#yes you too vorgoth

[virginiathegray]

when Bioware said this would be the most romantic game yet, maybe they didn't mean there would be the most romantic content but rather that each and every npc would be so devastatingly hot that we would all fall to our collective knees begging for just one chance bc if so they didn't exactly lie

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Bellara (and also the Veil Jumpers, and other random Elven things) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash to be added tomorrow (or on Monday Jan 5th)

About Bellara

Family and past:

Bellara’s mother is a woodworker who sells furniture in Orlais, and her father is an herbalist. He taught her about deadly plants (for her own safety)

Bellara didn’t tell her parents about Cyrian’s (second) death

Bellara once broke both of her arms while racing an Aravel 

Bellara learnt magic from her Keeper and later the Veil Jumpers, but she also studied a lot on her own by reading books and just trying things out

When she was little, Bellara wondered what it’s like to settle down instead of moving all the time (just like Davrin did) 

General:

Bellara can better focus on writing when she has background noise (like Rook talking)

Bellara likes tea (but can also drink coffee after she pulls an all-nighter, which seems to happen pretty often)

Bellara liked Lucanis’s grilled fish

Bellara didn’t know any Qunari recipes before joining the Veilguard

Bellara wouldn’t want to be an assassin, but she would be interested in taking lessons from Crows about assassination techniques

Bellara thinks that most people in Tevinter are condescending, even the nice ones 

Magic and life with the Veil Jumpers: 

Bellara once found an artifact that was basically an ancient elven mechanical toothbrush 

Bellara is a Veil Jumper because Arlathan is her home, and she can’t stand by and do nothing. Also, because of the artefacts

Part of the reason why Irelin and Bellara broke up is that Bellara became too consumed by studying/fixing artefacts 

Bellara and Davrin agree that the Veil Jumpers’ odds are even worse than the Wardens’

Bellara thinks that the ancient Elven magic feels cold

Bellara didn’t find anything on the Devouring Storm in the libraries or Circles. Vorgoth and Myrna never heard of it either 

Life at the Lighthouse: 

Bellara owns a bronze candleholder shaped like a fennec

Bellara thinks that the Fade in the Lighthouse is almost too calm compared to Arlathan

Bellara likes her space in the Lighthouse and feels like “it's been waiting for her”

The Archive sometimes stares at people who come by

Bellara eventually suggests that she and Lucanis completely take over the cooking. Everybody except for Harding dreaded any meal not cooked by them anyway and gleefully agreed

Antoine let Bellara borrow his compound for flaming arrows to see how it reacts in the Fade (she doesn’t speak about the results, but she used at least one compound for testing without incidents and later wants to borrow more) 

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara offers Davrin to listen about his findings regarding the Gloom Howler as he searches for the missing griffons, saying she's a good listener

Bellara asks Neve if she can become a Shadow Dragon and is very excited when she hears “Yes”

However, when Emmrich offers her to join the Mourn Watch, she turns him down saying that the Veil Jumpers need her. 

A writing inconsistency. Probably. 

Neve once saw Bellara poking around Assan, trying to figure out if he was real or some clever mechanical contraption 

Bellara wants to make pillows out of Assan’s molted feathers (but Davrin refuses because he finds it weird)

Bellara made dog biscuits for Assan (that Davrin accidentally ate the first time). The next time she brought a batch, she left them in a box labelled “Assan biscuits inside, do not eat.” Assan liked them!

Bellara once covered Assan in olive oil thinking it could improve his wind resistance and let him fly faster. Didn’t work. 

Bellara offers Emmrich to co-author a paper about ancient elves after they find out elves came from spirits

Bellara asks Emmrich about vampires multiple times. According to him, when a Hunger Demon possesses a corpse, the resulting abomination can seek out blood, sort of resembling a vampire. They can't turn into bats though

According to Neve, some magisters in Minrathous have tried bonding with Hunger Demons which resulted in them having immense power but also a craving for blood 

Bellara and Harding swap books for reading

Bellara gets into lifting using Harding's rocks

Bellara doesn’t think she needs to threaten Lucanis when she finds out he and Neve are dating because Neve could wipe the floor with him herself if she wanted (Lucanis agrees) 

Bellara is fine with Lucanis taking on Ghilan’nain’s contract (“Whatever we were worshipping, it wasn’t her") and cheered him on at Weisshaupt

Bellara asks Neve to beta-read her story

(If Neve and Rook are in romance) Bellara thinks that solving cases together is romantic

(If Neve leaves after Rook chooses to save Treviso) Bellara kept notes of everything that happened while Neve was away to help her adjust after she’s back

About the Veil Jumpers:

Bellara mentioned that a certain elf camped in some ruins, and one day woke up stuck in the clouds. The Veil Jumpers haven’t figured out a way to get them down, so they just send them food and water

Veil Jumpers use some of the artefacts they have recovered as weapons. However, they don’t use them often, since most of them need to be charged after one use, and nobody really knows how to do that 

Veil Jumpers eat whatever Arlathan Forest provides

Though Bellara also mentions she doesn’t forage in the forest anymore. Strife does, however, he always finds something edible

It’s hard to say how many Veil Jumpers are out there because people die/go missing/leave too often to keep a proper count

The Veil Jumpers once found an artefact that caused whoever activated it to get sucked into the Fade. One guy got trapped inside because he used it even if the others told him not to. Bellara is weirdly nonchalant about that whole thing

The Veil Jumpers once found something like an entrance to the Deep Roads on the Southern Edge of Arlathan Forest. The group that found it sealed themselves inside and destroyed the entrance, leaving a note telling the others not to enter. Davrin hypothesises it could be one of the pools similar to the one we saw in the Horrors of Hormak

Ritsivas from the Veil Jupmers is non-binary (mentioned by Harding in a conversation with Taash)  

Misc:

The power crystals are called “June'suledin'bellanaris'ena'ghilan'lasa'shiral”. You may infer the reasons everybody just calls them 'power crystals'

Not all traps in Elven ruins were originally meant to be traps, but their magic is old, so it doesn’t recognise modern people and can backfire. And sometimes magic just degrades over time and accidentally rips the Veil, summoning demons

Andruil’s Gauntlet is an ancient site meant to test hunters who want to wield the mightiest weapons. It’s filled with traps, and no one has made through it in ages. It was made by Andruil’s priests to test the warriors of Elvhenan 

Clans Nuvenis and Sabrae live in Ferelden. Harding’s village traded with the Sabrae in the past

[serbarris]

I'll Crawl Home to Her 

Dragon Age: the Veilguard, some spoilers for plot, spoilers for Emmrichs romance  Pairing: F!Rook (Mourn Watch) x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: M   Summary: Eight significant times Emmrich Volkarin called Rook by her real name. 

Length: ~2500 words

Read on ao3 here! 

Emmrich Volkarin first called Calliope ‘Rook’ Ingellvar by her name before she went by Rook. 

“Miss Calliope,” Emmrich called over the heads of the handful of students leaving his classroom. At the sound of her name coming from her favourite professor, Calliope instantly flushed and motioned to some companions that they should go ahead without her. “A word if you don’t mind.”  

“Yes, Professor?”  She asked biting her lip. Professor Volkarin was her favourite, not just for his fantastic necromancy skills, or how eloquently he explained such fantastic concepts, but he was also very attractive. At age 35 his hair was greying at the temples, lending him to look even more distinguished than his carefully put-together clothing suggested.  

“I’ve heard from others about your certain... proclivity, to have some ‘adventures’ outside of the Necropolis,” Emmrich began, shifting her paper to the top of the pile, noticeable stains and grease marks littering the off-white sheets. A disapproving frown crossed his face. “I will ask that your future work be submitted with less detritus than the most recent assignment.”   

Calliope looked at her paper and a brighter red coloured her cheeks and chest, “Of course Professor, I’m so sorry. I swear I don’t usually do work outside of the library, but something happened with –.”  

Emmrich held up his hand to stop the ramble from leaving Calliope’s mouth. A soft smile graced his lips, “Not to worry, my dear, but your work is excellent and you should take pride in it. Now please, I have taken up so much of your time already, run along and join your friends.”

 

The second time Emmrich says her name it’s when they meet again, 15 years later. 

Rook had yet to admit to Bellara, or Myrna and Vorgoth, that she did indeed know Professor Emmrich Volkarin, and of his work. Luckily her time away from the Watchers had helped steel her emotions, calm her once easy-to-flush cheeks, and made lies flow smoothly, but she had been anxious all week in the lead-up to their Necropolis visit. Bellara even commented on her makeup that morning, making Rook flush and attempt to wipe some away with the back of her gloved hand.  

-  

“Rook! Lovely to meet a fellow Watcher,” Emmrich exclaimed as he gripped her hand, shaking it politely. “I must confess I apologise if I have you confused, but Myrna had mentioned a ‘Calliope’ to me?”    

Calliope’s face dropped from her measured welcoming smile to a startled expression. Letting go of Emmrich’s hand, she attempted to speak voice unsteady, cheeks flushed. “Uh, yes Professor, Calliope Ingellvar. My friends call me Rook. It uh, caught on in the year since I left the Necropolis.”  

“Ah, no worries, my friend. I shall follow suit.” Emmrich turned with a flourish, leading Bellara and Calliope to the Belfry. Calliope internally kicking herself over the interaction.  

The third time Emmrich said her name was after they shared tea in the Memorial Gardens. 

“Speaking of home, have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?” Emmrich’s eyebrows raised as he asked the question. Rook’s eyes widened feeling like a halla in the lamplight. An uncomfortable feeling churned in her stomach as she debated how much of her past to reveal. Especially, how enamoured she was with Emmrich as a young adult.  

“Oh um, I don’t remember everything from my scholar days. I only took a few advanced classes. Got too... busy.” Rook’s mouth dried at the admission. It was a half truth, she remembered nearly every moment of her schooling, growing up with the senior Watchers as guardians, and more books for company than friends, she was in advanced classes at a younger age than many of the other Watchers her age. 

“You know, I’d heard we had a young Watcher getting into scrapes on the streets of Nevarra around then...” Emmrich mused, Rook could almost see the cogs whir in Emmrich’s brain as he searched his memories for a young Rook.  

“They weren’t scrapes! They were... extracurricular learning opportunities.”  

“Aha! That's it! Calliope, you were in my Advanced Fade Studies and Etheric Flows class!”  

Hearing her name from Emmrich’s mouth took her breath away. She had rather hoped he wouldn’t remember her from her scholar years. Calliope couldn’t deny the butterflies fluttering in her body as he remembered her, almost regressing to her 16 year old self, and she endeavoured to change the topic from herself as quickly as possible.  

“Yes, I... your class was most enlightening Emmrich, but I couldn’t help but hear you mention homesickness?”  

The Fourth time Emmrich says her name, it’s a revelation. 

Fighting on the beaches of Rivain always pissed Rook off. It was always too hot, and too sandy. She hated the sand in Rivain, it felt... so coarse compared to the finely milled sand that tracked through the Necropolis. Of course, the scenery of Rivain was stunning and the smell of the ocean air was refreshing, as long as the Antaam weren’t burning gaatlok in her general direction.   

Rook dove for the gaatlok-armed Antaam, pushing her body to flip and attack the hulking Qunari with her imbued daggers. Necromancy pulsing from her hands as she struck true. Pulling her weapons free she could hear Emmrich and Taash finish off the last of the Antaam soldiers who had ambushed them.   

“They just seem to be around every bloody corner here, don’t they?” she exclaimed, wiping her daggers on her bloodstained clothing.   

“Until we can get to the Dragon King,” Taash remarked. The team had tried to track down the Dragon King to no avail, however his poorly planned traps had to lead somewhere.   

“We’ll get to him soon enough Taash, then you can set him straight on Dragons having queens!” Rook stretched to pat Taash on their shoulder in consolidation. Suddenly a loud explosion pierced Rook’s ears, throwing her to the ground some distance away from where she stood. “Calliope!” Emmrich shouted over the ringing in her ears, she felt sand being kicked near her face as Emmrich’s familiar boots came into frame, and a distant squelching noise of an axe being buried into a body barely registered. “My darling are you alright?” Emmrich asked, sending his warming magic over her body to check for internal injuries.  

“I think I’m okay, can you help me up?” Emmrich slowly manoeuvred her to sit, taking stock further before helping Calliope to her feet. He gripped her waist tightly to keep her steady as she threatened to sway, waiting for Taash to make their way over. 

“Hey, Emmrich.”  

“Yes, Taash?” Emmrich was exasperated, whatever could Taash want at a time like this?  

“Why did you call Rook ‘Calliope’? She’s called Rook?”  

The Fifth and Sixth time Emmrich called her Calliope, she had a cold. 

Emmrich looked up from his desk to the sound of Manfred hissing and raising his tray, proud of his assortment of tea, soup and some bread. “Ah Manfred, have you prepared this for dear Rook?” A pleased hiss resonated through Manfred's skull, Emmrich straightened the papers on the desk and rose from his chair, peering through the windows above to where the sun was coming through the windows. “It is about time to give her another tonic. Thank you, Manfred, I can take this next door.”  

Emmrich gently knocked on Rooks’s door, hearing soft snores from behind, he quietly pushed open the door and rounded the middle of the room to the table closest to the sofa. The dim light from candles and the fade fish illuminating his path. Placing the tray down, he crouched down near Rook’s face, and gently rocked her, “Rook? My darling, it’s time to wake up.”  

A grumbling “Mmph” was the reply he received. “Calliope, I brought you some soup.” He drawled elongating her name, much like himself, he knew the food would rouse her from drowsiness. She was often second to the kitchen when food was served, her childhood in the Necropolis meant she often had to go without, and why she often picked up odd jobs around Nevarra City to purchase items that weren’t second or third hand.  

Calliope’s eyes slowly opened, blinking, she noticed even with her lying down and Emmrich crouching he towered over her. As she shuffled to extricate herself from the blanket and sit up there was a thud of a book dropping to the floor. On instinct Calliope reached for it, however Emmrich’s longer reach picked it up far swifter than her lethargic body could match.  The book read ‘The Obverse of Reality: Studies of the Fade in the Waking World.’ A soft gasp left Emmrich as he noticed the book as one of his very own works, Calliope’s copy was too well-thumbed and too battered to be from his own study in the Lighthouse. Calliope noticed his recognition of the title, her face becoming hotter despite the chill that cloaked her body after removing the blanket. “You never told me you have read any of my works, my dear.”   

A shyness crept over Calliope, her eyes darting away from Emmrich’s face as she replied, the congestion in her nose lending her voice a nasal tone, “Well, I was in this class, I had to get your book, it’s even a first edition!”  

“It must have been sixteen years since I published this –” Emrich mused,” I'm sure I’ve published much more recent findings on the Fade, especially since it started to thin.”  

“I like it, I can hear your voice as I read it.” Calliope started, her voice slowly getting quieter as she admitted, “It’s um – comforting, to read a book I know so well.” Emmrich rose from his crouch, placing a gentle kiss on Calliope’s forehead and moving to sit next to her on the sofa. His earthy scent relaxed Calliope instantly. “Well, how about I read some passages aloud as you eat my dear, I also brought another tonic, it should keep your symptoms at bay and allow you to rest.” Said Emmrich, motioning to the tray on the side table.  

Emmrich’s voice was gentle as he read, often musing on additions he would make to the text, or discussing Calliope’s scrawled annotations in the margins. Making note that she used tiny skull shapes to punctuate her ‘i’s’ and exclamation marks. After Calliope ate, she leaned back against the sofa, her head resting on Emmrich’s arm as he continued reading. Emmrich turned the page to the next chapter and Calliope stiffened as she saw the doodle on the page, Emmrich let out a deep chuckle, noting the words written in a loosely drawn doodle of an anatomical heart. Calliope swore she could almost feel every blood vessel in her face expanding, a beet-red flush falling over her face as she scrambled to close the book. Emmrich moved to hold the book far out of her reach, a devious glint in his eye as he drawled “Calliope Volkarin, eh?”   

The Seventh time Emmrich said her name it was to give a gift. 

“My dear, please sit still or else I shan’t be able to give this gift properly.” Emmrich teased. Of course, he’d give her the present no matter what. But after finally acquiring a fitting token of his affection, his love, he wanted to give it to Rook exactly as he imagined.   

Stepping behind her perched on his desk, he opened the soft bag that contained her gift, he peered around to ensure her eyes were tightly shut, letting out an exhale of satisfaction Emmrich moved Rook’s hair to the side, holding it tightly in his hands he twisted her hair up and out of the way, a wry smile on his lips as he pulled lightly on the bundle. Rook let out a gentle hiss as heat pooled in between her legs. “If you could please hold your hair?”   

Satisfied, Emmrich proceeded to undo the clasp of the necklace, threading it around Rook’s neck, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he did so. After it was joined, Emmrich’s fingers lightly traced the chain over her clavicle, placing tender kisses on the back of Rook’s neck. Rook felt the cool weight of the necklace on her sternum, reaching up to feel the pendant, gasping as she raised it into her view. Finely detailed skeletal hands grasped a large garnet, it was hard to tell upside down but it almost looked like the stone was vaguely heart-shaped. “Emmrich, this is far too much! I can’t imagine what it must have cost!” Emmrich paused his careful mapping of Rook’s neck with his lips and moved closer to her ear, his light stubble scratching lightly at Rook’s skin.  

“I saw this when we were back in Nevarra and I couldn’t resist picturing how it would look around your neck, Calliope.” Added to the ministrations on her neck, he knew the reaction she had to Emmrich saying her real name, how a delicious red painted her cheeks and chest, creating the perfect trail for Emmrich’s fingers to follow. Calliope’s squirms brought herself closer to Emmrich, her back hitting his chest as he gently grasped Calliope’s neck with one hand, his other tracing the long line of her tattoo down towards her soft lower stomach. His cool rings icy against her heat.  

“Emmrich” she gasped, breath hitching, reaching for the back of his neck, bringing him closer, and kissing him deeply. Soft moans emanated from the both of them, Calliope broke away inhaling trying to extricate herself from Emmrich’s grasp, but he tugged gently, coaxing her back to her original position. “Calliope, this is about you, my love.” 

The eighth time, wasn’t really the eighth time. By then Elgar’nan had been dead for nearly a year. Emmrich and Calliope had returned to the Necropolis, Emmrich to his shaping of young minds, Calliope to the library, her younger self’s sacred sanctuary. On occasion they would jointly lecture on what they discovered during their time fighting against the Evanuris, careful to still keep some secrets. Manfred was flourishing under the tutelage of the Mourn Watch, his curiosity leading to amusing stories over dinner.  

On this particular evening, Manfred had delivered a sealed note to Calliope, asking for her to arrive in the Memorial Gardens when the dinner bell tolls. 

The flowers in the Memorial Gardens seemed to burst with fragrance as Calliope entered. A bouquet of lilacs stood on the table where Calliope and Emmrich had their first real date when they first started to truly get to know each other. A wisp danced across her vision guiding her past the ledge where a small table was set, taking Calliope back to when they first visited the Memorial Gardens together for the mourning rites, eventually the wisp paused at the steps that led towards the grave covered in snaking Shroud’s Kiss. Calliope thanked the wisp and continued up the steps, and onto the pathway which was littered in a cacophony of flower petals, lilac and yellow beckoning towards the figure at their juncture. Emmrich closed the gap, eager to reach his beloved. “Thank you for coming my darling, I admit it is poor manners on my part for such short notice,” he said entwining his hands with Calliope’s. “Emmrich this is quite the surprise, what’s the occasion?” 

“Well my love, I -.” Emmrich started, clearing his throat. “Calliope Ingellvar, my dearest Rook. Would you be so mad as to agree to a lifetime with a besotted fool of a professor, and do me the honour of becoming Calliope Volkarin?” 

And that was probably the most significant time Emmrich said Calliope’s name. 

[curioussubjects]

i started my mourn watch playthrough the other day, and so far it's exactly what i wanted from the veil jumper origin. don't get me wrong, im loving the mourn watcher origin, i just wish a veil jumper rook had gotten a similar treatment. honestly, this might just be my biggest complaint about veilguard.

the special interactions when you reach the necropolis really make you feel like a part of the faction. emmrich has so much special dialogue with a mourn watch rook and he doesn't treat you like you're ignorant of knowledge you should have. instead, he takes your knowledge for granted, based on your likely rank in the watch, and talks to you like a peer. there's also a real sense of kinship between him and rook as fellow necromances dealing with a world that largely misunderstands them and finds their art off-putting.

i also liked the familiarity between rook, myrna, and vorgoth. they're not as close as rook and the crows, for instance, but that makes sense considering the dynamic of the different factions.

meanwhile, as a veil jumper it seems like strife and irelin barely know rook, and bellara talks to you as if you're completely unfamiliar with the workings of arlathan. playing as a mourn watcher now, i barely noticed a difference in dialogue/interaction between rook and the veil jumpers. or even that much difference in how a veil jumper rook behaves in arlathan forest versus a non-veil jumper rook.

it's a huge disappointment too because i can see so many ways that the veil jumpers could've been more developed, letting rook shine regardless of lineage and class, and without overshadowing bellara:

rooks who are tinkerers and can "yes, and" bellara with their knowledge and enthusiasm, historian rooks who are curious about ancient elves and are more focused on the culture than the relics, fade nerd rooks who really care about the metaphysical wonkery in arlathan forest, explorer rooks who really know their way around the forest despite all its weirdness. real missed opportunities here!

and while the veil jumpers aren't as close knit as the crows or the watchers, maybe there could've been more npcs with ambient dialogue who have worked with rook before, or more general commiserating between veil jumpers and their experiences in arlathan forest. i also think it could've been really interesting to lean into strife being strict with rook and irelin being an actual friend who goes behind his back to keep rook in the loop or something.

seriously, bioware, what the hell.

i'd be curious to hear from players who did the other origins. are they as well crafted as the crows and mourn watch origins or are they like the veil jumpers?

[zenjestrr]

tagged by @crepsley blame them

Xabaal Thorne Age: 32 1. Where in Thedas is your Rook from? The Anderfels 2. What is your character's alignment? Chaotic good (all Rooks are chaotic good, we don't have options to deviate from that) 3. Race & Class? Qunari Mage (Evoker) 4. If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? probably Hossberg Wetlands 5. What emotion did they usually pick? almost always picked the bottom-right serious option 6. What companion are they platonically close with? Davrin & Emmrich 7. Romantically close with? Neve 8. Who are they suspicious of? the Trevisan mayor cuz you can see his betrayal from a million miles away. a victim of this game's bad writing tbh because in any other context he'd be 100% correct. the Crows should not be in charge of a nation but because Veilguard's writing quality is....not great he got turned into a Saturday morning cartoon villain 9. Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? with the average grunts? yes with leadership? lmao no 10. Are they proficient in playing any instruments? yes, the horn (mainly because I can play the french horn but also for haha funny funny big horned man can play horn) 11. Weapon of choice? staff. I thought I'd be using the knife + orb before the game came out cuz it was the new option but the staff was more consistent for my playstyle. I only ever used the knife vs qunari since my most powerful orb was necrotic and for some reason the Antaam are weak to necrotic (which doesn't make sense since necrotic is treated like poison in this game and qunari are naturally resistant to poison. it's how they can wear literal poison paint as armor) 12. What is their orientation? straight 13. What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? Last resort tool but doesn't feel bad about it if it gets to that point. 14. What hobbies does your Rook have? Rook is framed as the foil to Solas and Solas likes to paint so fuck it we paint now 15. What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike? Like - Vorgoth, Evka & Antoine Dislike - the obvious NPCs that are designed to be hated like Avenci, the Venatori nepo baby, the Dragon King cuz he's such a nothingburger, etc. 16. Do they have a favorite creature in Thedas? those weird alligator things that hide underground when you get close 17. Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? yes because any excuse to use magic is great 18. What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? doing Warden stuff 19. How do you think they'll meet their end? pre-AMA I would've said the Calling but apparently Epler said that the blight is no longer lethal now that the Evanuris are dead and the Veil is completely fixed so...yea 20. Would they side with Solas or fight him? I mean...we're always forced to go against him. we just pick the flavor of opposition but we literally cannot side with him 21. What is your Rook's favorite ability? Entropic Sphere.

22. What languages is your character fluent in? Common + whatever they speak in The Anderfels (you'd imagine it'd be fantasy German like how Orlesian is fantasy French but Veilguard did a shit job of depicting accents and language) + can understand Qunlat perfectly but is very very clearly not a native speaker since they learned it from their parents and not from living in Seheron or Par Vollen 23. What do they do after an absolute crisis? Same tactic I employ for myself in real life: bottle it up, put it away and ignore it, try to solve the issue or accept the situation. eventually the bottle gets stuffed too much it breaks and then there's a catastrophic emotional explosion which burns 14 bridges and ends 3 friendships permanently (this is totally a healthy and intelligent way to handle things) 24. Does your character believe in an afterlife? No 25. What specialization best represents your Rook? Evoker. if this game ran like Dragon Age Origins and Dragon Age 2, I would've dual specc'd into Evoker and Death Caller 26. What animal best represents your Rook? honestly, a gorilla. fucking huge and intimidating, incredibly athletic, can tear your face off but is very gentle and very intelligent 27. What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? born to a Tal-Vashoth father and a Vashoth mother. magic manifested in his mid-teens and I headcanon that the Grey Wardens of The Anderfels is similar to the US military in the sense that they bait conscripts by paying for people's education and giving them a stipend to send home. So to avoid going to a Circle, he signed up with the Wardens to get magical training that way. 28. Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else as the leader? every Rook is the de facto leader but honestly Harding should be the leader. she has a decade more experience than Rook and already has leadership experience (she's squad leader to the Inquisition scouts). they wrote Harding in this game to be this naive little church girl but that's not what she gave off in Inquisition. 29. If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which would they have joined and why? Mourn Watch. meta reason, it's the only other faction that has content and reactivity on par with the Wardens (rip Lords of Fortune enjoyers you got crumbs). but as a character, my dude is genuinely fascinated by Nevarran culture and the undead 30. What's your favorite thing about your Rook? I'm gonna be so for real, Rook is my least favorite Dragon Age protagonist (not worst BioWare protag tho, rip Ryder). I don't hate Rook but I dislike how limited we are in how we can choose who they are as a character: we're always forced to be a kind junior manager that watched too many therapy tiktoks. but my favorite thing about my Rook is honestly his looks. I think this guy is, aesthetically, my favorite PC I've ever made in an RPG.

-------------------- tagging @shepardcommander and @bellaralutare. no pressure if you don't want to. anyone else is free to join in

[soupandsorcery]

Rook doesn't sleep.

This is the fourth thing Lucanis learns about him. The first three being that he is odd, quiet, and unfairly beautiful. Not quite in that order.

Rook haunts the Lighthouse at night, flitting between the library, the bathing chamber that popped into existence sometime during Lucanis' second week here, and his own room on silent feet, given away only by his occasional muttering to himself.

Lucanis also doesn't sleep, so the two of them cross paths often, usually in the kitchen at some unholy hour of night. Rook pops his head up guiltily whenever Lucanis comes out of the pantry, like he's worried he's invading Lucanis' space. Or because he's committing some sin against caffeine with the coffee he's making. That seems more likely, considering Lucanis only has a space here by Rook's good graces anyway.

"Neve made it," is the first thing out of Rook's mouth tonight, and there's the expression of a child caught doing something they shouldn't be.

"You're drinking it," Lucanis points out.

"I didn't want to waste it."

Hard to waste something that isn't worth much to begin with, Lucanis doesn't say. He doesn't know the detective from Minrathous well enough yet to be casting aspersions on her coffee. But that doesn't mean he has to drink it.

He holds Rook's gaze as he walks over, appropriates the cup in his hand, and goes to the sink to dump it down the drain to wherever their waste goes in the Fade. It makes the insides of his eyelids itch just thinking about it.

Rook makes a face, confused and concerned. He makes that face often.

"I will make you something better," Lucanis says. "Sit."

Rook sits. Rook watches. Rook is always watching, a thoughtful expression on his (unfairly) beautiful face, like he's scrutinizing the world and the people around him, trying to figure out how they work.

Silence dominates the room, other than the sounds of Lucanis heating water and measuring out coffee. "Is this a Watcher thing?" he asks after a bit. "Not sleeping?"

Rook laughs softly, propping his head up with one hand, elbow on the table. "No. Although I don't know if Vorgoth can sleep, now that I think about it. I suppose it could be possible, and they must rest somehow... What was I...? No. The not sleeping is a me thing, I'm afraid."

Lucanis nods, passing him a steaming cup.

"Thank you," Rook says. He closes his eyes, inhaling the fragrance deeply. Appreciating it, the way it should be appreciated.

Lucanis ignores the way that pulls at him.

"This is...much better than Neve's," Rook says after his first sip. "Much better than mine, too."

"Coffee is an art," Lucanis tells him. "The two of you treat it like a necessity."

Rook smiles around another sip. "Well. I mean, it is a necessity."

"Granted. But think of it this way, if you needed a tool for a job, would you not want the best tool to do it? The best quality, crafted just for that purpose?"

"I...suppose so. Yes."

Lucanis waves a hand in a 'there you go' gesture.

"I will consider your wisdom," Rook says. "Thank you."

[hustlemeanokay]

I absolutely love the multiple origin backgrounds of Veilguard and I don't care who's salty about it. Go scream at the Wilds.

These multiple origins are headcanon fuel - just as it was in Origins. Yes, Inquisition tried but did it?

So far I've played through completely as a warden, a crow, and a lords of fortune. I'm working on my mourn watch playthrough right now and I love it, so much.

I mean - the night and day difference in how Myrna talks to you as a watcher is wow! And to know that that's basically your Mom? Which makes Vorgoth step dad-o-the-year?! Yes, please. The opportunities here!!!

I mean, just going off the top of my head - imagine it's Vorgoth that finds the little crypt baby Rook. Like, Rook's just been toddling around the Necropolis for weeks, all alone - maybe they got lost because they straight up say that they were on their own before the Necropolis. So, that can mean like adolescence or even a teen with a tude! But, like it's just been the greater spirits of the Necropolis taking care of Rook. Thiefying food for them and stuff and then Vorgoth is like "that is it - who the hell has been taking all the cheese - Myrna likes cheese and I'm tired of the bitchin'." Which leads them to finding Rook. And imagine Vorgoth metaphysically being like ◉_◉ "there's a baby here."

Which leads to Rook being all "Not a baby, you creepy robe guy!" And Vorgoth is like "you are literally surrounded by robe wearing spirits all the time apparently." Rook of course, thinks there is a distinction. And Vorgoth has to go get Myrna because they just cannot with this little talking baby. Like, I just love this dynamic so much.

And even better - imagine Vorgoth becoming super protective of Rook. Like... low-key unhinged protective. Because what even are they - no one knows. But they know they are protective! That's what Vorgoth knows. And imagine that moment, that little moment where it clicks with Vorgoth why Emmrich is standing just a little too close to Rook. How the temperature drops, just a little when they figure it out. Yeah. I live for that kind of drama. And they all think they have to watch out for Vorgoth. What they don't know is that it's Myrna. Myrna's the one who's like "I'll straight up burry your bones in different places across the globe if you hurt my baby." o(*￣▽￣*)ブ

[amaranthsynthesis]

Wip Whenever

having a brilliant "yippee!" kind of day and apparently am spending it working on angsty ingellvar backstory, oops

Myrna knows. She’s been with him as long as he can remember, a severe teen when he had begun to walk, a somber new adult when he learnt to speak; it’s only now, nearly two decades later, that her and Vorgoth have admitted that their affection for one another goes beyond their shared charge. So, she knows him, is the closest thing to a mother he might have, and she understands what he’s done. She doesn’t know how to speak to him about it. She doesn’t know how to put words to it to explain to her lover, his other parent. He has put her in a terrible position.  Adi is too ashamed to do it himself. Ashamed for having done it, for having been weak―for having failed. She sits with him in hospital and they do not look at each other. “I am sorry,” she says, after hours of silence. They are both used to it, to the silence. It is often a comfort but―not today. “We did not―I did not realize that you felt so isolated.”  Adi does not know what to say to that. Had he wanted them to know? Had he tried to hide it? He’s so tired.  “Are you going to tell Baba,” he asks, and he sounds wretched. A pitiable, pathetic thing, voice shattered from the violence of the resuscitation, thin and weak from his lost days. There are tears welling up in that voice and Adi can’t stop them from falling, blurring his vision and twisting his face into a grimace. Eyes hot, cheeks wet, a low whine like a dog in a trap building behind his throat―he’s not a boy, not an almost-man, just a wounded animal.  “I think they will realize, even if I do not. But yes. I must.”

not the context I thought to first mention or explore Baba Vorgoth but there they are I suppose

[cryberpunkart]

Castio Ingellvar

1: Where in Thedas is your Rook from? His parents are from Nevarra City. I didn't think too hard about his life pre-Mourn Watch so it's random.

2: What is your character's alignment? Chaotic neutral. Cas does things for the greater good, but it's a bit fast and loose.

3: Race and subclass? Human mage.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? The music room, and he'd be humming all the time.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Mostly the cheery and polite icons.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Taash, unexpectedly. But he gets on with everyone.

7: Romantically close with? Emmrich.

8: Who are they suspicious of? He liked Lucanis, but is low-key scared of him.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes! He adores the Watchers and is one to his core.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? No, but he is a very amateur opera singer.

11: Weapon of choice? Mageknife and necrotic damage.

12: What is their orientation? Asexual biromantic.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? He's just trying to survive, if he can avoid it, he would like to, but times are tough.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Music, reading, theatre. He loves a good debate, he's probably part of the Lighthouse book club.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? He loves Vorgoth and Manfred, but who doesn't? I think he gets along with Strife well, and Antoine (Evka scared him but he respects her) but he and Tarquin despise each other.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Assan counts, right? Otherwise he's a snake boy in every universe I write him into. Snakes all the time.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? I think he likes to revisit the Necropolis a lot, but yes, he loves exploring and learning.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? The Thedas equivalent of a paranormal investigator, or amateur theatre.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? Are you kidding? He's gunning for lichdom.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? He'd rather do neither, but if he can't talk Solas around, he'd fight.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? Corrupted Ground.

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Just the common tongue.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Decompress alone, with his nose in a book, after checking in on everyone.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? In the sense of the wisps and the Fade being a sort of life beyond death, yeah. For himself? No, lichdom!

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? I obviously went down the Mourn Watch specialisation. The character has always been a necromancer, I originally played him in D&D 5e.

26: What animal best represents your Rook? A snake. His favourites are hognoses but he's a ball python.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? Quite simple, I think he was hiding in Minrathous, probably taking odd jobs ridding homes of spirits for a fair price.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? He didn't want to lead, but he took to it well enough. He considers them all to lead in their area of expertise, though.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? Hmm, that's actually a good question. Probably the Shadow Dragons? They have good morals and he was already hanging about in Minrathous!

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? Cas is a character I've had for a long time now. In-game I love how his Ult looks, the mage combat flows so prettily. In a meta sense, this character creator is the closest I've ever managed to making Castio 3d, so I love that.

Zinc Laidir

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? There's a brief conversation with Taash where he mentioned being a Tevinter galley slave, so I think Zinc is a city elf from Seheron.

2: What is your character's alignment? The same as a labrador puppy.

3: Race and subclass? Elf warrior.

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? He'd move location every time, this man is hyper.

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Mostly the cheery/jokey one, but whenever there's a chance for the sad one, I went with that. Emotional boy.

6: What companion are you platonically close with? Taash, Harding and Davrin. He and Taash had trans solidarity, Harding is his bestie, and he and Davrin arm wrestle on the regular.

7: Romantically close with? The queen herself, Neve. But poor Bellara tried.

8: Who are they suspicious of? He's not too sure how to take Emmrich. He likes him, and he respects his magic, but worries about being told off, Emmrich is very Dad to him.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Yes and no. Isabella finds him frustrating, I think she was probably waiting for a chance to get him gone. They're like siblings who get along better with space between visits.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? Ohhhh yes. Zinc is a musician in his original conception, so he definitely plays the Elven guitar in his chamber.

11: Weapon of choice? Warhammer, specifically the brute hammer.

12: What is their orientation? Queer. Zinc has no labels, doesn't want them, doesn't care. He's a trans guy who likes hot people. You could call him pansexual but he wouldn't call himself that.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? Avoid as much as possible.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Music, but probably also card games, casual gambling stuff with the other Lords and the companions.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike? I think he and Rana get chatty, and I bet he's flirted with Theia. He doesn't dislike anyone, but he did punch the First Warden. So yeah.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? He'd have a pet nug if he could, but he's also pet every damn dog and cat in Dock Town.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? Of course! For gold and glory!

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? Bothering Isabella more.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? Doing something stupid.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? Fight.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? For Gold and Glory (I swear it's called that, the big leaping hammer smash).

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Elven, common.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? When the adrenaline leaves, he cries. Zinc cries a lot.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Nah, but he's okay with that. Again, he knows the Fad exists, he knows spirits exist, but he thinks they have no memory of their life, so there's not really a knowable beyond for living beings.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? I went with Slayer, because Lords of Fortune, but none of the others suited.

26: What animal best represents your Rook? A friendly puppy, or a speedy hare or something.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? A bit chaotic, but also simple. He listened to Isabella and did as he was told.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? He is, but in a more... Glue way. He's keeping everyone together and happy and sane as best he can.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? Maybe the Wardens. He wouldn't read the fine print about the Calling and how much being a Warden sucks, he'd just sign up to be a hero.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? He's the mascot for this account, but make him a little elf. :3 Also doing all the silly dialogue options feels appropriate, which makes it fun.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[dendroaspis-viridis]

An Evening of Drunken Lust - AU

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

Rating: E

Read it on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah fuck, this was real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anointed

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

Rating: T (Chapter 2 is E)

Read it on AO3

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

9:47 Dragon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Amalia.”

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Rook?” the hand gently squeezed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get lost in the Necropolis?”

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you then, Katareth.”