Sep 27, 2024
being a magister is hard work, guys
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being a magister is hard work, guys
Tertiary Opinions I/IV
Unorthodox Introductions - VI: Careful Plans
Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex
Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)
(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)
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The opening to the chapter is, essentially, depicting the circumstances depicted in the Codex entry A Distressing Sight.
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The excursion with Harding, reaching the northern shores of Ferelden and the once glittering jewel of Amaranthine, should have been the perfect escape. It was a simple day trip, suggested when Harding had found Emmrich examining the Vi’Revas in the Lighthouse’s lower chamber. She wanted supplies, comforts from home despite being from further to the south, near Redcliffe. It was evident as soon as they joined the throng towards the city gates that desperation permeated through everything. Whispers of a new Blight tainted every conversation, but Emmrich could hardly begrudge them their fear. Amaranthine had fared poorly during the previous Blight; from Arl Rendon Howe’s treachery to Queen Elissa Theirin’s desperate push to save the city at the end the Aramathine Conflict, it appeared as though the city was fated to fall only to be rescued by the smallest whisper of grace. While the city had been rebuilt, and the physical wounds had healed, the devastating era was in the living memory of most of the population.
The city was unlike any of the others across Ferelden, Harding explained. ‘The Queen had a lot of the older buildings removed in the rebuild when she was Warden-Commander. She imported a lot of the stone from dwarven mines and outposts associated with Orzammar because it was stronger. It probably saved the city when the rifts opened,’ she continued, pausing outside a building that contained the city council’s meeting chambers and assize courts.
White stone stood gleaming above a still bustling market; although if Emmrich had learnt anything from Lucanis’ regular visits to Treviso, it would take the entire annihilation of the city to stop a market.
‘My da worked on this building,’ said Harding softly. ‘I always like coming to look at it.’
‘He’s no longer with us?’ Emmrich asked, catching the wistfulness of her tone.
Harding shook her head. ‘A few years ago now. He was older than ma, and she just woke up to him gone. But he built amazing things. He oversaw the repairs to Redcliffe’s gatehouse after the Venatori occupation during the Mage-Templar War.’ She smiled. There was warmth but unguarded sadness in the expression as she turned away.
‘They never truly leave us,’ he said, following her. ‘He must have been very proud of you?’
She huffed a soft chuckle. ‘Constantly moaned I didn’t come home often enough, but there was always too much to see. Too much to do. When the world gets opened up to you like it did for me, you just want to keep going.’ She fell quiet for a moment, looking at her hands. ‘But yeah, he was proud of me.’
Emmrich was beginning to see the value in that philosophy. Just two days ago, he’d been standing in the searing heat of Rivain, surrounded by flora and fauna he had only read about but never dreamt he’d see. Now, he was in the famously rugged coastlands of northern Ferelden, listening to a newly found colleague give him a brief history lesson of a much storied city through the lens of her father’s contributions to the rebuilding efforts. In a further two days' time, he might find himself in Treviso or Arlathan Forest with more aspects of the world to discover.
Their path brought them to a Chantry, a building carefully incorporating old styles and new design. Ferelden Chantry’s were famous for their humble sized buildings compared to the towering houses of worship across the rest of Thedas. Within the Necropolis, the Chantry of the Eternal Vigil towered up by ten stories, with white towers topped with spires and flying buttresses holding it up, dominating the view in every area of that level of the complex. The Eternal Vigil itself constantly echoed from its halls, audible all though the upper chamber, and could even be heard in the city above on a quiet day. The song of life and death spoke of the central tenets of Nevarran belief about the path all must take to find oneself at the side of the Maker. The song never ended thanks to a ceaseless cycle of choralist singing in shifts; not unlike the unending singing of the Chant of Light in Val Royeaux’s Grand Cathedral.
‘It was badly damaged in that final battle of that conflict,’ said Harding. ‘But it has some really old stained glass frescos, apparently, so it was saved.’
‘This is the reputed site of Andraste revealing the Chant of Light, is it not?’ Emmrich asked. ‘That is what Brother Bedine writes in his travelogue.’
‘So they say,’ replied Harding.
‘Are we permitted access to look?’
‘The doors aren’t locked,’ she replied with a shrug.
While she entered with him, Harding sat down in one of the pews, head bowed and eyes closed in contemplation. Around him, the soft singing of the Canticle of Threnodies filled the eaves and he paused for a moment to contemplate the Andrastian interpretation on the creation of the Fade. He’d always been uncertain about the story, more so now that he had seen the Black City in such close proximity. Its towers had more in common with the Elven ruins he had seen than any human design dating back to a similar era.
Emmrich continued his journey to the chancel, where Bedine had described a wheel window that shone beams of light down onto a mosaic of Andraste’s first teaching. The overcast day dimmed the spectacle Bedine had written off, but at least the ancient work had been saved despite the damage that had been clearly wrought in this part of the Chantry. He crouched to get a better look, the careful workmanship evident in the laying of each tiny tile, creating the face of Andraste within the larger fresco of her first teaching. True to Bedine’s explanation, it was not the usual presentation of Andraste hinting at an origin older than the Chantry’s traditional depiction. He glanced up while reaching into a pocket for the notebook he carried when he saw a tall fire, red flames licking up towards the grey sky. He walked towards the window, pausing when he had a clear look beyond.
He knew, of course, the mainstream practice beyond Nevarra was to burn the remains of their dead. Mere days had passed since he’d discussed the matter with Harding after expressing her fear of Manfred. It had been something he’d been able to put to the back of his mind long ago. He’d assumed he would not leave Nevarra long enough to witness such a spectacle. Besides, Lichdom meant he could release himself from the worry of what would become of his remains. He would still be within his body; flesh cast aside for gleaming bone and a never ending pulse of magic thrumming through his being.
Unless he died here, or some other location far from the Necropolis. He needed to be alive for the very first part of the ritual otherwise his soul would be lost to the Fade.
Outside a body, tightly wrapped in a shroud, was brought forth on the shoulders of eight men while cold nausea wrapped around Emmrich. He looked to his right, half expecting to find Rook beside him, her steely eyes on the ritual, watching with the quiet dignity befitting a member of the Mourn Watch when observing any funerary practice. Dignity he was struggling to maintain.
‘Perhaps we should go, Professor?’ Harding suggested from his left.
Back in the sanctuary of his laboratory within the Lighthouse, Emmrich sat with his pen poised over his personal journal, not even noting the drip straining the page. The paralytic fear of what his fate would be should his life end outside the carefully crafted plans he had set out for himself froze him in place. It was enough to reconsider this venture; he could return to the Necropolis and consult from the safety of his lectern.
And yet, there was a spiralling laugh. And a twist of orange and lilac. Besides, he wasn't sure that he could endure the look of disappointment Rook would surely give him were he to announce he was decamping to Nevarra. She had already anchored some part of him here, a friendship and bond, something not felt in years, building between them outside of his growing desires for her.
He needed to move. A walk to clear his head of the conflicting thoughts. He had barely closed his door when Bellara’s voice rang up from the library.
‘It feels like we’re at war,’ she said, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. ‘Lots of little wars.’
Moving closer to the mezzanine’s balustrade, Emmrich looked down to see Rook pacing with her arms crossed over her chest. Silence had fallen over the assembled team. Only the brush of her velvet coat was audible until she spun. She dropped her arms with a sigh of frustration.
‘I don’t think our allies amount to being able to fight a war, especially lots of little ones,’ Rook concluded, pausing beside her chair and placing her hand on the backrest revealing a cream skirt indicating that she had not left the Lighthouse through the day.
‘No,’ Davrin agreed. ‘You need an army to fight a war, and they’ve got two.’
‘So, how do we fight back?’ Bellara asked, looking down, fear crossing her face.
Rook clicked her tongue, pushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. ‘Just because they don’t amount to an army, doesn’t mean we can’t look to them for help. The Veiljumpers,’ she said looking at Bellara, ‘after D’Meta’s Crossing, Strife must have some desire to push back?’ Bellara nodded. ‘And the Crows,’ she continued, turning to Lucanis, ‘driving back that dragon must have earnt us something?’
Lucanis nodded. ‘You impressed Viago. Not an easy feat, especially for someone outside the Crows.’
‘The incursion into the Necropolis is not going to be left unanswered either,’ Rook continued, glancing up in Emmrich’s direction, revealing she had been aware of his presence despite not commenting on it. He nodded slowly. ‘We have the Mourn Watch at our side, so what else?’
‘This note was waiting for me when I got back,’ Harding said, holding up some folded parchment. ‘Lady Morrigan has requested a meeting at the Cobbled Swan in Minrathous.’
Rook pushed away from her chair to resume her pacing, a slight stiffness still present in her movement. ‘Has she found some trace of the gods?’
He headed down the steps to join the conversation as Harding informed the group that Morrigan wasn’t a frequent visitor to crowded Taverns in the middle of besieged cities.
‘I’ve also had word from Antoine and Evka in the Hossberg Wetlands,’ said Davrin. ‘Antoine says there is something strange is happening with the Blight there. Sounds an awful lot like what you described in D’Meta.’
Rook held up her hands to pause the stream of information coming at her and walked to the table in the middle of the room. ‘Let me get this straight a moment,’ she said, pushing the books aside and opening what appeared to be her personal journal to a blank double page. She picked up one of the lead pens often left there. ‘We have the Veil Jumpers, and D’Meta’s Crossing,’ Her hand slid across the page leaving an elegant scrawl of words in its place. ‘Then the Crows, a dragon, the Antaam and whoever their human traitor is. The Watch, thanks to the Venatori.’ A pattern emerged with the addition of the Necropolis at the bottom left, she was placing the words geographically. ‘Morrigan in Minrathous’ she continued, speaking more to herself than the group, ‘and Wardens in the Wetlands with weird Blight on their hands.’ She looked up at Davrin. ‘The First Warden wasn’t all that impressed when we last met, wanted to arrest me actually, so will he be there?’
Davrin laughed. ‘I don’t keep track of his movements,’ he said, ‘but the First Warden is a political mover. It’s Warden-Commander Janos you need to be wary of, get on his wrong side and there’s no chance to get the Wardens on board. Even if the First Warden is more involved than he might normally be, he can’t stop you from asking a few questions. Evka and Antoine know you're keen to help, and if we get out there fast enough, your involvement might not even get back to him.’
‘Ghilan’nain has lain low since we hurt her dragon,’ she said, straightening to address the whole group. ‘And Elgar’nan has yet to show himself, but where they go, the Blight spreads. So, it’s a lead and there are no better people than the Wardens to track the Blight.’ She tapped her pen against her thigh. ‘The Wardens and Morrigan seem like our best leads on finding the gods, but the others may have leads on how they plan to act,’ she concluded after a moment.
‘Are they really gods?’ Taash asked, speaking up for the first time since Emmrich arrived. ‘Or just really powerful, ancient mages? It isn’t clear?’
As she spoke, the door opened and Emmrich looked around. By his count they were all there.
‘They’re gods,’ drawled the dark haired woman with a Tevinter accent. ‘Or the closest thing to them.’
The oldest members of the group, the ones there from the start all shifted. Lucanis straightened to attention with her name a soft utterance he breathed out while Rook spun around in a flurry of velvet. Bellara squeaked as Neve Gallus strode to the table, every other step a metallic clink from her prosthesis. Rook watched with narrowed expression, eyes steely as she tracked the newcomer come to a halt beside Bellara. The two women briefly clasped hands in greeting and delight stirred in the elf’s eyes.
‘You’re back,’ said Rook, the words lingering between a statement and a question.
‘Yeah, I am,’ she replied, a touch of frost in her voice and eyes when she turned her attention to Rook.
Rook nodded curtly. ‘Then, a couple of new people have joined since you’ve been gone.’ She pointed in Emmrich’s direction first. ‘This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He’s our Fade expert, and a fellow Watcher - ‘
‘Charmed,’ he interjected, with a slight bow in her direction as she cast an appraising glance over him.
‘- and Taash, our dragon hunter.’
At the introduction, Neve looked away, turning her attention to the Qunari. Neve looked Taash up and down, another appraising look and a downturned expression on her face as she turned the information over before her shoulders dropped.
‘Minrathous could have used you,’ she said sadly.
‘What’s going on? In Minrathous?’ Rook’s voice was softer than usual.
Neve clasped her hands together and fixed Rook with a daunting stare. ‘What isn’t? Look, you made an impossible call without enough information, and you did what you thought was right. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in.’ She looked away from Rook to the floor. ‘It just might take some time to shake off.’
Rook nodded her head, expression saddened and resigned. Emmrich was aware of the decision she’d been forced to make before seeking him out in the Necropolis. No one, bar for some remarks of gratitude from Lucanis, had spoken of the terrible decision that had left the Tevinter capital overrun by the Venatori.
‘But you’re back right?’ Asked Bellara, turning to fully look at Neve, reaching for her hand again.
‘Yeah, Bel, I’m back,’ she reassured her friend, taking Bellara’s hand in both of hers.
‘After everything…’ Rook trailed off, expression open, vulnerable even. ‘Thank you.’
‘With everything that’s happened in Minrathous, Rook, I’ve got even more reason to go after the gods,’ Neve replied, not exactly warmly but with less frost than she had begun with. ‘If anyone has a shot at this, it’s the people here. I’m still on the job. Count on it.’
A hopeful smile lifted Rook’s face, warmth kindling in her eyes. ‘Then let's follow up on some of these leads.’
‘I’ll let Morrigan know we’re ready to meet,’ said Harding.
‘And, Antoine and Evka are holed up in a village called Lavendel,’ said Davrin. ‘Can your mirror get us there?’
‘Bel?’ Rook inclined her head towards the Veil Jumper.
‘We’ll have to go out into The Crossroads, the Heights, but if Harding can help we should be able to skirt any lingering Darkspawn, if they’re back’
Rook frowned. Emmrich had deduced early on that the Heights were considered the most dangerous part of The Crossroads, habitually infested with darkspawn. Harding nodded.
‘Right, you should all rest, the fight might come sooner than we expect,’ said Rook.
The dismissal in her voice was clear. Bellara linked arms with Neve while Lucanis darted around the group to catch them up, falling in step before reaching the door. Harding had already begun speaking with Davrin to discuss seeking out which mirror would get them as close to the Warden’s location as possible, while Taash approached Rook.
‘Hey, there’s a situation out in Rivain that could use your attention,’ she said. ‘Might help get the Lords on side.’
Rook bent to the table, pen on the paper in the approximate location of Rivain in relation to the rest of the notes, humming in encouragement to continue.
‘Isabella has been getting supplies out to Treviso for months, she‘s got a lot of Crow ties, but the contact has gone missing in the coastlands near to where we tracked the Vinsomer,’ Taash explained.
‘So, tracking down what happened to the contact, and finding the supplies?’
‘Might help with the Crows as well?’
‘Extra collateral with anyone will help,’ agreed Rook, setting down her pen. ‘Are you settling in okay?’
Taash blinked, then her eyes flicked towards Emmrich, a crinkle forming between her eyebrows prompting Rook to look over her shoulder. His fellow Watcher raised her eyebrows then turned back, Taash’s expression schooled back into place.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘It’s not what I’m used to, but I can get home easily enough when I need to.’
‘Anything you need, just ask.’
Taash nodded her head in thanks then followed the others. Dreamlight briefly flooded the room before enclosing Emmrich and Rook in the usual cool darkness of the library. She half turned in his direction, tilting her head towards him.
‘I’ve been meaning to thank you,’ she said, her fingers absently twisting through a lock of hair. ‘For healing me the other night, but I feel you may have been avoiding me?’
‘No.’ The lie tasted like ash. ‘There is a lot to catalogue.’ True. ’Harding and I also visited Ferelden after she found me examining the mirror downstairs. Amaranthine, in fact.’ Also true. ‘She said I couldn’t just visit Orlais, and not Ferelden.’
Rook chuckled. ‘They are patriotic people,’ she said. ‘You’ll be more travelled than me once this is all over. I’ve not been to Ferelden either.’
She looked at him, that steely indomitability swirling in her eyes, pinning him in place. Again. The sensation settled heavily in his chest, banishing any desire to leave her side. Her fingers had ceased their fiddling, but she chewed on her lip as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t capture the words. He was in no better situation, mind blissfully blank under her attention.
Then she sucked in a deep breath, looking away, down at the map she had sketched with her notes. ‘Well, thank you.’
As with the others, the note of dismissal was clear. With a bow he left her to the quiet fortress of her thoughts. But when she didn’t arrive for dinner, he fixed her a plate with a goblet of wine, which he set down before her in the library. She’d been staring off into the middle distance, and she startled when the plate clinked on the table top. She blinked, shaking out her thoughts.
‘She’s never going to forgive me,’ Rook said quietly as he took his usual seat opposite her. ‘Neve, that is.’
He remained quiet for a moment, focusing on the haphazard collection of chairs and green sofa that had become a regular meeting spot, desperately not looking as she moved her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and sharp line of her jaw.
‘If that were true,’ he replied, keeping his voice as soft as hers, ‘I doubt she would have come back.’
Rook swallowed, dragging his attention back to her neck. ‘I don’t really know her well enough to say,’ she admitted. ‘I thought she was going to rain down all her icy fury on me when we finally reached Minrathous. But she just looked tired. Broken. I did that.’
‘You didn’t send those dragons,’ he told her gently, watching her take a gulp of wine. ‘And if what I’ve been told is true, which I suspect it is, you saved hundreds of innocent lives in a city that had no defences.’
‘The people of Minrathous were undefended,’ said Rook, settling the goblet down. ‘Even without the Venatori having a stranglehold on the city, the Magisterium would never have used their defences to help the people who actually need it. They’d have driven the dragon off the upper city,’ she continued with a flick of her hand, ‘left the lower city to burn, and still called it a victory.’ She tapped the table with her index finger, her nail rapping loudly off the polished wood. ‘I could have stopped that happening.’
‘At the expense of what you did save,’ Emmrich countered gently. ‘War produces casualties, you know that. Would you rather Lucanis’ wrath? Potentially further fuelled by Spite?’
She sighed. ‘No.’
After taking another sip of wine, she began moving the food around her plate. He winced at the scrap of metal against the porcelain. Noticing the gesture, she put the fork down and rested her arm on the table beside the plate.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘This,’ she said with an encompassing wave of her hand. ‘The food. The talk.’ She leant back in her chair, fixing him with that anchoring gaze he wanted to drown in. ‘You know the others are going to gossip if you start bringing me food whenever I don’t show up for dinner.’
Emmrich couldn’t help but meet her gaze. ‘Let them,’ he replied, flicking his wrist in dismissal.
Rook’s lips pressed together then lifted into a smile that tightened his whole body.
-- --
The Canticle of Threnodies is the sixth book/song to the Chant of Light, they are considered dirges and laments that recount the creation of the world and the fall of man. Threnodies 8:3 appears on screen in the opening of Dragon Age: Origins
The Chantry of the Eternal Vigil, and the Eternal Vigil, are made up elements for this fic, but it's derived from Cassandra Pentaghast's experiences when she grew up within The Grand Necropolis following the execution of her parents. For Cassandra, this constant singing was something she grew to hate, along with The Grand Necropolis. In some criticism of Dragon Age:The Veilguard was the criticism that this element of Necropolis life didn't feature, but The Grand Necropolis is meant to be massive, bigger than Egypt's City of the Dead. It stood to reason that both Cassandra's experience and what we have in-game could exist together.
Of Chains and Crows
Chapter 1/?: "Little Crow"
Word Count: ~ 1,800
Minors DNI - 18+
ao3 if you prefer
Female Rook (named) x Lucanis
Summary: After an almost shared kiss, Lucanis loses his self control and indulges in one night of passion.
Notes: This is a bit of a re-imagining for Lucanis' romance - I'm still finding my footing with this pairing and there will be some moments of pining and angst after this chapter coz things with Spite will get complicated in my story :) Also this was written quite fast as I write on my lunch breaks haha so please excuse any errors or if things feel rushed etc
WIP Wednesday
That most hallow day, when WIP and Wednesday meet, forming a pleasing bond of alliteration. And we have an excuse to tease our readers…
Tertiary Opinions II/II
Paths of Light - II: Vaults of the Beloved
Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex
Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)
(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)
-- --
It was just the two of them. Manfred ambled far behind after receiving strict instructions to remain out of harm's way. And none of the others had expressed any particular keenness to venture into the dead-filled depths of the Necropolis again. Emmrich had been forced to take the lead to the Vault. Rook trailed behind him, thumbing her way through a thin tome as she walked, muttering to herself about a certain incantation being in the book.
Somewhere.
‘They really should put indexes in the back of these things,’ she groused, pausing under a wall brazier of veilfire and began flicking through the pages with increased speed.
Emmrich had only caught a glimpse of the book when she first pulled it from the small shoulder bag she brought. But in the greenish light he could see it was ancient; the fabric cover was worn at the corners, the spine abused with thin cracks webbing up the length of the book and any indication as to the title of the book appeared lost to time.
‘Ah-ha,’ she exclaimed, opening the book fully.
Emmrich walked back to Rook. She was looking at a page with a twelve line evocation centrally positioned on the page. Notes in Rook’s elegant scrawl covered what had once been the blank margins around the printed words. He blanched at the sight, only realising that he’d made a sound when Rook looked at him.
‘I take it you disapprove?’ She asked, closing the book slightly to meet his gaze.
‘If it is your own property, it's yours to do as you wish,’ he replied mildly, but she was shaking her head. ‘This is an ancient practice,’ remarking on the spell.
‘I know,’ Rook agreed, reopening the book again. ‘But I noticed the candles when we fought our way through the vault the second time around, and I figured…’ She jabbed at the page. ‘The alterations should allow the spell to awaken the wards quicker than the original casting.’
‘Isn’t there mimetic value in following the original invocations?’ Emmrich enquired.
‘If that were the case, we’d still be casting in Elvish,’ she remarked, folding over the page then closing the book around her finger. He frowned at her and a frustrated growl rumbled from her throat. ‘Academics.’ She made it sound like an insult. ‘When you have something like the door upstairs and you don’t know what’s behind it, then yes, perfect mimesis is the ideal solution. But the vast majority of the time? No. Altering the spells, be it through the wording or even the casting gestures can strengthen wards considerably, improving their durability and even allowing for extra protections to be added. Also time saving if whatever is trying to kill you is bearing down on you.’
She smiled at him. A bright, dazzling expression while tucking the book into a large pouch that asked him to trust her. He did. She’d more than proven her necromantic abilities and instincts during their last excursions in the Necropolis. She moved around him, the usual brush of her perfume wrapping around him, encouraging him to follow. She paused at the end of the corridor and peered around the corner to observe the walking dead.
‘There are a lot of them,’ she remarked solemnly, turning back to him and pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. ‘What’s causing it though?’
‘Solas’ ritual has had a far reaching impact on the Fade,’ Emmrich replied, matching her solemnity. ‘Spirits are still aflurry with activity following the gods' escape. Our inability to tend to the dead here make them perfect hosts for hostile entities to reach this world.’
Clearing their way through was an easy feat, a harmonised pattern of attack developing between them. Emmrich found himself being able to read her movement as she danced her way through battle stances and shield throws to cut a path through the vault. Around it all she also kept track of his attacks, timing her most devastating moves with his recovery rates as though she could visualise the mana within him. While she focused on her martial skills, he did begin to see hints of her more powerful abilities. A club to her abdomen was answered with a draining spell tugged at the lifeforce of the attacker. The spell reduced the cadaver to ash, healing Rook’s injury before it began to cause her any pain.
At the far set of candles, Rook unshouldered her pack and carefully lowered it to with a soft clink. She withdrew a thurible and what appeared to be a premixed cleanser, a bottle of clarified water and small lumps of charcoal.
‘At the end of each stanza,’ she said once she got the charcoal burning with conjured veilfire, ‘if you’d be so kind as to repeat that line and light both sets of candles at the same time, I’d be grateful.’
Soon, the thurible’s smoke changed colour to a pinkish hue, the smell of frankincense, calendula and cedar wrapped around them and Rook got to her feet, shouldering the pack and they made their way back up along the chamber. They walked at a solemn pace. Emmrich kept his actions precise, cautious that any change in the spell could have an unintended impact on the room, but stanza by stanza the etheric murk lifted.
‘Admit it,’ Rook said once they reached the entrance again. ‘You thought it was going to cause some sort of cataclysmic explosion and let a massive pride spirit through?’
‘Nothing quite so dramatic,’ Emmrich replied as he turned to admire their handiwork. ‘I was concerned it wouldn’t work as well as you hoped.’
She held the thurible up, still emitting the cleansing smoke. ‘What do you think this was for? It wasn’t like I could test the incantation before we arrived, mainly on the count of not being able to find it. This was the back up.’
‘Then you made the adaptions -’
‘Years ago,’ she finished for him, opening the thurible and dampening the charcoal with magic. ‘Found something similar in a crypt during the Rift Crisis, I’d like to say in the lower levels but it’s probably moved somewhere else. The original was actually pretty ineffective so I adapted it, and used the new spell.’ She got to her feet and admired her handiwork. ‘Should take a day or so to settle the chamber then we can go through to the next room. Any idea what’s back there?’
‘I have some idea,’ Emmrich replied.
They returned in companionable silence to the belfry chamber, but on their approach, a raised voice alerted them to commotion. Beside him, Rook went pale as she slowed to a halt. Even the colour appeared to drain from her eyes leaving a swirl of grey mist around her pupil.
‘Rook?’
‘The Commander.’
He didn’t need to hear anymore. Reaching over he grabbed her hand, the pressure of his fingers prompting her to look him in the eyes. Fear swam in her expression, her hand developing a small quake and for a moment he was dumbfounded as to what he could say to her. But then she curled her fingers around his, blowing out a steadying breath.
‘I’m going to have to face him at some point,’ she said.
‘And I’m right with you,’ Emmrich assured her. ‘With any luck, if needed, my word will carry weight, given I outrank the Commander in the hierarchy of the order.’
‘What?’
‘Academic schools outrank military corps,’ Emmrich explained gently. ‘I was prompted to refamiliarise myself with our charter after you told me why you left, should you require an intercession during any of our visits.’
Rook frowned. ‘I’m not going to hide behind you.’
‘I don’t expect you to, I’m more than sure you don’t need me to step in on your behalf, but if you do, say the word,’ Emmrich told her. ‘Shall we?’
She took a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath then blowing it out slowly and letting go of his hand. He let her get a few steps ahead of her before he followed, his hands behind his back.
Her entrance into the belfry caused silence to fall.
Commander Lucien van Markham would have been an imposing, stocky figure were he not two inches shorter than Emmrich. He did, however, tower over Myrna, and to her credit, she was having none of the posturing occurring before her. Hands on her hips, she met the commander's cold, icy glare with swirling dislike. Rook moved closer to the fray, her steps getting surer as she reached the centre of the room.
While Emmrich could not see her expression, he could tell by the hardline he could just make out from the jut in her jaw, that she had schooled her face into an expression that would brook no argument. The same one she had used in the Minrathous with Neve the day before.
Van Markham had not come alone. In a four-by-four formation behind him, sixteen senior Reapers stood in their famous Pillar of the Departed armour like imposing sarcophagi waiting to strike. The Commander wore his ceremonial robes as if he had rushed here from another engagement. When she stood ten feet away from the gathering, Rook drew up to her full height, slammed one foot down with a metallic clang and saluted with her right fist over her heart.
‘Arrest her,’ Van Markham ordered, pointing in the direction of Rook.
‘You will do no such thing,’ Myrna shot back immediately. ‘The matter is long since out of your hands, Commander.’
The retinue had not moved. As Keeper of the Seals, Myrna far outranked any member of the Reapers. She outranked Emmrich. Van Markham turned his head to look at Rook with utter disgust around his thin mouth. He’d been an attractive man in his youth, with pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but all that had gone to seed now. Deep furrows marked his forehead and his hairline had retreated so far back he had grown the hair at the back of his head long enough to comb it forward.
‘Out of my hands?’ Markham bellowed, turning back to Myrna. ‘This woman,’ he spat the word, showering Myrna with a thin film of spittle, ‘disobeyed multiple direct orders and destroyed three generations of Van Markham reliquary. It is a matter for the Reapers.’
‘Casual Destruction of the Dead,’ said Myrna, delicately patting her face down with a handkerchief she had withdrawn from her sleeve, ‘is a matter for the High Council to consider. Not the court marital chambers. You overstretched. Were you keen to discipline Watcher Ingellvar’s refusal to stand down, you would have charged her with insubordination or dereliction of duty at the time. As you did no such thing, one might go as far as to say your actions carried a certain air of personal retribution.’
Markham’s eyes bulged at the accusation to such a degree that Emmrich was certain he was about to suffer a fit of apoplexy. The flickering vessel twitching above his eye certainly suggested it was possible. He looked poised to shout again, but he seemed to realise his audience had grown and he was significantly outnumbered by figures of higher authority. Particularly now that VORGOTH had arrived.
‘THE GRAND COUNCIL HAS ABSOLVED WATCHER INGELLVAR OF ANY CHARGE REGARDING HER CONDUCT,’ they announced, its voice more something felt within than heard.
‘Of course they have,’ Van Markham declared with seething sarcasm. ‘Just as they absolved her the last time she insulted my family’s honour.’
‘Insulted your honour?’ Rook cut through the conversation. Higher than usual pitch Emmrich was used to, her voice rang against the towering walls, bouncing off the still bell above them. ‘Your nephew is the one who insulted your honour through his conduct. Or do you believe that women are to become nothing more than leibeigene upon taking nuptial vows?’
It was as if the bell above Emmrich had tolled at the small fact. Rook had pulled herself to her full height, not as tall as Van Markham, but enough that she could look him straight in the eye. There was a twitch to her gauntlet covered fingers, flexing them as if she wanted to punch him. Emmrich had a burning desire to wrap the man in spirit cords to make the job easier for her.
Again, Van Markham sputtered but finally sensing he was on the wrong side of the argument, or at least outnumbered enough that it wasn’t worth his while to continue trying to make the argument, he turned. A flick of his wrist ordered his retinue to part so he could leave with some dignity intact. The march was loud, stone and metal clanging together as the sixteen soldiers followed their commander under the scrutiny of the assorted witnesses. Skeletal assistants closed the doors behind them leaving Emmrich free to return his attention back to Rook. VORGOTH had his gloved hand on Rook’s shoulder, its hooded head inclined down towards her, in a gesture that could be considered sympathetic, perhaps even fatherly in nature.
‘The man remains an insufferable fool,’ Myrna announced. ‘Ah, Professor, a pleasure to see you, though I had little doubt you were too far away.’
‘Indeed, we were seeing to the cleansing of the Vault of the Beloved,’ he informed his colleague walking to join the group. ‘Rook has masterful skill within her wardweaving abilities. It must be quite a blow to the Reapers to not be able to call on her aid.’
‘AND YOUR TRAVELS? ARE THEY BEARING FRUIT?’ VORGOTH asked.
‘Quiet so,’ replied Emmrich. ‘It will make for quite the presentation should we fulfil our mission.’
‘That should make for a pleasant diversion,’ Myrna said, then turned to VORGOTH. ‘We will need to arrange for further sanctification of the vault before they can return to their full use. Professor, if your work here is not done, there is a matter of concern we would discuss with you, regarding the Basalt Hypogeum.‘
--//-*-\\--
His office, his academic bastion, was surprisingly empty. Emmrich knew he had removed a large amount of his collection to the Lighthouse but as he’d done so in a manner that resulted in him returning when he had needed something extra he hadn’t fully noticed just how much he’d decamped. The room reminded him of his first days as a Professor fifteen years earlier when he had been presented with this empty room for his use. Associate Lecturers shared offices and it had been a nightmare as his companion had no concept of tidiness. He sat in the chair, having given up hope of finding the journal he’d been looking for, knowing it would likely be back at the Lighthouse.
The loss of the Basate Hypogeum was more than concerning, having coincided with the recent Venatori incursions. He had known their intentions had been to siphon energy from the Necropolis but the removal of a whole room. That seemed inconceivable. Myrna had shown him, and Rook, the gaping hole left behind, a bottomless chasm with swirling mists. Reshuffles were normal, but the Necropolis always put itself back together in a way that left no gaps. A strange nothingness hung in the air with a howl to the winds that sounded like mourning.
New seals were in the process of being enchanted so it could not happen again but it would still be some time until they were back in place. There was a tap at the door, followed by Rook entering as if they were back at the Lighthouse. VORGOTH had extended an invitation of luncheon to her after the tour. She no longer wore her armour, which Manfred had brought here an hour earlier, adorned in yet another floor length velvet coat, this time of midnight blue with fleck of silver threading at the hems and through the buttons.
‘Find what you were looking for?’ She asked, glancing around the office with interest before frowning. ‘Have you moved it all to the Lighthouse?’
‘In my bid to have as much knowledge at my fingertips,’ he said, rather sheepishly, ‘yes.’
Rook chuckled. ‘I should really ask Myrna for some of my belongings for the Lighthouse. Leaving didn’t really allow me much in the way of creature comforts.’ She picked up a dusty canopic jar. ‘Anyone famous?’
‘Found at the Charnal Bridge before the Nightmare Fog descended,’ he replied.
‘It’s still there?’ She asked, putting the jar down carefully. ‘We should really get someone to banish that thing.’
‘Multiple attempts have been made,’ he replied, tracking Rook as she moved around the room, assailed by a strange sense that she simply belonged here just as much as she did in his study within the Lighthouse.
Rook ignored the chairs and perched on his desk, mere meters from where he sat. She rapped her nails across the surface of the desk. ‘I feel as if I owe you further thanks even if in this case, it was hypothetical. You'd have had my back with Van Markham, had he not already been crossing his swords with Myrna.’
‘He’s a fool,’ Emmrich replied. ‘Always been more concerned with his own standing. A poor attribute for a member of the Watch, but a common one amongst the lesser nobility.’
‘He’s so far down their line of ascension, I don’t think we can even call him lesser nobility,’ said Rook quietly. ‘But I fear Myrna is right, his umbrage with me is a personal matter over his jilted nephew. It is not an argument that can be won by hitting him over the head with the founding charter, or any of the subsequent amendments.’ She huffed out a soft laugh that brimmed with sadness. ‘I might never be able to return if I have to watch my back for him.’
‘It would appear crossing you means crossing VORGOTH,’ he observed lightly. ‘There are very few who would openly do that. VORGOTH’s fury is not to be taken lightly.’
‘And yet, the annals show there is always one,’ she said. ‘Someone who thinks their transgressions will go unnoticed by their near omniscient observations.’ She sighed. ‘What’s next in terms of reaching the Greater Spirits?’
The change of subject caught him off guard for a moment. The reminder of VORGOTH’s reach churning with thoughts of desire he had for the woman before him. He had witnessed VORGOTH’s terrify powers when dispensing justice and yet, it did not dampen his desire for her. That he’d be willing to cross VORGOTH‘s wrath to have her was testimony within itself.
‘I believe the Memorial Gardens lie beyond the Vault of the Beloved,’ Emmrich finally replied, regaining his senses. ‘We’ll need to perform the Sacred Rites of Remembrance to reaffirm our pledge to the dead so we may consult the Greater Spirits. I’d be honoured if you’d join me.’
-- --
Translation -
leibeigene - serf, chattel or thrall
Tertiary Opinions I/III
Unorthodox Introductions - III: The Spitefilled Assassin
Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex
Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)
(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)
-- --
‘These doors are powerfully warded,’ Emmrich announced, frowning as he manipulated the magical eddies around the door the wisps had displaced themselves from. ‘But someone passed through them recently.’
‘The Hand of Glory?’ Rook asked, glancing up from where she was studying a shimmering representation of ward over empty wisp receptacles.
Emmrich nodded. ‘Or by some other malevolent force.’
‘Is it wise then? To return the wisps and open the door?’ Lucanis asked as Rook wove a spell that warped around the receptacle then created a thin trail across the room.
‘The wisps act as the final layer of protection to the room, but also the means to unlock it. Very specific wording has to be used on each wisp to achieve that,’ said Emmrich as Rook got to her feet.
‘And you know that wording?’ Rook asked.
‘I will simply ask,’ Emmrich replied, as he followed the trail from Rook’s spell.
‘You can talk to Wisps?’ Lucanis asked.
Emmrich was aware he wasn’t talking to him but to Rook, who remained silent. A cursory glance over his shoulder allowed him to observe the slight shift in Rook’s shoulder for a shrug. He had already observed that her communication with wisps caught glimpses of intention, as was normal for a Watcher, but little more.
Rook followed him, watching quietly as he spoke with the wisps before assisting with returning them to their receptacles for recovery. Each time he spoke the unlocking charm, Emmrich noticed Rook watched the ward’s weave as it changed, head tilted to the side with her lips pressed together in contemplation.
‘I’m trying to see if the weave gives any indication as to what is actually behind the door,’ Rook explained when she caught him watching. ‘The bulwark of weave is relatively modern, but the shifting inscriptions are positively archaic.’
‘So, something ancient?’ Lucanis asked.
Rook shrugged before leaning in closer to the shimmering representation of the ward she had conjured. ‘There can be a lot of power in old invocations when the emphasis is on how something is said rather than what. Of course, it could be ancient and the wardweaves were renewed where possible before this portion of the Necropolis was lost.’
‘I do not feel reassured,’ Lucanis ground out.
‘I can probably guarantee that what’s behind there isn’t as bad as the Elven Gods,’ Rook remarked sardonically. ‘Let’s see what the last wisp tells us.’
‘I wish I’d stayed up in the library with Audric,’ Lucanis muttered mutinously, referring to the offer the Library attendant had extended him in a bid to find out if there was anything within the Necropolis’ archive about spirit possession in non-mages.
‘We’ll go hunting for the Venatori in the side chambers after,’ she replied brightly, patting Lucanis’ arm in a comforting gesture before she turned her attention back to Emmrich. ‘Let’s get this finished.’
As the door finally opened, Rook took point, the magic imbued in her shield charging as she whispered the invocations that gave it the ability to bounce off enemies and return to her. In the dim light, Emmrich could see dead bodies on the floor below them. Judging by the smell, they were relatively recent deaths. But something stilled the air around them suggesting they were not alone. Beside him, he could tell that Rook had the same feeling. She had taken a defensive stance. Even with her full set armour on, she moved with catlike elegance, eyes alight in the faint green glow of the magic she was still weaving around her; wards for added protection that she extended to him and Lucanis.
The spirits had barely manifested before Rook launched her first attack, turning in an elegant spin more akin to a dancer than fighter but for the roar of effort as she threw her shield. Emmrich had found himself watching her train on a number of occasions in that last week. She moved with a liquid fluidity that suggested her technique was finely honed and not just the result of her Reaper training.
She threw out her crystal blades after returning her shield back into the fray with a spin that maintained the momentum of her attack. Emmrich followed up with a ghostly, skeleton summoning that reached out to the deadly crystals. The spirit exploded in a burst of necrotic energy and the summon turned its gaze on a second spirit, exacting a smaller but no less devastating attack. At the same time, Lucanis brought his blades downward into the equivalent of the shoulder blades of a spinning envy spirit as Spite hissed loudly. Rook brought her shield down on the spinning entity before turning, pointing her sword’s ruby and jade pommel at the remaining spirit and using a wardweave to prevent a flanking attack.
As the spirit bounced off the ward, Emmrich responded with a vine of necrotic tendrils, wrapping themselves around the spirit and dragging it further away.
‘Thanks, Emmrich,’ Rook managed above the din, slamming her blade into envy, hollering an evocation as she twisted so she held the sword correctly.
Envy died on her word and blade. Rook stumbled back, having to stopp herself from falling over the remains of a Venatori foot solider. Straightening she looked over the remains of their battlefield, eyes lingering on the dead bodies.
‘They certainly got more than they bargained for,’ she muttered.
Emmrich moved towards the door at the far end, pausing when he was level with Rook as she sheathed her sword.
‘Any ideas?’ She asked.
He’d never seen this chamber or the door before but Emmrich knew he had only really seen the merest fraction of the ever growing Necropolis. He shook his head, but he could sense something ancient beyond the wards.
‘Perhaps there is something on these bastards that could indicate what they were hoping to find down here,’ Lucanis suggested.
‘There was a note on one of the bodies we found in the upper chamber making note to something powerful enough to sway the whole Necropolis,’ mused Rook, pulling free a note from a pouch on her belt and looking over it. ‘But I was assuming it would be something further down.’
She stepped around Emmrich as she folded it away again. Beside him, she held out her hand, palm forward. ‘Nochdaidh na h-uile.’
It was an old spell, and not one Emmrich heard often used because it was unspecific in its request. He wouldn’t have ever suggested one of his student’s use it, but Rook turned her hand, manipulating the currents of the Fade around them. Then he saw it; a dark stillness that suddenly rushed them.
He and Rook were blown off their feet, hurtled backwards while Lucanis stumbled, protected by being further away.
‘Get back,’ a voice growled from the door as he pushed himself up.
Rook had already managed to get to her feet in a swift acrobatic motion that started with her rolling onto her back. Her sword already drawn and shield up.
‘Are you Venatori? Other sniffing rats? What form have you all?’ The voice continued. ‘This vault's riches are mine. I tore them from the dead, and with me they will remain.’
‘Make it. Stop,’ Spite hissed through Lucanis before the assassin wrestled back control. ‘Has to be a demon.’
Emmrich brushed off his robes. ‘And a powerful one, to have been kept behind such ancient locks instead of simply banished.’
Rook frowned, her eyes on the tombscript sigils above the door. ‘These are holding, but for how long is anyone’s guess.’ She looked at Emmrich. ‘This door isn’t particularly old. Certainly wasn’t built for specifically holding back an ancient powerful, malevolent spirit.’
‘Just because that door isn’t,’ Emmrich pointed out ‘doesn’t mean there isn’t an older one behind it that arrived at this location in an earlier reshuffle.’
‘Right,’ conceded Rook, dropping her shield arm a little but not fully slipping out of her defensive stance. ‘Fair point. Why don’t we see what these guys knew? Lucanis?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘Spite is urging us to leave.’
‘We can’t just leave without understanding what could be back there - lives,’ said Rook emphatically, ‘and unlives are at risk if that thing gets free. The Necropolis itself could be in danger, depending on what it is.’
‘Rook is sadly correct on that front,’ Emmrich agreed. ‘Let’s search these bodies.’
He found the note on a particularly mutilated corpse. Lucanis pondered aloud on what had happened down here but the answer was painfully obvious; whatever lay behind the door influenced the Venatori one by one, wearing down their mental defences with its whisperings until they destroyed themselves.
‘This says that there are magical loci projecting into the upper world,’ he informed the other two. ‘Demons spawn on the locations and once all three are killed, the door will become unsealed. But until we kill what is within, those demons will continue to manifest.’
Again Rook was frowning. She’d sheathed her sword but still held her shield.
‘Loci wards are incredibly difficult spells to weave,’ she said, walking towards the door then lifting onto her tiptoes to try and get a better look at sigils. ‘These weren’t done in a hurry.’
Emmrich knew how they worked but his own studies had rarely brought him into contact with them. Not only were they difficult, locus spells were also unreliable if they were not properly maintained. Judging by the note in his hand, that had been the case here if the spirit beyond was capable of projecting itself at the spells’ anchor point.
‘So,’ Rook continued, no longer on her tiptoes. ‘We’ve got a two massively intricate wardweaves, possibly more beyond, that take a lot of work to break, holding back a spirit that managed to convince a dozen Venatori to mutilate themselves, and each other, and has reversed the flow of a loci wardweave to project demons across the world.’ Her gaze levelled on Emmrich. ‘Surely something like this would be in the annals?’
‘While no one can profess to know about every entity within the Necropolis,’ Emmrich replied, straightening to his full height. ‘This does strike me as something senior members of the order should be aware of. If only to check that all the safeguards remain effective.’
‘Well, those ones were,’ Rook said, pointing at the open doors to the Belfry. ‘But these haven’t been touched since they were first inscribed.’
‘So, what do we do about it?’ Lucanis asked.
Rook crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot with her lips pressed in a thin line. ‘We could try and track down the locus points, destroy the demons and then whatever is behind that door or we could seal it back up and hope it never escapes.’
‘Neither of those seem to be a particularly attractive solution,’ said Emmrich solemnly. ‘Not without knowing what it is in the first place.’
Rook bristled as if there was censure in his words. Her gaze became hard, steel grey solidifying over the blue.
‘We should speak to Myrna and VORGOTH,’ she decided, ‘once we’ve cleared the rest of the Venatori from the surrounding chambers.’
She stalked off towards the entrance to the Belfry. Rook still held her shield and while her arms were covered in metal and robes, Emmrich had the distinct impression her biceps were likely bulging from the way her fingers clenched over the handle. Lucanis was eyeing her appreciatively and their eyes met for a brief moment before Lucanis looked away with colour high on his cheeks. Emmrich understood the appeal; Rook was intelligent and beautiful, commanding a presence that was difficult to look away from.
‘As a spirit mage,’ Lucanis ventured as they returned to the Belfry Chamber, ‘are you able to sense Spite the same way you sense wisps?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, grateful a line of conversation had started to pull him from his musings on Rook. ‘And I’m sorry that you two came together in such unjust circumstances.’
‘Unjust? I was pulled. Dragged. Forced.’
Emmrich nodded, listening to the spirit, its own voice different to what he sounded like when he took over Lucanis with a pulling undertow of sadness. ‘You have my sympathies.’
Lucanis paused, staring at him. Rook had also come to a halt turning enough to observe them over her shoulder.
‘You can hear Spite? Even when he doesn’t take me over?’ Lucanis asked with surprised incredulity.
‘This close? Yes,’ he replied simply.
Lucanis turned to Rook. ‘Can you?’
She shook her head, lifting her shield. ‘Shield slinger, remember. I’d have to cast a spell to do that as my attunement to the Fade is slightlydifferent to that of a Spirit Caller.’
Emmrich frowned at her use of the derogatory term for Reapers. It was used by those who considered themselves pure mages. Before he could remark on her language, she turned and continued into the side chamber that spiralled around the Belfry to the upper levels. A barrier had been erected and Rook looked at it with a sardonic kink to her eyebrow.
‘You’d think they’d have stayed away after the last clear out,’ Rook mused. ‘Or that they’d have at least thought twice about returning.’
‘They did,’ said Lucanis sardonically. ‘It’s why it took them ten days to return instead of a mere five. You gave them pause. And you will do so again.’
‘It would be preferable if we didn’t need to give them pause,’ Emmrich said. ‘Outright preventing them from entering the Necropolis would be preferable.’
Rook hummed in agreement.
‘Perhaps you could speak to some of the captains?’ Emmrich suggested.
She spun around, her expression dark and incredulous. ‘And give them an opportunity to arrest me so they can finish their court martial? No thank you.’ She spat the last words out before smashing the crystal holding up the barrier, marching towards their new enemies.
Tertiary Opinions I/II
Unorthodox Introductions - II: Lighthouse
Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex
Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)
(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)
-- --
The Eluvian in the middle of the main hall glowed with magic that Emmrich never thought he would live to see. The surface shimmered, and beyond was a land mass with floating masses visible in the distance like cheap fantasy landscapes of The Fade that cold be procured at any market. It was humbling to see the reality.
Rook glanced up at him. ‘This really is something,’ she said. ’Nothing any of us have ever read or dreamt could even begin to prepare us for what is really through there.’ Her hand reached up, touched the glass then passed right through it.
‘Come on,’ Bellara encouraged, and he followed Rook through the mirror.
The air left Emmrich’s lungs, replaced by something lighter that coursed through his veins, renewing his vigour. Around them, four mirrors towered over them, their surfaces shimmered as the one they had passed through. Buildings hung suspended in the air, some twisting lazily and to his left was the twinkling of gold atop a spire of - .
‘Well, Professor?’
Rook was a little way ahead of him, watching him over her shoulder.
‘This that The Black City?’ He asked jerking his head in the direction of the city like structure and golden spire. ‘So close,’ he mummered when Rook nodded her head.
’No wonder Bellara had so many questions,’ he said as she emerged through the mirror behind him. ‘Where are we exactly?’
‘This is part of the Crossroads,’ explained Rook.
‘I thought they were closed off after the Inquisition foiled the Qunari plot at the Exalted Council,’ said Emmrich, moving to follow Rook as she started to walk towards an archway.
‘The guardian here, The Caretaker, says this place is not exactly the same place as that,’ explained Rook. ‘Perhaps that is something else you might be able to help us understand. Come on, there’s more to see, lots more. At present, this is the safest part of the bar for Beacon Island. Spirits started to return after we cleared Venatori and Guardians from the area. They even have a shop.’
Rook stepped aside to reveal a plaza full of spirits; everything from wisps to entities having taken various mortal forms congregating around stalls and caravans.
‘Extraordinary,’ he managed, pausing beside her, head turning bearly able to take it all in.
‘Are you Rook?’
The voice pulled him from his speechless thoughts to look at the woman in question. She had already began walking towards the Grey Warden hailing her. Rook walked with her back straight, one hand resting over her sword’s pommel. She stood in profile to him, the Fade’s dreamlight accentuating her face in a way the gloom of the Necropolis had not. He had already noted she was beautiful; sharp, defined jaw with high cheekbones. The facial tattoo favoured by the Mourn Watch Reapers only served to highlight the regality of her bearing.
‘How was passage through the Heights?’ She asked the Warden.
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle and worth it for the decreased travel time,’ replied the Warden. ‘But how do we get to Minrathous. These are the supplies Davrin requested via Evka.’
He listened as Rook directed the caravan leader to one of the other mirrors they had just passed.
‘And our contact is Neve Gallus?’
Rook nodded. ‘You’ll likely find her at the Cobbled Swan. And...’ She bowed her head for a moment before meeting the Grey Warden’s eyes. ‘If there is anything you can do for Ashur - please help him.’
The Warden’s expression turned grave as she nodded. The two women shook hands and Rook returned to him and Bellara, her gaze sombre, corners of her lips downturned for the first time since they had met.
‘Do you think they can help him?’ Bellara asked once Rook was back with them.
Rook shrugged. ‘I think it’s more a case of whether he’ll let them help him. Davrin said any cure would be a high price to pay.’ She blew out a sigh before she turned back to Emmrich. A smile fixed in place that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Shall we finish the tour? Then you can best decide how to help us?’
--//-*-\\--
The Lighthouse was a marvel to behold. Once he had seen it on their approach to Beacon Island, Emmrich made his decision that the work required would be best undertaken from within Rook’s base of operation rather than remaining in the Necropolis and using the Eluvian network to reach them. Besides, it had been a long time since he had left the Necropolis and stepping out into the bright light of the outer world had warmed him.
Keeping track of everything worth studying was proving to be difficult. He had ended up dividing his thoughts across multiple journals to keep it all indexed for future reference. His growing curiosity resulted in multiple trips back to the Necropolis with Manfred in tow to gather more books and equipment. It would have been helpful to have additional skeletal servants to assist with moving items from his apartment, office and teaching lab to the Lighthouse but he had swiftly come to the conclusion that Rook’s assembled associates would not be comfortable with such a display.
They had been polite in their introductions but he had not missed the cautious whispers. Necromancy, Rook reminded him one evening when she offered to help with unpacking his books, was viewed with the same fear as blood magic.
‘We’re facing things far worse than the most dangerous Necromancers can conjure,’ she said, sipping a glass of wine as she watched him work perched on his desk. ‘They’ll come around.’
‘They don’t fear you,’ Emmrich remarked, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice.
‘I think they forget I’m a Necromancer; hex-spells and wardweaves that destroy the undead and banish maligned spirits back to The Fade probably seem like acceptable magic whereas animating corpses and speaking to the dead does not.’ Then her face lit up with an expression of mischievousness that made her look years younger. ‘Besides, I don’t have a skeleton assistant following me around.’
‘They can’t surely be afraid of Manfred?’
Rook laughed at the incredulity in his voice, her lips curving up and eyes bright with amusement. ‘Maker, no,’ she exclaimed. ‘But outside Nevarra, the risen dead is not a good thing.’
‘I shall bear that in mind,’ he replied soberly as she scooted of the desk, setting the goblet aside and looking at the shelf he had been populating.
‘Do you have Ebner’s Index memorised?’ She asked with a curious lilt, referring to the tombscript system used to classify bodies of work by topic.
‘Not as such,’ he said, watching her straighten, eyebrow raised as she raked her fingers through her wavy lilac hair to tuck it behind her ears so it fell down her back. ‘Although, that does remind me,’ he continued when she picked up her goblet again. ‘Myrna sought me out today, some spirits within the Belfry were displaced in the commotion caused by the Venatori and asked if we might be willing to assist in drawing them back to their rightful place.’
Rook took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘Harding still hasn’t had any luck on the dragon hunter front, so why not?’
‘There may also be stray Venatori within the chambers surrounding the Belfry.’
‘Then it’s a good job we have an expert in killing Venatori on hand.’
--//-*-\\--
‘He might be able to advise, Lucanis, if you just ask.’
Rook’s voice rang out through the library as Emmrich approached from his study. He emerged on the mezzanine to see the Rook and Lucanis across the table from one another. True to her previous decision, Rook had abandoned her leather travel wear for her Mourn Watch issue armour; interwoven chain, metal plate and robes were draped over her willowy frame giving her an ethereal appearance that resembled the Greater Spirits of the Necropolis. It was not a set of armour Emmrich often saw in use around the Necropolis but Rook embraced the appearance.
Across from her, Lucanis paced. Emmrich had detected the spirit residing within him the moment they had met. It cried out from within Lucanis for release, thrashing against the Crow’s mental defences.
‘He’s a Necromancer -‘
‘I’m a Necromancer,’ Rook emphasised harshly.
‘You don’t raise skeleton’s from the dead and turn them into manservants,‘ Lucanis countered.
‘Just because I haven’t got one, doesn’t mean I lack the capacity to make one,’ Rook pointed out.
‘Then why can’t you help me with Spite?’ Lucanis demanded, coming to a halt in his pacing and spinning to look at Rook.
‘Because it requires more than bashing you with a shield,’ replied Rook harshly. ‘Although, you seem to need some sense knocking into you, so perhaps it will be a start.’ She heaved in a frustrated breath before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘You need to communicate with Spite. Emmrich can help you with that. All I can do is kill you and end you both.’
‘Do not. Kill,’ screeched Spite, lunging forward with Lucanis’s body, stepping up onto the table and jumping down.
Rook dodged the attack, spinning out of reach in a spiralling flow of purple and green fabric, pulling her sword free. ‘Settle down,’ she commanded when she had some distance between them, pointing the jewelled pommel at Lucanis. ‘It is not my intention to kill either of you.’
‘Sorry,’ Lucanis now back in control, ‘he is -‘
‘Getting stronger,’ said Rook, completing the sentence, sheathing her sword with a fluid movement. ‘Speak to Emmrich,’ she finished with an order.
Lucanis opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it, shaking his head while turning on his heel. He took the stairs down to the Vi’Revas while Rook blew out a breath, her shoulders dropping before she looked up. Their eyes met and her lips quirked upwards ina dismal smile for a brief moment.
‘You’ll help him?’ She asked. ‘When he’s ready?’
Emmrich replied with a slow nod.
‘Then we’re ready when you are.’
--//-*-\\--
Rook paused the moment they emerged onto Beacon Island, the singing resonance of the dagger filled the air and Emmrich watched Rook pull a dagger from her belt. She held it up to the light, studying it for a moment. From its colour, Emmrich was able to deduce that a large quantity of Lyrium was used for it and its construction, with a circular pommel was more suited to ritual use than battle. He could detect the vibrations through the eddies of the fade, resonating with something nearby and he followed Rook’s attention to an ornately constructed golden tree that stood in the plaza below. She stowed the blade back in her belt and moved down the steps at a jogging pace. Lucanis followed a moment after, catching up to her while Emmrich moved at a slower pace, scrying the eddies around them as voices seemed to echo over them.
‘So it’s the present we’re hearing,’ she said, reaching out to the tree and touching it.
‘And what if they can hear us?’ Lucanis demanded.
Rook stepped back. ‘I don’t think they can,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve heard voices from here before and assumed they were echos from the past.’ She put her hands on her hips and looked at the floor. ‘Solas wouldn’t have risked his operations by creating something like this if they could hear us. Wonder how it works?’
‘Bellara and I could take a look at it to see if we can find any indication as to how it might work,’ Emmrich suggested.
‘Yes,’ said Rook. ‘If only to put our minds at rest. Come on.’
She stepped away from the tree and headed towards the pier that took them to the Converged City. The journey was quiet, an uncomfortable silence wrapped around the three companions leaving Emmrich glad when they were able to disembark.
‘So, you’re a Mortalitasi?’
Emmrich turned his gaze on Lucanis. The umber eyes of a dread assassin, a famed mage killer, bore into him. ‘Mortalitasi is a general term,’ he explained, turning a ring on his finger. ‘I belong to the Mourn Watch.’
‘The difference?’ Lucanis enquired mildly.
‘Well, you are a Crow, but I presume not all Crows belong to House Dellamorte,’ replied Emmrich to which Lucanis nodded. ‘The Mourn Watch is an elite circle of Mortalitasi Mages with the ultimate authority over The Grand Necropolis and Funerary Dead, as well as other duties outside the Necropolis.’
‘But you’re still a Necromancer?’ Lucanis pushed.
‘Yes, certainly.’
‘And Rook is a Necromancer, too, but a different type of Necromancer?’
‘Indeed,’ replied Emmrich. ‘Rook is a Reaper, while I am a Spirit Caller. There are a number of specialisations within our ranks.’
The assassin hummed thoughtfully but didn’t continue his questioning as they reached the mirror to the Necropolis. Rook stood before it, hands on hips, gazing intently.
‘They’ve moved it from the Upper Mortuary Halls to The Shrouded Halls,’ Rook announced.
‘Myrna and VORGOTH are leading the efforts to cleanse the chambers we discovered when unchaining the Sunken Star,’ Emmrich explained. ‘I should have mentioned it to you.’
‘At least we don’t have to worry about getting stuck in the lifts,’ she remarked, stepping through into the cool world beyond.
Tertiary Opinions
Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex
Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)
First, he knew of her as the foundling child. A survivor against the odds.
Then, he heard of her as the Lieutenant who ended the War of the Banners. A traitor of the Watcher's tenets.
Finally, he met her. Rook.
(A03 Chapter Index)
I: Unorthodox Introductions
I: The Whisperer & The Reaper II: Lighthouse III: The Spitefilled Assassin IV: Glimpse of Grace V: Injurious Activity VI: Careful Plans
II: Paths of Light
I: Dangerous Alliances II: Vaults of the Beloved III: Fervour and Grace (Coming Soon) IV: Greater Spirits (Coming Soon) V: Blighted Lands (Coming Soon) VI: A Reaper's Heart (Coming Soon)