#mourn watcher Myrna

[bossuary]

possible Myrna and Audric????

bonus skellingtom:

[dalishious]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Familiar Faces and Factions

The trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard has dropped, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s like a new breath of life has entered my lungs!

Within the trailer, we now have confirmation of who our seven companions are going to be, and among them are a few familiar faces from the book Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights. We also have some name-droppings of a couple factions featured in the same book and the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing. So, here is what knowledge is established about these faces sand factions.

Neve Gallus & The Shadow Dragons

Neve Gallus was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Streets of Minrathous”. She comes off as a no-nonsense and a little intense kind of person. Neve is a Tevinter mage who works as a private investigator. For example, if someone wants some detective work done but doesn’t want the public to know, they would hire Neve. On occasion, she’s even been hired by the templars, who act like just regular cops in Tevinter – and yes, that includes their corruption and primary goal of simply protecting the elite – but Neve prefers to work alone because of that corruption, and has a personal grudge against the order for taking bribes to cover up crimes.

Neve has a prosthetic leg below the knee, made of dwarven-crafted metal.

In The Missing, Neve says she is friends with the Shadow Dragons. In the article shared by EA, as of The Veilguard, she is officially a member. The Shadow Dragons are a group of concerned Tevinter citizens who help those in need. This includes supporting escaped slaves, for example.

Emmrich Volkahrin

Emmrich Volkahrin was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “Down Among the Dead Men”. He is a necromancer from Nevarra, and therefore naturally a member of the Mortalitasi – specifically, a professor in the Mourn Watch. The Watchers serve as elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis. Emmrich is on the eccentric side, personality-wise, but kindly and informal.

Emmrich has a skeleton assistant name of Manfred, who helps him with different office tasks. He also has friends in Myrna, a fellow Watcher, and Audric, a dead guardsmen who looks after the library.

Lucanis Dellamorte

Lucanis Dellamorte was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Wigmaker Job”. He is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon (leader) of the Antivan Crows. As such, he was raised from birth to be the perfect assassin in a ruthless and torturous environment, knowing only cruelty from his family. This has led to him feeling less like a person and more like a living weapon – and he is treated like one by everyone who knows of him. He has “the Demon” as a nickname.

I know a few people are curious about the “mage killer” title in the trailer. Rest assured that Lucanis specifically kills evil blood mages. In his own words: ���If someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—I’m not going to complain.”

Where his cousin Illario has a “silver tongue” as Lucanis puts it, he himself is a lot blunter. His reputation of a killer is spotless, except for one small problem: He has a heart under all that black leather.

Lucanis and Illario get along quite well, except for the fact that Lucanis is destined to be the next First Talon, after Caterina dies. Illario wants the job far more than Lucanis, but Lucanis isn’t sure he’s capable of making a decision for himself that goes against the wishes of the Crows.

The Veil Jumpers

The Veil Jumpers were first introduced in The Missing #3. They are a group made up of primarily Dalish elves, though also inclusive of other folks of any walks of life willing to help, working to try and control the new threats within Arlathan Forest. The forest has become a ground of chaotic magic, with the Veil so thin that time and place is jumbled together. Thus, the Veil Jumpers move in and out of the spots that bleed into one another.

The Veil Jumpers do have a headquarters called “The Sanctum”, but we know nothing else about it.

The Lords of Fortune

Despite the Lords of Fortune being mentioned in more than one Tevinter Nights story, as well as the show Dragon Age: Absolution, we don’t know a lot about them. The only concrete information provided is that they are a loose group of people who collect trinkets and glory. They come out of Rivain. They typically wear a lot of their collected trinkets like badges of honour. That’s really all there is, so I can’t wait to learn more.

[galedekarios]

down among the dead men

i finally finished reading sylvia feketekuty's short story in tevinter nights. sylvia feketekuty is also emmrich's writer in dragon age: the veilguard.

i wanted to compile what we learn about emmrich in sylvia's short story.

emmrich likes tea

"What happened then?" the older mage tilted a pot of tea encouragingly toward Audric.

his study is described in detail

Audric shook his head--he didn't feel like tea, particularly--while his eyes soaked in the room. He'd never been in a necromancer's study before. Ornately decorated skulls hung from hooks in the high, dark ceiling. One wall was made up of shelves with books and tiny labeled drawers. The other was fronted by tables full of bubbling flasks, scales, alembics, and tortured-looking glass. A smartly attired servant ground away with a pestle and mortar.

"Excellent question!" Emmrich swirled the tea in his mug, looking entirely too cheerful, Audric thought, for a man framed by so many racks of skulls.

the description of his study in down among the dead men is very, very reminiscent of his room in the lighthouse that bioware revealed a few days ago:

emmrich may have recreated the comforts of his study in nevarra within the lighthouse.

emmrich lets manfred mix tinctures

"Please, don't mind Manfred." The older mage refilled his own cup. "He'll finish mixing that tincture before you know it." Manfred, a clean-boned skeleton, held up a bowl. Audric read something helpful in the cant of its skull. The younger mage looked critical. "It needs half a cup more elfroot." The corpse pulled out one of the drawers on the side of the room, took out a withered root, and shook it inquiringly. "The royal elfroot, please." Manfred moaned and fumbled at more drawers.

emmrich compliments manfred's successes and is proud of him

"Yes! That's the one." The older mage beamed. "Very good indeed, Manfred!"

emmrich's appearance is described as well by audric

Audric dragged his gaze to the older Watcher across from him, with his silvered hair, tidy mustache, and long face full of concern. His expression reminded Audric of the Chantry scholars when they'd caught him reading by candlelight in the library. The good brothers and sisters had kindly tried to dissuade Audric from living in pages for so long he couldn't think straight in the morning.

i think they a phenomenal job bringing emmrich to life (no pun intended).

emmrich is quite informal, cares about putting someone else at ease, he treats audric as he would a living person, never forcing him to arrive at a conclusion or pressuring him

"Is there anything else you can recall about Lord Karn's funeral?" the mage asked gently. "No? I think... not much, sir. Another guard, she, well... Dellah even had to peel him off me, sir." The necromancer waved a hand. "Emmrich will do, please."

macabre sense of humour

"It's... sorry, it's a blur of screams, sir." "Some of it your own, I'd bet," the necromancer joked, but looked so sympathetic Audric relaxed by a degree.

he is indeed a professor/very scholarly

"Myra picked up the curved rib bone. One end was jagged from where Audric's boot had connected with Karn's rib cage. She handed it to Emmrich. "Excellent. Emmrich? This is your remit." "I'll have it ready before sunset." He sighed. "It would be faster if we'd managed to replace the librarian by now. The students have naturally left the books a mess."

this all fits so well with the blurb we were given about him not so long:

"Emmrich is as serious about his duty to protect innocents from the occult as he is about his studies and his interest in the mysteries of the fade."

don't leave the books in disorder, please.

emmrich is renowned to be good at what he does by other mourn watchers

"Myrna seemed content to leave things there, and took something out of a velvet purse. A rib bone. "Emmrich's prepared your trophy for us. His cathexis is very reliable." Audric felt the ground tilt downslope. "Madam?" "His magic." She tapped the rib bone. "This will now guide us to where Lord Karn's fled. Emmrich would join us, but he's been called to other matters."

i had to look up what cathexis means exactly and it's defined as follows:

In psychoanalysis, cathexis (or emotional investment) is defined as the process of allocation of mental or emotional energy to a person, object, or idea. [...] Cathexis comes to us by way of New Latin from the Greek word kathexis, meaning "holding."

myrna uses a skeleton to send a message to emmrich, presumably he might employ similar methods of communication if available

"Good." Myrna sent a mote of light into a nook in the wall. A moment later, a skeleton fell out, hissing and snapping. Myrna snagged it with a collar of green fire, tugged it like a leash. "Does that... hurt it?" Audric asked, more sympathetic to the shambling thing than he'd been a minute ago. "The sensations differ. With some of the dead, one must exert direct control." The skeleton subsided, making a strange whine. "A message," the Mourn Watcher told it. "Find Professor Emmrich Volkahrin. Tell him after some last business in the Winged Halls, we'll be joining him above without delay."

this description reminded me a bit of the brief glimpses we got of emmrich in the very first companion trailer:

emmrich appreciates punctuality & holding oneself to prior commitments

"You heard my message to Emmrich." She crooked a finger, gesturing to Audric. "We'll be expected. It won't be difficult to return from here. Audric looked around. "I can... I'm allowed to come back with you?" "Of course. Myrna lifted her skirts and stepped over a chunk of stone from the fight. "Emmrich will be put out if we don't show up for tea."

emmrich is incredibly kind when dealing with spirits and undead, no matter their rank or standing in life

"They were back in Emmrich's den. Audric had been astonished to see familiar tomes in a neat stack on the necromaner's desk. "Those... are those...?" "Yours, yes. From your home." Emmrich shook his head. "Forgive the liberty, guardsman. After you and Myrna left for the Necropolis, I had to search for a reason you might have returned so unexpectedly." "I believe we found it," Mysrna said, from where she was overseeing Emmrich's manservant transfer the contents of a bubbling beaker into a bowl. Emmrich handed the top book to Audric. It was a gazetteer of Nevarra City, stamped with a crowned skull surrounded by flowers. Audric flipped it open and read the blocky inscription. To our Son with Love. May you be Blessed in your Studied with the Chantry. "All this effort... for me? I'm just a guardsman, sir." Am? Was? Audric pushed doubt aside and held the gazetteer to his chest. He existed, knew what he loved, and that he had been loved, and that seemed enough in the moment. "The great leveler has no favourites." Emmrich smiled. "Neither does the Mourn Watch."

i found this reaction to myrna and audric quite interesting, and i'm not completely sure what to make of it yet:

"You are faced with a choice," Myrna said, coming over. "You have confronted your killer, and recognised your driving passion. You may rest now, guardsman." "Or?" "Or you may work under the auspices of a Watcher," Myrna said. "Under a modicum of magical control. To avoid anomie, the bond must be given freely." "To you, madam?" "If it's satisfactory." The guardsman ducked his head, and because that felt inadequate, knelt on a knee and held out a hand. Myrna, smiling slightly, took it. Emmrich coughed, looking away. "Please, let the poor fellow up. What position were you thinking?" "I thought it was obvious." Audric felt a slow excitement as he heard Myrna say: "We have a great need for someone to take charge of the library."

overall, i really liked this short story.

i loved how audric wasn't aware that he is, in fact, dead and has died a while ago. i loved how both emmrich and myrna didn't correct his assumption, but led him to the realisation. i love all the little insights we got into emmrich as a character, but also nevarra's culture, necromancy and the mourn watch.

it's definitely one of the best in the book. 🖤

[thedinanshiral]

Today is a fine day as any to rise the dead, but first we need to spell something out. We don't know enough about this intriguing necromancer from Nevarra so this one should be shorter.

So far we only have a couple of source materials, the story "Down among dead men" from Tevinter Nights, and the short story The Flame Eternal. And there's already some minor discrepancy between them. Emmrich's last name is Volkahrin in Tevinter Nights and Volkarin in The Flame Eternal. His short profile on the Dragon Age The Veilguard site only calls him by his first name, so until more information is revealed and the correct spelling of his name officially confirmed i'll use the original spelling, the first we got from Tevinter Nights.

Meet Emmrich Volkahrin, a Mortalitasi from Nevarra, member of the Mourn Watch, a seemingly delightful gentleman, described in his short profile as a well-meaning scholar.

Nevarra is a kingdom at the center of Thedas, south of Tevinter and north of the Waking Sea, famous mainly for two things: their unmatched tradition in dragon hunting and their reverence for the dead around which they've built much of their culture. While in most of the Andrastian lands the dead are cremated to avoid possession of the corpses by the spirits that may be drawn to cross the Veil by the array of emotions that usually follow death, Nevarrans do not; quite the contrary, they've built a Grand Necropolis across the ages where their dead are put to rest. Except not all the dead like to be put to rest so some may rise on occassion and wander about a bit. Most mages in Nevarra if not all are Mortalitasi, necromancers, and among them a special group called the Mourn Watch are in charge of taking care of the dead things that won't stay dead enough. They deal with possessions, early possessions, a number of oddities that arise in the deeper levels of the Necropolis, gathering information by making the dead speak again, and gods know what else. Their perception of the dead is different from anything we've seen in Thedas so far. It seems is common for them to even make use of those no longer living, and skeletal assistants or servants are a common sight near Mortalitasi mages.

So far we've learned of very few Nevarran Mortalitasi, and they all seem to be rather.. dry. Emmrich is the first one so far with a certain charm. He enjoys a nice cup of tea, has a skeleton assistant called Manfred, and he very naturally expresses a sincere excitement when knowledge is involved, be it when others express their curiosity or when there's a chance to learn something new. He's not just a necromancer on the clock, he's also a dedicated scholar. In The Flame Eternal he says to a fellow necromancer who's only interested in getting the job done quickly:

“What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?”.

He's not just doing a job, he's interested in understanding the motivations behind it, what drives the dead to act past their time. In Down among dead men his role is a small one, the story is actually about a guardsman name Audric Felhausen who after an attack by a possessed corpse during its funerary rites is sent to accompany a Watcher -Myrna, of the Mourn Watch- down into the Grand Necropolis to catch the running dead man, only to soon learn he's not quite alive himself anymore and the intrusive thoughts and memories of his love for books and architecture were indicative of his own new nature. Once the issue with the Pride-possessed deceassed noble is resolved they returned to Emmrich and decided Audric, who's still clinging to the world of the living for his love of books, takes a position at the Library.

In The Flame Eternal, we're introduced to a younger Emmrich Volkahrin, who alongside fellow necromancer Johanna Hezenkoss, was tasked to resolve the issue of a screaming skull. It turned out the wife of the decesased had recently passed and even in death the love endured and the skull simply wanted to rest by his beloved. When Johanna complains all the fuss the skull did was just for his dead wife, Emmrich responds “Oh, I don’t know (...) It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection."

In the few lines from him we've gotten so far i think he comes across as a kind and charming man, even if maybe a bit odd considering his line of work and how calm he seems about it. Seems he respects the dead too and doesn't just see them as mere tools.

Design wise, he's also very interesting. If he looks like Vincent Price, chances are it's intentional, but it hasn't been confirmed beyond casual mentions from one or two devs who've made that reference. We don't have a specific age for him but one can be estimated, as in the beginning of The Flame Eternal we're told those events occurred thirty years ago in 9:22 Dragon. Inquisition takes place in 9:42, Trespasser events happen in 9:44, and ten years after that we have The Veilguard, so curently they're in 9:54. Knowing this short story was published in 2021, it adds up that in Thedas it was 9:52, and if we presume Emmrich must have been at the very least 20 years old the youngest he could be is about 52. He could be even older, he certainly looks like he could be in his 60s already.

In his companion tarot card we see him in better detail. The skeleton up front may be Manfred, his assistant, and i find the little skeletons on the side the cutest things ever, like tiny puppets. I think that's the idea behind this card, actually, the necromancer rising the dead, his magic as the strings of the puppeteer that will decide how the puppet moves.

Many were suspicious of his right hand from the party's teased picture, because it looks off, red and just generally weird but as seen on his tarot card, that's actually a glove. That he wears rings over the glove must be a personal choice. And that's an interesting one if we look at his left hand and arm. More rings and bangles to last a lifetime. Is it just his style, or does all that jewelry serve a more specific purpose than adding to his looks? Maybe it's all enchanted, one certainly needs protection when dealing with the other side. Guess we'll know in the future.

We don't really know much else about him. Gameplay wise the reveal trailer gave us nothing, he's barely a little guy in the distance during the fight scene..

Yeah, that's Emmrich, chased down by the red lyrium darkswpan. No staff, no green necromancer sparks, no idea of what he might be like in combat yet.

In another piece of official art we see him alongside Manfred and i think Emmrich looks rather confident when facing the enemy here.

I suspect he's the confident and charming scholar type to whom said qualities occur so naturally he is not entirely aware of it or of the effect he has on those around him. Of course as a sholar and a necromancer he surely has a certain aura of that may be offputting to some as well. What little was hinted of him as a companion was in relation to his romance, a dev described it as "intimate and sensual".

Hopefully we'll get more details in the upcoming days. I'm curious to know more about all the new companions but him, specifically, i'm more curious about.

[mythrender]

Just scrubbing through the hi-res launch trailer for Mourn Watch appearances and making notes for fanart purposes. Finally, a new shot of the Necropolis! Hexagon and green veilfire lighting central.

Love the stylisation of Manfred's bones, that combination of sharp edges and gradients. I'm expecting at least a codex entry on the significance of gold in Nevarran culture, or why so many of the outfits have gold accents and accessories. Several of the Watchers wear stacked bangles...

...but not all of them. Those Nevarran hexagons are everywhere: on the giant skeleton's bracer, forehead, the lantern in its chest.

A better look at some of the architectural details in the Necropolis. in the bottom right, there's that canopic jar-like structure with the skull mask/headpiece—we've seen that in Emmrich's lab at the Lighthouse. I still hope someone gets to put the headgear on in the course of the game.

The diamonds and windows of the building in the background are similar to the ones in Minrathous, so giant skeleton here is not in the Necropolis any more. But who is it fighting?

The cloaked and hooded Watcher at the rear of the group seems to be the same faction representative from past trailers (they're rocking double bangles), and Myrna is walking just ahead of them too. A shot from the release date trailer for comparison.

Vorgoth, or whoever that Watcher is, is much taller than Emmrich. It's nice to see Manfred again—him being at what seems like a last ditch battle or confrontation suggests that he's viewed as being every bit as capable as the others. This shot is just begging to be used as wallpaper too. One more week! I'm sure I'll enjoy learning about the five other factions, but I can't wait to finally see the Watch's weird blend of medical science, magic, academia (librarian! Audric!) and goth vibes.

[vaguely-concerned]

Down Among the Dead Men Reread thoughts!

The Mourn Watch continue to be my faves. What a bunch of absolute Fifth House style freaks. The description of Myrna taking control over Karn's possessed and enraged corpse like she's 'walking a small but wilful dog' fhkdsafhash amazing. I can't believe bioware is giving me the ability to roleplay as essentially a magical janitor. a good-natured magical corpse janitor slash gentleperson scholar. what more could I ask

the only time Emmrich is the least bit brought out of balance in the whole story is when he gets flustered at the way audric/curiosity kneels to take myrna's hand when they create their spirit/watcher bond. which. fdjfaks okay. we might perhaps read some stuff into that. 'let the poor fellow up' alright okay uh-huh. just taking some notes don't mind me. he genuinely seems so sweet and like such a comforting presence, though, I really can't wait to get to know him better

the way the mourn watch interact with spirits is fascinating. of the human cultures we've seen they may be the closest to conceptualizing them as equals (within clear limits -- there's still a leash, and a hand that holds it, at the end of the day).

the city watch exasperatedly bringing possessed corpses to the mourn watch like someone taking stray cats to a shelter or something is wild and hilarious within the context of the rest of thedas

audric taking a moment to drag outdated orlesian fashion my beloved

the big 'uncatalogued' self-animating skeleton monstrosity seems like it could be connected to the huge high lord vollnir-ass skeleton we've seen in the trailer no? tho honestly there's enough weird shit going on down there that it could be a completely unrelated skeleton monstrosity too lol

I love the way chantry beliefs and older cultural traditions meld in nevarra. the fact that audric finds the idea of cremation disturbing even though he isn't comfortable around the dead is really neat.

the necropolis is going to be SUCH a banger of a level I just know it. escher-ass house of horrors and casual comedy. (the corpse that sits up to scowl at audric and myrna accusingly for waking it before just lying back down😭). the fact that there must be actual architects who must spend their whole careers creating vast halls that will only ever be wandered by the restless dead...

also there are public gardens attached to the necropolis! now there's the space for a picnic if ever there was one

[ghostwith]

Updated

Paring: Emmrich x Kalinn

Rating: Explicit

-

Steam hung heavy in the air as Kalinn skunk deeper into the tub, hot water soaking into the tense ache in her muscles. The room was dark save for the light leaking in from the other side of the door. The silence and stillness was a comfort from the crumbling chaos outside, it felt as if for a moment the world was still.

She let out a deep sigh however as the sound of foot steps cut through the facade, silently praying the owner wasn't looking for her, she slid further down into the water letting it fully wet her hair.

The moment she pulled her head from the water the door swung open and Emmrich marched in, flicking his wrist to summon vielfire to light the room.

"Rook, we must discuss this." He announced, waving a letter in the air and unceremoniously perching himself on the edge of the tub.

"Emmrich, can it-"

"Unfortunately it requires notes from both of us, according to Myrna, some of the newer Mourn Watchers had an issue not recognizing a long standing member of the Guides and," Kalinn sighed as Emmrich continued, shifting slightly to cover herself as much as she could.

"Emmrich."

"One of them unfortunately is being added into those residing in the Necropolis, while the other is-”

"Emmrich Volkarin."

At that Emmrich paused. "Yes?”

"Emmrich, I'm naked and in the tub.”

Emmrich fully turned to look at Kalinn for the first time. Eyes flickering from her face down her body, lingering on her bare breasts in the water, before taking a shaky breath.

"You are." He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes back to the letter. "But I'm not here for that, right now.”

Kalinn shivered slightly. "Right now?"

Emmrich glanced back, locking eyes with Kalinn. "Right now, no. But I'd be remiss if I did not say the idea of joining you trills me.”

Kalinn sat stock still, floundering under his gaze for what felt like minutes before she found her voice again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Emmrich parroted before continuing to relay the letter aloud. “The other recruit is currently being treated for-”

She couldn't absorb a single thing he was saying, his admission had made her thoughts spiral to an image of him undressing and slipping into the tub, hands sliding against her, his lips pressed to her collar. It made her wonder what his hands would feel like on her skin, what taste would linger if they kissed?

Suddenly possessed by the idea Kalinn shifted to stand, taking in a deep shuddering breath.

“Emmrich.”

He turned to respond immediately this time, only to find her standing before him, the harsh green light of the vielfire making the water on her skin shimmer as he watched it slide past the swell of her breast and down the curves of her body.

“Kalinn.”

“I think I would be the one remiss,” Kalinn began, gingerly reaching to cup his cheek. “If I didn't stop you from reading and indulge us both.”

Emmrich closed his eyes for a moment, leaning heavily into her damp palm and pressing a long tender kiss to it. “Do you have any idea how divine you look right now?”

“You're giving me an idea.” she sighed, sounding almost breathless.

It was Emmrich's turn now to find himself still in thought. This wasn't just Kalinn, it was Rook. His Rook. Not Lucanis’, Darvin’s, or Taash’s, his. Whose eyes looked at him half lidded and filled with unabashed wanting, and he wasn't a man who could deny that for long.

He pressed another kiss to her palm, eyes never leaving hers as he continued to trail kisses down her forearm. His free hand ghosting up her torso as he stood, mapping out the curves of her waist, tracing lines just under the weight of her chest.

Kalinn shivered in delight, grasping the back of his neck tugging him closer. “You Emmrich, are unfair.”

“Is it unfair to appreciate a work of art?” He chuckled resting his forehead against hers before testing the waters and gently palming her breast.

“Yes.” Kalinn gasped, “Yes it is, when you won't hang it on your wall.”

“We can arrange that then.”

Despite the haze in her mind, Kalinn watched Emmrich's expression soften as he drew her up into a deep kiss.

Needy, desperate, and filled with longing.

Is the only way to describe the heated open mouth kiss they were tangled in. Kalinn's hands knotted in his hair as she felt Emmrich’s hands drift down the curve of her ass before he gripped her tightly and hoisted her in the air, guiding her legs to wrap around him as she gasped into his mouth.

“Emmrich, what are you doing?” she murmured between constantly chasing the taste of him with her lips.

“Hanging you on the wall.” He rumbled trailing the kiss down her throat as she whined at the sudden contact of cool stone on her back.

“I'd have you here, I could have you right here.” Emmrich sighed, firmly pinning her between him and the wall.

Kalinn moaned, desire pooling in her. “You could,” she paused cupping his face, making him look at her. “I’d let you.”

He opened his mouth to speak as a loud series of knocks pulled them from their stupor.

“Kalinn, it's been long enough. Some of us would also like to wash the demon blood off our skin.” Came Lucanis’ rather frustrated tone.

Emmrich and Kalinn sighed in unison.

“I could kill him. I could kill him and you could bring him back later.” Kalinn murmured, burying her face in Emmrich's shoulder.

“Perhaps, but perhaps the bath wasn't the place for me to put you on display.” Emmrich whispered, carefully setting her back down as she flustered. Before Kalinn could retort, Emmrich grinned and called out back to Lucanis. “Forgive me, she’ll be done in just a moment.”

“Emmrich!” Kalinn squealed, eyes wide as he leaned down, silencing her with a quick kiss.

“I thought it would be better if they knew you're already mine. Now let's get you dressed.”

[nerdanel01]

All Things Grow, All Things Go - Pt. II

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook (*Emmrich POV) 3k+ | SFW EXCERPT: Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

9:50 Dragon

Flinching at the urgent touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder, Emmrich awoke. 

He blinked blearily, taking in his surroundings—cold hearth, cold tea on the tray beside him, Wilfred’s bony hand on his shoulder—and recognized at last he had fallen asleep in his study, slumped into his armchair. Well, that certainly explained the sore ache in his back, and the awful crick in his neck. After his disastrous conversation with Agnes the night before, Emmrich had lingered in the study, hoping she might return after she had a chance to calm down and think things over. In truth he had wanted instead to chase after her, to beg her to listen to him, to try to make her understand… but he loved her, and it was all too plain he had hurt her. The kinder thing, he thought—the less selfish thing—was to give her some space. 

Emmrich sat up, stretching his arms above his head and sighing in satisfaction as something in his back popped into its proper place, realigning. Glancing up at Wilfred at last, he asked, “What is it?”

Wilfred lifted a skeletal arm to point at the water clock in the corner, the only veritable indication of time passing in the windowless Necropolis. By the water level Emmrich saw he had slept through the night; the breakfast hour was just beginning in the dining hall. 

Energized by the thought of seeing Agnes there, Emmrich stood, stretching once more for good measure. It relieved the ache in his back, but did nothing to calm the gymnastics of his stomach. How angry would she be with him, now that the night had passed? More resentful? Less? Would she spare a word for him—or even a glance? That would hurt, if she could not look at or speak to him, but it did not matter. Likely he deserved it, after how upset he had made her. At least if he could see her, though—even just catch a glimpse at her from across the room—he would be reassured: that things would turn out for the best, in time. That he had made the right choice. 

“I’d better join the other Watchers for breakfast,” Emmrich told Wilfred, combing a hand through his hair, trying to tame his bedhead back into a pleasing shape. It was unlike him to wander around so disheveled and ungroomed—unshaven, even!—but today, that could wait until after he saw Agnes. Certainly she could not think less of him after last night, and any errant whiskers on his jaw would not lower her opinion of him any farther than it had already sunk. “If Agnes comes by, will you please send her down to the dining hall?”

Wilfred made a short, baying sort of sound—more articulate than the feeble moans Alfred had been exclusively capable of producing, but still less than language—and nodded his head in acknowledgement of the request. Satisfied with Wilfred’s answer, Emmrich left the study, fighting the urge to quicken the pace of his steps the whole way to the dining hall. 

But Agnes was not there when he arrived. The hall was already nearly full, the bulk of the Mourn Watch gathered around the two twin banquet tables, chatting animatedly over their coffee and eggs. Emmrich scanned the room for Agnes’ face a second time, just to be sure he had not missed her at first glance—but she was nowhere to be seen. 

There was an open spot at the table beside Myrna; Emmrich thought it prudent not to sit there, at least not today. Instead he consigned himself to the far end of the banquet table nearest to the door, where he could easily keep an eye on the latecomers as they trickled in for breakfast. He dropped a few slices of fruit onto his plate, pear and melon, but it was mostly for show, a prop to occupy his hands and to excuse his presence in the dining hall as he waited for Agnes to arrive. Emmrich was not accustomed to being this nervous; he found the anxious clenching of his stomach had quite spoiled his appetite. 

Every time he detected any hint of movement from the entryway, he looked up from the kaleidoscopic arrangement of fruit he was pushing around on his plate—but none of the latecomers turned out to be Agnes. By the time the breakfast hour was waning and the dining hall was beginning to empty, she still was nowhere to be seen. 

That was troubling. No matter how angry with him she may have been, it wasn’t like Agnes to sleep in late, or to miss a meal. It would be best, Emmrich knew, to give her space—the whole point of this, of ending their professional partnership, had been to give her more space from him—but he could not resist the impulse to check on her, as paternal and unwelcome as it may have been. Before all the food was cleared away, Emmrich filled a cup with hot tea, put two almond croissants on a plate—Agnes’ favorite—and carried both to her room. 

Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

Was she sleeping? Or was she sulking, punishing him with her silence, her refusal to answer—just as she had pulled away from him when he had tried last night to take her hand? Again, probably deserved and Emmrich wouldn’t blame her, but her failure to answer now was putting grand, paranoid imaginings in his head, and the anxious knot in his stomach was tightening, mounting into a dull panic. 

He knocked on the door a third time, with force. “Agnes—”

But before Emmrich could finish, the door popped open, revealing darkness within. Had she kept the door unlocked while she slept…?

Then the smell hit him. Lye and lavender oil, her cleaning agents of choice. Emmrich’s dull panic rose to full alarm, his breathing quick and shallow, adrenaline stiffening the muscles in his legs. His hands shook as he summoned a mage light to illuminate the darkness within, but his heart was already pounding violently, heavy in his chest; it knew what he was about to find without needing to see it: 

The hearth, cold and empty. The sterile gleam of the floor, shining in the mage light. The bed made—sheets and blankets tucked straight and tight around the mattress—empty. 

Teacup and plate smashed against the floor before Emmrich even realized he’d dropped them, scattering shattered porcelain and pastry crumbs across the room, the splash of tea spraying the hem of his trousers and puddling across the too-clean floor. 

‘No. No, no, please, Maker, no—’

He crossed into the room, stepping directly into the tea puddle as he sped to the desk, pulling each of the knobs, peering into each of the drawers, his breath growing a little more shallow as every drawer turned up empty. His heart was sinking through him, heavier than a ship’s anchor. He raced to the wardrobe, elated at first to see that it was not wholly bereft, only for his hopes to crash all over again when he saw that it was only Agnes’ set of ceremonial Watcher robes that hung within it, none of her blouses or dresses. His heart was breaking. The nightstand beside the bed—those drawers, too, were empty. 

But the bed, he realized—to his complete and utter horror—was not empty. Not as empty as he had thought at first glance. 

His hands trembled as he picked the program off the bed, shaking so violently that when he held it, the program fluttered, as though it was billowing in a breeze. The Elixir of Love. The first opera they had seen together summers ago, when he had waltzed with Agnes after in the gardens… when he had first felt the conscious desire to kiss her, when at last his true feelings for her had become woefully and unavoidably plain to him. 

He felt lightheaded; his knees felt weak. He turned his body around and lowered himself, slowly and unsteadily, to perch on the very edge of the bed, feeling utterly wretched as he stared at the program in his hands. It was creased and wrinkled, worn and much loved, as though she had often held it, caressed it, treasured it in the years that she’d kept it. And though she had penned no note, it was clear to him the program had been set out this way for him to find, no other.  

‘She loves me!’ Nemorino had sung at last in his final aria, full of pathos as much as exultation. ‘She loves me; I know it, I know it.’ But of course, what Nemorino did not know—what was plain, at that point, for the audience to see—was that this recent turn of events had nothing to do with the sham “elixir” at all; that Adina, the woman he desired, had loved him in return all along. 

Impulsively he balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the program into a ball within it, unable to bear the sight of it. But then his eyes caught on the lazurite ring on his hand, and his guilt and his shame doubled. 

What a fool he had been! What a hopeless idiot! How long had he denied his desire, his deep longing for her, telling himself he could not possibly have her? When all along she had been at his side, waiting to be noticed. Waiting to be loved back. Myrna had been right about them, or right enough, and instead of listening to her and wondering if Myrna might have seen something between them that even Emmrich himself was blind to, he had done everything in his power to push Agnes away. 

An aim in which he had succeeded spectacularly: she was gone. 

‘So go find her!’

A fool’s hope, maybe, but the only one he had. How much time had passed? How far could she have gone? It would have taken her time, Emmrich imagined, to pack, to clean. There was no way of telling from her room how long ago she had left. Maybe, maybe…!

He leapt to his feet, shoving the fisted program into his pocket, and tore into the hallway. The study was closest; he headed there first. Opened the door with such volume and force that Wilfred startled, all his bones jostling in shock at the sudden entrance. 

“Wilfred, has Agnes come by…?”

But the thrall only shook his head; no. 

Leaving the study door ajar in his haste, Emmrich headed further down the hall to the Mourn Watch library. Trying not to think of all the terrible things he had said to Agnes yesterday. ‘Do you ever think perhaps we are too close?’ Trying not to retrace every word she had said to him in return, each of them burying more sharply and more painfully into his heart, now that he understood. 

‘You are that eager to be rid of me?’

‘What did I do wrong to deserve this?’

‘It would have been better for me to never have come here!’

He raced into the library, footsteps pounding, chest heaving, fighting for breath. There was barely anyone there at this hour of the day, but one of the ancient thralls that helped keep the shelves organized was already at work, standing high up on one of the ladders, reshelving books. 

“Gunther, have you seen Agnes?”

“Not since last week,” Gunther replied, somewhat tartly. “When you see her, do remind her that she has several volumes in her possession that are overdue for return…”

But Emmrich was already back in the hall, taking it at a flat out run, having fully abandoned any sense of decorum. Back to the dining hall; perhaps he had just missed her. Hoping beyond hope to find her there. Drowning in all the memories that were washing over him, all that had transpired between them, all that he had so woefully misunderstood. 

‘I have cherished every hour I have worked with you,’ Agnes had said, when she had presented him with the ring. With a ring. Had he really not perceived the symbolism of that gift, the circle around his finger like a lover’s endless promise? Or had he simply refused to believe it, to accept what the ring had really meant? ‘Who else in my life would I give such a gift to, if not you?’

Commander Johanna was the only one left in the dining hall, pouring herself one last cup of coffee from the carafe on the tabletop. She looked up at Emmrich as he rushed in, her features creasing into a frown. 

Breathlessly, he asked, “Have you seen Agnes?”

“Why are you asking?” No small amount of suspicion in her voice.

“She’s gone,” Emmrich answered, too panicked and heartbroken to be mortified by the way his voice cracked over the last word. 

“Gone?” Johanna pressed him, an edge to her voice. “What do you mean, ‘she’s gone’? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” Emmrich told her, close to tears. “Her room is empty, there’s no sign of her—I have to—!”

He raced past Johanna, down the stairs at the far end of the dining hall to the kitchens as Johanna called after him:

“Oh, well done, Emmrich! I told you to let me talk to her first! What did you say to that poor woman?!”

But Emmrich was not paying attention. Nothing Johanna said to him now could wound him more deeply than he was already doing himself, bruising and bleeding himself on all the terrible things he’d said and done, all of the ways he had been completely blind. But it could not be too late. He would not give in, not yet—would not let himself think he had lost the chance to make things right. 

And yet, the kitchens—empty. The sparring room, the apothecary—both empty, Agnes nowhere to be found. 

How far could she have gotten? Where, really, could she have gone? It could only have been a few hours since she had left the Necropolis—Emmrich could not fathom, refused to believe she had already left Nevarra City. 

He had not changed his clothes nor so much as washed his face, looking (he was sure) entirely unpresentable as he dashed down the Necropolis steps and into the city streets. At this hour few businesses were open, save for the cafes, already setting out freshly baked pastry and brewing fine Antivan coffee. These, Emmrich checked first, beginning at the ones he knew to be Agnes’ favorites. But she was nowhere to be found, and none of the proprietors had seen a woman fitting her description. Where was she? Sweat trickled down his brow, made his shirt stick to his back as he raced next to the druffalo cart station on the eastern edge of the city, where passenger carts, for a small fee, would transport people north and south along the Imperial Highway.. No Agnes. Finally he headed north, to the docks; had she, perhaps, booked passage on a boat? Where would she go, out in the world, all by herself? On the way he stopped at all the horse traders, but none of them had sold a steed yet that morning, or the night before. No luck at the docks, either, though he had pushed through the crowds of people eager to book passage on the Minanter, peering into each of the faces of the people gathered there… wondering, in the depths of his self-loathing, if it were possible that Agnes hated him so deeply after all those things he had said to her, that she might glamor herself, disguise her face from him just to avoid the onerous task of having to speak to him. 

He had run circles around the city. He could not remember the last time he had run anywhere without Agnes at his side, fleeing from some mystery of the Necropolis, Agnes throwing arcane darts over her shoulder at whatever was pursuing them. His heart was pounding; he had sweat through his shirt. It was in this state—disheveled, unkempt, exhausted—that he had at last made his way to the theater district, to the opera house. 

The square outside of the theater was silent, empty, an eerie contrast to the space as he had otherwise known it: thronging with people, well fed and well dressed and well drunk, merrily proceeding through the tall arches into the lobby beyond. Now, it was sleepy, the box office not yet open for ticket sales. The loudest sound was the patter of the fountain, splashing gaily in the center of the square, sparkling in the morning sun. A flock of pigeons cooed around its base, the whole flock taking off in a panic as Emmrich trudged through their ranks, dropping at last to sit at the fountain’s edge… staring up at the opera house, its travertine facade shining blindingly white, like a holy accusation. 

Emmrich balanced his elbows on his knees, and took his head into his hands. 

He had hoped against hope he would find Agnes here, but there was no sign of her. And yet though he did not see her, he could not get the image of her out of his head: Agnes, clutching their tickets with her hands covered in little lace gloves, flashing him breathlessly delighted smiles as they queued to get into the theater. Agnes, throwing a silver coin into the very fountain on which she sat, refusing to confide in him her wish. Agnes, barefoot and uninhibited, humming in the jasmine-scented moonlight. 

…Agnes, looking up into his face under that same silver moonlight, waiting for him to kiss her. To finally see her. 

‘She loves me, she loves me! I know it, I know it…’

His body curled in on itself, as though he was protecting himself from an oncoming blow; there was a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the distance he’d run. The despair, the sheer weight of the mistakes he had made threatened to crush him. 

That impossible, enduring affection—the kind of love strong enough to conquer even death, the kind of love he had perhaps wanted but never truly believed he’d have himself—he had almost had it. 

Or worse, he had it exactly, and he had not merely let it slip through his fingers, he had chased it away. 

For Agnes was gone—utterly lost to him, that much was clear. She had disappeared so neatly, without a trace. Oh, Johanna would send trackers after her, bounty hunters, surely, (it would have been professional neglect not to do so—the Mourn Watch kept too many secrets that they could not risk getting loose) but Emmrich did not believe for a moment they would be successful in finding her. 

“Please,” he spoke under his breath, to no one in particular. To Andraste and the Maker, perhaps, though he had never strongly believed in either. “Please, let her be safe.” 

But no, not just safe. As the sweat cooled on his body, as the fountain sprayed at his back and his heart rate slowed and he felt himself growing uncomfortably cold, Emmrich knew it was more than that. Safety, yes, at the very least. But after all the years she had devoted herself to him—all the years he had been determined to see her affection as daughterly and nothing more—she was owed far more than just safety. 

With as much conviction and faith as he could muster, he spoke his last wish for her to the quiet morning:

“Please, let her be happy. Let her be loved.”

[wanderingjedi77]

Just thoughts on my mourn watch rook Amariah, but I keep going back to the elves originally being spirits turned mortal, and I like that idea for her. A spirit of curiosity or compassion just somehow ends up in this little babies body and the undead finding her. Bringing her to her parents (and Rook having no idea she ever was a spirit). Just running around the streets of Nevarra City until her magic manifests. Being a shy little kid suddenly around spirits and undead and feeling at home. Having a connection with them because they know what she used to be and the other mourn watchers just being slightly afraid by also facinated that she can just talk down some demons. Myrna and Vorgoth take her under their wings as she grows up into an adult and when she has to leave, they tell her to come home once things have passed because the necropolis isn't the same without Rook and feels empty there.

Not me thinking about how when she meets Solas, he takes a gentler approach and asks her about her life, reassuring her that she can do this. Because he doesn't want her to feel like he did. Or when the talk of elves starting off as spirits comes up, Amariah freaks out because it scares her, and something doesn't feel right anymore. Hiding away in her room until Emmerich checks on her and explains why she's afraid because it would make sense wouldn't it? And she doesn't want the team, especially Lace to hate her.

[svartalfhild]

Some fun DATV things I'm experiencing:

Playing as female Rook makes the first few quests until you get Lucanis very Girls Night, which I really started to notice after a friend pointed it out and she is so right.

Neve is bestie.

Lucanis' intro cinematic made me feel so attacked. That shit was so my brand lol.

Lucanis and Neve's banter is hilarious and if I don't romance Lucanis I may end up shipping him with Neve.

Did Bellara's first personal quest and almost cried. Hit me a little close to home.

Neve's hangout quest was delightful. I want to chat and snack and walk around with her all day.

Neve and Bellara's developing friendship is so fun. I want to see a scene where Lucanis gets involved in their cooking adventures.

Shopping and getting coffee with Lucanis was like Oh No He's Thoughtful And Charming And I'm Weak.

Chose Lucanis over Neve in that one decision that made me want to scream and now she's hardened and I'm so sorry bestie I was thinking of the defenseless people and I will never be okay again.

Varric playing mentor to Rook got me right where it hurts. He's there for when you need an adultier adult to tell you that you're doing okay and that he's proud if you. I cry forever.

Assan and Manfred are my SONS and I LOVE THEM and I make the most ridiculous noises when they are on screen. THEY ARE SUCH GOOD BOYS.

The quest to acquire Emmrich is fucking delightful if you're a nice Mourn Watcher and you bring Bellara along. Just three huge nerds enjoying each other's company while doing dangerous shit.

Davrin and Emmrich's banter is like two dad's comparing notes.

As a Watcher, Myrna kinda feels like my mentor-mom, which is funny.

More thoughts to come. Just wanted to scribble down a few things so far for the people to let y'all know I'm having a fucking blast.

[shizuu-chann]

I cannot express with words how much I simply ADORE the Grand Necropolis. Any words I can think of sound woefully insufficient to explain my love. It speaks to my spooky soul on a spiritual level (no pun intended, but it is welcomed!). Seriously, this entry in the Mourn Watch codex makes me weirdly giddy.

From Myrna, on Rediscovering the Memorial Gardens Dear Professor Volkarin: Thank you for your missives. Your discovery of the new location of the Memorial Gardens is most fortunate; we feared the next public days of mourning would have to be held adjacent to the Charnel Pyramids, which remain disagreeably cursed. I've recommended it undergo a lustration before next equinox. I regret to inform you that a portion of the Basalt Hypogeum has vanished. Its disappearance was more violent than the typical reshuffling of the Necropolis. We will send word if it returns. Cordially yours, Watcher Myrna, Keeper of the Seals

That the Necropolis rearranges itself? Fantastic. The nonchalance regarding that a part of the Necropolis called the "Charnel Pyramids" remains "disagreeably" cursed? Hilarious. Amazing, strange, mystical, mysterious--fun as hell. Everything about Nevarra makes me happy. I haven't finished the game, so I don't know for sure yet, but I don't think we see any other part of Nevarra, which disappoints me a little. I really wanted to see what Nevarra City looked like! But I'll definitely take the Necropolis, I'm not complaining about that in the least.

[ndostairlyrium]

I'm-

under the cut you go, spoiler and elucubration over a possible (near the point of no return in act 2) spoiler lol

so um, met Ankh's good twin for the second time and that went better than I expected, surprisingly lol

Also look at her, she's cute <3

...and then she tells us that Solas killed people dear / close to her, and Rook knows who she's referring to. Um??? You're kinda confirming that Varric is a projection of some sort?? AND SOLAS IS CONSTANTLY TELLING ROOK "TALK TO VARRIC"??? I HOPE I'M WRONG??

Son of a wheelbarrow, he knows what he's doing D: and I'm super sure later he'll say "oh I didn't lie, you were seeing him, I saw him too, you're in the Fade so he's real to you, blah blah I DID WARN YOU HE'S GOOD AT LYING TOO"

Like, nobody seems to be aware of his presence and when Rook mentions him people rapidly change the subject. And Varric's not even addressing others, like, at first I thought it was just a matter of "I'm not useful, I'm isolating because I'm sad". Hopefully I'm very wrong, so I can be mauled emotionally by the revelation. If he's really using this information to have an advantage of us... that'd be fucking awful. I know it's a game of chess, but dude, you're just confirming us that you're not capable of changing.

But also, what if Varric just, stuck with us. To help. Like, he doesn't want to let down another friend so he's helping in spirit form? A la Audric o: Solas is like Myrna and probably Varric needs to realize it by himself. Or he already knows he's dead and doesn't want to follow the light << but like, I don't see the point for Solas in avoiding to tell us the tru-

Ah, Pride. Lmao

...also how cool would it be for a mourn watcher to say "Deep down, I've always known" or "There's a reason they sent me away. I'll never be a good watcher"?

[deadlymaelstrom]

A Letter Dated Six Months Ago [COMPLETE]

If Rook is an Antivan Crow:

Idiot:

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you to Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.

Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.

I am one of those Talons still complaining. Consider this trip with Varric a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgment. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this Solas is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail, and don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.

Viago

If Rook is a Grey Warden:

Warden [surname],

If our calculations are correct―and none of us have gone astray―this letter should be at the inn where you and Varric are to meet Scout Harding. As with Varric, we worked with her before. She's a good scout and a good shot. We think you'll like her. Please tell her we say hello!

Anyway, to the point! It's probably best you've gone to work with Varric a while. Our superiors in the Wardens can't deny that the village is safe and the darkspawn stopped. But they are still not especially pleased with you. Or your methods. Or the people who helped with your plan. Evka and I have been given a somewhat remote assignment that no one else wanted. But we are no strangers to that! We've enclosed a list of addresses where you are most likely to reach us for the next few months. Should you need.

Finally, do not feel you are in exile. We know something of what Varric is after. When the world needs protection from malevolent forces―that's what Grey Wardens do! You're in the right place.

Be vigilant and stay safe.

Your Friends, Antoine and Evka

If Rook is a Mourn Watcher:

Watcher [surname]:

Thank you for the latest dispatch concerning your venture with Master Varric Tethras. Given that you've spent much of your life in the Grand Necropolis, traveling further north must be a stimulating prospect. And you will be relieved, no doubt, to hear that the crypts have been silent since your departure. Some of the other Watchers continue to censure your methods during the War of the Banners, but I will work to ensure that they reconsider while you are away.

Master Tethras's claims that this "Solas" is an elven god bear witnessing. Even if Solas is merely a renegade mage using spirits for dire purposes, that alone is call for a Watcher to oppose him.

Vorgoth and I wish you fine luck on your journey. Remember: even outside Nevarra, the dead are ever ready with their supernal aid.

Watcher Myrna, Keeper of the Seals

If Rook is a Shadow Dragon:

[surname]:

Good to hear from you. I hope the North is treating you well, even if your quarry remains elusive.

Things here in Minrathous go about as well as expected. Venatori presence continues to grow, the result of an obscene amount of gold being funneled into the cult by sympathetic magisters. Some of the Shadow Dragons have had run-ins with some of them, particularly the ones seeking revenge for your shutting down of their slaver ring in Nessus.

But don't trouble yourself. This is nothing we can't handle. For now, focus on your work with Varric. A strong alliance with someone with ties to the Inquisition and Kirkwall can only benefit the Shadows and the people we serve.

Bring the light, and good luck, Viper

If Rook is a Veil Jumper:

[surname],

Strife has finally given up sending teams out to rediscover the route that was lost. Without the magic in the map, the paths will not open, and the map is gone. I know it was difficult for him to make the final decision. You could see the angry vein in his forehead for days after.

Now maybe he can start to move past it. Most of the others have already. But, of course, as the leader of that mission, he views your defiance, and the outcome that resulted, as something of a personal failure. We will give him time. You being away is a blessing, and we all hope that your work with Varric Tethras is going well.

You will be glad to hear that some of the younger Veil Jumpers are quite excited about you being on the trail of the Dread Wolf himself. You must regale them upon your return.

Irelin

[inqellvar]

let me get this straight. mw rook apparently did something both daring and effective on the climax of the "war" that it raised some eyebrows from their prestigious clients, which were the nobles? and the enemies that the watchers were fighting were probably their undead relatives or something. that's why it was controversial.

So the mourn watchers shooed rook off until the whole ordeal was over, which also made me wonder how emmrich and the other known watchers (johanna, myrna) felt about this.

[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.”

[ghostwith]

Under more for mild spice I may add more to it later.

-

Steam hung heavy in the air as Kalinn skunk deeper into the tub, hot water soaking into the tense ache in her muscles. The room was dark save for the light leaking in from the other side of the door. The silence and stillness was a comfort from the crumbling chaos outside, it felt as if for a moment the world was still.

She let out a deep sigh however as the sound of foot steps cut through the facade, silently praying the owner wasn't looking for her, she slid further down into the water letting it fully wet her hair.

The moment she pulled her head from the water the door swung open and Emmrich marched in, flicking his wrist to summon vielfire to light the room.

"Rook, we must discuss this." He announced waving a letter in the air and unceremoniously perching himself on the edge of tub.

"Emmrich, can it-"

"Unfortunately it requires notes from both of us, according to Myrna, some of the newer Mourn Watchers had an issue not recognizing a long standing member of the Guides and," Kalinn sighed as Emmrich continued, shifting slightly to cover herself as much as she could.

"Emmrich."

"One of them unfortunately is being added into those residing in the Necropolis, while the other is-"

"Emmrich Volkarin."

At that Emmrich paused. "Yes?"

"Emmrich I'm naked and in the tub."

Emmrich fully turned to look at Kalinn for the first time. Eyes flickering from her face down her body, lingering on her bare breasts in the water, before taking a shaky breath.

"You are." He cleared his throat tearing his eyes back to the letter. "But I'm not here for that, right now."

Kalinn shivered slightly. "Right now?"

Emmrich glanced back locking eyes with Kalinn. "Right now, no. But I'd be remiss if I did not say the idea of joining you trills me Kalinn."