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I've had a lot of thoughts about an Emmcanis AU where they're both Crows (more details under the cut!)
They're intended to be around 10 years pre Veilguard in this drawing
Here's a whole slow-burn plot that I mapped out in my head 😂
Emmrich gets sent to distant relatives in Antiva after he is orphaned
his relatives don't want to take care of him and sell him to the Crows
he does well with the training, especially after his magic and corpse-whispering talents are discovered
Caterina recruits him for House Dellamorte and he becomes a highly respected Crow, though his necromancy makes a lot of other Crows nervous and they generally avoid him
Lucanis knows of Emmrich but they don't interact much until after Lucanis is older and starts getting sent on contracts with him
they find that they work well together and enjoy each others' company
after a while Lucanis realizes he has feelings for Emmrich and confesses to him (with a dagger? or maybe a different gift since that didn't work with Viago lol)
Emmrich has feelings for Lucanis but thinks he's too old for him, and is slightly concerned that Caterina would literally kill him
he tells Lucanis they can't be together and then things are awkward between them for a few years while they're both pining
everything with Illario and the Ossuary happens like in canon
Emmrich is heartbroken for a year thinking Lucanis is dead
when Rook meets with Caterina and she sends them to rescue Lucanis, she has Emmrich go with them (she knew there was always something going on between Lucanis and Emmrich so she could trust him with this)
after they save Lucanis and Rook recruits him, Emmrich also volunteers to join them
when they have a moment alone, Emmrich tearfully tells Lucanis he's always loved him and regrets not telling him sooner
now having Spite with him, Lucanis is much more hesitant to act on his feelings
he tries to avoid Emmrich for a while, but Emmrich ends up helping him with Spite
eventually they figure things out and get together as the plot events of Veilguard happen
This started as an experiment in using only white at varying levels of opacity on a black background, using only the eraser and blender for shading. If the painting is shown on a white background it entirely disappears.
I'd show a screen shot of that but it would be really boring 🤣
In any case, it ended up being a lot of fun (if frustrating at times) and I'm really happy with how it turned out!
Rating: Gen
Status: Complete
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard
Pairings: Pre-Emmerich Volkarin / Lucanis Dellamorte
Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Spite, Emmrich Volkarin
Canon/AU: Canon-divergent
Summary: Each chapter is a short, prompt-inspired vignette of Emmrich and Lucanis' relationship as they go from strangers, to friends, to lovers.
–
Prompt: Work/Leisure
“My apologies, Lucanis, I didn’t think anyone would be awake. Though with the noise those doors make, perhaps it was for the best…” the Mourn Watcher’s rings and bracelets caught the firelight with his emphatic gestures, which reduced to idle fidgeting when Lucanis didn’t respond. “….May I ask why you’re on the floor?”
Lucanis flexed his shoulders and rolled his neck as he stood, noting how Volkarin averted his eyes as he reached for a cloth to wipe the sweat from his face and chest. “I am working,” he supplied, then amended with, “training,” when the necromancer’s brows pinched in the middle.
I know it's day 5, I can't seem to use a queue properly and realised too late. Oops!
Drawing is inspired by a scene of my Emmrich x Lucanis fanfiction: No Rest for the Wicked.
Scene extract below:
It was a cooler evening on the streets of Nevarra when Lucanis slipped out of the house with every intention of taking a midnight stroll to clear his mind. Yet, his feet never strayed beyond the porch of the doctor’s home. He stood there, caught between the desire to walk away and the weight that held him in place. The house behind him was full of people, yet it felt so hollow, like a shell stripped of warmth. They had all agreed to make their final decision in the morning, but in truth, each of them already knew what the outcome would be.
Teia and Viago would return to Treviso; that much was certain. Teia was ready to wrangle Illario for failing to keep Caterina safe. Lucanis could almost picture it: the sharp gleam in her eyes, the way her words would cut like her knives as she demanded answers. Perhaps the journey back would give her time to calm that storm, or perhaps it would only give her time to sharpen her blades. Either way, Lucanis had no doubt that she and Viago would find a way to bring Caterina home. If anyone could, it was them.
Even so, Lucanis wanted nothing more than to be with them, to return to Treviso and tear through every obstacle until his grandmother was safe. But unfinished business held him here; a contract bound him and a debt to Emmrich that he had promised to honour. Both he intended to settle in full, no matter the cost.
A low growl from Spire broke the silence around him. The sound was a reminder that he wasn’t alone on the steps, and he would never be alone again, not truly. Not even in those rare moments when solitude seemed like the only cure for the chaos inside him. He had craved silence, isolation, the emptiness of being left to his own thought ever since the attack. But instead, Spite was there like a quiet ember of rage simmering beneath his skin and it bled into Lucanis. He could feel it, those dark emotions coiling around his soul like smoke, until he could no longer tell where his own feelings ended and the demon’s began. Maybe they were simply both furious at the Venatori, both in pain from their failure.
All he could do was stare out at the streets bathed in green lantern light, watching as the shadows sprawled long and still. There was no sound but the faint hum of night. Even the spirits seemed to mourn, their usual whispering silence deepening into something heavier, as though the town itself grieved. Nevarra had always been a place of the dead, but tonight, it felt wrong, it felt wounded. And it didn’t deserve this, the people here were good folk and the town didn’t deserve to be drowned in Venatori carnage.
But the Venatori wouldn’t return, Lucanis would make sure of it.
His fingers curled around the wooden rail of the steps until his knuckles whitened. The wood creaked beneath the pressure and a sharp crack pierced through the still night.
Behind him, in the house, Teia and Viago were likely already preparing for the journey at first light. Emmrich, on the other hand, was probably lying awake in bed, unable to close his eyes after all that had happened. Lucanis wanted to help, wanted to ease some of that pain, but he needed distance too. Space to breathe. Space to think, and in that space, a gnawing fear coiled deep within him: after everything, would Emmrich fear him now? Would he look at Lucanis and see a monster, something dangerous or a liability? Or worse… would he blame him for the attack on this town, for all the grief that followed?
It felt like only a matter of time. And maybe that was why he sat out here, wrapped in Spite, silence and the cool night air, planning his next move. Because no matter what came in the morning, he knew what he had to do. He was going to find his way back to the Ossuary. He was going to carve a path through every last Venatori. And when the final cultist fell, Calivan would die. His work, his schemes, everything he had built would burn with him.
Lucanis exhaled slowly, his breath a thin cloud in the night air, and stared at the shifting shadows beyond the steps. For the first time, he wondered if this was truly about his duty, his oath, or even the threads of love that bound him here.
Maybe it wasn’t loyalty or even Emmrich that kept him tethered to this town.
Rating: Mature
Words: 2K
Content warnings: drug addiction, drug withdrawal, implied/referenced child abuse
Read here or read on AO3. Many thanks to @sharpest-tongue and @grimrevolution for beta-reading, and thank you to @datvcompanionweeks for hosting this event.
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Lucanis lay fidgeting on the couch, his fingertips moving restlessly over the close-shorn teal velveteen. The fact that there was a couch at all offended him. It was a little too on the nose; he hadn't thought therapists really went in for couches except in the movies.
But then he'd been wrong about a lot of things.
"Tell me. How it felt."
It was a struggle not to roll his eyes. He had begun to get used to the man's idiosyncratic mode of speech, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to having someone dig through his emotions like a medieval grave-robber.
"How should it feel? It felt like torture."
The doctor merely stared at him through those stupid wire-rimmed vanity glasses. At least, Lucanis assumed they were vanity glasses. They were violet and mirrored, and it disturbed him that he could see his own reflection in them while the man's own eyes were furtive and hazy behind the lenses.
"Give me. More."
Lucanis sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. That it hurt? That I hated it? Hated her?"
"Did you?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. She did what she had to do, and it was a long time ago." He stared down at his hands. "What does it matter, anyway? Children hate things the way they love things. It's like the sun going behind the clouds."
"Smells like. Lies. And excuses."
"It's not an excuse," he snapped. "It's just… there are things I don't remember."
"You don't. WANT. To remember."
"I don't want to, and I can't." Something hot welled up in him, threatening to spill out. "That shit I was on fucks with your mind. You know that."
The other man said nothing.
"You know that," he repeated. Even to his own ears, his voice had a note of desperation.
He felt helpless. He didn't know what he was doing, had no frame of reference for how to move through this. Sometimes — most of the time — he thought the therapy was doing no good at all, or even making him worse.
"Isn't our time almost up?" There was no clock in the room, but it felt like he had been lying on this couch for hours.
"We have time."
"What if I just sit here and stare at the walls?" Lucanis asked. "Wait out the timer. What then?"
The doctor shrugged and regarded him with those unreadable eyes. "The less you talk. The longer. You stay here."
Fuuuuuuck. Lucanis ran a hand through his hair. His fingers were trembling; he curled them into a fist and pressed it into the cushion of the couch to still them.
He was never getting out.
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Slumped against the high arm of the couch, Lucanis chewed his lower lip. He hated the silence, the constant exhortations to feel something. To do something. What was he supposed to do when he was locked up like this?
"You are. Unsettled."
Lucanis shrugged and studied the carpet. "I can't get hold of my grandmother. She's not answering the phone."
There was no reply. The silence made Lucanis itch. He could feel the doctor's eyes on him.
"My cousin supposedly visits every week but he… if I could leave, I'd go myself and check on her."
"You don't. Trust him."
"He's family."
It wasn't a lie. Illario was family. Almost like a brother. There was no one he trusted more. All of which somehow didn't quite add up to yes, I trust him. "I'm just starting to worry."
"About. What?"
"She's old. Anything could have happened. A fall. Her heart." He rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "Maybe she's just ignoring my calls. Maybe Illario said something."
"Said. What?"
His throat tightened, an aching cramp. He swallowed past it. "Maybe he told her what I am."
"What. Are you?"
Lucanis's upper lip curled into a snarl and he looked up to meet the therapist's gaze. "A user. A fucking junkie."
He didn't really expect the other man to respond. He never said much when Lucanis was wallowing like this, just watched him the way you might watch someone knock over their cup of coffee. Like he was just waiting for it to be over, to see how big a mess it would make.
"She would be disgusted." The idea made him feel bruised and savage. "She should be. I'm disgusted with myself. I let it happen. I kept letting it happen. It was just… so easy."
Easy was not really the right word for it. None of it had been easy. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to quell the ache that had lodged there. "I should have left the party. I should have seen what was going on."
He remembered that night only in pieces. Illario had wheedled him into going. Said he needed help on a job but then abandoned him for a pretty face before they'd even finished their first glass of wine. He remembered music and heat and the smell of too many bodies in too little space. Seeking to escape the crowd, he'd found an empty parlor.
Or so he'd thought. Things got fuzzy around that point. He just remembered looking up and realizing he was not alone.
"She was there."
"Zara." The doctor spoke the name in a low rumbling growl.
Lucanis nodded absently. "I felt strange. I think… someone must have put something in my drink. There's no way I would have let her do that to me otherwise. Let her put a needle into my arm, and…"
He didn't remember the moment the drug hit his veins, only the aftermath. It was like drowning, like watching the waves close over him as he was pulled down into the enveloping dark.
"It was quiet inside my head. I could just… be. Think nothing. Feel nothing."
His eyes slid shut. The worst moment of his life had felt, paradoxically, like the best. He shifted on the couch as a craving hit him, crawling up from the depths to card its fulsome fingers through his mind. He counted breaths until it passed.
"I woke up the next day and everything I'd forgotten was there. All my faults. All my losses. All my failures. Everything, screaming even louder than before. Squeezing me harder. So hard it crushed me."
He pulled in a slow, shaking breath as if to remember that he still could. Then he continued in a voice so soft he might have been speaking only to himself.
"So I went back."
The doctor's nostrils flared. "Relief. And recrimination."
"Mostly the latter," Lucanis said in a dull voice. "I don't deserve relief."
His limbs felt heavy with the weight of it, as if he were trying to walk underwater. "It's my fault. Caterina has already lost most of her family. She doesn't deserve this, too."
He put his face in his hands. He wasn't sure he could bear to have her see him this way. "I took her grandson and gave her back a fucking addict."
I'm not this, he thought. I cannot be this.
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"I had a dream." Lucanis said, staring at the floor. "A nightmare."
The therapist leaned forward, tilting his head like an eager bird. "Tell me."
"It was nothing."
"Tell. Me."
With a sigh, Lucanis leaned back on the couch. He didn't know why he'd bothered trying to deflect. Once the doctor got hold of something, he never let go. "I was at a funeral. Caterina's funeral."
"Ashes. And regret."
Guilt needled him, prickling up the back of his neck. "I was looking for Illario. He was supposed to help me carry the urn, but I couldn't find him. I finally gave up. Said I would do it myself. But when I lift my hands, they're covered in blood."
He flexed his fingers, rubbing them against the fabric of his trousers as his pulse began to skitter. "Everyone is looking at me. They know what I am. I try to leave but the door is locked. I can't get out."
Abruptly Lucanis pushed himself up from the couch, palms sweating. "I… I can't do this. You've got to let me out of here. I've got to check on Caterina."
"Tenderness and terror." The doctor's tone was low, the reverent murmur of one spellbound.
"I said let me out!"
"I don't. Keep you here."
"Then who?" he shouted. "Who do I talk to? Do I have to sign a release? Post some kind of bail?"
"You are not. A prisoner."
"The fuck I'm not."
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking, and he half-expected to see them stained with red. A sickly plume of guilt began to spread through him. "Maybe she doesn't want to see me."
The doctor snarled. "Old, stale fear of disappointment."
"Fuck you."
The corners of Lucanis's eyes began to burn and he fought to blink the sensation away. He felt suddenly foolish standing here in front of the the other man, throwing the kind of tantrum he'd have been whipped for as a child.
He drew in a long, shuddering breath and then slowly sat back down.
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Lucanis paced in front of the couch, too agitated to sit. The therapist merely watched, head turning right and left to follow his restless movement.
"I called Illario. I thought he could tell me where Caterina is. Whether she's all right."
He remembered staring at the screen and listening to the phone ring and ring. It had rung so long he'd nearly hung up.
"Finally someone picked up." He dragged his palm down the side of his face, scraping his nails at the roots of his beard. A woman's voice. One he knew. "It was Zara."
The therapist's head snapped up and the violet mirror of his glasses caught the light.
"She answered his phone!" Lucanis heard his own voice rising. "Why does she have his phone?"
Nausea twisted his gut and he stopped pacing to slump against the arm of the couch. "At first I thought maybe she had come after him, too."
But that wasn't it. He knew, if he allowed himself to. Because of the word.
He had yelled at her over the phone. Asked all the questions he was asking now. Why? How? She'd laughed and taunted him in that slow, syrup-sweet voice. Then he'd heard her volume change as she turned from the phone, speaking over her shoulder in words that were mostly muffled.
There must have been someone else in the room, then. Someone she called amatus.
His jaw ached from clenching. He drove his fists against his thighs as he struggled to keep it together, to keep it in, keep his head above water as a flood of revelation threatened to tear him apart.
The party. Something in his drink. The woman waiting. The needle in his arm.
"Illario, you idiot." His voice broke on the last word.
"Jagged edges." The doctor's gaze locked onto him. "Hurt with every breath."
A groan escaped him though he strove to stifle it. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't."
"He. Put. You. Here."
"What am I going to do?"
Pain made his voice hoarse, a stifled scream that ravaged his throat. He'd rather that Illario had stuck a knife into him. Rather be dead than simply removed like this, to have his family severed from him while he was still alive to see it happen.
Again.
"What am I going to do?" he repeated, lips barely moving. He didn't know. Except that he was going to find Illario, and then he was going to take everything from him. Everything.
He rose from where he'd rested against the arm of the couch. "I can't stay here. I've got go and find Illario."
"I told you. I don't keep you here."
"Then—"
"You. Keep yourself here."
He stared at the doctor and violet eyes stared back. He saw himself in them, his grimace reflected, reversed.
Setting his jaw, he turned and walked out the door.
A piece that I've been working on for a while. Inspired by the thought of how Emmrich would be a great person to help Lucanis and Spite get out of Lucanis' mind prison.
I told myself I would sit on this for a few days, but I know I'll just overwork it until the sun burns out, so I've decided to throw it out and consider it done.
As Tumblr will inevitably bury this due to the nudity, you can find the full piece on my bluesky account
tumblr interactions are also appreciated! 🫶
[Full Picture]
please click to enlarge -- tumblr always wipes out the details
This is a gift for @sharpest-tongue, who got me a real professional drawing tablet for my birthday. Little did she know the levels of obsession she was fomenting.
The painting is based on our fic Apart Together, in which Emmrich and Lucanis are separated while Emmrich attempts to restore the Basalt Hypogeum to the Necropolis. Things do not go entirely as planned.
The scene where Emmrich and Lucanis take a bath following their reunion is "off screen" in the story... but not in my heart. 💚💜💕
Details below the cut, because I worked reaaally hard on this and am actually proud of it.
Hey, this is my first part of a three part fic written for the Emmcanis2025 event.
Pairing: Emmrich x Lucanis, ft. Spite.
Rating: Teen
Word count: 3,711
Summary: Lucanis was once the best agent in all of Antiva.
A name that made dictators quake, now reduced to a campus guard who kicked the coffee machine whenever it ate his coins. Each night he wandered the empty halls of Nevarran University, torch in hand, resigned to another dull shift with only the shadows, and Spite, for company. Until one night, a thin strip of light bled from beneath an office door.
Professor Emmrich Volkarin, PhD. Parapsychology. Titles meant little to Lucanis, but staff hours were staff hours. He slipped a reminder note under the door and carried on, only to find, on his next loop, that the professor had left him a reply.
Found on AO3 here or below the read more:
The campus at night was an eerie place. Large, decorated halls designed to guide countless students stretched into the dark. There were no students wandering the halls at night so they sat there, empty and silent. Only the sound of a solitary pair of boots echoed, the gentle flash of yellow torchlight swaying down the hallway as Lucanis continued his nightly patrol. It was a dull, monotonous job — a route he had taken so often he was sure he could walk it in his sleep, and some evenings he was tempted to try.
There was something about the psychology wing that always pricked at the guard’s wariness. Perhaps it was the reminder of his own psychological analysis. A lifetime ago, Lucanis had been more than a simple wandering night guard. He had travelled far and wide, infiltrating the most dangerous places in the world, taking out targets with deadly precision before disappearing into the night. Yet, after years of success, it had only taken one failure, one slip-up, for it all to come crashing down.
Captured and tortured, he had finally broken free after a year, only to return to a life he could no longer live. Every day and night, he imagined a demon by his side. The demon, Spite, had helped him escape, giving him the strength to break free. But then when they were free, the demon lingered, and it seemed no one else could see him.
It wasn’t until his cousin Illario found him brandishing a knife at empty air, locked in a heated argument with a demon no one else could see, that he was encouraged to seek professional help. Men and women with enough degrees to fill a room all came to the same conclusion: his last mission had broken him. Spite, the demon, was his mind’s attempt to come to terms with what had occurred during that year of captivity; a manifestation of his survival instinct.
The conclusion was damning. An agent seeing demons that didn’t exist was not someone the Antivan government was willing to send back into the field, and so Lucanis was forced to retire.
Once a name that made dictators quake, he was now just a guard who occasionally kicked the coffee machine whenever it ate his coins.
When he finally coaxed a paper cup full of the brown liquid — something he refused to grace with the name of coffee — he took a cautious sip. It was burnt, bitter, but it gave him the caffeine kick he needed to survive the night. So the echo of his boots continued down the hall, occasionally punctuated by the soft sound of sipping and a hushed Antivan curse. Sounds that echoed until they faded into the darkness beyond.
His torch illuminated only the first few metres of the corridor, casting elongated shadows of the many busts that lined the walls. All decorated alumni of the university, no doubt. A few names he recognised, but the majority were academics whose research had never once crossed the guard’s purview.
This was his second loop of the corridor and, just as before, the darkness was pierced by the soft glow of light seeping from an office door. Papers rustled, chalk scraped against a board, and idle chatter carried through the small gap, chatter most likely to oneself. These academics and their odd habits. Though Lucanis knew better than to judge; back when he was on a contract, he would burn away the nightly hours researching his target and was sure he muttered to himself too.
Lucanis sighed, tempted to bang his fist against the door and remind the professor of the university’s staff hours. However, he was in no mood to spark an argument with some know-it-all psychology professor. It was also not his job to evict staff who liked to burn the midnight oil. Instead, he produced a notebook and pen, scribbled a reminder of the staff hours onto a sheet, and slipped it under the door.
The murmuring from the other side halted, and he thought he heard footsteps approaching. With that, Lucanis continued on his patrol, knowing the message was delivered. He took another sip of the sludge in his cup and muttered another curse. The sound of his footsteps once more overtook the silence, briefly accompanied by the soft creak of a door opening.
Lucanis presumed the professor within was curious about the sender of the note. While he had no plans to confront anyone that night, he certainly did not hide his sauntering presence.
Another hour passed, and as Lucanis returned to the same wing, he was once again greeted by the faint glow from the professor’s office. He sighed and shook his head. It seemed to him that the most educated in this building were also the most dense. Perhaps the professor needed a more direct reminder of the office hours.
The notebook resurfaced with a tut as he closed the distance to the door, only to glance down and notice a different sheet of paper lying on the floor. This one was neatly folded, perfectly along the centre. The paper was thick, fine quality, almost silly to waste on a note to a guard. Still, he crouched down and plucked it from the floor.
It unfolded easily, revealing delicate but elaborate handwriting:
"Dear Guard,
I apologise for not having your name to address you properly. I am writing in response to your note, which you kindly slid under my door earlier, for which I appreciate that you did not wish to disturb a man in the midst of his studies.
Thank you for reminding me of my working hours, and the hours of the building’s operations, and thank you for your evident care for my well-being with your reminder. However, I wish to inform you that I am allowed to conduct my research here at whatever hours I choose, as part of my contract with the university. It is vital for my studies that research be conducted at night, and so I shall remain in my office in due course.
Again, thank you for your consideration, and should you have any questions, I am just a knock — or a note — away.
Yours faithfully, and many thanks,
Professor Emmrich Volkarin."
How many times was this man going to write thank you? Lucanis tilted his torch over the page, flipping it over in case the professor had added anything else, only to find the back blank.
“Reeks of sarcasm.”
Lucanis agreed with Spite’s whisper: the letter indeed reeked of sarcasm. While this Emmrich claimed he could work late hours as part of his contract, this was news to the guard. If it were common knowledge, or a special case, surely the campus guards would have been informed.
But it didn’t matter. If the professor wanted to waste his night with studies, it was no concern of Lucanis’, so long as he kept to his office and kept it quiet. What did bother him was the clear tone of the note. He did not take jabs lightly, even less so since his return home. He shone the torch onto the door plaque to see exactly what this Emmrich studied.
Parapsychology? What in the hell was that?
It sounded like some made-up pseudoscience. Then again, in his opinion, all psychology was pseudoscience, especially the quacks who classified him as ineligible for field duty. He had escaped a prison no one else could, all with this “demon” in his mind. If anything, he had proved himself more capable than most.
Yet, the government disagreed.
So, he left Antiva and travelled to Nevarra, where he found himself surrounded once more by psychology quacks, just with a different accent. At least Nevarrans didn’t question him when he ordered two coffees and set out a second chair for Spite.
Still, he wondered what parapsychology was. The professor had said he could ask questions, after all. If he insisted on staying at the university throughout the night, Lucanis might as well find a way to entertain himself.
He scribbled on the back of the page, a short note compared to the professor’s:
"Emmrich,
What even is parapsychology?
Thank you,
Lucanis."
He underlined the thank you rather heavily with his pen. The point was made, though he didn’t expect a response as he slid the note back under the door. Once again Lucanis could hear shuffling on the other side, almost too quickly, as if the professor had been awaiting a reply.
Wanting to avoid a verbal confrontation, Lucanis took off and resumed his duties of monitoring the halls, this time whistling softly despite Spite trying to hush him.
The final loop took a while longer. The sun had begun to peek across the horizon, casting hues of orange through the glazed windows of the corridor. It was soon close to the end of his shift, but he couldn’t help doing a final pass by the professor’s office. He was certain the man wouldn’t bother to answer such a question. It had been clear from the last note that the professor was rather annoyed, evidenced by the excessive thank yous. Nevarrans wielded politeness as a weapon, and Emmrich was evidently no exception.
So he was surprised to see not only a note by the door, but a slender book as well. The note was on fresh paper, folded just as before; however, this time Lucanis’ name was written on top. The letters looped with small splotches of ink at the ends, suggesting the professor was using something finer than a cheap pen. Good paper, nice pen, just for a note?
It didn’t matter, but it was an interesting observation nonetheless. He flicked open the note and was once again greeted with a long letter:
"Dear Lucanis,
It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, although I do apologise for having missed your passing by, yet again. I am grateful and humbled that you have a curiosity about my realm of expertise and I would very much love to go into the details of my work; however, a single page is too short. Instead, please accept a copy of my book. It’s yours to read or do with as you please, although if you do happen to read it, I would very much appreciate your feedback.
However, you did ask a question and I fear I have not yet answered it. In short, parapsychology is a field of study that investigates the paranormal, or ‘psychic’ phenomena, which includes the testing of existence and exploration of experiences that stretch beyond our realm and into the paranormal. Essentially, I study the paranormal and, in particular, cognitive phenomena often called extrasensory perception — where one may sense the world beyond ours, i.e. spirits and demons. Of course, that is only a fraction of my work, but it is an aspect I pride myself on most sincerely.
I hope you take my research to heart. It is a topic that not many pursue, and for good reason. It can be quite a taxing area of research, but if you have any more questions, please do not hesitate to ask.
You know where to find me, of course, and I wish you happy reading.
Yours faithfully,
Professor Emmrich Volkarin."
Spirits and demons? Lucanis reread the middle paragraph a second, then a third time, ensuring he had it right. There was no mistaking it. This mad night owl of a professor clearly believed in demons to some extent. Why else would he dedicate so much time to studying them?
Spite thrilled at the thought, rattling at the edges of Lucanis’ mind, clawing to break free and barge into the professor’s office. There was little chance Emmrich could truly sense him, but the demon insisted otherwise, babbling about how the professor might spot him lurking behind Lucanis’ eyes or when Lucanis could see Spite’s presence before him.
There was no quieting Spite once he was on a tirade. Lucanis instead tuned him out, crouching to pick up the book: Parapsychology: Breaching the Veil between Two Worlds, by Emmrich Volkarin and Johanna Hezenkoss.
Hezenkoss.
Now, that surname was familiar. A handful of names and faces had been burned into Lucanis’ memory from his first day on the job; individuals strictly banned from the university grounds. Johanna Hezenkoss had been among them. Dangerous, they said, untrustworthy, not to be reasoned with.
And yet here he stood, a copy of her work pressed into his hands by one of the university’s own professors.
Lucanis thumbed through the book, the paper thick and crisp under his fingers. No index, but a dense table of contents filled with strange subjects: Spectral Cognition, Shared Hallucinations or Shared Realities?, Entity Attachment Theory.
His lips twisted into a wry smile. If nothing else, it would certainly make for interesting reading during the long, dull hours of his next shift. Though the chapter on entity attachment was certainly on top of his reading list.
Spite hummed contentedly, as if already savouring the prospect. Maybe they could finally learn what Spite actually was. Both man and demon had already rejected the concept that Spite was just a manifestation of Lucanis’ mind. He was more, there was no doubt of it.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lucanis muttered, casting one last glance at the quietly closed door of the professor’s office. While he was tempted to knock, he realised no light seeped from the crack of the doorway. The professor seemed to have finally left.
So, Lucanis folded the note once more and pocketed it. Tucking the book under his arm, he began to finish his final round of the night.
While Lucanis still perceived the entire realm of psychology as little more than quackery, made up to make people feel clever, he still found himself devoting hours of his day to reading the professor’s book. There was much to be said about Volkarin and Hezenkoss’ research. It was detailed, especially on demonology, or maligned spirits, as they preferred to call them. Lucanis was happy to note down some feedback on that terminology; there were plenty of words he’d use to describe Spite.
A pen rested between his teeth as he thumbed through the pages, jotting down notes where anything might apply to him or Spite, or even both. There was much written on the theory of possession, though all of it assumed total loss of control for the possessed with the demon completely taking over, but that was not the case for him and Spite.
In fact, he and Spite often worked together, as during their escape all those years ago. Lost in thought, he drained the last of his coffee; an actual coffee this time, not the sludge from campus. He made another mental note to bring a flask of decent coffee with him for his next patrol.
When he realised he’d finished the cup, he tilted the mug upwards, shook the last droplets into his mouth, then lowered it with a sigh. It was his fourth refill, and only then did he notice the slight tremor in his hand.
“You are tired, Lucanis,” the demon scolded, prompting Lucanis to shake his head and slap his cheeks awake. Yet, the effort only made Spite growl. What Lucanis found ironic was that the entity possessing him seemed to care for his wellbeing more than he did himself. Maybe he should also note that in Emmrich’s book.
It took the words on the page beginning to drift when he finally conceded and kicked off his shoes, opting to sleep on the couch rather than in his bed. Not that it mattered; he always woke in bed anyway. Actually, there was one note worth making: Spite could only possess him in his sleep.
At first, that had been a deep concern for Lucanis, worried what Spite might do in his stead. But eventually they found an equilibrium and, more often than not, Spite simply left him to rest, occasionally stepping in to make him take care of himself. Not that Lucanis saw much point. His life had ended back when his cousin agreed with the psychologists and asked him to retire. The agency had been his whole existence; he had been reared in it, moulded for the work by his grandmother.
Now, he was just a campus guard with a demon in his head.
With that thought, he curled up on the couch, clutching his jacket for warmth as he drifted off to sleep. At least in his dreams, he could still be an agent.
Of course, as predicted, Lucanis woke in his bed with his phone plugged in, fully charged, and his evening alarm blaring. The sudden noise always startled him; he needed a moment to breathe and slow his racing heart before smacking the phone quiet. The silence that followed was welcome, and he sighed into the pillow… only to feel a pair of eyes on him.
“Get. Up.”
Spite stood at the bedside, his purple mirrored form leering with his hands on his hips. Lucanis grabbed a pillow and swung it through the demon for catharsis. As expected, it passed straight through before slumping against the wall.
He sat up with a groan while Spite hovered back, still watching but less scowling, almost as if he was excited.
“What?” Lucanis asked, stretching until his spine cracked.
“The professor…” Spite gestured towards the neat pile of notes laid out beside his guard’s uniform.
It seemed Spite had not only possessed him to put him to bed, but had also laid out his clothing for the next shift. That was a step further than usual, and it surprised Lucanis, touched him, even, until he realised it was most likely excitement about meeting a man who claimed to understand demons.
“You know he’s full of it, right?” Lucanis muttered, collecting the notes before stripping off to dress.
“He knows demons, Lucanis.”
“That’s just something people say to sell books.”
But even as he spoke, a small part of him, that last ember of hope, wondered if maybe there was someone who would believe him. Someone who knew Spite was real, and that he wasn’t crazy, just possessed.
“But, if he’s in today, I’ll talk to him.”
“Show him the notes.”
Lucanis glanced at the pile of pages, only now realising how much of the professor’s book he’d consumed. Could Professor Volkarin really be willing to entertain his questions?
“If he’s even in, Spite. Stop getting too hopeful. It’s not good for you.”
As expected, the professor was absent the following night. No stream of light from his office, no murmurs or rustling papers. Lucanis couldn’t help the small pang of disappointment, no note-worthy conversation tonight. But then he noticed another sheet of paper, neatly taped to the office door, his name written across it.
He tugged it free, unfolding to reveal more of that elaborate handwriting:
"Dear Lucanis,
I firstly wish to apologise for missing you at the early hours of yesterday morning, and for potentially missing your passing by tonight. I am sure you will be glad to know that I am adhering to the operational hours of the university this evening, as I am needed at home.
However, I do hope you have had a chance to look through some of my work, and if you have any questions my office hours are open to all university staff. I do realise those hours are not suited to a man of your working schedule, so please feel free to write down any questions and I will ensure to either answer them or point you in the right direction for information.
I have also come to realise that you may not be working tonight, which is why I have pre-emptively written this letter and left it out. Nonetheless, I wish you a pleasant night, and an uneventful shift no matter when this letter reaches you.
Yours faithfully,
Emmrich Volkarin."
Lucanis felt the corner of his mouth twitch in the ghost of a smile, something rare these days, but… it felt nice. His thumb brushed over the professor’s signature, noting how refined his penmanship was compared to his own scrawl. The man came across as knowledge, elegant, even a bit charming from these notes and Lucanis began to wonder what the man was like in person.
He had questions, plenty of them, though he made sure to keep them broad and vague. Putting them to paper felt clumsy, but it was better than not asking at all. Holding the torch in his mouth, he jotted down a few burning queries:
“What are demons? Do many people get possessed by them? How does someone get possessed? What is possession like for the person?”
Then he paused, glancing over them as he began to wonder if they seemed too pointed, but if pressed he could always claim idle curiosity about demons in general. Too many stories.
Spite, for once, seemed content with the list too and Lucanis could feel the demon’s satisfaction, a nice reprieve from their usual bickering.
Folding the letter back over, he slipped it under the door before resuming his patrol, hoping next shift he might catch the professor.
---
But once again, the office was empty. Still, taped to the door was another letter, this time inside a heavy envelope, his name written across the front. When he tore it open, he found four sheets of paper crammed inside, filled back to back with notes on demonology and the act of possession.
Far too much to read while on patrol. So he scrawled a reply on a scrap of paper from his pocket before sliding it under the door:
"Emmrich,
I will need to read this in the morning with some actual coffee. Thank you for the notes.
Lucanis."
Then, just as he was about to slip the note underneath the door, he head the distant tapping of footsteps against the polished flooring. The tapping grew louder, informing Lucanis that someone was approaching and from a corner he was a faint green light appear. Lucnais raised his own torch, illuminating the figure in yellow light as he realised it was very clearly an academic of sorts. Tall, well-dressed, and wait, smiling at him?
Summary: When a Venatori ambush leaves Lucanis and a wounded Emmrich trapped in the High Anderfels, they're forced to navigate the treacherous landscape in hopes of reuniting with their lost companions and the Grey Warden patrol they were meant to find. But the mountains hold more than storms and uncanny predators, and Lucanis must wrestle with a far more dangerous conflict: his fiercely guarded feelings for the very necromancer he has sworn to protect.
Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore (later chapters), explicit sexual content (later chapters), near death experiences, blood, illness & injury, Post-Weisshaupt.
--
“Thank you.”
He barely caught it — the soft breath of thanks — yet it was still a struggle not to flinch away; to apologise for the situation they found themselves in. “Get some rest,” Lucanis murmured into Emmrich’s nape instead. Weak yet even breaths followed as Emmrich seemed to doze off, the worrying rattle from earlier thankfully absent. He didn’t look forward to the awkward conversation they would have to have, but if Emmrich was still alive to have it, Lucanis would consider it a fair exchange.
