t be more proud of you, dear.” When one of his hands lightly scratched along the dip of her spine, she arched up into his touch like a cat, releasing a low, rumbling groan that could easily be mistaken for a purr.

“How’re you feeling, love? Would you like to continue or take a break?” He let the smug, domineering persona drop for the moment. Though his erection strained against the inside of his trousers, Emmrich would let her decide how they proceeded. Besides, if he really felt the need to take care of himself and she was uninterested in participating, she was more than welcome to watch, as they’d occasionally take turns doing.

Evidently, she had no intentions of slowing down when her hips sought his, pressing her dripping core onto the outline of his clothed erection and moaning wistfully when she made contact. “I want to keep going,” she exhaled, uncaring of just how shamelessly she begged for his cock. “Please please please don’t stop now, Emm! I need to keep going—I need to feel you inside me…”

“Well, how could I say ‘no’ to such a convincing display?” If she wanted to continue—and have Emmrich maintain his metaphorical hold on the reins for their coupling—he certainly wouldn’t leave her waiting for long. A quick unbuttoning here and unlacing there, and his erection sprang forth, already dripping precum and eager to be enveloped by her warmth. He dipped two fingers into her dewy folds. Not enough to satiate, but enough to collect a bit of her essence along the pads of his fingers and give his cock a few wet pumps before lining himself up.

With a long, satisfied groan, Emmrich slowly pressed between her delicate folds, inch by delicious inch. His eyes were trained on the salacious sight of his length as it sank into her slick heat. Katareth rose to support herself on her outstretched arms and release a high, keening whine, taking the far edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip at the sheer relief of finally being filled by her lover. When he fully sheathed himself and made contact with her bruised backside, her whine morphed into an aroused growl at the dull lance of pain.

After several long moments of luxuriating in the absolute bliss of their union, Emmrich slowly retreated. Not entirely, but enough to stroke the head of his cock against her plush walls before doubling back to prod at her most sensitive spots. He took things languidly, easing in and out as he saw fit and using the qunari’s wanton moans as a guide.

Looking across the toned planes of Katareth’s back, the necromancer watched as her muscles bunched and relaxed under her skin with the ebb and flow of his hips. Maker, he’d never tire of seeing her in the throes of passion. And to know he was the cause of the euphoric wails bouncing off the walls of his study? Intoxicating. Every time he took on a more dominant role during their lovemaking, Emmrich was struck by just how much trust she placed in him. Katareth rarely relinquished control to anyone else—for good reason, given her past—but time and time again she bent to his will, followed his requests, moaned his name to the heavens.

“You’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?” His fingers dug into the crease of her hips, pulling her back onto his girth with each building thrust. “So willing to submit to me… To take your punishment so perfectly… To take me so perfectly…”

The reaper preened under him before breathlessly begging, “Could- could you spank me again? Not too hard, just… enough?”

He swatted at a plum bruise and was rewarded with both a low purr of pleasure and the absolutely sinful squeeze of her velvet walls around his member. Emmrich punctuated each sheathing with a light smack, resting his forehead in the dip of her spine. “You feel absolutely sublime…” he groaned. His breath tickled as it brushed along the small of her back, cooling her sweat-slicked skin.

“Just like that…” The dull jolts of pain from both his hands and hips smacking against her abused flesh were divine, and the way it juxtaposed so perfectly with the exquisite drag of his cock along her sensitive walls had her melting. She could feel the initial constrictions of her orgasm coiling low in her gut. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop, kadan…” she gasped.

Emmrich was well beyond words by this point, grunting and groaning into her back as he sought their simultaneous rapture. He knew he was dangerously close, biting at the inside of his cheek in a last-ditch effort to stave off his own orgasm for the moment. His gloved hand maintained its ironclad hold on her hip while the other snaked around her body to dip below the platinum thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

He found her swollen clit slick and dripping, caressing it with the pads of his fingers to drive her closer to completion. She saw stars at his touch and couldn’t contain the long, gravelly moan that poured from her lips, ending in his name spoken in that tell-tale fevered pitch that heralded her orgasm. “Emmrich—I’m so close!”

“Good, that’s it—let it happen, let go for me,” he panted.

“Fuck… fuck… Eh—Emmrich!” Katareth wailed, reaching behind herself with one hand to grab at her lover’s waist as she reached her zenith, squeezing her eyes shut as her decadent, dripping cunt constricted around Emmrich’s throbbing cock in waves.

Following a few quick, hard thrusts deep into her tight heat, his own rapturous cry caught in his throat, coming out as a whispered, “Katareth…” instead when he emptied himself, painting her walls with his hot seed in several thick spurts. One of his hands reached to grab her hand clawing at his waist while the other continued stroking along her clitoris, drawing out their mutual ecstasy for as long as he could.

When the final pulses of their orgasms subsided, neither moved for several long moments, catching their breath. Eventually, Emmrich withdrew entirely with a quiet huff. He watched with a sort of boorish, masculine pride as their combined essences dripped from her core and down a bruised thigh. Acting almost on instinct, he asked Katareth to turn around and sit atop the table. She complied, tired but curious to see what the necromancer had up his sleeve.

He kneeled to catch the drip as it reached the back of her knee, dragging his tongue up and along the whitish trail it left in its wake, concluding with his nose buried in the coarse curls around her sex. His tongue dipped between her sensitive folds, gently tasting and teasing but being mindful to not cross the thin line into overstimulation. A low rumble of appreciation came from above. The necromancer looked up into the twin eclipses that were Katareth’s eyes to wordlessly express his adoration.

Kat brought a hand to card through his soft hair while she watched her clit disappear between his lips, whispering a sigh. Two of his fingers slowly worked their way inside, gently petting at her velvety walls while he licked and sucked at her dusky pearl. Slowly, gradually, she was guided to her second orgasm of the evening with a moaning shudder under his expert ministrations.

Emmrich rose with the intention of stepping away to gather a few supplies for aftercare, but was halted by the qunari’s hand on his bicep, pulling him into a kiss that was really more of a lazy dance of their tongues.

He pulled away with a smile, “I’ll be right back, love.” Collecting the required materials, he returned a minute or two later to Katareth laying on her back atop the slab, head propped up by her arms to watch his movements. Emmrich set two cups of elfroot tea on the edge of the table before tenderly wiping the evidence of there lovemaking from both Watchers. Satisfied, he doffed his own clothing and crawled onto the black slab to feel the reaper’s warm skin against his own.

“So: yea or nay?” the necromancer surveyed, tangling his legs with hers.

“Yea. To everything.” She took a sip of the offered tea and elaborated, “I’ll always love hearing you call me yours… Leaving your rings on this time was a nice touch, by the way.”

Emmrich hummed in affirmation. “And I wasn’t too rough, was I? I know it’s not the first time we’ve used the belt, but still…” He twirled a lock of platinum hair around his fingers.

“Not at all,” she shook her head for emphasis. “Besides, there are few things more erotic than feeling the evidence of a scene days later…” Cupping the side of his face, she pulled him in for another languid kiss, licking into his mouth. She turned the question on him, “Anything I could do differently?” she whispered against his lips.

"No, just keep being you." Emmrich placed a quick peck on her cheek before resting his head on her sternum, listening to the deep, steady thump-thump of her heartbeat.

With a contented sigh, Katareth closed her eyes as she trailed the pads of her fingers along his back, outlining each bone and muscle group she could feel.

"I think I can do that."

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Anointed

Tending to the recently deceased is typically a quiet, contemplative affair for the Mourn Watch. The only exception this time is what—or rather who—each Watcher is contemplating.

Rating: T (Chapter 2 is E)

Read it on AO3

Tags: slice of life, mild angst, mutual pining, embalming a corpse, yes the two prev tags are happening simultaneously

9:47 Dragon

It’d been a particularly brutal winter, which meant the Mourn Watch was kept busier than usual retrieving and preserving the dead. Two days ago, they’d received a missive regarding the passing of Duke Forsythia in the night, requesting their retrieval of his body the morning following his wake.

It was simple enough to hitch the undead horses, and once the magically-cooled transport casket was loaded into the back of the hearse, they were off.

Emmrich and Katareth rode to the Forsythia’s sprawling estate just outside the city in companionable silence, expressions schooled into the placid, assured masks Nevarrans had come to expect of the Mortalitasi. Not that it mattered, as the early hour of their departure meant that most of the city’s residents were either still in bed or just beginning their mornings. The lower halves of both Watchers’ faces were also wrapped in thick charcoal scarves to protect themselves from the freezing winds, further concealing their features.

Katareth held the reins, guiding the trio of horses along empty streets to the edge of town and through an opulent wrought iron gate. The large double doors of the manor opened as they approached, revealing the small, stoic matriarch of House Forsythia.

When they stepped from the carriage and reached the top of the staircase, she ushered them into the grand entrance hall. “I must extend my most sincere gratitude to you both, riding so far in the cold—on Solstice Eve, no less!” Her light, expressive voice belied not only her advanced years, but also the unfortunate reason for their presence in the first place.

“It’s no trouble at all, Duchess Forsythia,” Emmrich assured her. “The Mourn Watch is honored to serve.”

The nonagenarian waved a knobby hand at the necromancer, “You’ve been our advisor for decades, Emmrich, and it feels as though I’ve insisted you call me Amalia for just as long.” When he gave a sheepish chuckle, her attention turned to the qunari, milky-grey eyes narrowed to slits. Katareth didn’t miss how they briefly flicked to her horns. “And you… I’ve seen you before, but I’ve not met you… You’re the Naletski’s girl, aren’t you?”

While ‘girl’ might’ve been a bit of a stretch—considering she was about forty years old and over seven feet tall at this point—she nevertheless gave a respectful bow as she answered, “Yes, Katareth Naletski.” When the noblewoman didn’t react, she tacked on an uncertain, “Um, feel free to use my given name, if you would prefer.”

Apparently, that was the correct response, as the woman’s thin lips spread into a warm smile. “Likewise, Katareth.” She turned to lead the Watchers deeper into the castle, but paused to return her steely eyes up to the reaper. “Felix would be happy to know you were one of the Watchers to collect him,” Amalia began matter-of-factly. “Always said the best defense against a Qunari was an even bigger Tal-Vashoth…” From the corner of her eye, Kat caught Emmrich’s shoulders rise and face pinch as he cringed behind the duchess’ back.

Well, she really didn’t know how to respond to that—there was a reason she preferred mummifying bodies to collecting them, after all. Following a brief internal debate, she murmured a tentative, “…Thank you…?” as she assumed the woman’s reminiscing was intended as a compliment?

She was two for two on proper responses, apparently, as the noblewoman nodded sagely before returning her focus to guide the Mortalitasi to the great hall, reviewing her husband’s final requests as they trailed closely behind her.

His body was collected with little fanfare, as the duke was a relatively modest man despite the Forsythia’s overflowing coffers. At most, a Chantry priest said a few elegies for his soul’s safe arrival to the Maker’s side while they loaded the casket into the hearse, and servants gingerly placed two white granite urns in a padded storage chest before sliding it in next to the casket.

Katareth stepped around to the front of the carriage to give Duchess Forsythia the opportunity to speak privately with Emmrich while she checked on the horses’ tacking. She tried to avoid eavesdropping, but couldn’t help overhearing the duchess’ voice rise above the gentle breeze and rattle of bare branches overhead. The reaper didn’t catch what exactly the noblewoman said, but the exasperated, grousing tone of Amalia’s voice had her eyebrows raising at Gustav. The horse only tilted his bony head in response.

The duchess hobbled over to the qunari after a time, ignoring Gustav’s warning snort and taking something from a servant’s waiting hands before thrusting it up to her face. It was a velvet satchel the color of daffodils whose contents clinked and jingled as they shifted.

“You will accept this without question. Am I understood?” her stern tone gave little room for dissent.

“Yes, ma’am.” Katareth took the bag. Andraste’s flaming ass, how many gulders did she stuff in here?

“Smart girl. Thought I’d have to threaten another Mourn Watcher…” she grumbled to herself. Amalia looked to the hearse and sighed, taking one of Katareth’s comparatively massive hands in hers. “I gave Emmrich the same unsolicited advice, so now it’s your turn: cherish your family while you’ve got them. Eventually there’ll come a time where they’re not around anymore… and while you’ll still have memories, it’ll… it’ll never be the same...” She squeezed Katareth’s hand for emphasis before releasing it. “Now you take care of my Felix for me, alright?”

“Of course, Amalia.”

The matriarch smiled sadly at the hearse one last time before slowly shuffling her way back inside.

Both Watchers reclaimed their seats at the front of the hearse, and with a quick flick of her wrists, the horses began trotting back to the Grand Necropolis.

-----

Nevarra City’s streets were still barren during their return, giving the reaper’s mind a bit if space to dwell on the duchess’ parting words. Family was something of an interesting subject for Katareth…

The nurturing Tamassran who raised her for the first twelve years of her life was the same woman who screamed for Arvaarads when the little magic she possessed first manifested. And while Albrecht Naletski’s mind may have been clouded by grief when he first took in the young Tal-Vashoth, he at least made some attempts at bonding with the traumatized child despite the initial language barrier. Petra, however, wanted nothing to do with the girl, and never bothered hiding her loathing for ‘Franziska’—as Albrecht had originally named the qunari—or her husband’s bleeding heart.

Katareth was painfully aware of the fact that her presence strained the Naletski’s already tenuous marriage, and was almost relieved when she accidentally revealed her magic during a particularly brutal verbal lashing by Petra. The girl didn’t think it was impolite to ask why she needed so many different forks for one meal, but apparently her accent was wrong and her grammar was wrong and how dare she speak when she wasn’t spoken to first. Albrecht attempted to soothe his wife to no avail, and it rapidly devolved into another screaming match about their lost children while the then sixteen-year-old silently fumed, quite literally burning a hole through the tablecloth. And then the table itself.

When she really thought about it, Katareth only had a handful of people she would consider family in any sense of the word, and they each wore the same greyish-purple robes she did.

“…Rook?” she felt a light hand on her bicep.

The nickname Varric had bequeathed to her during the Pentaghast’s hunt ball had caught like wildfire through the Grand Necropolis. It had annoyed her at first—she’d originally changed her name to Katareth in an attempt to exert some small modicum of agency in her life, after all—but grew to appreciate it when she saw the warm fondness everyone spoke it with.

“…Rook?” the hand gently squeezed.

She blinked a few times before looking to Emmrich, momentarily dazzled by how pretty his eyes were in the morning sun. It highlighted all the brilliant shades of honey, umber, and sage that were normally hidden away under the Veilfire that dimly illuminated the Grand Necropolis.

“Are you alright? You looked like you were a million miles away.”

“I got a bit lost in thought—sorry, what were you saying?” The streets were still blessedly empty.

“No apologies necessary. I was just mentioning that Ulrich will be visiting with my nephews in the spring for the Wintersend tournaments, and I’m fairly certain they’re more excited to see you again than they are me,” his quiet laughter was muffled somewhat by his scarf.

“Eh, they’re still at that age where they’re obsessed with combat and dragons—two things I happen to enjoy talking about. I’m sure they’ll learn to appreciate your knowledge and wisdom as they mature.”

“Oh, I’m not offended in the slightest, I’m just appreciative they have such a patient teacher.” His eyes narrowed slightly, “…And ‘wisdom,’ was it? Is that your way of telling me I’m old?” he teased.

“No,” the qunari snorted, “it’s my way of saying you’re right most of the time. Besides, you’re only what, forty-eight? If you think that’s old, does that mean you also think Johanna’s old? You've only got two years on her,” she countered.

Emmrich hastily backpedaled, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Though the lower half of his face was concealed, she knew he was trying not to smile.

She leaned into his space to conspiratorially whisper, “I’m telling Johanna you think she’s old.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” He was right of course, but he was too fun to tease.

Katareth leaned back to nonchalantly survey the streets. “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t… Who’s to say?” She pretended to mull over her options for several long moments before deciding, “But I couldn’t risk her mauling my favorite necromancer, now, could I?”

“My knight in shining armor,” Emmrich placed his palm over his heart. “What would I do without you?”

“Get lost in the Necropolis?”

As Katareth finished her statement, they trotted down the thoroughfare that led into the Necropolis proper. The hollow sound of clip-clopping hooves echoed in the dozens of recesses that lined the walls, each featuring an urn that was as unique as the remains held within. The reaper gently tugged on the reins, easing the horses to a standstill under the drooping, pale willows that had gone dormant for the season.

Stepping from the hearse, Emmrich collected a gurney while Katareth began unhitching the horses. Normally, there would be acolytes to assist with the more mundane tasks, but the week surrounding the Winter Solstice typically left the Grand Necropolis running on little more than a skeleton crew—quite literally—as most of the living residents left to spend time with family.

Katareth always volunteered to stay over the holiday, as it gave her the perfect excuse to avoid her adoptive parents. Emmrich, on the other hand, had something of a sixth sense when it came to death. He had anticipated the duke’s passing over the holiday, and wanted to ensure he was available to assist his patrons in whatever way they required. He wouldn’t deny Katareth’s presence made the prospect of staying over the solstice all the more enticing, however.

“If you’d like to bring the duke to one of the embalming suites, I’ll get the horses put away and meet you there when I’m finished?” Katareth delegated.

The necromancer nodded, “Manfred and I should have everything set up by the time you arrive.”

-----

The rich, heady scent of incense grew stronger as she approached the door leading into the suite.

“Wonderful, Manfred! This looks perfect.” Katareth heard the necromancer praise as she stepped in. The skeleton gave a happy little chitter in response, turning from the older Watcher to organize the plethora of tools they might need into neat rows.

Emmrich was already dressed in his usual embalming garb, carefully inspecting a bubbling alembic and turning down the flame to watch as the mixture cooled. Turning to her right, Katareth spotted her own protective gown and apron neatly folded on a nearby counter. Donning her gear, she listened as Emmrich eagerly chattered away about his latest project.

“I’ve added more bitumen to the embalming solution in the hopes that it’ll allow for greater mobility while still maintaining its preservative properties—should Cumberland’s Watchers choose to house a spirit in Felix’s body, of course. To counteract bitumen’s, er, unpleasant smell, I’ve also included a higher concentration of lavender and myrrh.” Though her gaze was occupied with fastening the various buckles and ties, she could hear the smile in his voice. “It seems to be quite effective if my trial runs are to be believed, and I’m hopeful it will maintain its efficacy in something a bit larger...”

The qunari tightened the straps on her elbow-length gloves, giving them a testing clench to ensure everything fit comfortably. Satisfied, she looked up from her fiddling to see the necromancer staring intently at her hands.

He cleared his throat before continuing, meeting her eyes, “This’ll need some time to cool,” he gestured to the glassware, “but I’m ready to get started whenever you are.”

“Then let’s begin.” Katareth stepped around to stand on the opposite side of the raised table from her fellow Watcher. The white silk shroud was folded down and removed to reveal the cool, pallid body of Duke Felix Forsythia. He looked remarkable for having died two days ago. The only hints to his lifelessness came in the form of several deep purple bruises along the backs of his head and limbs, but those could be fixed later. For now, Emmrich raised a silver ewer embossed with dancing skeletons and spirits, tipping it to gently pour fragrant wine across the corpse. They meticulously scrubbed at rubbery skin, manipulating limbs and joints to prepare for the multitude of steps ahead.

For the second time that day, Katareth found her mind wandering as her hands gently worked wine into the duke’s skin, this time to mull over the little family she’d carved out here.

Myrna was by far her closest friend and confidant, first meeting at Cumberland’s circle and reuniting when Katareth was eventually transferred to the Grand Necropolis. The human’s calm geniality made her easy to get along with, and she had perfected the subtle art of gently teasing the reaper from the Necropolis to enjoy the city’s multitude of art galleries and museums together. Or on days where neither woman felt like venturing into the land of the living, they read quietly on opposite sides of the same sofa, passing a bottle of sweet wine back and forth to take swigs.

The best way she could describe her relationship with Johanna, on the other hand, was by likening it to that of a supportively antagonistic older sister. For all her snarking and sniping at Katareth’s expense, the older Watcher truly had a soft spot for her former protégé, teasing and teaching the reaper in equal measure. During Kat’s initial reticent year in the Necropolis, Johanna had gone so far as to learn a bit of Qunlat, concerned her student’s mutism was related to a language barrier. While her assumption was incorrect, it was an example of her subtle benevolence, complimented perfectly by the fact that they soon began bonding over some of the more colorful Qunari phrases.

Then there was Emmrich… Her feelings for the necromancer had certainly morphed over the many years she’d know him. Starting with a neutral indifference to her best friend’s mentor, they slowly, quietly, blossomed into something more over the years as she came to observe and appreciate the bottomless well of compassion that seemed to pour from him. His very presence lit up a room, and he had the most enchanting ability to make even the most mundane things seem extraordinary. Whether it was earnestly detailing the long journey the tea leaves he steeped had to go on in order to arrive at the Necropolis’ doors, or pointing out the soft glitter of a sandstone tableau in a long-abandoned crypt, he never failed to make the world around him seem that much more intriguing.

However, it wasn’t as though she would ever act on her deepest feelings, so she rarely bothered dwelling on them to this extent. She was more than happy to guard and guide him–and occasionally a small gaggle of students—during treks into the Necropolis’ bowels, or provide a fresh set of eyes to a project. No, his friendship was worth far too much for her to risk it over some unnamed emotions, regardless of the way her heart skipped at each and every compliment he showered her in…

Blinking a few times to refocus on the body laid out before her, Katareth found herself satisfied with the corpse’s cleanliness. Taking hold of a matching ewer, the qunari tilted her gloved hand, chasing wine with crisp water over the duke’s body and down the drain. Once empty, she placed the pitcher in the skeleton’s waiting hands with a grateful, “Thank you, Manfred,” and was handed a scalpel in return. Holding it toward a Veilfire sconce to appraise the edge, Katareth was pleased to find it razor-sharp.

-----

As Katareth inspected the knife, Emmrich retrieved an awl from Manfred’s meticulously organized tray. This was by far his least favorite method for excerebration—he found craniectomies to be both more efficient and dignified—but this had been a part of Duke Forsythia’s end-of-life plans for years, and the necromancer would never dream of going against one’s final wishes.

He made some minor adjustments to the placement of the chisel’s tip before striking the opposite end with a mallet. And with a wet crunch, he pierced through the ethmoid. The reaper jumped a bit with the sound.

“Apologies,” he offered after piercing through the bone on the opposite side.

“None needed, just a bit quiet in here is all.”

He hummed in agreement. “It is, isn’t it… I’m normally lecturing to acolytes as we work, aren’t I?”

Katareth nodded with the corners of her lips quirked upward, “Not that I mind either way.”

“I’d be more than happy to give you your own private lecture, if you’d like?” He was only half joking.

Katareth’s smirk stretched to a lopsided smile, “You don’t have to, but I appreciate the offer.”

He traded his awl for a thin hooked rod, inserting it into one of the new access points to begin disarticulating Duke Forsythia’s brain. While he worked, Emmrich had a front row seat to observe the reaper as she drew the scalpel up the duke’s jugular, slowly oozing dark, semi-coagulated blood. With a few precise incantations, she guided it to the drain at the bottom of the table. What she couldn’t dispel with simple blood magic, she began kneading from his limbs.

Emmrich had long been afraid of death—something he found a bit embarrassing, given as he’d dedicated his life to helping others understand and even accept it, after all—but it would be an almost welcome experience if he knew she would be the one tending to his body when his soul finally passed into the Fade. How wonderful it must be, he thought, to have her strong hands massaging at his muscles, working blackened blood from stagnant veins. To be the sole focus of her attention as she reverently tended to his corpse, taking him apart piece by piece only to put him back together for the last time... He would almost be envious of the duke, were the necromancer’s own hands not currently busied scraping grey matter from the inside of his skull.

It was a shame how so few outside the Necropolis were capable of—or willing—to look beyond her gilded horns and towering frame to see the tenderhearted woman underneath, and how fewer still were granted the privilege of her companionship. Emmrich found her a wonderfully charming bundle of juxtapositions, and couldn’t help but appreciate every single one. Like how the calloused hands that lovingly cared for her pet deathwatch beetles were the same ones that effortlessly hefted greatswords. Or the way her menacing snarl could turn blood to ice in the veins of would-be grave robbers, but was so warm and encouraging when providing Manfred with gentle but persistent guidance as he developed a new skill. Or the one Emmrich found most endearing: the way her usually reserved countenance was replaced with an almost fervent giddiness anytime she was given the opportunity to speak about one of her favorite topics at length. Katareth was a marvel, and he considered himself among Thedas’ luckiest men that the reaper chose him above all others to spend her time with.

As he fondly catalogued his fellow Watcher's every feature, their respective tasks passed effortlessly. And soon, both the duke’s cranium and veins were left void of any potential rot.

-----

“Will you do the honors, or shall I?” Katareth held a scalpel out to the necromancer, this one longer than the last.

“Why don’t you? I believe I did it last time.”

She nodded, lowering the blade to slice from sternum to navel in a single, fluid stroke. As she meticulously worked through the various layers of fascia, fat, and muscle to expose the abdominal cavity, Manfred assisted Emmrich in preparing the series of baths they’d need for the duke’s organs. The first rippled with clear water directly from the Minater, the second was filled with more fragrant wine, and the last held a thicker amber liquid that smelled of rich spices and resin.

Years of experience had the trio working seamlessly. With each organ excised, she would weigh and appraise it, informing Manfred on what to scrawl into the autopsy records before handing it off to Emmrich. Once it had made its way through the multiple washes, the necromancer would set it on a cool tray, nestled in with the rest of the organs in preparation for the final step.

“Do you have a favorite organ, Katareth?” Emmrich suddenly asked while cradling a liver that dripped with wine.

The larger Watcher hummed as she considered the question, slicing through the duke’s diaphragm. “I guess the lungs?” It felt like a bit of a cop-out, as those were the organs she was currently seeking out, but she did like breathing. “They’re easy to take for granted if you’ve never had to deal with them not working properly...” She briefly thought back to the time they encountered a possessed dragon, where one of its putrid claws pierced between her ribs and into her right lung. Myrna and Emmrich managed to patch her back together, but the resulting pneumonia left her bedridden for nearly a fortnight, hacking and wheezing the entire time.

Apparently Emmrich was thinking of the same incident. “Maker, with what a nightmare that whole affair was, I’m impressed we all made it back in one piece—er, more or less.” He turned to place Duke Forsythia’s liver on the tray next to his stomach, “Though I must say you were a wonderful patient.” While the idea of anyone seeing her in such a frail state had the qunari’s hackles raised, she curiously found herself looking forward to his little check-ins. His constant reassurance and concern with her comfort made the ordered bedrest almost tolerable, and the fact that the necromancer’s freezing hands were a balm to her fevered skin certainly didn’t hurt, either.

“Being in the capable hands of the Watch’s best healers made things a bit easier.” She thought she saw the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. “But what about you? Do you have a favorite organ?”

“Skin,” he stated without hesitation. “It does so much! Everything from thermoregulation to tactile stimulation, and it plays such a vital role in how we communicate with one another. We even use the skin of other species every single day for an even wider variety of applications.” Emmrich gestured to the thick gloves and aprons both Watchers wore. There it was again: his delightful ability to give her a newfound appreciation for something as humdrum as skin.

“Is it too late to change my answer?” the qunari joked. During his explanation, she snipped through the veins and arteries that tethered each lung to the heart.

“Never, though lungs are an excellent choice, as well!” the necromancer assured. “Very practical.”

Each lung was removed individually and placed upon the scale. “The right lung is seven hundred and twenty-five grams, with no blemishes visible. It’s greyish pink in color, which is appropriate given the delay in mummification,” she declared, listening for the soft scratch of charcoal on parchment before she handed it off to the older Watcher.

Though the wisp was incapable of facial expressions, the staccato movements of his arm spoke of an intense focus. “Manfred?” Katareth waited for him to look up from his task before continuing gently, “Your penmanship’s been improving by leaps and bounds,” she praised, smiling, “but remember to relax your shoulders and take it slow. We’re in no rush, I promise.” The reaper knew he wasn’t subjected to physical exhaustion like a living being, but Manfred could experience something akin to mental fatigue if he focused on something too intensely for too long.

He nodded and gave a little hissing grunt of acknowledgement before rolling his shoulders. “The left lung is six hundred and eighty grams. Like the right, it shows no blemishes and is of the same dull pink color.” The drag of charcoal was much more consistent this time around. “Very good!”

While Emmrich took the lungs through the series of baths, the qunari gave the duke’s body one final rinse with wine, paying special attention to the now mostly-hollow abdominal and thoracic cavities. Once everything was patted down to soak up excess fluid, the necromancer eagerly poured the lukewarm contents of the alembic into a bowl for easier access. Almost instantly, the intoxicating scents of cinnamon, cedar, and myrrh filled the embalming suite.

The Watchers got to work lathering Duke Forsythia’s body with the viscous, amber-colored embalming fluid, paying special attention to thoroughly rub it in around his joints to aid in mobility once fully mummified.

Emmrich stepped back to examine the corpse. “I believe that about does it… Are we ready with the natron, Manfred?” The skeleton hissed cheerfully, gesturing to a sizeable pile of linen pouches filled with salt he’d put together. “Oh, excellent work.”

-----

Two hours later, the duke was cocooned in a sizeable mound of natron. The Watchers would need to refresh it daily, but following a quick patrol of the upper levels of the Necropolis, their work for the day was done.

“Do you have any plans for the evening?” Emmrich asked as they returned to the residential wing.

“I really need to sharpen my greatsword, to be honest…” its edge was still razor-sharp, but she noticed the barest hint of drag when slicing through training dummies a few days ago that she’d been desperate to rectify ever since.

“Well if you’d like, please feel free to join me in my quarters while you hone it.” The Necromancer’s warm eyes held a little glimmer of anticipation. “I’d like to finish my notes regarding my newest embalming fluid attempt, and would welcome your company. Manfred is a delight, of course, but he’s retired for the evening and I find I work better with someone to bounce ideas off of.”

“I’d like that. Give me half an hour to get out of my full plate and I’ll be there?”

“I’ll see you then, Katareth.”

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Wyvern Venom

Oops, completely forgor (💀) to post this to tumblr.

Summary: Emmrich is severely wounded during what was supposed to be a relatively uneventful outing, leading to some unexpected confessions. Katareth struggles to work through her feelings, and Lace doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.

Rating: M (nothing explicit, rating is just due to descriptions of injuries)

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Study Break

Emmrich has a bad habit of overworking, something Katareth is all too eager to help him break.

Rating: E (18+) (this is just smut, y'all)

AO3

It was technically a rest day for the Mourn Watchers, though they both insisted on waking up with everyone else to get an early start on their work. After seeing the others off, the couple migrated to Katareth’s study, finding it to be the quietest space in the Lighthouse. Manfred was organizing manuscripts in Emmrich’s den, and Gustav, Kat’s skeletal horse, was occupied exploring the grounds surrounding their base with Assan, leaving her cozy office empty.

The coffee table was covered in all manner of annotated books, hastily-scrawled notes, and a pot of tea that had long since cooled. They’d been collaborating on a paper regarding the Veil’s current instability and its effects on summoned spirits for several hours, evidenced by the cramp the qunari was massaging out of her neck.

Leaning back in her armchair, she looked over to her long-time coworker turned lover with a fond smirk. Their relationship was a relatively recent thing, only coming about a few months ago following a rather embarrassing incident for all involved (and a particularly meddlesome dwarf), but she found them to be some of the most fulfilling months of her life. They continued to maintain the friendship they’d cultivated for the past two decades, though now there was an added romantic zeal that Katareth found exhilarating.

She’d engaged in strictly physical encounters with people here and there to relieve stress, though her overwhelmingly timid nature had her ushering people out the door as soon as each of their needs had been met. Emmrich was her first real relationship since she’d joined the Mortalitasi, and the first one she’d ever had where she didn’t feel like the object of someone’s fetish. He’d been ceaselessly patient with her thus far as she navigated the novel waters of domesticity including communicating feelings, non-sexual intimacy, and the most foreign concept of all: sharing the same bed with someone after sex.

She watched as he sighed, rubbing his eyes as he collected his teacup.

Stifling a yawn, Kat suggested, “Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been at this since seven.” A glance to the clock on the wall informed her that it was well past midday – at least back in Thedas. Time seemed to pass differently in the Fade. “I think we’ve earned it?”

Taking a sip and grimacing at the unpleasant chill, he smoothed down his moustache as he returned the cup to its saucer, eyes scouring the table for a specific scrap of parchment. “Mmm, I don’t know… We’ve barely touched on the spirits’ increasingly volatile behaviors.”

As much as Kat loved him, the necromancer had a self-destructive habit of eschewing basic care like food or rest when he was focused on a project, something she’d been gently trying to help him break over the years.

A devilish thought popped into Katareth’s head. Oh. That might work…

Mulling it over as her partner found the paper he’d been searching for and read it for what must’ve been the fifteenth time that morning, she rose to put her idea into action.

“Then let me convince you.” Kat stepped around the table, stopping at Emmrich’s knees before crawling onto his lap, straddling his thighs, and perching her hands on the back of the loveseat behind him, effectively trapping the human under her. With his view of their workspace now obstructed, Emmrich had no choice but to look up, meeting her salacious gaze.

He gave a surprised little “Oh!” when she seated herself, followed by a lower “Oh…” when he understood the explicit nature of her suggestion. A conspiratorial grin deepened the creases that framed his face.

Setting the parchment aside, he ran his hands along her thighs before untucking her shirt. Katareth jolted slightly when she felt cold fingers graze along the small of her back, circling the little dimples that sat just under her belt. The reaper crowded him further by leaning down to pepper his face with kisses. His cheeks, his jawline, his temples, everywhere except where Emmrich wanted her most.

Giving her hips a gentle grind, Kat purred into his ear when she felt his muscles tense under her and carefully-manicured nails dug into her waist, “Now, consider us in much the same position on my bed. No distractions, no clothes. Just the two of us... what do you think?”

He took a steadying breath before responding, “Truth be told, I’m finding thinking quite difficult right now.” The measured grind of her hips over his stirring member combined with the delicate licks and kisses she was placing just under his ear left his mind with little room to consider her proposal. “Though I concede that a break would be nice…”

Pulling back to meet him with a smolder, she teased, “I’m glad you could see reason.”

Kat dismounted, extending a hand to help pull him up into an embrace. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and high-collared shirt, shucking both and draping them across the back of the loveseat. He mirrored her actions, slipping the buttons of her tailored blouse through eyelets and unlacing her brassiere. The qunari took Emmrich’s hands in hers, pulling the smaller Watcher towards the doorframe of her bedroom with a wink.

The pair made it just inside the doorway when Katareth pinned the necromancer to the wall, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It was an absolute cacophony of sensations for Emmrich. The cool brick scratching against his back was in direct opposition to his lover’s plush, warm breasts pressing against his chest. And while they exchanged panted breaths, Katareth lifted him, guiding his legs to wrap around her waist. From his new vantage point, Emmrich could only watch as Kat leaned in to ravage the elegant column of his neck.

Taking his Adam’s apple between her teeth, sharp canines scraped across the delicate skin, leaving red streaks in their wake. Katareth reveled in the throaty moan of her name she felt rumble up through his neck, littering it with more nips and sucks.

Delicate hands came up behind her to fumble with the leather strip holding her hair in a loose bun. Untying it and discarding the leather at her feet, Emmrich ran his fingers through her snowy hair before taking a handful in a gentle fist, guiding her lips back up to his.

With their mouths occupied, Kat tightened her grip on his thighs to carry him over to her bed, setting the elder Watcher down gently on evergreen sheets before removing the rest of her clothes, prompting him to do the same.

Now fully nude, she ushered Emmrich towards the center of her bed. “Scoot back, I’ll need some room.”

When he complied, Katareth began her ascent, crawling up him like a predator on the prowl, and he was her all too willing prey. She stopped at his thighs, folding her legs under her so her pelvis rested just past his knees, gold eyes on his still semi-flaccid penis.

“S-Sorry, I- ah!” His attempted apology was cut off when she wrapped her warm hands around his cock. Kat held the pliant shaft in one hand, and eased his foreskin back with the other to thumb a shimmery bead of precum across his flushed head.

“Do I look like I mind?” She husked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. She slowly flicked her wrist, smirking at the full body shudder that worked through him as she swallowed down his whine.

One of his hands grasped onto a grey thigh, the other cupping the back of Katareth’s head to hold her there, playing with the wispy hairs at her nape. His eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the sensation of her calloused hands gliding up and down, twisting along his cock.

The qunari adjusted her grip on his stiffening member, interlacing her fingers to rub the battle-roughened pads of her thumbs along the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under his glans.

She worked him in earnest, enthralled in feeling the way his length slowly began to swell under her thorough touch.

“Please, Katareth... I want to feel you around me,” Emmrich panted, resting his forehead against hers.

“I am around you,” She reminded him coquettishly, tightening her grip on his stiff erection to emphasize her point.

“Maker,” he gasped. “You know what I mean... Your – your core – your heat…  don't make me be crass, please,” the necromancer begged, finally opening his eyes to look directly at her. He could be so sensual and articulate when he was taking the lead, but was endearingly bashful when it came to engaging in any kind of dirty talk.

Showing her lover mercy, she gave his length one last stroke before maneuvering herself to straddle his narrow pelvis. Pressing his shoulders, Kat followed his descent to drape herself over him, supporting the majority of her weight on a muscular forearm above his head.

“Ready?” Her free hand took hold of his cock, lining it up with her entrance.

“Yes, please…” Long fingers dug into the soft meat of the reaper's hips, encouraging her down.

Needing no further coaxing, Katareth eased herself down, sighing as his erection parted her glistening folds. Their collective groans of pleasure echoed off the stone walls of her bedroom when she fully sheathed him in her warmth, wiggling her hips slightly to better accommodate him.

“Kadan...” she whispered, cradling his face in a large hand and brushing her thumb along his cheek. When she gently rocked, Kat dipped her tongue between Emmrich's lips, savoring the faint flavor of tea.

Their lovemaking began tenderly, both Mourn Watchers leisurely tasting and touching each other, accented by the delicious squeeze of the qunari's velvety heat around her human lover on a lazy upstroke.

She hummed into his mouth when cool fingers ghosted along a pointed ear, running soft fingertips along the outer edge where it was most sensitive. When the necromancer pinched at the sharp tip, he wasn’t prepared for the surprised clenching of her core, meeting her hum with a gasp.

His other hand trailed up from her hips, feeling her pace pick up ever so slightly when he scratched across the well-muscled planes of her back from waist to nape. He repeated the motion several times, matching the timing of his reaper's thrusts and steadily working her up into a fervor under his ministrations.

Katareth pressed her body into him more firmly, the added stimulation of her pierced nipples dragging against his angular body drawing occasional sighs. She loved the intimacy of it all. Loved knowing the panted exhalations of her name were for her ears only, and that the thrusts and jerks Emmrich was fucking up into her greedy core were for their mutual ecstasy.

The hand that'd been stroking his face gripped at the bedsheets as her thrusts grew more vigorous, caging Emmrich under the larger Watcher. The soft tap tap tap of the headboard against the wall was easily drowned out by the pair’s blissful cries and the wet slap of Kat's hips coming down to meet Emmrich's as she picked up momentum.

Adjusting the angle of her hips, Kat wailed a stuttered ‘E-Emmrich!’ into the side of his neck when his erection stroked against a sweet spot. She lost herself to the exquisite drag of his cock within her sensitive core, her hot breaths puffing across his shoulder. The intensity of her thrusts increased still, and some barely-functioning corner of Emmrich's mind noted that the taps from before had grown to solid thumps with each snap of her hips.

“Em, I'm close – fuck, I’m so close…” she panted into his ear. Her rocking lost its rhythm, devolving into stuttered lurches as she neared her peak. The fevered pitch of her shuddered breaths rose as she nosed along his pulse point.

“So – hah – so am I,” Emmrich struggled to for coherent words, basking in the absolutely decadent grind of her plush walls around his throbbing cock. “Just a little more – just like that!” He encouraged, grabbing at her hips to help push and pull her along himself.

Grinding her clit down into his pubic bone was the last little bit of stimulation she needed, tumbling over the edge with a long, keening whine as she bit down into the taut muscle that connected his neck to shoulder, rocking her hips to draw out her euphoria.

Emmrich soon followed with a deep, guttural groan, unable to hold back when the powerful muscles of her core squeeze and pulse around his cock. Feeling the rush of his orgasm paint her inner walls, Katareth released his neck, capturing his lips in a frantic, sloppy kiss, riding him through the aftershocks.

As their ecstasy abated, Katareth’s hips eventually stilled. Catching her breath, she rolled off the human with a groan, stretching her legs and easing them to a more neutral position before turning to Emmrich. She ran her blunt nails through the grey, wiry hairs of his chest, watching it rise and fall as he, too, came down from his high.

“If this is your new method for getting me to take more breaks, I may have to start pulling all-nighters again…” he huffed breathlessly, meeting her exhausted gaze.

“Don’t you dare, Emmrich Volkarin.” She pressed a chaste kiss into his cheek, taunting, “I might not be so nice, next time…”

He brought a hand to his neck, gently prodding at the tender bruises she’d bit and sucked into him, giving her a playfully incredulous look. “Heart, if this was ‘nice’, I’m not entirely sure I’d survive ‘mean’ with my throat intact.”

“I can’t help that your neck’s just so biteable, now, can I?” The qunari defended bashfully. “Besides, you always wear those high-collared shirts, so it’s not as if anyone would see...”

Rolling to lay his head on her shoulder, Emmrich quietly laughed as he replied, “Thank the Maker for small mercies, I suppose…”

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Something about 'Katareth' translating to "Guardian of the Dead" in Qunlat and the MW Rook's backstory title being "Defender of the Dead" is just so chef's kiss to me.

[dendroaspis-viridis]

(Link to the template HERE)

Wheeee finally got around to posting Kat's ref sheets. Made these like over a month ago and for some reason never posted them.

She was made before we got literally any of the "canon" Mourn Watch Rook info, and I'm too stubborn to change anything because I like her too much as she is. More info under the read more :)

Born in Qundalon in 9:07 Dragon, she fled to Hossberg when she was around 12 due to her magic manifesting. She's never been a particularly good mage, as she was too traumatized by her childhood to put any real effort toward developing her skills beyond simple cantrips. Instead, she makes for an excellent reaper, using her imposing frame to her advantage.

Gustav is Katareth's asaarash. He was the horse she originally fled Qundalon on, and she's managed to keep him around in one way or another ever since. When he died of natural causes, she personally disarticulated and cleaned his skeleton and (with the help of Johanna) guided a spirit of duty into his body. Kat has a bit of an unhealthy dependency on Gustav, as he's been the one constant in her life since she became Tal-Vashoth.

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Retribution

The Breach that opened above the Temple of Sacred Ashes weakened the Veil across all of Thedas, and none felt that instability more strongly than the Mourn Watchers of the Grand Necropolis.

Rating: M (Nothing explicit, just gore)

AO3

I wanted to get a feel for how Katareth interacted with her fellow Watchers, as well as how they interact with each other, so I made this. I also took some liberties with Johanna and Myrna’s abilities (one tank and three mages does not a balanced party make), so Johanna functions as more of a DPS flanker and Myrna is a support/spirit healer.

TW for some gore, as now it’s Kat’s turn to get grievously injured. Anyway, enjoy! :)

-----

9:41 Dragon

It was early in the morning, with only a handful of other Mortalitasi shuffling about the large dining hall where Johanna, Myrna, Katareth, and Emmrich sat around their usual breakfast table. In the center lay a small stack of papers, topped with a manifest containing a detailed and expansive list of supplies for their expedition. Beside each item on the list was five… six… seven neat check marks, with an underlined note at the bottom that read, ‘Check all supplies immediately before departure!’ in Katareth’s tidy, angular print.

Under normal circumstances, any sort of multi-day expedition was only required to contain two Watchers. Recent events, however, had necessitated that number being increased to four at the very least, with even more being much preferred. As the group Katareth had selected were all fairly experienced, there was no pushback from any of the higher-ups regarding her decision to utilize the bare minimum.

The qunari sat to his right, reviewing their goals as she carded through the stack, “We’ll be checking on half of the wards during this trip and repairing what we can.”

Locating the parchment she was after, she set it atop the manifest for everyone else to see. It was a charcoal drawing of a defaced ward, surface marred with dozens of deep gouges. “But if we can find the higher demon —or demons— responsible for commanding the lesser spawns, killing it should become our top priority. A group of Guides disposed of a few rage demons a few weeks ago on the eighth floor, but fearlings have been seen as close as the fourth, more recently.”

Emmrich could listen to her for hours. The rich, deep timbre of her voice mixed effortlessly with the rounded vowels and rhotic pronunciations of her prominent qunari accent, bringing to mind the measured draw of a bow across a cello’s taut strings.

“I’m estimating the trip will take about four days, though I’ve packed enough supplies for eight on the off-chance that things go sideways. Or we find undocumented areas and need time to catalogue them,” she amended, gesturing to Emmrich and Myrna. Katareth took a quick sip of her coffee before she concluded, “Um, feel free to look through my notes, too. They’re on the bottom. Johanna’s reviewed them, but it never hurts to get more opinions.”

As Katareth tucked into her breakfast, more Mortalitasi trickled into the hall, yawning or rubbing their eyes as they began their days. Emmrich reached to the center of the table, flipping through the stack to find parchment embossed with the equine heraldry of House Naletski.

Her notations were remarkably thorough, he thought. There was an entire page dedicated to explaining every incident within the past several months, highlighting injuries and deaths that resulted from either demons or the unique osteological creatures that resided within the Necropolis. A summary at the bottom noted that at this time last year, there were less than a quarter of the incidents reported. There were also letters from both Cumberland and Hunter Fell’s Necropoli reporting similar upticks in accidents.

The next page detailed potential causes, with the most likely theory being the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes three months prior, resulting in the death of Divine Justinia and rending the Veil atop the Frostback Mountains.

As he continued reading, Johanna praised her former protégé, “You know, Kat, you’ve come a long way from the surly, mute twenty-something I took in a decade ago.”

“Thank you…?” Emmrich’s eyes rose from the parchment to look across the table, just as surprised to hear Johanna’s praises as the woman receiving them.

“I’m serious. When I got that letter from Cumberland’s Watchers asking if I’d be willing to mentor a ‘rather troublesome young Mortalitasi,’ I assumed they were sending me another Van Markham brat to humble, not the world’s meekest qunari. Now look at you: leading expeditions left and right!” When Katareth smiled, she continued, “And you speak! Granted, it’s not much when anyone else is around, but we’re getting there…” As she trailed off, her eyes wandered to a group of Guides of the Path piling their plates across the hall.

Emmrich and Katareth followed her gaze, landing on the tall, willowy frame of Yelena Petrovk, with her long salt and pepper hair tied back in a low ponytail. Looking up from her plate, the Guide noticed Kat’s stare, flashing the large woman a sultry smile and quick wave. The qunari turned back around in her seat, eyes trained on a lonely slice of toast as though it might start clawing at wards any second now.

Johanna snorted before leaning in to whisper, “Interesting… very interesting…” She scrutinized the Guide further, taking in the woman’s every detail. “I wonder if that little wave has anything to do with why Yelena’s walking like that…”

Emmrich took another quick glance out of the corner of his eye, catching a subtle, sore teeter to the woman’s gait.

Katareth remained enthralled with her toast.

“Kat? Nothing to say?” her voice dripped with mock confusion.

The qunari stumbled over her words, managing, “She might’ve slept wrong.” When Johanna’s smirk only grew, Katareth hissed as pink crept up her face, “There could be a million reasons that don’t involve me.”

Her mentor leaned back, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “Fair enough… But would any one of those million reasons also explain the hickey currently peeking out from her collar?”

Rather than respond, Katareth squeezed her eyes shut as she muttered a quiet ‘vashedan…’ before taking a long gulp of her coffee, attempting to shrink in on herself more than she already had.

While Emmrich knew the two had a more antagonistically familial relationship—with Johanna once describing Katareth as ‘the younger sister I never wanted’—he still felt the need to jump to the qunari’s defense. Or at least do something to distract himself from the uncomfortable roil of… was that jealousy? Surely not.

“Andraste’s grace, Johanna. Really?” he castigated, setting down Katareth’s notes on top of the stack for emphasis.

She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m simply ensuring my former protégé doesn’t make some of the same mistakes I did in my youth, and a Watcher’s work is never through! I’m quite certain you’d do the same if Myrna was ever interested in anyone.”

At the mention of her name, his own protégé-turned-assistant raised her head groggily from the plate of potato and sausage she’d been slowly working on, still not entirely awake. “Hmm?” While she was an exceedingly bright mage well ahead of her peers, Myrna was by no means a morning person.

“And I’m quite certain that I would not. Even if I did have concerns, I wouldn’t be badgering her first thing in the morning in the dining hall. Now can we get back on topic?”

“Gladly.” Kat set down her empty coffee mug like a gavel, grabbing the substantial list of wards they needed to examine and laying them out, reviewing the ones that’d been confirmed as damaged.

From across the table, Johanna scrutinized him, eyes shifting from himself to Katareth several times before conceding with a clipped ‘Hm’.

-----

It had been several hours since they left the residential area of the Necropolis, and they’d made great progress thus far. Many of the protective wards this close to the surface were still in working order, only requiring a simple dusting that could be done atop horseback.

Katareth led their party, flanked by Johanna and himself, with Myrna riding behind Katareth. The necromancer watched as Kat gently tugged on Gustav’s reins each time they approached an intersection, head canting slightly to the side as she focused. He recalled her describing the Grand Necropolis’ ‘voice’ as a low, warm hum that quietly purred at the base of her skull, guiding her through the endless, ever-shifting maze.

The silence was broken when Myrna commented, “I read that the Herald’s began recruiting rebel mages to help seal the Breach in Ferelden.”

“Good. Maybe things will settle down around here once it’s finally closed,” Johanna asserted. “I’m tired of all these damned demons running amok.”

There was a brief lull before Myrna asked, “Do you think they were actually sent by Andraste?”

“No. They’re probably just some poor kid unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Katareth nodded in agreement, flicking a Veilfire brazier to life as she passed.

Emmrich was waiting to see how things played out before drawing his own conclusions. From what he’d read thus far, Shrike Adaar was a fairly young qunari. Too young to be a Ben-Hassrath spy sent to assassinate Divine Justinia, as some of the less charitable papers had speculated. Though their prior anonymity—and the fact that they were the sole survivor of an explosion that leveled the entirety of the Temple of Sacred Ashes—left just enough space for Emmrich to entertain the idea that they may have been one of the so-called ‘higher dead’.

From his right, Myrna sympathized with the herald, “Mm. However they survived, or wherever they came from, I don’t envy them. Having the eyes of the world on your every move… grappling with the deaths of everyone around you…” She thought for a moment before looking to their expedition leader. “Katareth, I have a question about Qunari life, though there isn’t really a delicate way to ask it.”

“I’m listening.” Despite Kat’s typical frustrations regarding the near-constant onslaught of inquiries thrown at her regarding the Qun—especially now that the identity of the Herald was common knowledge—Myrna was a rare exception. The two had shared sleeping quarters during their early years in the Necropolis and developed a deep friendship, granting the human a significant amount of privilege when it came to asking questions about her heritage.

“I heard the Herald lost their mother in the explosion, but I’ve always been told Qunari don’t have mothers. Or at least mothers don’t raise their children.”

“That’s correct. There aren’t family units under the Qun like there are here, as they’re considered an inefficient use of resources.” Though she continued to face forward, Emmrich could imagine the lopsided curl of her lips. “Instead, we’re raised in groups by women called ‘Tamassrans.’” She paused at another fork, listening intently to the Necropolis before nudging Gustav forward.

“That’s why I believe Adaar’s a Vashoth, not a Qunari qunari. Their mother might’ve been born under the Qun and fled when the Tamassrans tried to take her child.”

Emmrich felt his eyebrows raise slightly as he asked a question of his own, “How often does something like that happen?” He’d always assumed the vast majority of Qunari found life under the Qun’s strict philosophies acceptable, and Katareth was a rare exception due to their frankly barbaric treatment of anyone with arcane abilities—however minor those abilities may be.

“More often than you’d think. I can remember two separate incidents just like it happening within a month of each other back in Qundalon.”

“Do you know what became of them?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, but he couldn’t help his academic curiosity.

“Unfortunately, I do not… Uh, I ended up needing to flee about a week after the second one left,” she stated awkwardly.

“Oh, I-” Emmrich struggled to articulate an appropriate apology, with each one he considered sounding woefully pathetic when compared to his blunder. Had he known his questioning would lead to the delicate subject of Katareth’s childhood—or rather, the abrupt end of her childhood—he would never have opened his mouth in the first place. Of all the oafish things to ask about-

His self-flagellating was mercifully interrupted by a rare show of compassion from Johanna, who redirected the conversation in her own irreverent way. “And by the grace of the most holy Maker, you were shepherded beneath my generous, benevolent wings, little Kitty Kat.”

The qunari gave her a withering look, deadpanning a monotone, “How auspicious.”

“Awww, there’s my favorite scowl!” Leaning over on her own skeletal horse, Johanna patted Kat’s thigh patronizingly.

“My apologies, Katareth. I hadn’t intended to open old wounds,” he managed after far too long, in his critical opinion.

She turned, throwing him a warm, reassuring smile over a broad shoulder, “Don’t be. Leaving was the best decision for me, anyway. I… wouldn’t have thrived, had I stayed.” She thought for a moment before adding, “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. Truly.”

-----

Despite the normally calm halls being abuzz with false life, the second day of their trip passed without any major hiccups.

Some of the bone amalgamations that rattled about in neglected halls had grown rather territorial as of late, forcing the Watchers’ hands on more than one occasion. To Emmrich’s immense delight, there were two previously undocumented morphologies, as well! Curiously, both were in vaguely lupine shapes. One conglomerated into the general form of a typical wolf, albeit several times larger, while the other resembled a werewolf, lumbering about on its ‘knuckles’ that were made of fragmented ribs.

Another notable event occurred after repairing an otherwise nondescript ward to a passable state. The moment the glyphs glimmered to life, a low rumble emanated from deeper within the Grand Necropolis. For every subsequent ward they repaired after that, the noise slowly grew in volume.

And the demons: they were everywhere! It seemed like every corridor had at least one. Many were easily dispatched, returning to the Fade with little fanfare. Others fought a little harder to remain, with a particularly stubborn envy demon attempting to masquerade (poorly) as a Guide of the Path, shepherding a flock of rage demons.

The pack-like behavior wasn’t particularly notable—weaker demons often grouped in an attempt to overwhelm potential threats—but the way they grouped was too… organized. Too regimented.

Emmrich wasn’t the only one to notice, with Myrna wondering aloud what variety of demon was at the top puppeteering them. A pride demon was the obvious choice, but Johanna reminded everyone that they likely would have heard its boastful taunts by now, leading to a fierce but friendly debate over what exactly they were up against.

As they deliberated, Katareth marked another ward of her list with a neat checkmark.

-----

Their second night had not been so fortunate.

It was a well-documented phenomenon that dreams tended to become progressively more vivid the deeper one went—with Emmrich speculating it to be a result of the ancient magicks that permeated the Necropolis, mixed with the strange liminal space it occupied between the material plane and the Fade. Under normal circumstances, this would not have been an issue. But the recent influx of demons resulted in night terrors that felt all-too real, dredging up nightmares Emmrich hadn’t had since before he left for the Circle.

Everyone’s fitful rest was disrupted by Myrna’s terrified scream, scrambling from their tents with swords and spells at the ready. His assistant had profusely apologized, diffusing the situation and assuring everyone it was just another bad dream. Johanna threw a few quick alarm spells up around their little camp before retreating to her tent with a grumble, encouraging everyone to attempt to get some sleep.

After ensuring Myrna was alright after what must’ve been a horrible dream, he slipped into his own bed roll. Just before his consciousness slipped, he heard a muffled, “Katareth…? Can I sleep in your tent tonight? It was the bear dream, again…”

A low “mhmm” rumbled in response before a quiet flap of leather signaled their own attempts at rest.

-----

The following morning was passable, all things considered. Breakfast was slowly eaten while reviewing which wards had been repaired thus far and which would require a second trip with rune forgers (forty-three and eight, respectively), as well as a quick overview of the last six they planned to visit before returning to the surface.

Camp was broken without issue, and the first two hours or so of their day had been spent making their way to the next ward. As they continued their descent, the time between wards only grew.

Emmrich found this extra distance to be a double-edged sword. It was fortuitous as it allowed them the opportunity to explore more of the lower levels, including a previously-undescribed catacomb. Less fortunate were the long lulls between conversations or new discoveries, allowing his fatigue from lack of sleep to creep in. When he felt his eyelids grow heavy, he wished he’d taken Katareth up on her offer of coffee earlier that morning.

His weariness evaporated when Myrna dismounted next to him, approaching the defective glyphs carved into a polished slab of chalcedony. Collecting a few material components from his Saddlebag of Holding, he joined her. A quick examination told him it would be a simple fix, requiring maybe twenty minutes at the most.

Katareth and Johanna stood guard, sending motes of light in either direction down the dusty corridor. As Myrna laid out the tools they’d need, he heard Johanna ask, “Hey, Kat. What kind of dragon is this?” The glyph opposed the opulent double doors that lead into the Gervhardt catacombs, decorated by a large mosaic depicting a furious battle between several hunters and a swooping high dragon.

“It’s a Kaltenzahn.” He heard the clink of sabatons on tile as she approached. “She has the distinctive red and blue pattern they’re famous for. Oh!” She gasped, audibly excited, “And if you look here, she’s clutching onto a human!”

He caught Myrna’s smirk out of the corner of his eye as the pair worked, listening in on their guards’ conversation.

“Assuming the records are accurate, the figure should be Damian Gervhardt. The Kaltenzahn’s claws pierced his chest in several locations when she grabbed him. But before he bled out, he was able to jab his sword between her osteoderms here, likely severing one of the arteries in her neck. She crashed on the shores of Lake Merdaine, and the rest of his hunting party was able to kill her once she was grounded.”

Johanna hummed, asking a few more questions that were too low for his ears to catch. Returning his full attention to the repairs, Emmrich was pleased to find their work completed within minutes. With a few final incantations, it flickered back to life, wafting a pleasant warmth across his face. Like stepping into sunlight.

A few moments after their restoration, Emmrich recoiled when a deep, guttural roar scraped against the inside of his skull.

“Cease, you pathetic rats! Your feeble defenses only serve to stoke my ire. This horrid tomb has become my chrysalis, and it is time for my triumphant emergence!”

Johanna huffed, rubbing her temples. “I’m ashamed to admit I was wrong; it appears we are just dealing with a pride demon,” she complained, taunting the corrupted spirit.

“You think my motives so base, wretched human? NO. I desire something far greater than anything your simple pride could wring...”

Everyone hastily returned to their mounts, trailing the qunari as she began following the voice to its source, nudging Gustav to a canter with her heels. She rushed through junctions, refusing to slow down now that the cause of their current predicament had revealed itself.

“You scurry like the disgusting vermin that slaughtered my younglings. No matter, you will fall just as they did.”

After several more jeers from the demon, they arrived at the ostentatious courtyard leading to the Pentaghast’s sprawling burial estate. Ivory marble braziers cradled emerald bonfires, casting reflections off gurgling fountains of red wine that were dotted throughout the topiary garden. It was beautiful. And massive. One of Emmrich’s colleagues had recently published a paper on the original blueprints of the estate, theorizing it covered nearly twice as much space as their castle on the surface. Laying eyes on the exterior alone, he believed it.

Within the tidy rows that connected the lawn’s many decorative features, possessed corpses shuffled about, draped in armor from centuries passed. They were typically passive towards Mourn Watchers, content to allow the Necropolis’ guardians to pass unhindered. This time, however, the corpses suddenly grew hostile, growling as they limped forward.

With a few well-practiced gestures of his hands, the mummies froze, unable to break through Emmrich’s arcane hold over them. He maintained the spell long enough for everyone to race toward the gilded doors of the estate proper, doors slamming shut behind them with a deep thud. With a flick of his wrists, he released his hold over the corpses, now safe from their misguided defenses.

Looking around, the almost gaudy extravagance that pervaded everything House Pentaghast did on the surface continued below. A massive chandelier glittered with thousands of little crystals above, tinkling gently as it threw sparkles of green light down upon the Watchers. The black marble under their horses’ trotting hooves was polished to a mirror finish, and the red velvet curtains that covered each window were accented with gold embroidery featuring Nevarra’s prominent skull and flower motif.

“NO! You will not stop me! Not when I am so near my prize…”

A piercing PING rang out through the foyer as the chain from which the giant chandelier dangled broke, sending the metal frame plummeting toward Myrna. With a quick snap of her fingers, she disappeared, rematerializing a few feet away as the chandelier crashed upon her horse, sending bone fragments and shards of crystal in every direction.

The normally genteel healer blurted an exasperated “Damn!” as she righted herself and dusted debris from her skirts. Myrna pulled herself up onto Emmrich’s saddle, seating herself behind him. She urged them forward and answered everyone’s concerned questions with a breathless, “I’m fine, I’m fine! But let’s continue on. Whatever this demon is, we need to kill it before it brings the roof down on our heads.”

Katareth’s fury was evident when she returned her attention to the culprit, shouting, “Speak, then! What prize!?”

“RETRIBUTION!”

The qunari’s silver brows furrowed, likely expecting a more grandiose desire befitting a pride demon.

“Myrna, you may have been right when you speculated the Necropolis’ interloper was a revenge demon, yesterday.” Were they in more agreeable circumstances, Emmrich might have used this as an opportunity to excitedly lecture his colleagues on the seldom-seen inhabitants of the Fade. Instead, he was restricted to an abridged summary, “Revenge demons ride a fine line between pride and rage, but they can be distinguished by their singular goal of exacting whatever vengeance the corpse they possess sought in the moment of their death.”

Katareth turned to face him, “Are they more or less dangerous than a pride demon?”

“I’m unsure. There have been so few encountered, and even less that have adequate descriptions of those encounters,” he explained quickly before adding, “Though—like with most possessions—the physicality of the body they inhabit does play a role in determining their threat. If this is a Pentaghast mummy, I’m confident the four of us could subdue it without too much issue…” he trailed off uncertainly.

Johanna interjected, “That didn’t exactly sound like a Pentaghast’s final demand, Volkarin.”

“I know…” Emmrich sighed. While he dreaded the alternative, the demon’s earlier claims of ‘slaughtered younglings’ combined with the many dragon corpses that have been carted down here over the centuries pointed to a much more dire conclusion.

It seemed everyone had independently come to the same answer when Myrna cautiously confirmed, “Professor, are you implying there’s a possessed dragon somewhere on the estate?”

“It’s certainly a possibility.”

Katareth heaved a breath, rubbing circles into her temple, “Well that complicates things, somewhat.”

None present had ever been on one of the Pentaghast’s famed dragon hunts, though it was widely known that they were typically conducted with dozens upon dozens of combatants. The specific location of the demon also put the Watchers into an exceedingly dangerous political situation, as well.

While the Mortalitasi held significant power and influence within Nevarra, there were already suspicious whispers among the upper echelons that King Markus’ Mortalitasi advisors puppeteered the aging monarch, ruling the country through him. Were word to get out that a group of Mourn Watchers sat idly by—or even abandoned!—the Pentaghast’s charnel estate while it was torn asunder by a demon, the resulting outcry could lead to an all-out civil war. Emmrich’s thoughts grew more grim when he realized their expedition leader’s heritage would only stoke the flames further. There was no option other than to continue forward, regardless of the potentially lethal threat they faced. Anything else could be considered high treason.

“Well… we’ve come this far, there’s no point in turning back now,” Katareth stated confidently, attempting to rally her companions.

Johanna nodded with a grim determination. “Who knows, maybe you’ll get to see your first dragon.”

“I was rather hoping for it to be alive, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess,” she laughed humorlessly. “Um… Let’s check the charnel halls first; if it’s truly vengeance the demon wants, we should check areas with the highest concentrations of bodies. If we don’t find anything there, we can look elsewhere.”

Setting Katareth’s plan in motion, they moved on, forgoing proper etiquette such as dismounting in favor of exorcising the demon as quickly as possible.

All of the charnel wings were void of demons, only hosting a few lounging Pentaghast mummy that paid their party little mind. Continuing deeper into the mansion, Emmrich had to resist stopping his horse several times, in awe of the magnificent architecture and gaudy décor.

Everywhere they examined proved fruitless. The bathhouses that bubbled cloyingly-perfumed waters, the library with towering bookshelves extending far past what Emmrich could see in the dim light, and even the chapel with its golden statue of Andraste, arms beckoning their entrance, sat empty.

When Katareth pushed open the double doors encrusted with jeweled dragons that led into the expansive trophy room, they knew they were on the right track.

Dozens of dragons had been strung up and taxidermized in action poses, and even more lay haphazardly along the perimeter, dragged in unceremoniously following their slaughter. None of the draconic mummies were complete, all showing some variety of post-mortem manipulation.

Broad chests lay deflated following the removal of lungs and hearts, and several were decapitated entirely, leaving expertly-sliced stumps at the end of thick necks. A few were skinned completely, revealing greyed muscle that had been tanned with time. In the very center of the room sat an empty exhibit, metal supporting wires splayed in all directions.

Katareth halted. “Do you hear that…?”

Everyone held their breath, straining to listen… There it was! Emmrich felt more than heard a deep, rhythmic thump from deeper within the mansion.

Hot on the demon’s trail, the Watchers galloped down long corridors, following a wake of gouged tiles and shredded tapestries before passing under a large, broken lintel. On either side lay two massive oak doors, blasted off their hinges.

Katareth halted at the top of a grand marble staircase, frozen in place by what she saw. The lavish grandiosity of the Pentaghast estate seemed to have abandoned the decimated remains of the grand ballroom. Many of the stained-glass windows were shattered, casting kaleidoscopes across the ground that were interspersed with tattered velvet scraps and the stone limbs of smashed statues. Once-exquisite paintings featuring glorious dragon hunts were clawed through, canvases singed and frayed at the edges. But all that destruction paled in comparison to the horrible visage that waited at the far end of the room.

At the top of the stairs, pounding into the massive golden double-doors that led to the throne room where Caspar the Magnificent reposed, was a colossal mummified dragon. Massive swaths of its hide had been peeled away over the centuries, providing a disgusting glimpse at sinewy muscles that ground against each other with every ear-splitting rake of its claws against metal.

Upon realizing it was no longer alone, the demon halted its assault, slowly swiveling its head like an owl toward the Mourn Watchers. Emmrich couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through his body when the vacant, hollow pits where its eyes would have once sat seemed to peer into his very soul.

“Is that… Caspar’s Vinsomer…?” Katareth whispered almost reverently.

Though the high dragon’s maw didn’t move, Emmrich nevertheless heard its awful voice in his head. “So you DO understand what you meddle in… And still, you attempt to thwart my righteous vengeance against the one who butchered me?”

Kat found her voice, “But you’re not the high dragon slain by Caspar all those centuries ago, are you? You’re a simple demon whose found an empty corpse to parade around in!”

“SILENCE!” The revenant roared, spreading its leathery wings and kicking up a gale. “If I must kill you to reach my true prey, so be it…”

The dragon leapt from its perch at the top of the stairs, landing in the center of the grand ballroom. The mansion quaked under its feet as a swarm of dust swirled.

As she unsheathed her greatsword, Katareth rushed information to her fellow Watchers. “Vinsomers are especially susceptible to damage originating from the Fade, but I’m not sure how the possession will affect that. Regardless, try to take out her wings first, and be mindful of her tail. Above all else, don’t get caught.”

When everyone nodded in confirmation, the qunari kicked her heels in to Gustav’s ribs, charging ahead to draw the demon’s ire away from her lightly-armored allies, sword cloaked in Veilfire.

Emmrich erected a quick arcane shield as he retreated to the far wall with Myrna, giving her the safety and distance she needed to weave precise bolts of magic that sliced away at its tattered wings. There were a few corpses scattered about the hall that he was able to guide spirits into, entreating their help. It was a careful balancing act, managing both his summons and mount, painfully aware of the fact that it was not just his own life he needed to guard with his jockeying.

He spotted Johanna darting along the perimeter, slamming devastating volleys of Veilfire into the exposed muscles. Each successive hit pulled a roar from the demon. “When the cur you call ‘Caspar’ is naught but dust, I will hunt his every heir like the vermin they are!”

Just when Emmrich thought the high dragon would bring a foul hand down upon Katareth, Gustav sidestepped, rushing between the revenant’s legs as she raised her sword to slice down its belly. It reared back, swiping its tree trunk of a tail into one of Emmrich’s summons, sending it careening into the wall. The marble buckled under the force of the impact.

The qunari circled around the dragon, drawing her greatsword across its ankle, beginning the arduous process of slicing through taut ligaments. As the revenant limped away, a ruined wing flumped to the ground behind it, freed from its shoulder by Myrna’s precise casting.

“His soul shall know the pain of my wrath, Watchers!”

Giving his reins a firm yank, Emmrich’s horse bolted to the right, narrowly avoiding a slab of stone launched by the demon in retaliation. Skeletal warriors hacked at its other ankle, pulling the demon’s attention in far too many directions.

The dragon inhaled, fraying the wiry muscles of its pectorals as its chest expanded. Its remaining wing beat furiously, kicking up a gale. With a deafening CRACK of thunder, it exhaled a gout of lightning up into the chandeliers. Magenta bolts arced wildly throughout the wrought frame and shattered the thousands of crystals, conjuring a devastating squall of razor-sharp shards.

Emmrich realized all too late that his shield only guarded their front when the rain of crystal nicked his exposed skin, trickling warm blood down his face. He felt Myrna tuck herself into the back of his leather battlecoat, protecting herself from the majority of the onslaught.

“I will reclaim my rightful lands from those who usurped me!”

As the high dragon maintained the storm, Johanna caught its remaining wing alight. The incessant beating only fed the flames, quickly spreading to engulf the entire limb as emerald chewed through dried flesh like kindling. As the patagium that stretched between bones disintegrated, the winds petered out, driving the revenant mad with desperation.

“N-No! I will end the Pentaghast bloodline! Just as they ended mine!”

Blood dripped into Emmrich’s eye, stinging as it blinded him. He attempted to rub it away and handed the reins to Myrna. Squinting, he watched blearily as a massive arm swiped out at something across the ballroom. A pained feminine wail rang through the hall. From behind him, Myrna shouted, “Johanna!” while his horse rocketed forward as the spirit healer raced to assist.

By the time they made it to her, Johanna had managed to sit upright, though one of her arms dangled unnaturally and a large gash marred her right cheek. Using her good arm, a whip of green magic snagged around her panicked mount’s neck, reining it in. “Fucking bitch slapped me off my horse…” Blood dribbled down her chin into the collar of her arming jacket.

Myrna leapt from his saddle, hands already aglow with cyan magic as she palpated the smaller Watcher’s arm gently. Turning to look up, his assistant urged him, “Go help Katareth; we’ll be fine!”

He’d managed to blink away the majority of blood, regaining his sight to watch as Katareth guided Gustav hither and thither, struggling to remain just out of reach of the revenant as she refocused its aggression away from her injured mentor.

“Little Tal-Vashoth! I sense the coils of fear that squeeze at your heart… Join me and become my champion against the Pentaghast blight,” it implored in a last-ditch effort, limping toward the reaper as its strength waned under their collective efforts. “We will paint the streets of Nevarra red with our vengeance!”

Dodging a grasping paw, the qunari raced to the dragon’s side, raising her greatsword to stab into its chest. Utilizing Gustav’s momentum to force the blade deeper, Katareth twisted her blade as fire blazed at the edges of the gaping wound.

When the flames reduced to smoldering chartreuse embers, Emmrich had a clear view of its withered heart, pulsing pinkish with the demon’s corrupt essence. Locking in on his target, the Mourn Watcher wove a hex into the exposed chest cavity that clutched around the corrupted organ.

Oblivious to the Walking Bomb now nestled between its ribs, the revenant crackled magenta along its throat, exhaling a gout of lightning that danced across the cracked tiles. The blast narrowly missed Gustav as he leapt away. But when the asaarash landed, a boney hoof slipped into one of the numerous fissures in the floor, snapping a metacarpal and spilling both himself and his rider across the floor.

Katareth rolled several times, coming to an abrupt halt when a massive, anisodactyl hand came down upon her chest. As the demon dragged her closer, her plate armor screeched as it carved jagged scars in the black marble. Emmrich watched helplessly as she struggled, his summons’ brutal attacks going entirely ignored as the revenant stared down the much livelier prey now in its grasp. Kat attempted to hold back the mangled digits that pressed into her cuirass, shouting with desperate exertion as the metal slowly crumpled like parchment under the immense weight of her captor.

Acting on instinct, he conjured a rope of Veil and connected it to the middle digit of the dragon’s hand before tying it around the horn of his saddle, kicking his mount to move. ‘I just have to buy time for the hex to finish charging. Should be any moment now…’ he reminded himself.

As more lightning zapped along its massive neck, the high dragon lowered its maw to hover over Katareth’s terrified face while it’s mandible creaked open. “I will not be felled again!”

Two more glowing ropes connected to the revenant, one joining his while the other looped around a thick horn. Looking to his side, he watched hopefully as Myrna gave her cord a savage yank from her seat behind Johanna, saddled once again.

With a flick of his assistant’s wrist, Kat’s greatsword skittered to her side. Taking hold of it, she thrust it upward, crunching through the dragon’s soft palate and into its rotted brain.

“I. WILL. HAVE. VENGEANCE.”

Despite their ironclad hold, the Watchers’ combined strength was no match for the dragon as its desiccated fingers flexed, piercing through her armor and ripping a blood-curdling scream from the reaper as maroon bubbled up and over.

Emmrich was momentarily taken by the strange, macabre beauty of the way her lifeblood snaked through the delicate embellishments of her breastplate—like a dozen little crimson rivers that waterfalled into the pool that expanded on the black tile below…

With a deafening ‘BOOM’, the necromancer’s Walking Bomb finally—finally!—detonated in a blast of violet, heralding the demon’s demise. The explosion obliterated its withered heart and split its chest along the spine like a flytrap in reverse, splaying ribs and vertebral projections in all directions. It was only thanks to Myrna’s continued pulls on the dragon’s horn that prevented it from landing directly atop Katareth, jagged jaw slack as it thudded between themselves and their prone ally.

His assistant wasted no time dismounting, letting the rope in her hand disintegrate while she darted around the skull. He and Johanna followed, dismayed to watch as Myrna fumbled with the reaper’s armor, not entirely familiar with how it all fit together. Slapping the spirit healer’s hands away, Johanna hurriedly unbuckled Kat’s gorget, instructing Myrna to cradle the qunari’s head while she peeled it away, unclipping her dented pauldrons at the same time. From her position at Katareth’s side, Johanna barked an order to hold the dragon’s hand still while they figured out what to do with her crumpled cuirass.

Grasping the giant paw between his hands, Emmrich placed a foot on either side of her hips, in awe of the sheer size of the limb he hoisted. Looking up, he made eye contact with their qunari, yellow eyes glazed somewhat with shock. Her gaze lazily traveled downward, following Myrna’s hands as she teased the breastplate from around each claw with a pair of thick shears.

Kat struggled to speak, hacking droplets of red that splattered the back of Emmrich’s hands as her arms pawed weakly at a mummified digit.

“Shhh… You’re fine, Katareth! You don’t need to do anything—we’ve everything well under control!” He attempted to reassure her, though his voice lacked any sort of conviction. Surely she couldn’t die, right? She was far better than that Gervhardt dragon hunter from earlier…

With a grunt, Myrna bent away the last of her breastplate, revealing a tattered evergreen gambeson now stained black with blood.

As the spirit healer cut at the thick, quilted wool, Johanna cooed, “Emmrich’s right. You’ll be fine.” Her brown eyes trained on Kat’s mangled chest; face pinched into a deep frown as things were distinctly not fine. The final layer of linen was peeled away with her gambeson, leaving only a black brassiere to protect her modesty.

Her state was… grave. Emmrich’s usually vast vocabulary failed him as that was the only word his mind could conjure. Grave. Her sternum bent awkwardly between two claws, and while she was thankfully still drawing breath, it appeared to be a laborious undertaking every time.

Myrna quietly but confidently doled out instructions, slipping a strip of leather between the reaper’s teeth. “Professor, pull them out one at a time when I give the signal. You’ll have to move with the curve of each claw, so do your best to not damage anything further. Johanna, try to keep her as still as possible: healing will progress much more smoothly if she’s not squirming about.” Looking down, she addressed Katareth directly, “And you… you… don’t die. I forbid it.” Uncorking a vial of mercurial liquid, Myrna threw her head back, grimacing at the bitter taste of lyrium.

They began with the hallux lodged just above her right hip, as it would give them greater freedom to manipulate the other digits. Emmrich gripped it at the base, pulling with a hasty flick as his assistant cupped her hands around the wound. Myrna’s eyes and hands glowed, calling upon Fade spirits to knit grey skin closed as Kat attempted to roll away with a groan, still not entirely cognizant. When the healer withdrew her hands, they revealed a wide divot of fresh, silvery skin.

Next would be the fourth digit, wedged between two lower ribs on her left side. This one also slipped easily, but was longer than the last, requiring a bit more finesse to extract. Katareth’s head lolled to the side, jaw clenching on leather as she recoiled more forcefully, attempting to buck Johanna off with a hiss. Nevertheless, it healed just as the last one had.

Wiping sweat from her brow and throwing back another vial, she advised, “These last two will be the worst, so let’s work quickly, yeah?” With a nod of her head, Emmrich attempted to remove the first digit just as he had the last two, embedded above the swell of her right breast. As he pulled, it held fast, snagging.

“It’s stuck on something!” The reaper lurched under him, spitting the leather strip to the side as she cried out.

“Then unstick it!” Johanna snarled, pressing her entire bodyweight onto Kat’s shoulders as she thrashed.

Myrna’s steady voice interrupted his rebuttal. “Try pushing the claw forward more, then pull,” she suggested, pressing radiant hands on either side of the puncture. “The tip is cracked and it’s catching on a rib.”

Following the spirit healer’s advice, he was relieved to find that worked, wincing at the awful sucking sound the claw made as it was pulled free. Her chest heaved as the wound’s edges glimmered cyan, stitching together.

Focused on ending Katareth’s agony as efficiently as possible, Emmrich wrapped his hands around the middle digit embedded behind her right collarbone, gasping when a cold, clammy grey hand wrapped around his wrist like a manacle. Cold. Maker, she’s never cold. She was staring at him again. Before, the reaper appeared somewhat dazed. Now, however, there was an awful mixture of anger and fear that turned his stomach.

The comparatively tiny hands of Johanna attempted to pry Kat’s fingers from his wrist, pleading, “Damn it, Kat! He’s trying to help you, I promise! Now let go!”

With some not-so-gentle persuasion, Katareth reluctantly allowed the smaller Watcher to peel her hand away, though her eyes remained trained on Emmrich’s every move. The necromancer had to remind himself that she was likely not in her right mind, in immense amounts of pain.

Above her, Myrna mouthed a countdown. When she reached ‘one’, he dragged the last massive talon from behind Katareth’s right collarbone, blood briefly rushing as pressure was released.

A gurgled shout bounced off the walls of the ballroom, devolving into wracking coughs as the spirit healer’s magic repaired her cracked sternum and punctured lung. Once she was satisfied with the reaper’s stability, Myrna helped roll Kat to her side, allowing her to more easily dispel the blood in her airway.

As she hacked and spat, Johanna leaned down next to her, quietly praising her former protégé as she rubbed at the qunari’s back soothingly, “Easy, get it all out… You did so well, Katareth, I’m so proud of you…”

Emmrich rose, dropping the paw by Katareth’s feet before stepping away with the distinct feeling as though he were intruding on what was supposed to be a private moment. Myrna must have felt similarly, as she too left the qunari’s side, wiping her hands on her skirts and leaving thick, red streaks across the fabric. She joined Emmrich several paces away, reaching up to heal the paper-thin slices that peppered his face and pressing a red vial into his hand.

He accepted the glass and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder when she swayed slightly, pupils constricted from the lyrium she’d imbibed. “Thank you… And to be clear, I’m incredibly proud of you, as well, Myrna.”

She gave him a tired but contented smile, sitting on one of the high dragon’s biceps as she looked around the trashed ballroom. “So… who will be the one to tell Prelate Pentaghast about all this?” She pulled a second vial from her satchel, clinking it against his own before taking a long draught.

He exhaled as he sat next to her. “Technically, that would be one of Katareth’s responsibilities as the expedition leader. However I suspect Vestalus will take the news better if Johanna or I tell him, so I’ll volunteer myself.” She’d been through enough already, and the Prelate’s likely ire would serve as something of a penance for the additional pain he’d put her through.

The spirit healer hummed, leaning to rest her chin in her hands, eyes closed. The two sat in companionable silence for several minutes as they finished their potions, the only sounds being Johanna’s inaudible praises and Kat’s occasional wet coughs.

Gustav!

Rising, Emmrich spotted the massive skeleton hunched protectively near the qunari, snapped leg still wedged between two broken slabs of rubble in the distance. Dislodging the limb with no small amount of effort, he considered his next course of action. Reconnecting the bone would be simple; Emmrich had plenty of experience repairing his most recent project: a human skeleton he’d been referring to as ‘Manfred’. Working with Gustav, on the other hand…

In life, the asaarash was an absolute brute, throwing his substantial weight around and bullying anyone who wasn’t his master. Following his death, Katareth somehow managed to find a spirit of duty that replicated his deplorable behavior to a T, much to the disappointment and frustration of everyone who wasn’t her.

Emmrich attempted to call the spirit away from his reaper’s side several times to no avail. It wasn’t until Johanna looped a finger under the skeleton’s mandible and shoved him toward Emmrich with a steely, “Move, you big beast!” that Gustav slowly hobbled over, snorting in displeasure. He kneeled before the horse, holding the jagged ends of bone together and fusing them with a few whispered incantations.

Clearing her throat, Katareth’s scratchy voice drawled from several feet away, “Let’s rest here for a few hours... We can fix the last of the wards once everyone’s feeling a bit better…”

Johanna was quick to rebuke. “Mmm, I think not. There are other groups of Watchers who’re perfectly capable. I agree with resting, but we really should get you to the surface. No offense, Myrna—you did wonderfully! I just… want to get another set of eyes on her.” The spirit healer hummed affirmatively, too exhausted to render further aid even if she wanted to.

When Kat frowned, Johanna patiently reminded her: “One of our primary goals coming down here was to find whatever was responsible for the wards being broken in the first place. We’ve done that.” She looked to Emmrich, entreating the support of her long-time friend.

“I concur. There will already need to be a subsequent trip to replace the wards Myrna and I could not repair, and I don’t think the rune forgers will be too terribly put out if we give them a few more.”

With Gustav’s leg reconnected, the horse tentatively placed his weight on the limb before returning to Katareth’s side dutifully.

The reaper finally conceded with an exhausted, “…Fine.”

The next few hours passed peacefully as they took a brief respite, with everyone attempting to return themselves to a somewhat presentable state. The crumpled remains of Katareth’s armor were shoved haphazardly into Gustav’s Saddlebag of Holding, opting to change into one of her looser-fitting linen shirts with Myrna’s assistance, instead.

-----

As the party began their gradual ascent, Johanna saddled up to Katareth’s side. Scrutinizing the qunari, she sighed, “Damn, Kitty. You look terrible.”

Katareth appraised her elder. “We look terrible,” she corrected, plucking a crystal shard from Johanna’s armor.

She laughed, “Fair enough. And hey, we’ve got matching scars, now.” Johanna gestured to the fresh scar that sliced below her right eye, comparing it to the prominent jagged line that ran from the reaper’s left chin to cheekbone.

The qunari hummed approvingly, “So we do! Yours is on the wrong side, though.”

“Ugh. There’s no pleasing you, is there…” Johanna huffed. Thinking for a moment, she smirked, “…I guess I’ll just have to ask Yelena for advice.”

Despite the small pool of blood she left behind in the Pentaghast’s grand ballroom, Katareth still had enough in her body to flush a dusky rose. “I hate you.”

Johanna’s cackling laugh bounced off the corridors, “Tell you what: next time I’m facing down a mummified dragon, I’ll politely ask it to attempt clawing out my left eye, instead. How’s that sound?”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Finally compiled a list of the related oneshots I've written so far (which will be updated as I make more) about my Tal-Vashoth Rook, Katareth Naletski, and Emmrich. They're posted in chronological order, not the order I've written them, so fair warning lol. Also the links go to their AO3 posts

9: 41 Dragon - Retribution - The Breach that opened above the Temple of Sacred Ashes weakened the Veil across all of Thedas, and none felt that instability more strongly than the Mourn Watchers of the Grand Necropolis.

9:42 Dragon - The Hunt Ball - Katareth is the unfortunate recipient of an invitation to one of the Pentaghast’s famous hunt balls. Thankfully, a certain necromancer will also be in attendance.

9:52 Dragon - Wyvern Venom - Emmrich is severely wounded during what was supposed to be a relatively uneventful outing. Katareth struggles to work through her feelings, and Lace doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.

9:52 Dragon - Study Break - (18+) Emmrich has a bad habit of overworking, something Katareth is all too eager to help him break.

9:53 Dragon - Proclivities - (18+) Bad behavior begets punishment, as Katareth is all too happy to discover.

9:54 Dragon(?) - Honeymoon - (18+) Emmrich and Katareth finally get to celebrate their honeymoon. Things don't go quite as planned, but they get there in the end.

[dendroaspis-viridis]

An Evening of Drunken Lust - AU

This isn’t actually part of my Rook’s canon, but the idea came to me and wouldn’t leave, sooo… here it is. I’m sure there’s a universe somewhere where these two aren’t dancing around each other like idiots for 20+ years, right?

Rating: E

Read it on AO3

Additional tags: drunk sex, mildly dubious consent, penis in vagina sex, blood drinking

Her first mistake was bringing the bottle of brandy. It’d been an early Solstice gift from Myrna, as the two had a longstanding tradition of gifting the other a new alcohol every year. In a rare bit of annual mischief, they would purchase either the most delicious or most disgusting flavor they could find, and rip off the label so the other wouldn’t know until they tasted it.

“Do you want to try it with me?” Katareth asked as she settled into one of the wingback chairs in Emmrich’s study. “I’ve no idea what it is other than ‘best served in a heated glass.’” The amber-colored liquid sloshed around within the bottle as she held it out invitingly.

“It’s from your trade with Myrna?” She nodded, and Emmrich’s nose instantly scrunched in distaste. “I’m almost afraid to… The cinnamon whiskey from last year was absolutely foul, and the brännvin from the year prior was even worse…”

“Just be thankful I spared you from the peach liqueur she gave me before that.”

“That actually sounds quite pleasant,” he argued, taking hold of the bottle to more closely examine its contents.

“Yeah, it sounds nice, but you didn’t see the way it oozed out of the bottle,” Katareth laughed, remembering the mage’s self-satisfied grin as she handed it over to her. “And besides, it’s not as if Myrna’d give me a bad drink four years in a row, right?”

“Sorry, are we talking about the same ‘Myrna’ who kept moving my desk two inches to the left and convincing me it was errant wisps?” he snorted. “I wasted weeks setting up new wards to guide them out of my study! Honestly, I’m starting to think Vorgoth might be encouraging it…” Despite his initial hesitation to try the drink, Katareth watched as he retrieved two snifters from the cabinet, cupping one in each hand to warm it with his magic. Returning to sit in an adjacent chair, he poured a few fingers of liquor into each glass before offering one to Kat. “Though I suppose we’ve been through worse together…”

“You’re not wrong, there,” she nodded earnestly as she gave the glass a tentative sniff. Kat was greeted with a fragrant bouquet of spiced fruit under the strong scent of alcohol, evoking memories of crisp Harvestmere evenings. The two shared a hopeful glance and clinked their glasses together. “To new beginnings,” she began.

“And old friends,” Emmrich finished with a fond smile.

Taking tentative sips, both Watchers hummed in surprise at the pleasantly delicious sweetness of a fine aged brandy. Apple, caramel, honey, and hints of cinnamon and anise had them going back for more. As they each got to work on their respective projects, they found themselves refilling their drinks time and time again.

The pair rarely indulged in alcohol to such an extent, but their only duties for tomorrow were to replace the natron surrounding the Duke and perform another cursory sweep of the upper levels, so they could afford a later start to their morning than was typical.

Her second mistake was bringing her greatsword. Yes, it desperately needed to be honed, but there really was no excuse for such a poor judgement call; Katareth knew better than to mix alcohol and sharp objects. As the bottle of brandy grew lighter, the drag of her whetstone across the blade’s razor edge grew sloppier. It was only a few minutes after polishing off her fifth glass when she gasped in pain, hissing a quiet, “vashedan,” as her hand slipped.

Emmrich’s head snapped to her—evidently a bit too quickly as he swayed in his chair—to inspected the damage. Dissatisfied with his current vantage point from the writing desk, the necromancer tottered over on unsteady legs to kneel before her, cradling her clenched fist as crimson trickled down.

“Kat, may I see your hand?” he slurred, gently massaging at her wrist with a thumb. Slowly, it unfurled to reveal a deep, weeping gash across the palm.

Maker, it burned like the void. She’d experienced far more dire injuries, of course, but there was typically a buffer of adrenaline that dulled the pain of a fresh wound. Her only consolation was that Emmrich was so close, now.

She watched curiously as her necromancer examined the slice. His brows furrowed in deep concentration while hazel eyes trailed up and down the edges for what seemed like far too long. All the while, blood continued to drip onto her lap. Did the liquor flowing through his veins temporarily weaken his connection to the Fade, somehow? Would she require stitches instead? She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but it instead fell agape when he lowered his face to her palm and dragged the flat of his tongue across the wound.

Her third mistake was not immediately yanking her hand back. Especially after he went back for a second pass. Then a third. He laved across her palm, curling his tongue around the sides to lap up scarlet trails and carefully probe at the edges of the cut with the surprisingly dexterous tip of his tongue.

She was frozen, entirely bewitched by the unexpectedly titillating scene that was quite literally in the palm of her hand. A hot flush of arousal bloomed in her chest at the sight. One half crept up from the collar of her shirt to paint her pewter cheeks a dusky rose, while the other half coiled low in her gut.

Emmrich pulled his head back just enough to wrap his lips around the tip of her index finger before he dove back to the knuckle in one fluid stroke, sucking at the smeared blood that coated the digit. He made a lewd show of bobbing his head on it as he went, peppering in breathy little moans here and there. Katareth’s middle finger was given much of the same salacious treatment, practically deepthroated by the otherwise prim and proper necromancer.

It was only when he moved to suck at her ring and subsequent pinky finger that Emmrich met the qunari’s wide eyes, his own half-lidded in drunken lust. As the digits slipped from his mouth, she glanced down to see swipes of red on his cheeks and chin.

Katareth thought she detected a moment of hesitation as the older Watcher rose with a quiet groan, though it was quickly dispelled when he crawled into the reaper’s lap, either oblivious or uncaring of the blood that still sat damp on her pants. One of his hand came up to press its palm to her bloodied one, tenderly lacing their fingers together and sending crimson rivulets trailing down their wrists with a wet squelch.

Slowly, giving her ample time to retreat, he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. Emmrich gauged her reaction, and when he found no objection, pressed them to her more firmly to take her in a chaste kiss. At the same time, emerald magic pulsed between their palms as the edges of her wound were stitched together.

There was something about either the soft flash of light or rejuvenating effects of his magic that inspired her to move, joining the kiss with the same slow, lazy pace he set. Internally, she was dumbfounded. There was a not-insignificant part of her brain that wondered if this was actually happening, or if this was just the early stages of another particularly elaborate wet dream, and she’d wake up in the morning alone in her bed with a hand down her pants and his name a whisper on her lips.

But it certainly didn’t feel like a dream. He never felt this warm, and the memory of his scent was never as mouthwatering as the real thing: incense, well-loved leather, flowers, and something uniquely Emmrich that she could never quite place.

Ah fuck, this was real.

“Emmrich,” she whispered, pulling back slightly, “…we shouldn’t be doing this…” It was more of a question than a statement, but there was a certain level of decorum to be expected from the Mourn Watch, and she was quite sure drunkenly sleeping with coworkers fell squarely outside of that.

“And why not?” he gently challenged as he leaned further into her space to close the distance once again. “I think we’ve spent more than enough time avoiding the obvious pull between us, don’t you?”

It was hard to argue with the truth, especially when the man she’d pined over for years was staring at her like that. When she gave no rebuttal, he cradled her jaw in a gloved hand and guided her lips back to his own. There was a subtle heat that simmered just under the surface as Emmrich’s long fingers worked their way under the maroon cravat at her throat.

“I—mph!” The moment her lips parted, his tongue dove into her mouth, stroking her own to invite it to dance.

The iron tang of Katareth’s blood in another’s mouth was electrifying, and the fact that it was his mouth drove her wild. Her hands clamped onto his hips, grinding the necromancer’s swelling bulge against her mound. The pair writhed against one another, tongues tangling as Emmrich’s hands fumbled with the buttons of their waistcoats.

The task was made considerably more difficult by both the alcohol and distracting strain of his erection against the inside of his trousers, though not impossible. Eventually, their shirts were discarded in a heap, followed hastily by Katareth’s brassiere. Emmrich wasted little time bringing his hands to her ample bosom, teasing their nipples to pebble under his delicate ministrations.

He’d seen them before on a few occasions over the years—even laid his hands upon them once or twice—but it was always under the urgently clinical context of sealing a mortal wound closed during an expedition gone awry. That didn’t mean he was above shamefully taking himself in a tight fist to thoughts of her breasts during particularly lonesome evenings: flush against his in a moment of quiet intimacy, toying with the little gold barbells that drew him in like wisps to a corpse, or squeezed around his cock while he fucked the sinfully inviting canyon between them…

But this wasn’t one of his scandalous little fantasies. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined how erotic it would be to drink in her rich lifeblood, let alone experiencing her licking it off the back of his teeth.

When the hands at his hips flexed, Emmrich’s own wandered upward, slowly trailing to the sensitive edges of her ears. He matched the back-and-forth stroke of his fingertips to the tempo of her rocking hips, greedily swallowing down the rumbled moans he pulled from her. Hmmm, I wonder… When he experimentally pinched at a pointed tip, a bolt of arousal crackled through her body directly to her core.

“Ah, M-Maker!” she shuddered, bucking up into the delicious swell of his length.

Their mutual need soon grew desperate, but neither Watcher currently had the dexterity nor the sobriety to manage such a coupling in a chair, and Emmrich refused to fuck her on the floor like some uncouth lecher. He dismounted, pulling Katareth up with him and only breaking the kiss to pant, “To the bedroom, my dear. Please.”

Stumbling through the doorway, Emmrich practically pushed her onto the mattress and began tugging at her trousers, licking at the bloodstains that fell scandalously close to her apex. Were he of a clearer mind, he might’ve spent more time with his head between her thighs, putting on a proper show of working her into a frenzy before guiding her to the highest peaks of pleasure. Next time, he promised himself.

Instead, His boots were kicked off with little care for where they ended up, followed swiftly by the rest of his own attire. The necromancer gave a sharp inhale when his weeping cock finally made contact with the cool air, twitching with desire.

Seeing Katareth, the object of his unspoken affections, sprawled atop his ruffled sheets panting, flush, and dripping for him sent a shiver of heat down his spine. Crawling up the supine reaper, Emmrich hastily reclaimed her lips in a searing kiss. One hand balanced himself over her while the other dipped to give his member a few languid pumps.

“Emmrich, please,” Katareth begged, tangling a hand in his hair and canting her hips upward to seek his erection.

Unable to delay their union any longer, he lined himself up with her entrance, rubbing his cockhead between her folds to collect a bit of her gathered essence. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he eased himself between her swollen lips until he was entirely seated within her. The instant he bottomed out, both Watchers released low groans of relief, one at being so wholly immersed in her warm cunt, and the other at the satisfying stretch of her walls around his cock.

Emmrich took a few moments to luxuriate in her plush heat before he retreated. Not entirely, but enough to make the subsequent thrust just as decadent as the first.

As he began fucking her in earnest, he attempted to set some semblance of a consistent pace. The brandy had his rhythm resembling something more akin to an animalistic rut: ragged and unrestrained, but if the near-constant stream of shuddered breaths and sighs from the woman under him were any indication, Katareth didn’t mind in the slightest.

They moved as one, getting lost in the pleasure of each other’s bodies. With each hot drag through her heat, she would flex around him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. “Maker, Katareth, you’re incre—ah!” His attempt at praise was cut off with a deliciously sharp squeeze around his length, followed by a fresh trail of her warm, slick essence as it trickled down between the narrow seam where their bodies were joined.

Spurred on by a sudden desire to be closer—deeper, his lust-addled mind briefly thought back to past lovers and years spent hunched over anatomical texts. Recalling a scintillating pose that would be easy enough to replicate, Emmrich cupped the back of one of Katareth’s knees to lift it higher, looping the other around his waist. With their adjusted positions, he dove to new depths, sweeping the blunt head of his cock across a sweet spot with every snap of his hips. Her head fell back against the pillows at the absolutely divine sensation, lips parted in a low, throaty groan.

“Fuck, Emmrich—yes, right there,” she purred, fingers scrabbling for purchase along the sweat-slicked dips of his spine while her heels dug into the small of his back. The grunts huffed into her collarbone, musky scent of their coupling, and mind-shattering roll of their hips all combined in a euphoric cacophony, guiding her even closer toward her zenith.

She wasn’t the only one climbing to a fevered pitch, either. Emmrich felt as his unsteady rhythm grew even further off tempo the longer they continued, felt the clench of velvet around his cock. He nipped and sucked at the ample flesh of her chest to ground himself in the moment, and received a low purr of approval for his efforts.

“Kat, Kat, I’m close,” he attempted to pant around the skin held taut between his teeth.

The larger Watcher rose to prop herself on an elbow, doubling her efforts as Emmrich began to come undone within her. “Maker, Emm—just a bit more,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

With his eyes shut and face buried in her chest, it wasn’t until Emmrich felt the soft puffs of her breath card through his hair that he realized she’d shifted, gazing down at him like he put the stars in the sky.

He hastily readjusted, looping an arm around her neck to pull her mouth to his once again. It was less of a kiss this time, and more of a frenzied tangling of tongues while he brought his free hand to thumb at her clit.

The full-bodied tremor that tore through her frame at his ministrations spelled his end. A few quick, keening breaths sawed through Emmrich before he gave a final hitched thrust, grinding his hips as he spilled himself within her. His nails dug into the meat of her shoulder while the all-consuming waves of pleasure rippled through him.

Katareth was overcome by her own ecstasy a second later, sparked by the pulses of sudden warmth flooding her core. Every fiber of her being seemed to contract around him time and time again, squeezing Emmrich against her body to feel his heat not only in her, but on her. The tender pull of his arm around her neck, lips dancing against her own, and pads of his fingers delicately stroking across her pearl had Katareth wondering how she could have ever thought this would be a mistake.

When the rapture of their orgasms subsided, the necromancer withdrew his flagging length, easing a soft groan from both Watchers before he collapsed on top of her.

They didn’t need to say anything. They both knew they’d be due a long, weighty discussion over a strong cup of coffee—or tea, in Emmrich’s case—come morning. But for now, still comfortably cocooned in the haze of liquor and each other’s embrace, they could simply be. Shuffling under the covers and away from the ever-present chill that pervaded every level of the Necropolis, the pair exchanged a few chaste kisses before giving themselves over to sleep.

Anointed

Tending to the recently deceased is typically a quiet, contemplative affair for the Mourn Watch. The only exception this time is what—or rather who—each Watcher is contemplating.

Rating: T (Chapter 2 is E)

Read it on AO3

Tags: slice of life, mild angst, mutual pining, embalming a corpse, yes the two prev tags are happening simultaneously

9:47 Dragon

It’d been a particularly brutal winter, which meant the Mourn Watch was kept busier than usual retrieving and preserving the dead. Two days ago, they’d received a missive regarding the passing of Duke Forsythia in the night, requesting their retrieval of his body the morning following his wake.

It was simple enough to hitch the undead horses, and once the magically-cooled transport casket was loaded into the back of the hearse, they were off.

Emmrich and Katareth rode to the Forsythia’s sprawling estate just outside the city in companionable silence, expressions schooled into the placid, assured masks Nevarrans had come to expect of the Mortalitasi. Not that it mattered, as the early hour of their departure meant that most of the city’s residents were either still in bed or just beginning their mornings. The lower halves of both Watchers’ faces were also wrapped in thick charcoal scarves to protect themselves from the freezing winds, further concealing their features.

Katareth held the reins, guiding the trio of horses along empty streets to the edge of town and through an opulent wrought iron gate. The large double doors of the manor opened as they approached, revealing the small, stoic matriarch of House Forsythia.

When they stepped from the carriage and reached the top of the staircase, she ushered them into the grand entrance hall. “I must extend my most sincere gratitude to you both, riding so far in the cold—on Solstice Eve, no less!” Her light, expressive voice belied not only her advanced years, but also the unfortunate reason for their presence in the first place.

“It’s no trouble at all, Duchess Forsythia,” Emmrich assured her. “The Mourn Watch is honored to serve.”

The nonagenarian waved a knobby hand at the necromancer, “You’ve been our advisor for decades, Emmrich, and it feels as though I’ve insisted you call me Amalia for just as long.” When he gave a sheepish chuckle, her attention turned to the qunari, milky-grey eyes narrowed to slits. Katareth didn’t miss how they briefly flicked to her horns. “And you… I’ve seen you before, but I’ve not met you… You’re the Naletski’s girl, aren’t you?”

While ‘girl’ might’ve been a bit of a stretch—considering she was about forty years old and over seven feet tall at this point—she nevertheless gave a respectful bow as she answered, “Yes, Katareth Naletski.” When the noblewoman didn’t react, she tacked on an uncertain, “Um, feel free to use my given name, if you would prefer.”

Apparently, that was the correct response, as the woman’s thin lips spread into a warm smile. “Likewise, Katareth.” She turned to lead the Watchers deeper into the castle, but paused to return her steely eyes up to the reaper. “Felix would be happy to know you were one of the Watchers to collect him,” Amalia began matter-of-factly. “Always said the best defense against a Qunari was an even bigger Tal-Vashoth…” From the corner of her eye, Kat caught Emmrich’s shoulders rise and face pinch as he cringed behind the duchess’ back.

Well, she really didn’t know how to respond to that—there was a reason she preferred mummifying bodies to collecting them, after all. Following a brief internal debate, she murmured a tentative, “…Thank you…?” as she assumed the woman’s reminiscing was intended as a compliment?

She was two for two on proper responses, apparently, as the noblewoman nodded sagely before returning her focus to guide the Mortalitasi to the great hall, reviewing her husband’s final requests as they trailed closely behind her.

His body was collected with little fanfare, as the duke was a relatively modest man despite the Forsythia’s overflowing coffers. At most, a Chantry priest said a few elegies for his soul’s safe arrival to the Maker’s side while they loaded the casket into the hearse, and servants gingerly placed two white granite urns in a padded storage chest before sliding it in next to the casket.

Katareth stepped around to the front of the carriage to give Duchess Forsythia the opportunity to speak privately with Emmrich while she checked on the horses’ tacking. She tried to avoid eavesdropping, but couldn’t help overhearing the duchess’ voice rise above the gentle breeze and rattle of bare branches overhead. The reaper didn’t catch what exactly the noblewoman said, but the exasperated, grousing tone of Amalia’s voice had her eyebrows raising at Gustav. The horse only tilted his bony head in response.

The duchess hobbled over to the qunari after a time, ignoring Gustav’s warning snort and taking something from a servant’s waiting hands before thrusting it up to her face. It was a velvet satchel the color of daffodils whose contents clinked and jingled as they shifted.

“You will accept this without question. Am I understood?” her stern tone gave little room for dissent.

“Yes, ma’am.” Katareth took the bag. Andraste’s flaming ass, how many gulders did she stuff in here?

“Smart girl. Thought I’d have to threaten another Mourn Watcher…” she grumbled to herself. Amalia looked to the hearse and sighed, taking one of Katareth’s comparatively massive hands in hers. “I gave Emmrich the same unsolicited advice, so now it’s your turn: cherish your family while you’ve got them. Eventually there’ll come a time where they’re not around anymore… and while you’ll still have memories, it’ll… it’ll never be the same...” She squeezed Katareth’s hand for emphasis before releasing it. “Now you take care of my Felix for me, alright?”

“Of course, Amalia.”

The matriarch smiled sadly at the hearse one last time before slowly shuffling her way back inside.

Both Watchers reclaimed their seats at the front of the hearse, and with a quick flick of her wrists, the horses began trotting back to the Grand Necropolis.

-----

Nevarra City’s streets were still barren during their return, giving the reaper’s mind a bit if space to dwell on the duchess’ parting words. Family was something of an interesting subject for Katareth…

The nurturing Tamassran who raised her for the first twelve years of her life was the same woman who screamed for Arvaarads when the little magic she possessed first manifested. And while Albrecht Naletski’s mind may have been clouded by grief when he first took in the young Tal-Vashoth, he at least made some attempts at bonding with the traumatized child despite the initial language barrier. Petra, however, wanted nothing to do with the girl, and never bothered hiding her loathing for ‘Franziska’—as Albrecht had originally named the qunari—or her husband’s bleeding heart.

Katareth was painfully aware of the fact that her presence strained the Naletski’s already tenuous marriage, and was almost relieved when she accidentally revealed her magic during a particularly brutal verbal lashing by Petra. The girl didn’t think it was impolite to ask why she needed so many different forks for one meal, but apparently her accent was wrong and her grammar was wrong and how dare she speak when she wasn’t spoken to first. Albrecht attempted to soothe his wife to no avail, and it rapidly devolved into another screaming match about their lost children while the then sixteen-year-old silently fumed, quite literally burning a hole through the tablecloth. And then the table itself.

When she really thought about it, Katareth only had a handful of people she would consider family in any sense of the word, and they each wore the same greyish-purple robes she did.

“…Rook?” she felt a light hand on her bicep.

The nickname Varric had bequeathed to her during the Pentaghast’s hunt ball had caught like wildfire through the Grand Necropolis. It had annoyed her at first—she’d originally changed her name to Katareth in an attempt to exert some small modicum of agency in her life, after all—but grew to appreciate it when she saw the warm fondness everyone spoke it with.

“…Rook?” the hand gently squeezed.

She blinked a few times before looking to Emmrich, momentarily dazzled by how pretty his eyes were in the morning sun. It highlighted all the brilliant shades of honey, umber, and sage that were normally hidden away under the Veilfire that dimly illuminated the Grand Necropolis.

“Are you alright? You looked like you were a million miles away.”

“I got a bit lost in thought—sorry, what were you saying?” The streets were still blessedly empty.

“No apologies necessary. I was just mentioning that Ulrich will be visiting with my nephews in the spring for the Wintersend tournaments, and I’m fairly certain they’re more excited to see you again than they are me,” his quiet laughter was muffled somewhat by his scarf.

“Eh, they’re still at that age where they’re obsessed with combat and dragons—two things I happen to enjoy talking about. I’m sure they’ll learn to appreciate your knowledge and wisdom as they mature.”

“Oh, I’m not offended in the slightest, I’m just appreciative they have such a patient teacher.” His eyes narrowed slightly, “…And ‘wisdom,’ was it? Is that your way of telling me I’m old?” he teased.

“No,” the qunari snorted, “it’s my way of saying you’re right most of the time. Besides, you’re only what, forty-eight? If you think that’s old, does that mean you also think Johanna’s old? You've only got two years on her,” she countered.

Emmrich hastily backpedaled, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Though the lower half of his face was concealed, she knew he was trying not to smile.

She leaned into his space to conspiratorially whisper, “I’m telling Johanna you think she’s old.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” He was right of course, but he was too fun to tease.

Katareth leaned back to nonchalantly survey the streets. “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t… Who’s to say?” She pretended to mull over her options for several long moments before deciding, “But I couldn’t risk her mauling my favorite necromancer, now, could I?”

“My knight in shining armor,” Emmrich placed his palm over his heart. “What would I do without you?”

“Get lost in the Necropolis?”

As Katareth finished her statement, they trotted down the thoroughfare that led into the Necropolis proper. The hollow sound of clip-clopping hooves echoed in the dozens of recesses that lined the walls, each featuring an urn that was as unique as the remains held within. The reaper gently tugged on the reins, easing the horses to a standstill under the drooping, pale willows that had gone dormant for the season.

Stepping from the hearse, Emmrich collected a gurney while Katareth began unhitching the horses. Normally, there would be acolytes to assist with the more mundane tasks, but the week surrounding the Winter Solstice typically left the Grand Necropolis running on little more than a skeleton crew—quite literally—as most of the living residents left to spend time with family.

Katareth always volunteered to stay over the holiday, as it gave her the perfect excuse to avoid her adoptive parents. Emmrich, on the other hand, had something of a sixth sense when it came to death. He had anticipated the duke’s passing over the holiday, and wanted to ensure he was available to assist his patrons in whatever way they required. He wouldn’t deny Katareth’s presence made the prospect of staying over the solstice all the more enticing, however.

“If you’d like to bring the duke to one of the embalming suites, I’ll get the horses put away and meet you there when I’m finished?” Katareth delegated.

The necromancer nodded, “Manfred and I should have everything set up by the time you arrive.”

-----

The rich, heady scent of incense grew stronger as she approached the door leading into the suite.

“Wonderful, Manfred! This looks perfect.” Katareth heard the necromancer praise as she stepped in. The skeleton gave a happy little chitter in response, turning from the older Watcher to organize the plethora of tools they might need into neat rows.

Emmrich was already dressed in his usual embalming garb, carefully inspecting a bubbling alembic and turning down the flame to watch as the mixture cooled. Turning to her right, Katareth spotted her own protective gown and apron neatly folded on a nearby counter. Donning her gear, she listened as Emmrich eagerly chattered away about his latest project.

“I’ve added more bitumen to the embalming solution in the hopes that it’ll allow for greater mobility while still maintaining its preservative properties—should Cumberland’s Watchers choose to house a spirit in Felix’s body, of course. To counteract bitumen’s, er, unpleasant smell, I’ve also included a higher concentration of lavender and myrrh.” Though her gaze was occupied with fastening the various buckles and ties, she could hear the smile in his voice. “It seems to be quite effective if my trial runs are to be believed, and I’m hopeful it will maintain its efficacy in something a bit larger...”

The qunari tightened the straps on her elbow-length gloves, giving them a testing clench to ensure everything fit comfortably. Satisfied, she looked up from her fiddling to see the necromancer staring intently at her hands.

He cleared his throat before continuing, meeting her eyes, “This’ll need some time to cool,” he gestured to the glassware, “but I’m ready to get started whenever you are.”

“Then let’s begin.” Katareth stepped around to stand on the opposite side of the raised table from her fellow Watcher. The white silk shroud was folded down and removed to reveal the cool, pallid body of Duke Felix Forsythia. He looked remarkable for having died two days ago. The only hints to his lifelessness came in the form of several deep purple bruises along the backs of his head and limbs, but those could be fixed later. For now, Emmrich raised a silver ewer embossed with dancing skeletons and spirits, tipping it to gently pour fragrant wine across the corpse. They meticulously scrubbed at rubbery skin, manipulating limbs and joints to prepare for the multitude of steps ahead.

For the second time that day, Katareth found her mind wandering as her hands gently worked wine into the duke’s skin, this time to mull over the little family she’d carved out here.

Myrna was by far her closest friend and confidant, first meeting at Cumberland’s circle and reuniting when Katareth was eventually transferred to the Grand Necropolis. The human’s calm geniality made her easy to get along with, and she had perfected the subtle art of gently teasing the reaper from the Necropolis to enjoy the city’s multitude of art galleries and museums together. Or on days where neither woman felt like venturing into the land of the living, they read quietly on opposite sides of the same sofa, passing a bottle of sweet wine back and forth to take swigs.

The best way she could describe her relationship with Johanna, on the other hand, was by likening it to that of a supportively antagonistic older sister. For all her snarking and sniping at Katareth’s expense, the older Watcher truly had a soft spot for her former protégé, teasing and teaching the reaper in equal measure. During Kat’s initial reticent year in the Necropolis, Johanna had gone so far as to learn a bit of Qunlat, concerned her student’s mutism was related to a language barrier. While her assumption was incorrect, it was an example of her subtle benevolence, complimented perfectly by the fact that they soon began bonding over some of the more colorful Qunari phrases.

Then there was Emmrich… Her feelings for the necromancer had certainly morphed over the many years she’d know him. Starting with a neutral indifference to her best friend’s mentor, they slowly, quietly, blossomed into something more over the years as she came to observe and appreciate the bottomless well of compassion that seemed to pour from him. His very presence lit up a room, and he had the most enchanting ability to make even the most mundane things seem extraordinary. Whether it was earnestly detailing the long journey the tea leaves he steeped had to go on in order to arrive at the Necropolis’ doors, or pointing out the soft glitter of a sandstone tableau in a long-abandoned crypt, he never failed to make the world around him seem that much more intriguing.

However, it wasn’t as though she would ever act on her deepest feelings, so she rarely bothered dwelling on them to this extent. She was more than happy to guard and guide him–and occasionally a small gaggle of students—during treks into the Necropolis’ bowels, or provide a fresh set of eyes to a project. No, his friendship was worth far too much for her to risk it over some unnamed emotions, regardless of the way her heart skipped at each and every compliment he showered her in…

Blinking a few times to refocus on the body laid out before her, Katareth found herself satisfied with the corpse’s cleanliness. Taking hold of a matching ewer, the qunari tilted her gloved hand, chasing wine with crisp water over the duke’s body and down the drain. Once empty, she placed the pitcher in the skeleton’s waiting hands with a grateful, “Thank you, Manfred,” and was handed a scalpel in return. Holding it toward a Veilfire sconce to appraise the edge, Katareth was pleased to find it razor-sharp.

-----

As Katareth inspected the knife, Emmrich retrieved an awl from Manfred’s meticulously organized tray. This was by far his least favorite method for excerebration—he found craniectomies to be both more efficient and dignified—but this had been a part of Duke Forsythia’s end-of-life plans for years, and the necromancer would never dream of going against one’s final wishes.

He made some minor adjustments to the placement of the chisel’s tip before striking the opposite end with a mallet. And with a wet crunch, he pierced through the ethmoid. The reaper jumped a bit with the sound.

“Apologies,” he offered after piercing through the bone on the opposite side.

“None needed, just a bit quiet in here is all.”

He hummed in agreement. “It is, isn’t it… I’m normally lecturing to acolytes as we work, aren’t I?”

Katareth nodded with the corners of her lips quirked upward, “Not that I mind either way.”

“I’d be more than happy to give you your own private lecture, if you’d like?” He was only half joking.

Katareth’s smirk stretched to a lopsided smile, “You don’t have to, but I appreciate the offer.”

He traded his awl for a thin hooked rod, inserting it into one of the new access points to begin disarticulating Duke Forsythia’s brain. While he worked, Emmrich had a front row seat to observe the reaper as she drew the scalpel up the duke’s jugular, slowly oozing dark, semi-coagulated blood. With a few precise incantations, she guided it to the drain at the bottom of the table. What she couldn’t dispel with simple blood magic, she began kneading from his limbs.

Emmrich had long been afraid of death—something he found a bit embarrassing, given as he’d dedicated his life to helping others understand and even accept it, after all—but it would be an almost welcome experience if he knew she would be the one tending to his body when his soul finally passed into the Fade. How wonderful it must be, he thought, to have her strong hands massaging at his muscles, working blackened blood from stagnant veins. To be the sole focus of her attention as she reverently tended to his corpse, taking him apart piece by piece only to put him back together for the last time... He would almost be envious of the duke, were the necromancer’s own hands not currently busied scraping grey matter from the inside of his skull.

It was a shame how so few outside the Necropolis were capable of—or willing—to look beyond her gilded horns and towering frame to see the tenderhearted woman underneath, and how fewer still were granted the privilege of her companionship. Emmrich found her a wonderfully charming bundle of juxtapositions, and couldn’t help but appreciate every single one. Like how the calloused hands that lovingly cared for her pet deathwatch beetles were the same ones that effortlessly hefted greatswords. Or the way her menacing snarl could turn blood to ice in the veins of would-be grave robbers, but was so warm and encouraging when providing Manfred with gentle but persistent guidance as he developed a new skill. Or the one Emmrich found most endearing: the way her usually reserved countenance was replaced with an almost fervent giddiness anytime she was given the opportunity to speak about one of her favorite topics at length. Katareth was a marvel, and he considered himself among Thedas’ luckiest men that the reaper chose him above all others to spend her time with.

As he fondly catalogued his fellow Watcher's every feature, their respective tasks passed effortlessly. And soon, both the duke’s cranium and veins were left void of any potential rot.

-----

“Will you do the honors, or shall I?” Katareth held a scalpel out to the necromancer, this one longer than the last.

“Why don’t you? I believe I did it last time.”

She nodded, lowering the blade to slice from sternum to navel in a single, fluid stroke. As she meticulously worked through the various layers of fascia, fat, and muscle to expose the abdominal cavity, Manfred assisted Emmrich in preparing the series of baths they’d need for the duke’s organs. The first rippled with clear water directly from the Minater, the second was filled with more fragrant wine, and the last held a thicker amber liquid that smelled of rich spices and resin.

Years of experience had the trio working seamlessly. With each organ excised, she would weigh and appraise it, informing Manfred on what to scrawl into the autopsy records before handing it off to Emmrich. Once it had made its way through the multiple washes, the necromancer would set it on a cool tray, nestled in with the rest of the organs in preparation for the final step.

“Do you have a favorite organ, Katareth?” Emmrich suddenly asked while cradling a liver that dripped with wine.

The larger Watcher hummed as she considered the question, slicing through the duke’s diaphragm. “I guess the lungs?” It felt like a bit of a cop-out, as those were the organs she was currently seeking out, but she did like breathing. “They’re easy to take for granted if you’ve never had to deal with them not working properly...” She briefly thought back to the time they encountered a possessed dragon, where one of its putrid claws pierced between her ribs and into her right lung. Myrna and Emmrich managed to patch her back together, but the resulting pneumonia left her bedridden for nearly a fortnight, hacking and wheezing the entire time.

Apparently Emmrich was thinking of the same incident. “Maker, with what a nightmare that whole affair was, I’m impressed we all made it back in one piece—er, more or less.” He turned to place Duke Forsythia’s liver on the tray next to his stomach, “Though I must say you were a wonderful patient.” While the idea of anyone seeing her in such a frail state had the qunari’s hackles raised, she curiously found herself looking forward to his little check-ins. His constant reassurance and concern with her comfort made the ordered bedrest almost tolerable, and the fact that the necromancer’s freezing hands were a balm to her fevered skin certainly didn’t hurt, either.

“Being in the capable hands of the Watch’s best healers made things a bit easier.” She thought she saw the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. “But what about you? Do you have a favorite organ?”

“Skin,” he stated without hesitation. “It does so much! Everything from thermoregulation to tactile stimulation, and it plays such a vital role in how we communicate with one another. We even use the skin of other species every single day for an even wider variety of applications.” Emmrich gestured to the thick gloves and aprons both Watchers wore. There it was again: his delightful ability to give her a newfound appreciation for something as humdrum as skin.

“Is it too late to change my answer?” the qunari joked. During his explanation, she snipped through the veins and arteries that tethered each lung to the heart.

“Never, though lungs are an excellent choice, as well!” the necromancer assured. “Very practical.”

Each lung was removed individually and placed upon the scale. “The right lung is seven hundred and twenty-five grams, with no blemishes visible. It’s greyish pink in color, which is appropriate given the delay in mummification,” she declared, listening for the soft scratch of charcoal on parchment before she handed it off to the older Watcher.

Though the wisp was incapable of facial expressions, the staccato movements of his arm spoke of an intense focus. “Manfred?” Katareth waited for him to look up from his task before continuing gently, “Your penmanship’s been improving by leaps and bounds,” she praised, smiling, “but remember to relax your shoulders and take it slow. We’re in no rush, I promise.” The reaper knew he wasn’t subjected to physical exhaustion like a living being, but Manfred could experience something akin to mental fatigue if he focused on something too intensely for too long.

He nodded and gave a little hissing grunt of acknowledgement before rolling his shoulders. “The left lung is six hundred and eighty grams. Like the right, it shows no blemishes and is of the same dull pink color.” The drag of charcoal was much more consistent this time around. “Very good!”

While Emmrich took the lungs through the series of baths, the qunari gave the duke’s body one final rinse with wine, paying special attention to the now mostly-hollow abdominal and thoracic cavities. Once everything was patted down to soak up excess fluid, the necromancer eagerly poured the lukewarm contents of the alembic into a bowl for easier access. Almost instantly, the intoxicating scents of cinnamon, cedar, and myrrh filled the embalming suite.

The Watchers got to work lathering Duke Forsythia’s body with the viscous, amber-colored embalming fluid, paying special attention to thoroughly rub it in around his joints to aid in mobility once fully mummified.

Emmrich stepped back to examine the corpse. “I believe that about does it… Are we ready with the natron, Manfred?” The skeleton hissed cheerfully, gesturing to a sizeable pile of linen pouches filled with salt he’d put together. “Oh, excellent work.”

-----

Two hours later, the duke was cocooned in a sizeable mound of natron. The Watchers would need to refresh it daily, but following a quick patrol of the upper levels of the Necropolis, their work for the day was done.

“Do you have any plans for the evening?” Emmrich asked as they returned to the residential wing.

“I really need to sharpen my greatsword, to be honest…” its edge was still razor-sharp, but she noticed the barest hint of drag when slicing through training dummies a few days ago that she’d been desperate to rectify ever since.

“Well if you’d like, please feel free to join me in my quarters while you hone it.” The Necromancer’s warm eyes held a little glimmer of anticipation. “I’d like to finish my notes regarding my newest embalming fluid attempt, and would welcome your company. Manfred is a delight, of course, but he’s retired for the evening and I find I work better with someone to bounce ideas off of.”

“I’d like that. Give me half an hour to get out of my full plate and I’ll be there?”

“I’ll see you then, Katareth.”