Chapter Text
It was supposed to be an easy enough mission. The ruined temple had appeared a few weeks ago, like they all did, and after they’d ensured it wouldn’t disappear with one of them inside, a team was sent in. Well, team may be a stretch of the word.
Bellara and Eliana were given the go ahead to explore.
Despite being two mages, the pair worked well together. Not only were their fighting styles and magics complementary, but Eliana had an ability to ground Bellara, who, in turn, kept her from being too reckless. It was a pairing that had worked for years, and this time was no different.
Well, mostly.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Spinning to her left, Eliana narrowly avoided the claw of a Shade, only to have to duck as a Despair Demon hurled an orb of ice at her. Now, demons weren’t anything new when it came to ruins. They were almost expected at this point. Given the sheer pain and suffering that occurred in Arlathan, but by the power hungry mages who’d declared themselves gods and by the exalted march that had happened in the region, and with how thin the veil was, spirits were bound to be corrupted and pulled into the corporeal plane. The sheer number of them, though? That was new.
And not something the spell blade was used to.
Twisting out of the way, she threw her orb at the Despair Demon, concentrating on shifting the storm energy to fire, while lashing out at the Shade with her mage knife. The satisfying noise of ice cracking could be heard behind her, while the other assailant cried out, trying to block her oncoming attacks.
“Bellara?!”
“Almost… got it…” Eliana didn’t need to look to know that the other woman had her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration, her hands flying as she attempted to disable the wards around the urn. There had been a number of them in an intersecting pattern over the urn when they’d first discovered it.
Unfortunately, they quickly learnt that the shades and demons were linked to the wards. Every time Bellara disabled one, another wave slipped through the Veil. There had been four different waves, and each one wore Eliana down more and more.
“Get it quicker, please!” She shouted, swinging her blade through the area. This time, though, she sliced through the Veil, causing a physical tear. A swarm of crows rushed out towards her, swarming her form before following her direction to another cluster of shades. The moment they’d encircled the corrupted spirits; they exploded with a crack of thunder and lightning.
“Aaaaand…. Yes!” Seconds after the detonation, the shattering of the ward echoed in the small space along with Bellara’s shout. She was able to lift the urn free from its pedestal, holding it triumphantly above her head.
With no more enemies hounding her, the other elf finally lowered her blade. Her eyes shut and she gave herself a moment to actually catch her breath. Easier said than done given she was panting, and she could hear her heart pounding away in her ears. It was only once she was sure she could move without tripping over her own feet that she got up and joined the brunette at the altar.
On her part, Bellara was enthusiastically inspecting the urn.
It was larger than the water or food urns they kept back at camp and would require some effort if they were to carry it back to the upper levels of the temple. The base was narrow, gradually widening to be almost triple the diameter at the top, ending in a tight bottle neck. The lid of the urn was sealed with another layer of clay, this time shaped like a sunburst, the rays painted with gold. In the centre was the outline of an owl, like the statues that dotted the grounds outside the temple.
“Elgar’nan and Falon’din?” The blonde questioned, her nose wrinkling when Bellara nodded in confirmation. “That’s a fun combination.” Her words dripped with sarcasm.
“But why?” She ran a finger lightly over the symbols etched into the urn. They looked to be ancient Elvhenan, and seemed to repeat while criss-crossing over one another, like chains. “I think it’s a bind ritual, but for what?”
“I feel like ‘why’ is a better question.” Eliana added, letting the more scholarly of the pair continue to examine the artifact. In the meanwhile, she got a better look at the chamber. As it was in most of the temples the Veil Jumpers investigated, the walls were decorated in tiled mosaics and frescos. What was strange was what they depicted.
There were the traditional scenes of worship, depictions of the Evanuris with elves bowing at their feet. The towering figure with the horned visage that had long represented Elgar’nan. Another with their hands held out, wearing a six-pointed crown, the typical depiction of Falon’din.
What stood out was how the frescos changed as one walked around the room.
The elves that had previously been worshiping the Evanuris were being led in chains. Dragged towards what looked like the same altar the urn sat upon. Circular wards with runes circled the individual once on the altar, the expressions on their face one of pain. The final depiction was a different elf cradling the urn, their chains physically binding them to it.
“Bells…” Eliana called out, frowning as she traced the markings on the mosaic urn, near identical to the ones on the real object. “You should look at this.”
Looking up from where she had been making her own observations of the sealed ceramic, the brunette bounded over. As soon as she realized what was on the walls, her eyes widened.
“Oh! Oh, that is interesting.” Leaning forward, her eyes darted about, taking it all in while her mind worked at a pace Eliana couldn’t keep up with. “It’s a binding ritual!”
“I gathered that.” The teasing tone wasn’t something she could keep out of her voice. “But what and why?” Her brows furrowed, glancing back at the depiction of their would-be gods. “Especially with those two working together.” She couldn’t keep the disgust from colouring her voice.
“Nothing good.” She agreed softly, moving back to circle the urn. “I can’t break the urn… not here.” Pursing her lips, she paused before picking it back up. The grunt she gave had the blonde almost lunging towards her in case some other trap laid in waiting, only to wave her off. “Just heavy… Don’t… Worry.” She reassured her. “Let’s get this back to camp! I want to have wards up when I try to break the bindings!”
Eliana could only shake her head, her words not making her feel that much better, already imagining how it could go wrong.
“More demons… Yay.”
Growing up as a commoner meant Emmrich was no stranger to hunger. After all, in a country where very few ate meat, there was very little work for a butcher like his father. There were days when their family had little more than the broth and the day-old bread his mother was able to take home from the bakery. Nights when there wasn’t even that much, and he went to bed with his stomach empty.
He never thought he would crave that type of empty stomach hunger. But anything was better compared to this thirst.
It would start slightly, at first—barely a tickle at the back of his throat. A minor annoyance at times, though something he could ignore easily enough.
A few days later, it would grow into a scratch. Like he was parched, but water wouldn’t do anything to alleviate the feeling. It forced him to swallow or clear his throat more often.
Then it would travel from his throat and down to his stomach, becoming a gnawing sensation. Like a caged creature was stuck in his gut, its pacing causing a dull headache. That headache made him more irritable.
The final stage, though? It was the worst. The beast that paced in his stomach took hold, yowling and clawing at his inside, up into his throat and like it would burst through his mouth at any second. His headache would become a full migraine, and he was more prone to angry outbursts. The only thoughts in his head were his hunger.
Past that point? Even he’d never tried to go that far.
The only reason he waited as long as he did was the feelings of disgust that came with sating his thirst. The momentary high always led to a hard crash of reality, the shame that this was what he had to resort to for survival. The monster that he’d become.
In the months since Blackthorne manor and Johanna’s horrid schemes backfired, he had almost wished he’d perished alongside her. Anything would have been better than this cursed half-life he was forced to live now.
The only solace in all of it was he was allowed to continue his work at the Grand Necropolis. Partially, at least. His class had been given to other senior members of the Mourn Watch for the time being, until he’d adjusted to his new existence. But that did free up more time for research and working with Vorgoth. And his abilities as a corpse whisperer were still in demand. Save for a select few, the entity, spirits and the dead didn’t constantly give him looks of pity or fear.
The looks made his irritability all the worse, especially if he was at the later stages of his thirst.
His damned thirst.
It always came back to that.
“Professor Volkarin.” The clearing of a throat drew Emmrich from his melancholic thoughts. Standing just inside his office was the familiar face of Myrna. The Keeper of the Seals was as calm and refined as she ever was, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Ah. Myrna.” Coughing, he stood up from his desk, pushing the chair back a little harder than needed to cause a loud screech. The noise seemed to echo through the room, the older gentleman wincing while she simply raised an eyebrow. “To what, ah, to what do I owe this visit?” As he spoke, he tried to make himself appear busier than he was, shuffling random papers together before finally straightening. Next to Vorgoth, the Keeper had continued to treat him like she always had in addition to taking on being the go-between for him and the other members of the Watch.
“Our guests will be arriving shortly. Vorgoth thought perhaps you would like to greet them with us?” At her words, his eyes widened in recognition, though his shoulders dropped a little in defeat.
“Yes. That was today, wasn’t it?” He spoke his words slowly, racking his brain for a reason why he couldn’t accompany his colleagues but came up short. “Well, I suppose I should.” Grabbing his coat, he shrugged it on while walking to meet her.
He remembered when the pair had approached them about the group of Veil Jumpers who had requested assistance from a senior member of the Watch. Supposedly, they had recently found an artifact that was giving them trouble, though it fell under the purview of those who shepherd the dead.
At the time, Emmrich was at the earlier stages of his thirst. His irritability was low, and the request had come from someone he’d already been in contact with via letters. Bellara Lutare. A young Dalish mage with fascinating theories on the Veil and arcane resonances. In her request she’d been rather adamant he would be able to help them. And he could admit that the endeavor intrigued him.
Now though? He could feel the stirrings of the beast in his stomach and really wasn’t in the mood to meet with anyone. Correspondences were easier. The receiver couldn’t see his reactions, and he could carefully think through his words rather than snapping at them by accident. Having face to face interactions sound, honestly, exhausting.
But he’d already agreed. And despite everything, Professor Emmrich Volkarin was not one to go back on his word.
So, while gripping his staff tight, he followed Myrna through the Necropolis to the halls more open to the public. A few apprentices and younger members of the Watch milled about, doing their duties to aid those grieving or arriving to visit their loved ones. Rather than stay in the main reception hall, the pair turned off towards a more private room. Typically, they were used for private viewings, or corpse whispering sessions, but today it was plain.
Their guests had arrived just before them as upon entering they were met with a trio of heads turning in their direction, Vorgoth already positioned at the head of the stone table in the centre of the room. The three accompanying him were all elves, an older man and two young women, dressed in various versions of warm toned leathers and traditionally Dalish armor.
“PROFESSOR VOLKARIN. KEEPER.” The entity nodded in greeting towards the pair as they stepped inside. “OUR GUESTS HAVE ARRIVED.”
“Thank you for making the trip here.” Myrna nodded her thanks, moving to join Vorgoth as Emmrich closed the door. “Might I introduce Professor Emmrich Volkarin, a senior member of the Mourn Watch and our foremost expert on the Fade and spirits.” She gave the older man a small, encouraging, smile as she introduced him before turning to the elves.
“Professor, these are three members of Arlathan’s Veil Jumpers. Strife, one of their leaders.” The older elvhen man nodded his head in greeting, though remained stoic in his stance. His arms were crossed over his chest; his dark skin creased with lines that were from frowns like the one he was wearing. The sharp arrows that he had tattooed on his face only made him look fiercer, as did the greying dreadlocks secured behind his head in a warrior’s knot.
“Bellara Lu-” Before she could complete her introduction, one of the women shot forward to excitedly shake Emmrich’s hand.
“Professor Volkarin! It’s so good to finally meet you in person.” The brunette either didn’t notice the temperature of his hand was much lower than it should be, or she simply didn’t care. “I’m Bellara, we’ve been sending letters for years now! Your theories are always so insightful.” The young woman was a veritable ball of energy. Her hair was piled up on her head in a large bun, held in place by a golden hair stick. Where Strife wore the garb of a warrior, the yellow wrap she wore conveyed she was more of an explorer. Light leathers and loose fabrics for ease of movement. She did have a curious gauntlet on her left arm though, the concentric rows of triangles similar to the bow on her back. Her own forehead was adorned in detailed diamond-like tattoos. “I can’t believe I get to meet the actual Professor Volkarin.” If she was anything it was enthusiastic.
“Bells,” A chuckle cut through the young woman's babble, drawing attention to the last in their trio. Compared to the woman still shaking his hand, she had a teasing lit to her voice that had an easy relaxed feel to it. Emmrich’s eyes immediately snapped towards her, their green depths reflecting mirth back at him. They were obscured slightly by blonde bangs, the rest of her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “We’re supposed to be asking for help, not shaking the poor man’s arm off.” Her face was split into a smirk; her arms crossed over her chest. The armor she wore was different compared to the other two. Lighter than Strife’s but offered more protection than Bellara’s, a sort of shoulder cape obscuring most of it. The marks on her own forehead were more reminiscent of antlers.
“And Eliana Aldwir.” Myrna finished, gesturing to the woman. Still smiling, she politely nodded towards him.
“Most people call me Rook though.” As Bellara finally let go of his hand, she shifted to the side to make room for them all. “It’s nice to meet you professor. Love the coat, and the” As she spoke, she pointed to the ornate shoulders of his coat, still grinning and maintaining that gentle teasing tone. Given his level of thirst, the teasing normally would have irritated the necromancer, but there was a look of sincerity in her eyes that had him pausing.
Her words weren’t meant in jest but more… Flirting?
“Ah… Yes. Thank you.” Clearing his throat, Emmrich adjusted his coat before approaching the table. “I am happy to be of service. Now, what has brought you here seeking out our help? In your letters Ms. Lutare, you made it seem like I was most qualified?” He made sure to keep his tone even and friendly, looking at the young woman in question.
“Right! Yes. Well…” Trailing off, the woman turned to her compatriots. “We, Rook and I, were investigating a ruin that had recently appeared. The fluctuations around it weren’t terrible but we still had to make sure everything was okay. When we went below, we came across an artifact…”
As she spoke, Strife moved to the back of the room, grunting with the effort it took to lift whatever was over there up, carrying it over to the table and setting it down with a huff. Even if it was made with clay, it looked like it should have been much lighter than it was. What was more, even from where he stood, he could feel the magic used to cast a very strong and powerful binding ritual.
Taking a step or two closer, he tilted his head while observing it. The etchings along the pottery were distinctly elvhen. Even though he wasn’t overly familiar with the written language, it had come up in his own research of the Veil and he recognized a few. There was a string of characters he knew to mean ‘spirit’. There was another that looked like ‘to serve’. Everything else was harder for him to make out.
He had a primer back in his office. Maybe he could cross reference them. And those symbols. The suns, the owls. Rebirth and death? No, the sun was a different reference when it comes to Dalish religion-
“I barely managed to fight them off the first time.” Eliana’s voice, the teasing tone having left, was what drew him back. “When we tried to break the binding?”
“The camp turned to chaos.” Strife scowled. “Only reason we had a handle on it so quickly was because of how many Jumpers were back.”
Before he could admit he had gotten distracted and didn’t know what was going on, Vorgoth spoke up.
“TO PULL THAT MANY SPIRITS FROM THE FADE FOR PROTECTION WOULD TAKE A POWERFUL BINDING.” They agreed, their arms crossing while their hood was turned towards the urn.
“The murals in the temple depicted both Elgar’nan and Falon’din.” Bellara commented. “They’re symbols were everywhere.”
“Both are members of the Dalish Pantheon, yes?” Emmrich spoke up, tilting his head as he glanced at the three elves. “The gods of Vengeance and Death respectively.”
“The Evanuris play at being gods.” Strife scoffed. “We now know they were nothing more than powerful mages exerting their will over their would-be believers.”
That was right. In the recent decade Thedas’ understanding of ancient elven culture had undergone a radical shift. News of what had been learned by the Inquisition in the south had reached the Necropolis, and the Senior Watcher had spent weeks pouring over everything, finding correlations to his own research and studies. That being said, the implications when it came to the Veil aside, there was an entire group of people that were having to rethink everything they had been taught.
“... Right. My apologies.” He winced, turning back to the urn. “But if they were powerful mages.”
“They’d have the power required for such a binding.” Myrna agreed, nodding while one hand moved to rest on her chin, the other crossed over in front of her. “And if this Falon’din was perceived as a ‘God of Death’ it stands that he was familiar with the necromantic arts.”
“AND WHY YOU HAVE REQUESTED OUR ASSISTANCE.” Vorgoth finished.
“Exactly.” The brunette nodded, beaming. “I’m somewhat familiar with spirits, but this is nothing like what we’ve seen in other ruins before.”
“You were right to reach out.” Emmrich admitted, waving his hand over the urn. A faint green glow emitted from his palm and he was able to get a better feel for the bindings used. There were layers to them. The first few like threads woven over each other, almost like a spider web. Each one connected to at least three others. Below them were ones that were stronger, resembling more like chains. Bound tight, iron clad and rigid. They allowed for no movement and reeked of blood magic and malice. Whatever had been the purpose for the binding he could tell it wasn’t a pleasant one. “You said the temple had murals. Perhaps they have some clues?”
For what wasn’t the first, nor likely the last one, he found himself cursing that he couldn’t see for himself. At least, not during the day. Mourn Waters normally had a harder time when they left the Necropolis. Spending so much time underground naturally made one more sensitive to sunlight. Headaches or being prone to sunburns aren’t uncommon. But since his accident that sensitivity had increased tenfold. He used to love going to the markets in Nevarra City. The first time he’d tried though, it felt like he was being burned alive. And given the fact he had developed a new ease at navigating the darker crypts by sight, he could assume the light would be blinding to his eyes.
Yet another thing he was robbed of.
“I did make a few sketches.” There was the rustling of papers before Eliana stepped up beside him. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her. “Here.” Spreading them out on the table, she angled them so he could get a better look. “They’re pretty typical for what we find in temples. Worship of the Evanuris. The enslavement of elves.” She spoke with an almost nonchalant tone, gesturing to each sketch. “But these were different.”
Now, the sketches were no works of art by any means, but they did get the general idea across. And much like she said, the first few were boring. Then there were the ones that depicted what he only could describe as the binding ritual. The clearest of the sketches had the same symbols carefully drawn as those on the urn.
“Interesting…” He mumbled, tracing over the drawing.
“So, you have some ideas?” Strife spoke up, raising an eyebrow.
“Possibly.” He spoke slowly. “While there are not many, a few of our ranks could trace their lineage back to the Dalish and had taken up studying the customs of their ancestors.” Looking up, he glanced between the Veil Jumpers. “I believe that would be the best place to start.”
For a moment, the older warrior stared at him, evaluating before sighing. “That’s better than us.” He shook his head, gesturing to the two women. “We’re grateful for any help you can give us.”
“Right! And if you have any questions, Rook and I would be happy to answer them!” Bellara added, bouncing on her feet. “After all, we have a firsthand experience of the temple. And we’re no strangers to research!”
“If you don’t mind us staying around to help.” Rook added, shooting her a look.
While he didn’t say anything, Emmrich immediately looked to Myrna and Vorgoth. The pair seemed lovely enough, and he did enjoy his letters with Bellara, but having them here was something entirely. He wouldn’t be able to avoid them, not like everyone else. They would be working directly with him. This project would likely run over several weeks, at least. In that time his hunger was sure to flare at least a few times, and even if he tried to hide it, they would be close enough to notice.
But he couldn’t say that. Just hope that his colleagues could understand that and make the right choice.
“WE WELCOME YOU AS GUESTS OF THE NECROPOLIS.” Vorgoth waved a hand to the side. “YOU MAY STAY UNTIL WE HAVE UNRAVELED THE URN’S SECRETS.”
That was not what he had wanted to hear.
It didn’t take long for Eliana to realize Nevara was nothing like Arlathan. That much was clear from the few excursions she and Bellara had outside of the Grand Necropolis. There was, of course, the obvious fact that it was a nation of primarily humans. But, for a society that venerated their dead, the above ground streets had been very lively. Nothing like D’Meta’s Crossing or the small settlements that had dotted the forest the women had grown up in. Not only that, but the few elves, dwarves and qunari they’d seen seemed welcome in the community. A far cry from the stories she had grown up on. The horrors of how elves were treated in the imperium, and what would happen to her if the wrong shem found her.
In the Necropolis itself she had been struck by how kind everyone was, once again going against the stories she had grown up on. She remembered her hahrens scaring all the children with tales of necromancers to make them behave. How they would use blood magic to lure them away and force them to join their armies of the undead.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth. True, she only had interactions with a handful of the Mourn Watch to go off of, but she’d never describe her prime example as power hungry or evil. Part of her thought that if he ever did hurt someone, it would be by accident and result in Emmrich immediately apologizing.
The senior Watcher was just so nice.
A perfect gentleman, like in those serials Bellara loved so much. It had taken a day or so for him to warm up to the pair, but once he had he was escorting both of them from their guest quarters to the library or his personal office every morning. He’d frequently check on them throughout the day, making sure little snacks were available for them when they hadn’t been able to break for a meal.
Then there was his assistant. The first time Eliana had met Manfred, she had adored him immediately. With his jewelled goggles and excited hisses, he too was nothing like the undead she had encountered before. More than once, she’d caught him hanging over her shoulder while she read and would give a pleased rattle when she whispered the passage she was on out loud to him.
All that to say, she was pleasantly surprised by how much she was enjoying her time in Nevarra.
That didn’t mean she didn’t miss the forest though. Or feel the littlest bit out of place. Research had never been her area of expertise, and most of what she knew about the Fade or her own abilities came from instinct or trial and error. She wasn’t the most academically inclined of the Veil Jumpers, and it showed a little more among the ranks of the Mourn Watch. Sometimes she could have sworn Emmrich and Bellara were speaking a different language when they discussed theories, while some of the tomes she’d read had her mind so dizzy she could have sworn she’d been spun in circles. When those moments hit, she usually excused herself and wandered the crypt.
One such moment was how she found the Memorial Gardens. A place within the giant crypt that felt like it was an open-air park above ground rather than a place for silent contemplation and remembrance below. Myrna had found her when she’d first stumbled upon it, explaining that it was one of the areas open to the public, allowing family members a place to grieve and remember their loved ones. She’d also assured her she could come by any time.
And that was something she was taking full advantage that afternoon. The morning had been spent reviewing more tomes in hopes to find something related to the urn or whatever ritual the murals depicted. Rather than give any answers, the one she’d been reading just regurgitated the same stories she’d grown up on but with an inaccurate Chantry Twist. Both frustrating and a little insulting and given the expressions the other three wore they weren’t finding much better. It was agreed that rather than brute force their way through the rest, they would take the afternoon off and reconvene in the morning.
So, with her free time, Eliana had gone straight to the Garden. For nearly an hour and a half she sat on a bench towards the rear of the garden with her bare feet dressed into
She’d probably spent close to an hour, and a half seated at one of the many benches, her bare toes curling into the grass. Around her the Fade seemed to flow like a lazy river and washed over her in gentle waves. It was both comforting and grounding. Centering and rejuvenating her at the same time.
“Rook?”
At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times at the man standing in front of her. Emmrich seemed shocked to see her, both his hands grasping his staff while his brows drew together in confusion.
“Professor.” An easy smile settled on Eliana’s face, her head tilting to the side. “What a nice surprise.” At her words he seemed to recover, shaking his head a little as he righted himself.
“Ah, yes. Quite.” The smile he wore wasn’t as relaxed as hers, but it was leagued better than the deer in headlights look he had at their first meeting. “My apologies for interrupting. I would have thought you’d joined Kellara and her excursion into the city. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“She told me she wanted to check the market. Something about a stall that sold the papers her serials are in?” Laughing, the storm mage shook her head. “I wasn’t feeling up to all the crowds.” She gave a shrug, pushing off the bench to stand. “And was maybe feeling a little bit home sick. It’s so peaceful here, and Myrna said it was open to the public.” The blonde trailed off while she eyed Emmrich, dusting off her pants.
Now, it wasn’t that she thought Emmrich would tell her differently, but she also wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react either. Since starting their research, he and Bellara got on as if they had been friends for years, already having established a rapport through the letters they’d exchanged. Conversation flowed easy and they were relaxed around each other.
With her, Eliana had noticed he was a little more closed off. That wasn’t to say he was outright rude. No, he was very polite. Listened to her explanations when she came across an interesting bit of information. Answered all her questions, no matter how silly a few of them had been. The only difference was he was more distant, lacking the same warmth he had when talking to her friend.
So, she watched for his reaction, part of her expecting a look of disapproval. What she got instead was one of pleasant surprise.
“Oh! Wonderful.” A small smile spread across his lips. “I often come to the Gardens myself when I need a moment to myself. I find the flora and quiet lend themselves well to contemplation and self reflection.” She couldn’t help but mirror his expression.
“Definitely. Is that what you’ve come to do?” Her brows furrowed, stepping to the side of the bench as if to offer it to him. “I can leave you to it, if you’d like?”
“Oh, no no no.” He waved her off. “Even while assisting you and Bellara, I still have my responsibilities as a member of the Watch. That would include tending to the rites of remembrance.” There was a pause when he caught how Eliana’s eyebrows raised up. “Would you… would like to accompany me?”
Her head was already nodding before he had finished speaking.
“Can I? Is that allowed?” She couldn’t keep the curiosity out of her voice. “Or is it some sort of secret that outsiders aren’t allowed to be privy to?” It seemed she was channeling her inner Bellara with the rambling. Something he noted as well, though did little more than give a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.
“Not at all. It’s a rite we normally entrust to the newest members of our order.” The tall mage stepped to the side and gave a small gesture with his hand for her to join him. “But, like the Garden, I find a certain peace in their familiarity.” The pair fell into step as he led the way.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before.” Eliana admitted, holding her arms behind her back. Her eyes darted amongst the graves and greenery, a small smile on her face. “At least not back home. I mean, my clan used to spread the ashes of our dead in their favourite parts of the forest, but we never had a dedicated spot for them.” She continued, catching the look in his eyes. “It’s interesting, different. I can see the appeal.”
“The Garden’s do provide a place for us to remember those who have passed.” He agreed. “But their purpose is trifold.” Walking past a tableau, he gestured towards a trio of skeletons. They were positioned, frozen in a scene of sorts. All around them were lit candles, their firelight casting a warm glow on surrounding flowers. “Like these lives. They were flickers against the ages: precious, fragile, and finite.”
He waved his hand, strands of green emanating from them and drifting through the air before landing on the skeletons. The green strands sunk into the bones, bringing them to life. Eliana couldn’t help but watch in amazement as the figures depicted a tailor and their client. Measuring their shoulders and comparing fabric.
“Now, they serve a warning. Don’t linger over long in the gloom. Live with grace and fervor, while you may.” Even as he recited it, there was a glint that she could catch in his eyes. A sort of sadness, though before she could ask more, he covered it up. Instead, he turned to face her with a soft, waiting, look.
“Live for today and in the moment.” She nodded in agreement. “No one will do it for you.”
“Just so.” Laughing, a hiss soon joined in. Both turned and Manfred was bounding over, shaking with what she could have only described as happiness or excitement. “Ah! Manfred.” Emmrich’s voice took on a fond tone as he gazed at his assistant. “He was so looking forward to the rites. Shall we?”
Her grin just widened, and she rocked forward on the balls of her feet a little.
“I was excited before. But now Fred’s joining us?” Looking at the little skeleton, she gave a wink. “Seems my day just got better.” Clapping her hands, she turned back to the necromancer. “So, what do we do?”
She knew she was doing nothing to hide her excitement but also knew she wouldn’t be able to do it if she tried. Even if she didn’t always understand the more complicated theories Emmrich told them about, she recognized he carried a lot of knowledge inside his mind. More than she thought her former Keeper ever could, and while she never paid attention to her lessons as a child, something in the older man’s demeanor drew her in. It called for her focus, and to listen to whatever he was willing to share.
And, maybe, it would help him warm up to her.
“We light candles in remembrance of the dead.” The look he wore indeed soften, though she could catch the hint of surprise. With a gentle nod, he guided her towards a large tome. While it was surrounded by flower offerings and still burning incense, there was a large candle on a pedestal that caught her attention. It was nearly six inches tall, worn down over many uses, while the pedestal it sat on bore the crest of the Mourn Watch. A beetle, with a skull on its shell. With a quick wave of the hand, its wick grew a soft flame, the warm glow flickering slightly.
“The last tomb of the Tanhausens.” He explained, turning to the larger tomb. “A very influential family in the Storm Age.” Raising an eyebrow, she shuffled forward to get a closer look. The door of the tomb was made of wood, portions worn smooth by time, though there was a metal plaque, the words written in first Nevarran, and then Trade.
“We broke the bones of dragons.” She read, brows drawing together. “Really? They were dragon hunters?” It wasn’t a secret that Nevara was known for producing not only the most dragon hunters in all Thedas, but the best as well. Having come across only one dragon in her entire life, and subsequently turning the other direction immediately, she always found the idea of people going after them on purpose both amazing and terrifying.
“A posthumous motto.” Emmrich admitted, shaking his head. “Their last heir met his match against a Highland Ravager.”
“And there was enough to still bury him?” The question was out of her mouth before she could even realize how it sounded. Thankfully, rather than offending, it got a chuckle from her companion.
“Sometimes it is more important to have a place set aside that one could have rested in, than them actually being located there.”
They continued along through the garden, Emmrich mentioning something about it being a shock that they had found the new location of the gardens only a week before the Veil Jumper trio had arrived. Apparently, the Necropolis possessed a certain level of sentience, and regularly shuffled itself around, though often with little to no warning when it did.
“Though it’s highly unlikely to occur when we are inside a chamber.” He reassured her, catching the small flash of nervousness before she’d been able to smother it. Rather than let her dwell further, offered a distraction instead. “Would you care to light the candle?” He questioned, leaning down to pull a small jar of matches from the back of the pedestal.
“I’d love to.” Grinning, she held up her own hand and gave it a small wave over the candle. There was a familiar pull as she silently called on the fade, the centre of her palm growing warm as she lit the wick. A quick glance to her left and she caught the look of shock on Emmrich’s face. His eyes darted between her, and then the remaining smaller candle she lit in quick succession.
“You are a mage?” If anyone else had asked it, Eliana would be tempted to take it as an insult. From the quiet professor though, she knew he was being genuine.
“I am.” Nodding, she held out her hand and summoned a small orb of electricity in her palm. A smirk played across her lips while she raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”
“With your dagger,” He gestured to the mage knife at her hip. The blade was twisted in a spiral and appeared more ceremonial at first, but upon closer inspection one could see that the edges were razor sharp, and runes were etched along the handle that helped her channel her magic. “I had assumed-”
“That I was more of a rogue?” She offered, cutting him off with a chuckle. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” Dropping her hand, the ball dissipated in a flash of sparks. “I know my casting style isn’t the most… traditional.” That was putting it lightly, given how much trial and error got her this point.
“Regardless, I shouldn’t have assumed. My apologies." Emmrich’s face was drawn in an almost grim expression while he bowed at the waist a little. It made something twist inside her, and she quickly reached out, her hand brushing his arm. As she did, she noted both his slight flinch, and how cold he felt, even through the layers of his coat.
“Hey, none of that Professor.” She chided, keeping her tone light as she tried to reassure him. “I never went about advertising my magic, and being underestimated has always suited me better.” His eyes darted from her face, and to her hand while she spoke, a spark of… something, in his eyes. “Besides, we still have a rite to finish.” Dropping it, she offered another smile.
There seemed to be a moment where he was debating with himself, looking her over before his eyes closed. His shoulders, and the oversized decorative pauldrons that adorned them, moved up and down with a deep breath.
“Right.” When he opened his eyes, he seemed more composed. “Shall we?”
Continuing to follow his lead around the gardens, Eliana took a moment to observe him. When he had first walked into the viewing room those weeks ago, she had been struck by how tall he was. Easily a head taller than strife, more so for her. Elves were shorter than humans by nature, and even among the rest of her race she was small. She never had noticed it before, but when she had spread her sketches out for him it was all she could think of.
In addition to his height, she’d immediately clocked his ears. They were just a tad longer than normal for a human, and when compared to Myrna they were even the slightest bit pointed. The only people she’d ever seen with ears like that had elvish blood somewhere in their ancestry. Though she couldn’t exactly ask that, especially with how cool he was with her at times.
If she were being honest, his complexion was… well, she didn’t want to say it was strange but that was all she could think of describing it. At times, the man looked like the corpses he worked with so diligently. Pale, his skin almost papery. Other times there was a healthy flush to his cheeks, less gaunt like he’d had a good meal. Coincidentally, she’d noticed that his mood seemed to be infinitely better when he looked like that.
“A-ha!” His exclamation drew the spell blade from her thoughts, just before she crashed into him when he crouched over a plot of flowers. “One of my favourite flowers: a variegated Weeping Widower.” With brows furrowed, she dropped down beside him to get a better look at the bloom.
It was delicate, the flowers tapered at the stem before opening wide at the top. Their colour was a bright violet colour, standing out against the rest of the Garden. Eliana would have missed it if he hadn’t pointed it out.
“You know your plants.”
“Oh, alchemy is my hobby.” He waved off how impressed she sounded rather humble. “It’s a break from teaching spirit calling and theoretical and applied metaphysics.” Cupping one of the blossoms in his hand, he leaned in to take a deep whiff, sighing happily.
“Ah, yes. Mundane subjects.” Her teasing tone was creeping back in as she stood, though she really couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure if he knew it, but every time she used that tone Emmrich’s eyes got a little wider.
“Right.” Clearing his throat, he stood again and motioned her forward. “This way.” Fighting a laugh, she followed him along.
If the Gardens were peaceful when she toured them on her own, they were more so now. With every step she let herself open a little more to the Fade and was amazed at how it seemed to dance around the necromancer. Weaving like a symphony just waiting to be conducted.
“It’s so peaceful.” She mumbled.
“The Necropolis has its dangers,” He agreed, steering them to a monument set apart from the rest just a little deeper into the garden. “But these places are a refuge for the dead.”
“How many people are buried here?” Tilting her head, she fell in step beside him.
“Excellent question.” He paused, before adding. “We really should take a new census. That made her let out a bark of laughter and actually earned her a small smile in the process. Though he didn’t pause, continuing as the pair came to a stop as a few wisps swooped in to circle him. “Ah! Look here.”
They danced around him, pressing close to his cheek to give a little nuzzle. The soft chittering they made filled the air, and Emmrich nodded along as if he understood them. Only once they were satisfied with him did they turn to her. While she couldn’t understand them, only faintly able to register the emotions they portrayed, the curiosity coming from them was clear as it could be. The blonde raised an eyebrow but held out her hand to one that drifted the closest. As if understanding the invitation, it seemed to hum louder and swirled around her wrists, its little tendrils dancing across her fingers.
“Well hello to you too.” She giggled, amazed at how friendly these wisps were. Back in Arlathan, an encounter with the lesser spirits usually resulted in something of hers going missing for days at a time, or a stronger spirit being summoned that was none too pleased with her in their space.
“It’s curious about you.” Emmrich spoke softly. When she glanced at him, she saw how intently he was watching them. Though when he saw her looking, he turned to be more direct to the wisps. “We’re also enjoying the garden, but there is still one last ritual ahead. On your way, my friends.” The wisps made a noise that sounded a little sad, the one still clinging to her wrists floating up to nuzzle against her temple before following the others.
“Spirits really are your specialty.” She mumbled, shaking her head at the retreating group.
“I’ve always had a rapport with them.” He explained, smiling softly. “Even as a child, they were my companions.”
“After you started training here?”
“After I was orphaned.”
His words brought Eliana to a stand still. Her eyes wide when she turned to look at him, the sadness in his eyes more evident despite the fact he still wore that small smile.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She was no stranger to being in the world without one's parents. After all, her own were as good as dead. But she also knew that no matter how much time had passed that didn’t soothe the pain that was left behind.
“A collapsed building.” His head turned slightly away from her as he explained. “Swift deaths. After the funeral, the Watchers took me in.” There was a pause in his words, and if she moved to the side the slightest bit, she could catch a far off look in his hazel eyes.
“Still, my condolences.” She spoke softly. “Even if it’s very late.” Looking back at her, his own expression softened a little.
“Thank you.” For a moment, he held her gaze. “We move on, as we must. But those long nights will linger about the shadows.”
Eliana seemed to debate with herself. She really didn’t know Emmrich that well, but the curiosity was still there.
“How did you deal with it?” Turning her head, she looked at one of the graves the wisps had gravitated towards. “Being without them, I mean.”
“I didn’t.” The words were blunt. “When I first arrived here, I was terrified.”
His words made her think of the first few months after her clan had left her. It wasn’t so bad during the day, she could fool herself into thinking she was just on another hunting mission for her parents. Stumbling a little as she navigated through the trees. At night though, it felt like the entire world was closing in on her. Noises were louder and the shadows cast from her fire seemed longer.
Not that she could say any of that. Not even Strife knew everything about her childhood, and he certainly knew the most.
“And you still joined the Watchers?” Was what she asked instead. She was answered by a knowing look.
“They’re what saved me.”
With a small gesture, he had them carry one with the rite. Every time a candle needed to be lit, he encouraged her to do so rather than him. As they did, he explained more about how ceremonies like this what were had helped him cope and heal as a child. How he found comfort in the repetitive nature, and the self-reflection it brought on.
When he’d asked her what she thought all the pageantry around such ceremonies was for, he’d been pleased by her answer.
“The living. The dead aren’t here anymore to care about things like offerings or grand gestures. And it may be different from the Dalish traditions I grew up on to yours, but the rituals are more of a comfort for those left behind. A way for us to grieve and move on.”
“Exactly! The memories, history, magic. Such ceremonies are done to preserve it, so that the living may draw comfort from those who’ve gone before. At its heart, which is what our necromancy is for.”
Following him through the motions, she couldn’t help but agree. For all the fear that surrounded necromancy, and the whispers of its ties to blood magic, Emmrich made it seem the complete opposite. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and she supposed it was. It didn’t matter who you were, where you were born or what you did in your life, everyone would eventually meet their end. He just reinforced the idea that, when wielded by the right person, death magic wasn’t something that needed to be feared.
The pair were joined by Manfred as they came to a stop in front of the largest tomb in the Gardens. It towered over both, casting a wide shadow. The little skeleton was positioned just in front of the candles, and gestured quickly for Eliana to join in.
“Alright alright, I’m coming Fred.” Chuckling, she rested a hand on his boney shoulder, giving a tight squeeze before passing her hand over the wicks. The warmth of their light somehow filled the tomb’s shadow. “You said he had been a wisp, before you made him a body.” The question tumbled from her unabated when she turned back to the other mage.
“Yes. And he’s taken to it so well, haven’t you, my boy?” The answering hiss was a pleased one, accompanied by a slight rattle.
“Come.” The fond look he gave the skeleton remained as he gestured for her to join him in front of a large cast iron bell. They were a little closer to each other, her arm brushing against his when he raised both hands to cast. With the same threads of pale green, he moved as if he was conducting one of those orchestras that were so popular in Orlais. They wrapped around the bell and gave a small push, a deep chime filling the gardens.
It was accompanied by a wave of magic. Unseen to the eye, but it rippled outward and passed through them all. The feeling of it washing over her caused Eliana’s breath to catch in her throat, all her nerve endings singing with the feeling.
“Let the rites be acknowledged, our bonds seen and sealed.” The steady way he recited the words had her head whipping towards him. While he didn’t turn completely, his eyes did meet hers and a spark of mirth could be seen in them. “We honour the listening spirits.”
No sooner had he said the words, than did a pair of spirits materialize in front of them. They were covered in the same worn shrouds that many spirits wore, but there was a certain finery to them. The edges were clean, the fabrics a rich blue and green colour respectively. Swirling details in silver and gold accenting them in the mystical way she had only ever seen in some of the oldest murals in Arlathan.
“Hail from the abyss.” One rasped.
“We witness, good Watcher.” The other echoed. “Faith kept in all our pacts.”
And as soon as they had appeared, they vanished. Their presence lingered in the air, mixing with the same deep magic that she felt thrumming through her, thought it was like the comforting weight of a blanket.
“Wha-”
“The Necropolis hosts many spirits.” Emmrich explained, smiling. “We thank these guardians for their friendship and protection.” Tilting his head, he gestured to the bell. “We need to ring the bell once more, to close out the departing ceremony.” Nodding, she waited for him to cast again, only to find him staring at her.
“Wait. Me?”
“Yes. You are a mage, my dear.” He chuckled, gesturing towards the bell. “You lit the candles with ease and performed most of the rite yourself. It’s only right you close it out.”
She couldn’t help but stare at him. Earlier in the day she’d never thought he’d be willing to hold a conversation with her, let alone ask her to assist in what she was beginning to think was an important ritual for the Watchers. Nevertheless, he continued to gaze at her expectantly.
“Ah… right.” Swallowing, she turned to look at the bell. Raising her arms, she tentatively reached out with her magic, weaving it into the Fade around them. While her movements weren’t as graceful as his, she slowly pushed both hands forward, and a gust of wind swirled around her arms before brushing past the bell and moving it gently.
The chime rang out, and the feeling that had washed over them receded back like water leaving the shore. The ringing of the bell carried through the Garden before gently fading away. Though the peace it had brought remained.
As they stood side by side, Eliana tilted her head a little to get a better look at Emmrich.
“Thank you.” She said softly, offering a smile. “For sharing this with me.”
“Of course, my dear.” His smile softened further. “If I am honest, your open mindedness about it all is refreshing.”
“I think that’s credit to you, Professor.” She chuckled, catching the shocked look on his face when she did. “You contradict everything we were told about death magic as kids and make it very… poetic.” She shrugged.
For a moment, Emmrich just stared at her before a quiet laugh slipped out.
“I suppose it is.”
“Hiiiisssss.” Manfred’s rattling brought their attention further down the path where a table had been set up. On it, she could see a tea set, the pot with a small tail of steam coming from the spout. Looking at the pair, the little skeleton clacked a set of tongs, the following hiss he gave almost expectant.
“Ah, yes. Very right, Manfred.” Waving out with his arm, he gestured towards the table. “Would you, perhaps, like to join me for tea?”
“I think that would be lovely.”