#beloved crypternity

[palenecromaniac]

Lets get cozy, darling... or more? Haven't decided yet.

Emmrich & Yuriel

Beautiful art comission by @svanha

[palenecromaniac]

Crypt romance night for Emmrich & Yuriel

see the full uncensored version here https://bsky.app/profile/palenecromaniac.bsky.social/post/3lvbjoamrvc2v

Beautiful art comission by @ginavampina ty so much for realizing my vision of this scene

[palenecromaniac]

Beloved crypternity – chapter 5

Sitting at a beautifully crafted round table at Café Pietra in Treviso, having the most scenic view over the lantern lit nightly alleys for their date, Rook had just enjoyed his first sip when Emmrich, after his sweet, connoisseur's expression, noticed something else: a frown as he looked at the table, more specifically at the saucer and the spoon resting on it. "Is something wrong, darling?"

Rook gave a long, "mhh" sound. "We ordered the same thing, but I got a different, smaller spoon for the cup than you did."

Emmrich examined both sets. "You're right. But it does fit. You ARE the little spoon, at least." As he said this, he sipped with a smug sideways glance at Rook, whose jaw dropped briefly.

"Am I?"

"Of course. Do you have any doubts or concerns, my dear?" It was astonishing how latently threatening Emmrich could express this verbal endearment, underscored by the "Come home with me later!" look.

Rook chuckled cheekily; he loved it when Emmrich played tricks on him, and he was feeling pleasantly nervous. He could barely sit still. "The staff here couldn't possibly know. Or can you tell by looking at us?"

"If we're being watched by the crows, neither of us probably wants to know what they know by now." Emmrich rolled his eyes, but didn't seem particularly bothered by his assumption.

"The crows are damn good." Rook nodded, trying hard not to let his gaze wander. "But they're not all-seeing and all-knowing. Or do you think they can see like I can right now..."

He didn't finish the sentence, instead staring deep into Emmrich's eyes over the gilded rim of his cup, while his free hand skillfully wandered under the table and began to stroke Emmrich's thigh. Slowly, his hand moved further and further away from his knee. Emmrich hastily hid his expression behind his teacup, albeit not very successfully. It was a pathetic attempt to disguise the fact that he was currently the most agitated man in all of Antiva.

This sweet failure gave Rook a sense of magnificence. He had an effect on the professor—and it was no small one. Rook grinned studiously and continued to work on Emmrich's thigh and hip area with all his dedication. "If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so," he purred.

"And ruin our lovely evening with a lie? Out of the question!" he retorted, summoning all the discipline of an experienced scholar of the Mournwatch.

Conspicuously discreet, they gradually moved their chairs closer together, so that their legs finally touched at the sides. Rook's heart palpitated. He only interrupted his teasing yet loving massage when other guests or staff passed too close to their table.

"You're such a rascal." Emmrich shook his head, grinning nervously. "I couldn't even get up right now to escape your little game. That would..." he cleared his throat, "be noticed."

"Then that makes two of us." Rook chuckled, taking it as mission accomplished. He let his hand reappear, and the two fell into an embrace, accompanied by an overly eager kiss. Their cups had long since spilled over and landed somewhere on the table, far from their respective saucers. The staff would later discover that two Nevarran mages could transform an elegantly set table into a battlefield.

Two whole Antivan songs by the bard present later, they finally managed to get back to talking—and, while philosophizing at length about the latest happenings in the necropolis, they lovingly fed each other the little pastry balls that had been served to them along with their drinks at the beginning.

"Mmm, delicious!" Rook gushed, chewing. "I'm slowly beginning to understand why Lucanis keeps coming back here. I could get used to evenings like this. Just look at the stars!"

Emmrich was delighted by the childlike enthusiasm with which Rook sometimes viewed the world. He hoped this trait wouldn't fade too quickly between their tough battles against the Evanuris' minions. Rook just chatted away about what this or that constellation reminded him of while wiping the last cookie crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. Emmrich was certainly very interested in the starry sky, but he simply couldn't tear his eyes away. The realization hit him hard: Harding was right after all—he WAS mopey.

But why should he condemn and suppress this rapture? It made him more alive than ever—even if his goal was to become a lich, he still wanted to spend every single moment until then in the best possible way. And with Rook at his side, it was easy. This evening in the café proved it once again. Only at nightfall did they gradually make their way back, strolling hand in hand through the illuminated alleys near the marketplace, but the merchants had already closed their stalls. So it was time for them to head for the Eluvian.

They were discussing their last encounter with Teia and the interesting rumors she had told them when Emmrich looked around. The narrow alley with its closely spaced row of houses was deserted and ideal for cutting someone off. "I think we're being followed," he whispered to Rook. They kept a low profile and continued walking, feeling for their weapons. "Are there any scoundrels after our jewelry?" Rook hissed.

"I don't see anyone, but we should…"

Emmrich was interrupted when a hooded stranger suddenly stepped into their path. Whatever shadow he had come from was inexplicable to the two of them. A quick glance over their shoulders confirmed their suspicion: Two more darkly clad, hooded figures were blocking their way back. All three bandits were armed with drawn daggers and sabers. The condition of their blades quickly revealed that they weren't beggars who had picked up the weapons in a filthy gutter. Their posture also suggested combat experience. Rook and Emmrich had faced so many Venatori and other henchmen by now that a single glance was enough to grasp the threatening nature of the situation.

One of the cloaked figures hissed something to his companions. He had an accent, but to Emmrich's ears, it sounded like, "There are two of them." There was no time for explanations or reassurances; a fight was inevitable. Rook covered Emmrich's back, who in turn parried the first saber blow aimed at him with his staff. They braced themselves against each other, and Emmrich, thanks to his height and two-handed weapon, had the better footing, but his opponent took advantage of this situation by abruptly stepping back, causing Emmrich to fall almost directly into the forward-thrusting dagger in his other hand. He just barely managed to catch himself with his right leg. After the initial recoil, the cloaked figure spun the saber forward again, slicing off a wide strip of Emmrich's left sleeve. He was lucky that it only cost him a few shreds of skin.

Meanwhile, Rook fought bravely against the other two figures. Emmrich wanted to help him, but his situation didn't even allow him to glance over his shoulder to see how he was doing. The clash of weapons and aggressive shouts only made the situation more difficult. The attackers forced them into close combat, preventing them from using their most effective weapons: necromancy. Emmrich realized they would be defeated that way. "Rook, we have to..." He dodged the next saber blow and swung the head of his staff at the agile cloaked man, only grazing the hem of his cloak before another dagger struck from somewhere in the shadows. He dodged, but in doing so, his right shoulder struck the nearest wall, causing a stabbing pain in his right arm. Emmrich resisted the strong urge to relieve the pressure on his right side and instead assumed a fighting stance. He hadn't hit his opponent once yet, but he could barely raise his arms. Frantic footsteps and screams sounded behind him. He wasn't sure if he recognized Rook's voice, but the mere assumption was enough to give him unimagined powers.

Emmrich summoned his deep-rooted knowledge of the shadows of existence, commanding the bones of this city to move and fight. When they suddenly erupted from the ground, his opponent hesitated but refused to flee. He swatted aside the assembling bones with both weapons and leaped at Emmrich again, who could only dodge with a twist, as his arms were half-numb and could no longer deflect targeted blows. He heard another scream, and this time he was fairly certain it came from Rook. No wonder, since he was even facing two opponents. Even though the one facing Emmrich was probably the leader. A ghostly flash told Emmrich that Rook had finally been able to use his magic, but that didn't reassure him. He had to deal with his enemy quickly and rush to his aid. The cloaked man continued to attack him with dagger and saber, scoring several light hits, but he made the mistake of losing sight of the undead. A half-formed skeleton slashed him in the side with a curved, jagged bone shard. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it bled profusely. The stranger hissed in pain and twitched violently. Nevertheless, he immediately charged again. The remaining crawling bones made him stumble, allowing Emmrich to bring him down with a staff blow to the neck and shoulder. Had he not already been injured and weakened, it would probably have been enough to knock him unconscious, but he merely staggered and called for retreat. It would have been an unnecessary risk to pursue them for possible questioning, so Emmrich let them get away and ordered his skeletons to guard the immediate area. Rook slid backward to a wall, leaving a thin trail of blood. Emmrich immediately attended to him and tended to his wounds.

"They weren't just after our jewelry," Rook said, breathing heavily and visibly exhausted. Emmrich nodded. "Those are two of them, I heard one of them say. They seem to be looking for the entire Veilguard." Rook just nodded and remained still while Emmrich tended to him. Aside from the blood loss, it wasn't too serious, more like painful. Only a stab in the back ribs burned intensely and went deepest.

"You're injured too," Rook said, looking at Emmrich's arm wound. "Let me clean and bandage it." Emmrich frowned at him. "Not until you're bleeding anymore." Rook sighed. He knew it was useless to argue, so he saved his strength and closed his eyes. The pain subsided as he suddenly lost consciousness.

Header art by @refrainee for the beautiful antivan nightsky

[palenecromaniac]

Beloved Crypternity

Chapter 11

As Emmrich was fast asleep and had blissfully drifted off into the realm of dreams, Yuriel carefully climbed out of bed, pulled the warm blanket up over Emmrich’s shoulder, and hurriedly threw on his clothes; he gathered his long red hair into a half-bun so that no loose strands would get in his way during the ritual later. He had already hurried halfway to the hallway when he paused and glanced back at Emmrich, who was resting in a deep sleep just as planned. Barring any mishaps, he would be back before Emmrich woke at dawn. But one never knew… On one hand, his undertaking carried significant risks; on the other, Emmrich might wake up if he noticed the empty space beside him in his half-slumber. He had no desire to worry him. So, he hastily scribbled a note and left it on the nightstand for his lover. “I’ll be back at dawn. Don’t worry—I love you. Yours, Yuriel”

Now, however, it was truly time to hurry. He had to perform the ritual he was planning under the cover of darkness. Spirit evocations attempted in daylight carried a far greater risk of failure—or of encountering the spirit in a foul mood. That was a risk he had no intention of taking. Yuriel left the city, heading northeast and relying on a sense of direction born of memories from some fifteen years prior. By the faint light of a conjured veil-fire—just enough to make out his surroundings—he searched for the old path leading to the cave. When he had last walked this way, his stride had been shorter and his feet smaller than they were now. He located the spot after only a brief search and fought his way through a thicket of wild vines and undergrowth. He had to squeeze through the opening, entering the cave on all fours with his hands leading the way. Once sheltered within the cavern, he intensified the glow of the veil-fire and lowered his hood. No one had followed him; here, he was safe from discovery. Another detail revealed just how long ago he had last been there: he could not stand fully upright and was forced to move forward in a stoop, taking short steps. The air smelled of musty fungi and cellar damp—a place utterly forgotten by the world. Small creatures scurried away as he approached with his magical light; creatures dwelt down here that had never seen the light of day.

Yuriel had to be careful not to slip on loose rock or get his hair and clothes snagged on the roots hanging low from the ceiling. He followed the only tunnel large enough for him to pass through. He ignored the smaller, dark niches that were difficult to see into, even though it made him somewhat uneasy to rely entirely on the assumption that he was alone. He found the cavern with the slightly higher ceiling again, though as a child, the place had seemed far more impressive and spacious to him. The only thing distinguishing this spot from the other caves was the presence of fluorescent fungi, which cast a reddish shimmer over the glow of his veil-fire. Blue-green and warm light mingled to form a new spectrum, casting bizarre shadows across the cavern—shadows that seemed to creep about whenever caught in the corner of his eye. He had seen places far more eerie than this, yet more awaited him here than simply enduring the strangely oppressive underground silence until dawn. The true spirit dance was yet to come—provided he succeeded. As he removed his cloak and began the initial preparations, it struck him that he had never performed a spirit summoning of this kind outside the Necropolis. That was where spirits gravitated naturally, at all times. But here—in a forgotten cavern beneath the capital’s city walls—would the dead hear him? Yuriel allowed himself a moment of doubt regarding his undertaking, but it did not last long. The conviction that he was doing the right thing for Emmrich gave him renewed resolve. He wanted to grant him peace and cosmic justice; he could not fail now.

He performed the practiced movements he had mastered during his years of training. Meditative chanting and gestures gradually lulled him into a twilight state—a sensation akin to a blend of intoxication and waking dream. From that moment on, his senses peered ever deeper into the Fade, while his body remained at the ritual site, repeating the same motions as if he had stepped just a pace outside his own physical form. This was the very state he had sought to attain. His powers and knowledge granted him access to a realm that every living being feared—even though a select few, the mages, simultaneously yearned to return to it. It was an invisible reality from which the uninitiated were cut off. Yet, entering this liminal realm came at a price. His senses in the physical world were reduced to a bare minimum. Should cave creatures slither across his legs, he would feel nothing; he would remain deaf to approaching footsteps. Only rough handling or actual injury would rouse him, provided he maintained the meditation. And that state was merely the foundation required to perform the actual incantation.

While Yuriel’s physical self remained seated cross-legged within the ritual pentagram—chanting and swaying in time with slow, deliberate gestures—his exposed soul called out to Emmrich’s parents.

"Elannora Volkarin! Rupert Volkarin! I need you!" He summoned them with the utmost humility and respect. "Draw near; I call to you from the realm of the living. Elannora, Rupert—I beseech you. A friend of the dead calls upon you."

He drew upon every ounce of his knowledge—not merely his own necromantic mastery, but also Emmrich’s memories and the emotions his lover had shared when they lay arm in arm, speaking of his parents. He sought to avoid attracting the attention of other spirits; this was no ordinary service, but a plea for the presence of two specific souls. They had been gone for so long... Could they even hear him from the depths of death? And if they could, would the desperation in his voice be enough to compel them to answer his call? He knew from experience that such detachment of body and soul profoundly altered one’s perception, distorting the very nature of time and space. It felt as though he had been calling out to them for an eternity. Yet, he did not give up. He sank deeper into the trance, daring to take a greater risk. The masters in the Necropolis had always warned students against surrendering themselves entirely to the Fade.

Over the ages, more than a few apprentices had made their final mistake in just this manner. Succumbing to the intoxicating allure of the spirit realm, they had ventured too far beyond the boundary—doomed to wander there forever, leaving their bodies to wither and die, with no hope of ever waking again. Should Yuriel misjudge the limits of his own power, that very fate would befall him. This cave would become his grave. Yet something stirred in the beyond. There was something there… a presence. Or were there two? Yuriel’s mortal frame gasped; cold sweat glistened on his skin in the light of the veil-fire. His body was the anchor for his return from the spirit realm—and he had reached the brink of exhaustion, on the verge of failure, of sudden cardiac stop.

“Please…” Yuriel staggered. Did his spirit falter, or was his seated physical self collapsing? Everything spun—spirits, lights, cold, warmth, consciousness, emptiness, existence, peace… He had given everything. And yet found nothing? Emptiness where he had sought parental love? Did he fail because he himself did not know what that felt like? This realization struck him down; the pain tore a fresh wound in his soul, bleeding where it hurt the most. In the real world, he almost never wept. Not since childhood—from hunger, or the fear of falling asleep in the cold and never waking up. But here, the tears of the soul fell—a helpless cry of anguish at having been left alone. Just as the weight of it all crashed down upon him, he felt a hand take his own. Warm hands—hands that were gone, yet had never ceased to exist. On his left, Rupert—the strong hand of a man who had been a butcher. The one who had appeared to him in his dreams. On his right, Elannora—the gentle hand of a mother who had been a cook. They helped him up. They were dead, yet they were real. Like concerned parents tenderly caring for a frail child, they supported him until, with his last ounce of strength, he reached the anchor: his deathly pale body.

“Thank you.” He sighed from the depths of his soul. “You saved me. Yet I did not call for you for my own sake. I must ask you for another favor…”

To be continued

@serialsforbellara

[palenecromaniac]

Beloved crypternity – chapter 4

"I could have continued dancing with you all night. Although, admittedly, I initially wanted to avoid it."

Rook smiled as he strolled hand in hand with Emmrich through the necropolis garden, as they often did together. They both loved the tranquility and aesthetic beauty of the surroundings with their countless flowers, ornate crypts lit by the veil fires, and the ever-curious will-o'-the-wisps that danced around them. Even the palpable presence of ghosts didn't bother them—quite the opposite. For them, it meant the feeling of being at home. Manfred, too, didn't miss another stroll through the gardens of the dead. He always found something new to discover, even though Emmrich, for educational reasons, had to be careful for him not to wander around the rose bushes again.

"The evening was truly a success," Emmrich nodded in agreement. "The ambiance must have made a huge impression on the guests. Our conversations with the senior guards and instructors were also extremely insightful."

Rook sighed. "Since last night at the latest, we've been one of the top three gossip topics. Some already knew, now everyone else knows." He gently squeezed Emmrich's hand. "But I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, all of Thedas can know. It's just a shame that some people with quite a few opinions but so little knowledge consider our relationship controversial. To them, I'm just the cheeky, rebellious Rook."

"And to me, you're simply everything!"

"Don't say it like that!" he blurted out, even though he was glowing with happiness inside.

Emmrich chuckled, embarrassed. "So how should I express it?"

Rook looked him in the eyes, struggled with himself, and began to stammer. He recognized the sincerity in Emmrich's words and suddenly regretted not having said it first.

"Say it again," he finally whispered, his voice breaking several times with emotion.

Emmrich maintained eye contact and shook his head with provocative slowness and a mischievous smile. "You'll have to get the words from me if you really want them!"

Rook immediately jumped at it with enthusiasm, leaning close to him and trying to capture the necromancer's beautiful lips with his. "How playful you are, for your old age," he teased. Emmrich didn't make it easy for him, taking advantage of his significantly greater height to repeatedly elude him. Twisting and stretching was enough to shake off the toe-dancing Rook. "And you're clearly too slow to handle this old man."

"Hey!" Rook liked it when they played this game. That's why he indulged in it so gleefully and obviously exaggeratedly, acting more excited and energized than he was. He practically jumped around Emmrich's neck, who caught him with minimal effort in his arms. Manfred came running up and somehow tried to jump up too. He didn't understand what the two were doing, but it looked like a fun game, and a spirit of curiosity was always open to new things.

Emmrich and Rook had to interrupt their mischief for giggles as Manfred repeatedly jumped up at them and craned his head towards them.

Before it could become too much for him, Emmrich carried Rook a few steps further to their favorite spot in the necropolis garden: an old, waist-high stone monument, hidden from most eyes beneath the branches of a crooked willow tree and behind overgrown bushes. Once there, he sat down and continued to hold Rook in his arms. Manfred had followed them but was now distracted by a crypt butterfly on the blossoms of the bushes. Now the moment had come for what was possibly the most beautiful defeat of Emmrich's life. Rook kissed him slowly and tenderly. With all his thoroughness, he gradually conquered Emmrich's mouth, the hiding place of those sweet words he so desperately wanted to hear again. And he could hear them by feeling them. With every touch, they resonated within him. His arms and hands held Emmrich tightly, as if he might try to get up, but nothing was further from the experienced necromancer's mind than interrupting this moment. Their tongues still had quite a lot to talk about.

While Manfred happily chased the crypt butterfly across the garden (including the rose bush), Rook and Emmrich enjoyed this brief, undisturbed moment together. Kissing, they leaned against the willow tree trunk. As Rook leaned against it, his fingertips felt the carving in the bark that he and Emmrich had shared responsibility for. A striking, large heart with the letters E and Y inside. Emmrich noticed how tenderly Rook traced the motif with his index finger.

"I love you, Yuriel," he breathed on his lips. Rook closed his eyes, sighed, and snuggled up to Emmrich's collar. "Only you call me that, darling. And I love it. When others call me that, it just doesn't sound right," he whispered in his ear. "Only you know who I truly am. Your voice is the one I need."

Emmrich kissed Rook's scarred left cheek and then looked directly at him. "Your name is also the last remaining link to your parents. They gave it to you."

Rook's expression changed, and he sighed deeply. "I don't remember them anymore."

Emmrich nodded in understanding. "Would you want to get to know them, now, as an adult?"

"No, they obviously didn't want to get to know me either. Otherwise, they wouldn't have left me behind."

Emmrich saw the grief buried beneath anger and defiance in his lover's posture. He stroked back a strand of hair as Rook hung his head. "We don't know the circumstances of that time. Perhaps something... or someone forced them to do it. But I understand your pain. And I can't take it away, but I will curse the cruelties of the world with you if it helps, or make inappropriate jokes about it. Or cry with you. However you need me."

Rook hugged him again, so tightly that it just barely passed for loving. Emmrich simply held him. If Rook needed to shed a few tears, he gave him time to do so on his shoulder without demanding eye contact. Only when he leaned back on his own did he give him an encouraging smile.

Rook gave a wry grin, quickly and surreptitiously wiped the corners of his eyes again.

"For necromancers, we're quite sensitive, aren't we? You and I."

"Only when we want to debunk clichés." Emmrich grinned back.

"That's at least as entertaining as snubbing Nevarran nobles one after the other." Rook laughed. "Did you see their looks during our dance? The way they put their heads together and whispered."

"Really? Why didn't I notice? I must have only had eyes for you, my dear. You were so beautiful in that green gown."

"Thank you, but it gets even better! During our kiss at the end of the dance, not one but two ladies dropped their glasses." He punctuated his story with two raised fingers, and Emmrich listened enthusiastically, as if he hadn't been there himself and even directly involved. "Didn't you even notice?"

"I remember you were wearing a beautiful necklace," Emmrich replied, visibly embarrassed.

Rook blinked, amused. "All right!"

They exchanged a few silent but conspiratorial glances that could have come straight from their bedroom.

"Speaking of jewelry: I want to give you something," Emmrich finally said.

"A present, for me?"

Emmrich pulled off one of his many rings and held it open in front of him. It was a simple, wide gold ring, which Rook, of course, already recognized. For him, it was a natural part of Emmrich's everyday appearance.

"A ring? But... it's yours. Isn't it even magical? Valuable? From your grave gold?" His voice cracked with excitement.

Emmrich laughed at Rook's sweetly frantic reaction. "It's not magical. And nothing is too precious for me to give you, my love."

Rook seemed to be struggling with whether he truly deserved this gift, but finally he nodded. "Thank you. And I will always wear it until my fingers are nothing but bones. And then, too."

It was a bit macabre, but between two necromancers, the ultimate expression of romance. Emmrich gently tested which finger it would fit Rook on. It was the right ring finger; it sat perfectly there.

"As if it had always been yours." Emmrich was pleased by the sight and kissed his hand.

"It's still yours," Rook said, snuggling up to him. "Because I belong to you."

_____

Art by @oxalees thank you so much, you nailed it <3

[palenecromaniac]

Palenecromaniac

Beloved Crypternity

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Interlude - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - My Swan - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Currently working on ... Chapter 12

My OC Yuriel Ingellvar/ modern AU Yuri

Biography - Screenshots - Screenshots2 - Screenshots3 - Screenshots4 - Emmrook love - Emmrook love ref - Emmrook love ref 2 - Emmrook love ref 3 - Emmrook love ref 4 - Emmrook love ref 5 - Emmrook love video - Yuriel ref 1 - Yuriel ref 2 - Yuriel ref 3 - Yuriel ref 4 - Yuriel ref 5 - Yuri ref 1

Socials and Projects

Calendar project 2025

The Fade Discord Server

My Bluesky (nsfw content)

My Swan - Zine Event 'What comes after'

[palenecromaniac]

Beloved crypternity - chapter 7

Rook shivered slightly, wearing only trousers and boots, and the air down here in the vault was as cool as ever. He couldn't remember where he'd left his shirt. Especially since, blindfolded, he had no sense of direction anyway. Emmrich, similarly dressed (but still with his shirt open), was leading the way, pushing Rook ahead for quite some time. Rook didn't know why he was wearing leather gloves, but the sensation of them against Emmrich's hands on his bare torso was not to be underestimated.

"Don't make it so exciting, where are we going?" he urged, but Emmrich remained calm.

"You'll see, my darling—or not. Maybe I'll just make you wear the blindfold until tomorrow. And if you don't silence yourself, I'll find a gag for you."

Emmrich held him by the waistband, his other hand firmly but gently around Rook's throat, which was adorned with a leather collar. He pressed himself against him from the side and behind, so they could feel the warmth in each other's bodies. His tongue slid up from Rook's collarbone to the sensitive tip of his elf ear. "Don't be cheeky, understand?" he whispered warningly.

Rook almost collapsed languidly into his arms, but he controlled himself just once more. "I'll just hold on to the little flower and be a good boy." The Shrouds kiss in his hand smelled intoxicatingly of the Fade they both loved so much.

"Shhh, they can still hear us!" Emmrich warned, but it sounded halfhearted and amused.

"Who, our colleagues or the ghosts?" Rook replied.

"Everyone!"

They chuckled quietly as they passed through a tunnel and finally turned into the next passage. In the nighttime silence of the necropolis, their every step was clearly audible, and their voices were particularly noticeable.

"Someone's probably already been watching us and will spread the word," Rook said, without lowering his voice in the slightest, as if he were eager to attract attention. "What will people think of you, your students?"

"Think of US," Emmrich corrected him.

Rook just laughed. "My reputation has been ruined since the War of Banners. So I'm just cultivating my image as the brash, cheeky, rude, red-haired bitch who's such a bad influence on you, obviously!" Each word came out a little louder than the last.

"Rook!?"

"Yes?"

"You're drunk."

"So are you."

"You even more so!"

They giggled again before a very important question occurred to Rook. "Where is the wine bottle, do you have it with you? Give me some!"

"Empty."

"Crap, why do the Orlesians make their bottles so small? Is everything small with them? What's the point of..."

"Rook! Gag?"

"It's okay, I'm already quiet."

"You'll only open your mouth today when I want you to! And you'll only speak up if I force you to, understood?"

When will you pleasure me like that, Rook would have liked to ask him at once. He was in a good mood and already quite ready for the rough route, but Emmrich had him under control, literally. He had grabbed the back of his head, and even the slightest impulse was enough to drive him on.

At some point, they had apparently arrived somewhere. Around him, Rook felt the usual cold of the necropolis; it smelled of old stone, burnt ritual candles, and freshly bleached grave cloths; everything was familiar, as was the faint howl of the wind in the distance, which was omnipresent in the necropolis.

Emmrich didn't want to wait any longer either. He pushed Rook's back against the rough, bare rock wall and pressed him down by his shoulders until he was crouching on his knees directly in front of him. He then immediately set about tying Rook with the red rope he had brought with him—around his wrists, through the rings on his collar, and finally to the iron hooks in the rock face. They dated back to ancient times, the first decades of the necropolis. Emmrich hadn't chosen this spot without reason. This was exactly where he wanted Rook, this was where he wanted him...

Rook knelt obediently, silent, blind, and bound before him. In his right hand, where he wore his ring, he held the Shrouds kiss. Emmrich took a moment to gaze at this image of perfect, fragile beauty and revel in it. This was a gift, a flower of his life. He almost softened and broke character, dropping to his knees and embracing Rook tightly. The fine Orlesian wine didn't exactly make things easier. But he kept the impulse in check and stepped closer to Rook. Slowly, with control. He clenched his hands into fists until the leather taut, released them, and repeated the exercise. Only when the intoxication in his head subsided a little did he create the space he longed for while unbuttoning his trousers. He immediately spat on the inside of the glove and savored his own body for a few skillful back-and-forth movements before, facing the windy, dark crevice of the necropolis to his right, he decided to take care of Rook.

"Open your mouth. Yes, good!" Rook performed his assigned task flawlessly, enveloping him with his seductively curved lips, the moist warmth behind them reaching his throat. Emmrich again grabbed a thick strand of hair at the back of his head and helped with the rhythmic movement, although Rook certainly didn't need any more guidance. "Mhh, yes, do what you're so good at!" Emmrich reveled in his lover's devoted performance; drunk on wine, he would have sworn it was the best oral pleasure of his life. Yet he couldn't and didn't want to think about any of his past experiences with others. This was everything a happy man could ask for. Rook would certainly have liked to let his hands play at that moment, but they were still in the restraints. The beautiful Shrouds kiss bloomed in his right hand. "Oh, Rook, yes..." Emmrich gasped, pushing further and further forward until the back of Rook's head was pressed against the rock wall, so that Emmrich had to be careful not to thrust too deeply into his throat. After all, the torture was meant to be for their mutual pleasure and not descend into the truly unpleasant. Rook bravely held his position, even though he had to accept a significant loss of breathing at times. Emmrich knew from his own experience exactly how that felt.

He appreciated all the more that his lover simply let him unleash his full potential on him as he saw fit. Breathing heavily and bracing himself with his hands against the wall above Rook, he was just considering whether to pull the emergency brake to savor the moment even longer before it was too late to hold back his orgasm when Rook suddenly tensed and flinched, as if struck by a magical bolt of lightning. Irritated, Emmrich paused. Did this mean something? If so, Rook couldn't speak at the moment; there was no room in his mouth for a safe word. The Shrouds kiss, previously held firmly and securely in his hand, fell silently to the floor. Something wasn't right here. Emmrich immediately interrupted what was happening and squatted down next to Rook, pushing the blindfold off his head. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. Rook's pale face and heavy breathing didn't seem to suggest anything surprising given the situation, but there was something in his eyes that shouldn't have been there. He seemed weak, so Emmrich supported his head with his hands. "Rook, what's wrong? Talk to me!"

"The dream..." he stammered after two more heavy breaths. "The nightmare suddenly resumed. I... was awake. I wasn't asleep!"

"You weren't," Emmrich reassured him. "Shh, I know, everything's fine!" He gently nuzzled Rook's head into the crook of his neck and stroked his disheveled hair.

"Emmrich, listen to me, this can't just be a recurring dream. You know what I told you, don't you?" Emmrich nodded, listening to him. "The room was full of blood. Someone came in, a hatchet in their hand. I... was able to recognize a person this time. The man with the hatchet, he resembled you! Only with a slightly different, fuller beard and green eyes. But he was so like you! And it felt like he was here. He looked me right in the eyes."

"But..." Emmrich could hardly believe what Rook was describing. "That description is..." He swallowed. "That's exactly how I remember my father. His eyes were a clear green, while my mother's were brown. My father, Rupert... he was a butcher, as I told you. A hatchet was simply his tool; I saw him with it all the time; it was... completely normal, everyday. But how is it possible that you see him in your dreams—and now even in a waking dream? I'd never described him to you in such detail."

"I know," Rook replied. "Creepy, isn't it? Or is that a good thing?"

Emmrich fretted. Even to him, a highly experienced necromancer, this matter seemed extremely mysterious. His gaze fell on the Shrouds kiss blossom, and a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute..." He picked up the flower and held it between himself and Rook. "According to legend, its scent can bring us closer to the Fade, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Rook asked, his voice filled with emotion as he recalled that day and the beautiful moment they had decided to live as a couple. "So it's true. But what does it mean that I dreamed of your father and saw him again today?"

"I don't know," Emmrich replied. "But we absolutely have to find out." The moment called for a hug, but there was a need for action. He quickly untied Rook's bound hands, and Rook immediately snuggled up to him. "And we will, Emmrich, I promise you. We'll look into this as soon as the wine-induced intoxication subsides." Rook cleared his throat. “And as soon as I find my shirt again.”

Incredible header art by @nateeseart

[palenecromaniac]

Beloved crypternity – chapter 6

(Smut level high!)

When Rook awoke, he was no longer in Treviso. His senses returned only slowly; muffled sounds, the familiar scents of incense and balsam surrounded him—and somehow everything was silent and bathed in a greenish light. The Necropolis!

If there was one place in Thedas he recognized, it was his home at the Mournwatch in Nevarra. But how did he get here, what had happened? He still remembered a fight in an alley against... against whom, exactly. And after that, nothing. "Emmrich?" His throat was dry as dust, and his shout was little more than a croak. Nevertheless, after just a few moments, a novice appeared, heading to fetch someone.

While he waited, Rook craned his neck to take in more of his surroundings. He didn't know this chamber, but he thought it was in a specific part of the necropolis designated for the care of the sick and wounded—and for the preparation of corpses. From the aching parts of his body, he knew he was alive, but he felt miserable and weaker than he had in a long time. He barely had enough strength to lift his arms and feel for the bandages. At least he was in a safe place and had been well cared for, that much he could tell. Shortly afterward, Myrna entered the chamber. The familiar sight of her brought a faint smile to his face, and her calm demeanor lightened his heart. "You're awake and back among the living," she greeted him, nodding as she approached. "The other guards will be delighted to hear that. How are you feeling?"

She sat on the edge of his sickbed and assessed his condition. "I've been better," he admitted. "But I guess I'm glad I can still complain about it, right? What happened?"

Myrna took the time to tell him what she had learned from Emmrich about the situation. "How is he doing?" Rook asked worriedly.

"Fortunately, the wounds were only superficial and easy to treat. He's almost healed."

"So quickly?"

Myrna sighed. "I was just getting to that. Your injuries were deeper than Emmrich's, but not life-threatening. However, the weapon that hit you in the ribs must have been poisoned. You were unconscious for almost three days. In the meantime, we weren't sure... well, Emmrich was worried sick, understandably."

"Oh no!" Rook was beginning to get a picture of what had actually happened. "I didn't mean to cause anyone grief."

"Shh, we know that. And now that you've woken up, the worst is probably over. Rest, you'll have to slowly regain your strength. But our healers really know good ways and means to do that." She gently squeezed his hand again and then stood up. "Should I inform the professor that you want to see him?" Of course he wanted to.

After Myrna left, he tried to arrange his simple gown and his hair in a presentable manner, but it was a fruitless endeavor. A short while later, Emmrich entered the room and was at his bedside in two quick steps. "Rook, finally..."

They embraced, half-lying, Rook still weakened by the poison and Emmrich emaciated with worry, but this moment of reunion, now that Rook had woken up again, healed them considerably. "I thought I was going to lose you." Rook wrapped his arms around Emmrich and kissed him gently, wiping tears of relief from his cheek with a shaky, pale hand.

„When being alive hurts me more than i am able to suffer, suffocating my soul silently in darkness, your lips still drive me insane, darling. If worlds cruelty or a poisoned dagger will be my demise, I promise you Emmrich, to come back from the brink of death to kiss you one last time.“

They spent another day in the care of the Necropolis's healers and informed their worried friends at the lighthouse that Rook had made it. Lucanis was already working with the other Crows to locate the assassins.

At Emmrich's suggestion, he and Rook then traveled through an eluvian to the coast of Rivain. They spent three days there to fully recover from their ordeal and regain their strength. In the natural sunlight and under the gentle sound of the surf, they spent much of their time sitting in the shallow, warm water on a sheltered spot, meditating together, sometimes even under the vast starry sky until sunrise. This precious time together under the palm trees was peaceful and gave them more than new strength; it created an even stronger bond between them, as they were together undisturbed for the first time since they met. When they returned to the lighthouse, they were their old selves again—only more intimately connected. And that aroused desire when the next day dawned.

Emmrich had gotten up early, as usual, to do his exercises and work on his research. He'd been awake and busy for quite some time when something stirred further back in his room. The sight of Rook strolling over to him, yawning heartily and combing his hair with his fingers, warmed Emmrich's heart. The casual, natural mannerisms displayed by the young necromancer had some charms. Rook had obviously simply thrown on whatever he could find in his wardrobe. Green trousers with a purple vest were certainly an... interesting choice, Emmrich thought. The shirt and shoes didn't seem to have any added value, especially for him.

"I see my favorite little late riser has finally gotten up."

"Only those who get up can go straight back to bed," Rook grinned, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing right now?"

Emmrich showed him the current status of the alchemical experimental setups and explained the associated theory in detail. Especially after the incident with the poison, he was highly motivated to further develop his skills. Ultimately, the entire group at the Lighthouse would benefit from this. Rook was quite eager to learn and participated in what was going on; for the next few hours, they were like professor and private student. Rook could still learn so much from him—and he clearly wanted to. Emmrich could have continued until late into the evening, if he weren't for him. His dedication to teaching remained unwavering even as a member of the Veilguard. And practicing this, as a teacher to someone he cared for so much, fulfilled him more than ever.

Despite his undiminished interest in his instruction, after a few hours, Rook's concentration seemed to wane. His questions became erratic and unfocused. Emmrich sighed good-naturedly and interrupted the display of what he was demonstrating.

"Oh, I guess there's no point in this right now. Shall we stop for a while? What do you need?"

"Coffee. Muesli. You inside me. But not in that order." Rook winked meaningfully.

Emmrich laughed. "You're so..."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I've never had a student like you."

"I certainly hope not," Rook purred, showering him with covetous glances from head to toe. Emmrich only realized he'd lured him to the desk when, in front of him, he climbed onto it on his hands and knees, crouching on the surface opposite him like a predator on the prowl. He understood the more than subtle signs as to which of the aforementioned points Rook probably wanted to tackle first. And he was absolutely fine with that, not to say delighted.

Rook chuckled at how carefully and precisely Emmrich undid the top buttons of his shirt. He slid forward to the edge of the desk and dangled his legs.

"What amuses you so much, sweetheart?" asked Emmrich.

Rook laughed sharply. "Do you intend to continue in this manner? So... elaborate and gentlemanly?"

"What's wrong with that?" replied Emmrich, meanwhile, the fifth button at chest level revealing a little more of his appearance.

"Just the timing." He gave him a starved look, as if his tense posture wasn't telling enough.

Rook's undisguised desire for him flattered him once more. He wished he could experience just once what it would be like to fall into bed with him as a peer and, in the most primitive way, deprive each other of the ability to walk upright. The thought of this raw lust surprised him, and he felt a tinge of shame. What Rook aroused in him was hard to put into words. Outwardly, he appeared much more controlled than he truly was. "The timing?"

"Oh, please." Rook grinned at him lovingly and teasingly. "We can make love tonight before bed." In a heartbeat, he had pulled the borrowed vest over his head and was sitting half-naked opposite Emmrich, who was still fiddling with his buttons in bewilderment. "But now I want to be fucked."

He grabbed him by the half-open collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. Their kiss was short, raw, and wild. "That was obvious." Emmrich said, pressing Rook's upper body flat against the desk.

"Good!" Rook replied, continuing to provoke him from his lying position with his shameless gaze.

"You can be such a lout." Emmrich purposefully unbuckled his belt and waistband.

"Maybe, but I'm YOUR lout. Besides, I've been waiting to have sex with you since the poisoning incident in Treviso. And before you contradict me: That one time in Rivain doesn't count!" He pushed himself further toward the edge so his buttocks were more accessible. He playfully wrapped his legs around Emmrich's waist while stretching his arms above his head to fish for a small jar. Since he'd been paying close attention earlier, he knew which substances would be helpful for this 'private lesson.' As soon as Emmrich had gotten rid of his own pants and then Rook's, Rook's outstretched hands were already waiting for him, glistening wetly.

"Reed root, huh?" Emmrich asked with a grin. "Good choice, but we'll smell like peach blossoms for days. As soon as this stuff warms up, through friction, for example..."

He stepped closer to the edge of the table, where Rook was waiting for him in a perfect lying position, grinning crookedly at him. "Then we'll just fight the Venatori smelling like peach blossoms. That doesn't sound so bad."

Emmrich watched as Rook began to chew his lower lip with nervous impatience. Enough playing, he decided, thrust his hips forward, and sighed deeply as Rook's dripping wet hands wrapped around him tightly. He massaged him thoroughly from tip to the shadows deep between his legs. Rook's narrow, sinewy hands had a surprisingly strong grip; he applied just the right amount of pressure to create a pleasant friction despite the root gel. As predicted, the scent of freshly picked, warm peaches wafted up to him. Emmrich took a deep breath, leaned forward over Rook, and supported himself on the tabletop to either side of him. From above, he looked down at him as he returned his own hungry gaze with his piercing blue eyes. Meanwhile, his hands continued to slide over his length. Emmrich felt the ring he had given him on his taut skin.

He gasped under the tension of his growing desire for this beautiful young body, lying right in front of him, just waiting to be possessed.

He allowed Rook to position him with his hands in the most favorable position, then took him by the wrists and stretched Rook's arms back above his head, pinning them to the table not unnecessarily harshly, but still very firmly. Emmrich's upper body lay on top of him with his half-unbuttoned shirt, his legs firmly planted directly in front. Rook made it easy for him with his position and the yielding body tension. They were used to it by now, but the intoxicating feeling of the first penetration was already scratching at Emmrich's mind a little; it was simply too good! Rook exhaled and stretched his back towards Emmrich, who began to establish a rhythm with his absorbing movements.

"That's it, my darling, yes? That's what you've been longing for, so much?"

"Oh yes!" Rook rolled his eyes with a tingling sense of pleasure, reflexively bucking a little, but Emmrich held him down with both hands. "Be a good boy and enjoy what you've asked for."

Feeling the full size and movement within him made Rook gasp mightily. Emmrich savored listening to it all while he continued. He kissed him fleetingly, then straightened up again without pausing or slowing his movements. When he released Rook's wrists, they were pale and half drained of blood. Rook writhed on the table in front of him, able to play along to Emmrich's rhythm now that he had more freedom of movement.

"Yeah, good," Rook whispered to him, and Emmrich took this as an opportunity to intensify his beat. He had a great desire to make him beg and whimper, because he was still bold enough to withstand his intense gaze. And even more than that. "Come on, give it to me!" Emmrich didn't need much convincing. He was already pretty far along anyway. He was playing with fire, because if Rook tensed his abdomen even a little more...

"Mhhh, yes, that's how I want it," Rook groaned, driven hard by the intense movements. Emmrich wiped Rook's lips and cheek with the flat of his hand, like a painless slap, which was more like a caress. It was all about the gesture – and it worked. For Emmrich, driving an excited young man to the edge wasn't a big challenge, as long as he didn't completely abandoned his self-control. Rook began to give himself the final push he needed to reach climax, but Emmrich caught his hands and looked down at him from a superior position. "Not yet," he whispered, forming his lips into a quick kiss. The sweet agony this caused Rook was evident in every fiber of his expression. And this is exactly where Emmrich's composure crumbled. Rook closed his eyes and laughed softly in delight as he let Emmrich do all this to him, while Emmrich still held his hands. They provided a good counterpoint to the thrusts toward the center of the table. They both gasped loudly, and Rook opened his eyes. In the middle of the wildest ride, his gaze was completely different; he looked up at him softly and submissively. "I love you!"

It was too late to kiss him or to reciprocate his feelings with words. Emmrich came inside him; the moment was incredibly intense and lasted an unusually long time. Rook waited, smiling blissfully at him. They clasped their hands together and exchanged that special look they needed afterward. Finally, Rook gently pushed him away by his chest and stood up. "Where to...?"

Rook looked down at himself with a crooked grin, where everything was still in full bloom—Emmrich had made sure of that. Then he nodded toward the table. "Now it's my turn."

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Visibly in touch with this chapter, the gorgeous header of @nateeseart