Chapter Text
Rook hates to admit it, but she never got used to the weather in Rivain. The weather was always too humid, it made her hair frizz and she always ended up drenched in her clothes under all that armour. But the rest of the team loved hanging out at the Hall of Valor; Lucanis, Davrin and Taash in particular, the trio have been bonding over their shared interest in burning off steam in the arena. So how could she say no when Isabela insisted she bring the Veilguard’s newest addition into the fighting ring? Eyeing off to the side, she grimaces at the sight of Emmrich as he pulls at the collar of his linen shirt, his face beginning to flush from the heat. The professor looked seconds away from fainting under all those layers.
Taash whistled. “Damn, you Nevarrans don’t do well in the heat.”
Rook sighed, wiping a bead of sweat which dribbled from her head. “Yeah. That ale is going to hit different.” Taash barks in laughter. “Only after you earn it in the ring! Say, how many rounds do you think Deathmage can go for?” Emmrich rolled his eyes.
“I’ll have you know, we Mourn Watchers do sparring matches quite often!” He huffed indignantly. “Nevarrans are wonderfully competitive!”
“Sure thing, Professor, save that energy for the arena…” Taash waved him off.
Emmrich sighs. “Rook, you sure it would be fine for me to meet the Lords of Fortune?” Rook shrugs. “Why not? They met me and they are fine. Come on! I’m sure you it will all work out…”
Isabela waves at Rook as the three of them walk up the bar. The tables surrounding them were full of rowdy Lords alike. “Hello Rook! So good to see you and Taash back again so soon,” Shifting to the side, she watches Emmrich with a lazy smile. “And who is this gentleman you have here?”
Emmrich clears his throat and steps forward. “Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch.” He bows slightly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance!”
Isabela laughs. “How polite!” Reaching over, she pulled Rook to her side and pinched her cheek, “Are you Nevarrans always this sweet?” Rook grunts, trying to pull away but Isabela hugged her with a surprisingly iron-clad grip while Taash smirked in amusement.
Before anyone could say another word, a voice rang out from the crowd.
“Maker’s Balls,Volkarin? Did I hear that right?”
The crowd around went quiet, a chair screeched as someone stood too fast. “The Volcarnage is here?”
Murmurs and whispers around the grounds increased in volume as a small crowd gathered. Emmrich looked around, uneasy at the sudden formation of a crowd while Taash raised their brows in slight interest, fingers resting casually on the axes strapped to their hip.
“The Volcarnage?” Rook asked. Isabela pulled her closer like she was about to share a secret, “About a decade ago, some of the dastardly fools here decided to pull a heist at the Grand Necropolis, only to be beaten out by some deathmage with a wash towel.” Isabela waved her hand lazily as she recounted the story, “I wasn’t there, but your people ended up arresting a few of our own. Took a whole bunch of gold to bail them out.”
“Those fools,” She squinted into the crowd. “Got put on latrine duty for awhile.”
Rook scratched her own chin, deep in thought. “It isn’t uncommon for thieves to sneak into crypts located on the upper levels, but a heist in the deeper levels of the Necropolis is almost unheard of…isn’t that right, Emmrich?”
Emmrich tensed at the mention of his name, his expression oddly perturbed, brow furrowed like he was deep in thought before he smoothed it over with an uneasy smile. “T-That’s correct, Rook!”
Rook cocked her head to the side. “You okay Emmrich?” Emmrich looked increasingly nervous, as he kept glancing back at the crowd while straightening his collar.
“O-Of course! It must be the heat!” Emmrich mentioned, his voice rose a pitch higher than usual as he fanned his rapidly blushing face. Rook narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
A Lord of Fortune finally pushed through the crowds. “IT’S YOU.” His finger jabbed right at Emmrich’s direction, eyes bulging.
“What are you talking about—” Emmrich squawked. But the man continued, interrupting Emmrich as he continued to point.
“IT’S YOU. THAT MAGE WHO STRUCK US DOWN WHILE HE WAS BARE AS THE DAY HE WAS BLOODY BORN!” He shouted. The crowds whispered, Taash smirked with a grin that looked like they were about to burst into laughter. Emmrich froze entirely, a mixture of mortification and realization making all blood suddenly drain away from his flushed face. He continued to dart between Rook and the crowd, his expression turned completely helpless as he rubbed the back of his head.
“H-Ha…hah…” was all that came out of him, but the man started explaining, “It all started because some of us heard of them grave gold in Nevarra…They’ve got so much of it, we figured, it must be easy!”
Steam rose languidly through the tiled chamber. The Grand Necropolis’s lower washrooms were usually quiet at this hour. Most Watchers would be in bed, while others were busy on patrol duties or deep in their studies.
Emmrich hummed faintly to himself as he scrubbed the day’s grime off his arms, water cascading down his back. It had been a long day of teaching classes, getting words out of a particularly obstinate undead, and the warm shower was the first peace he’d had in hours.
He reached for his wash cloth and lathered it with soap when the walls around him began to shake. The entire wall at the end of the communal washroom shuddered as stone and dust crumbled down from the vaulted ceilings.
Emmrich paused mid-scrub. “...That’s not normal,” he muttered, then carried on scrubbing. Just a second later, the wall detonates inwards, sending debris skidding across the tiles, bringing in a cool draft into the room. Emmrich blinks. Five figures stumbled through the smoke, coughing and waving away the dust.
“WOO—WE MADE IT!” one of them hollered.
“DIDN’T EVEN RUN INTO ANY OF THOSE BONY FUCKFACES!” another one cheered.
“Easy coin, lads!” The group high-fived each other, completely oblivious to where they were.
Based on their armour, Emmrich surmised they were Lords of Fortune. But what brings them all the way to Nevarra? To the Grand Necropolis no less?
As the steam shifted, the draft cleared the mist just enough to reveal a very naked Emmrich Volkarin, dripping wet, clutching a small wash cloth to his chest while staring at them with wide, horrified eyes.
There was a long, terrible silence. The shower continued to run in the background.
“Uh…” One of the intruders whispered, “There’s a mage in here.”
A small rock from the ceiling fell and bumped Emmrich’s head lightly, he blinked as he snapped out of his stupor.
“H-HALT!” His voice cracked. While adjusting to cover his manhood with the towel in his hands, he tried again in a more authoritative tone. “Halt! Outsiders! You are under arrest under the a-authority of the Mourn Watch!”
The intruders looked at each other, then burst into laughter.
“Oh, Andraste’s fine tits! He’s bloody naked!”
“He’s got a rag for a weapon!”
“Where’s your staff mate? Oh wait it’s right there—UCK—” Emmrich hurled the wash towel in his hand and it landed directly on the first man’s face with a resounding smack.
“UGH—MY EYES! IT’S IN ME MOUTH—FUC—”
The man staggered blindly. Before the others could react, Emmrich surged forward in a fade step and kicked him square in the chest. The man flew back into a bench and crumpled.
“WHAT THE—WHY IS HE SO FAST—”
Another one of the Lords rushed him, Emmrich ducked and snapped the towel off the face of the fallen man, swinging it like a sling and through a surprising display of athleticism, somehow spun it around the second intruder’s ankle. The towel tightened.
The other man let out a single despairing, “oh no—” before Emmrich yanked, sending him sprawling face-first into the floor. Looking up, the man screamed.
“HE’S AT HALF MAST. THE SICK FUCK IS INTO THIS—RUN—”
The other three screamed in abject horror. One tried to cover his own eyes and accidentally smacked the man next to him, causing the poor fella to slip on a bar of soap.
“STOP LOOKING AT IT—”
“I’M NOT TRYIN’ TO—IT’S LIKE THE THING HAS A MIND OF IT’S OWN—”
“T-That’s a physiological reaction to temperature change!” Emmrich sputtered, voice cracked as he tried to cover himself with one hand and wield the towel with the other. “I am NOT into this—!” As he raised his voice, his eyes glowed green with magic, causing the men in front of him to shriek in fear. Emmrich could only make a strangled noise, somewhere between outrage and embarrassment.
“S-STAY—STAY BACK!” One of them drew a dagger, swinging it from a distance. “YOU STAY BACK!” Emmrich barked, swinging the towel in response. The towel whipped out with a sharp CRACK, catching the man clean across the knuckles. He howled and dropped his dagger, which clattered loudly across the tiles.
As Emmrich closed in on the intruders, they scattered, slipping and scrambling, tripping over benches and each other in total chaos whilst struggling to maintain their balance and cover their eyes.
“WE NEED TO RUN—RUN—”
“RUN WHERE?!? I CAN’T SEE—”
“ALL I SEE IS THAT DAMN DIC—”
“DON’T SAY IT—DON’T—”
With a gasp of pure mortified fury, Emmrich flung out his free hand. “ENOUGH!” A cold wind swept through the shower area, causing the sconces on the wall to flicker. Two enormous spectral hands phased into existence from the ground, his eyes were glowing with anger, and he was absolutely done with this nonsense.
They swooped down, snatching the downed intruders by the leg and hoisting them into the air like sacks of meat. As if it were a miscalculation, the men were dangled face-to-face with the very entity they were afraid of — Emmrich’s very own manhood. The forced proximity caused the men to scream in tandem.
“ANDRASTE’S FUCKING TITS—IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT ME—” Emmrich squeaked and covered his jewels with the towel once more.
Deciding they finally had enough, the other three scrambled through the hole they created, pushing at each other until all three of them vanished out of sight, their screams continuing to echo through the tunnel.
The washroom was silent once again. Water continued to run behind Emmrich as he stood frozen, breathing hard, clutching the tiny little towel to his front like his life depended on it.
Just as Emmrich turned around, he heard rapid, urgent footsteps. Several sets of them.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK—BOOM—
The door to the shower area burst open. A bunch of Mourn Watch patrollers led by Manfred burst into the room, all armed with weapons while Manfred held a pile of towels.
“HALT—WOOOAH—” The group of Watchers almost skidded in their tracks. Some of them nearly slipped on the wet surface. “P-PROFESSOR VOLKARIN!!” They turned away quickly, some of them breaking out into giggles at the sight of their favourite professor, bare for all to see. Emmrich gasped and turned away, opting to show his bare arse rather than front. “Aaaa…ugh.. Well.. I think this is all rather self-explanatory…” He gestured loosely towards the apprehended men.
One of the Watchers simply made a small sound in acknowledgement as they took in the sight of the giant hole in the wall, soaking wet intruders and still running shower. Manfred stepped forward with his selection of large, fluffy towels, much to Emmrich’s relief. Adjusting the towel around his hips, he finally turned around, finally dropping the abused wash towel onto the floor.
Pushing the wet hair out of his face, Emmrich cleared his throat, trying to salvage what dignity remained. “Now, could you please escort these gentlemen to a holding cell, immediately?”
As the intruders were escorted out, one of them wailed, “HE ATTACKED US WITH A TOWEL—”
The other sobbed, “HE WAS NAKED—AND FAST—AND IT WAS IN MY FACE—” The patrollers made a choking noise, only to stop when Emmrich’s glare was directed at them. “STOP SAYING THAT,” Emmrich croaked, voice cracking from mortification. “YOU WALKED IN ON ME.”
Eventually, the rest of the Watchers finally filed out of the washroom. Manfred looked up to Emmrich with a questioning hiss. “Don’t start.” He grumbled, face flushing bright pink.
“...and that,” the scarred Lord of Fortune concluded dramatically, “was the day we met the Volcarnage.”
There was a beat of silence around the table.
Taash choked on a drink, which was pressed into their hands at some point.
Rook pressed both hands over her mouth.
Isabela hung off the side of the bar, wheezing.
Emmrich’s soul left his body for the first time in his existence.
“I—I would like for you to stop using that name—” he tried. But the Lord slapped a hand on his shoulder, eyes sparkling with reverence. “Professor Volkarin, you don’t understand.” His voice shook with awe. “We all talk about that day.”
Emmrich looked like he was about to melt. “...All?”
“Yes, all of us in Rivain,” the Lord exclaimed proudly. “You have no idea how many times that story’s been told around campfires. You are a legend.”
Taash made a strangled sound, somewhere between a giggle and a cough.
Isabela wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, tell them about the ballads.”
“BALLADS—?!” Emmrich exclaimed. “Oh, several,” one of the Lords added. “And a mural.”
Rook slammed both palms on the table. “A MURAL?! WHERE?!”
Emmrich started turning red again, his face so flushed it rivaled sunsets. “Please stop talking. All of you.”
But the Lord of Fortune leaned in, still starry-eyed. “You have to understand, we weren’t angry you arrested us. We deserved it! We were idiots! No— we respect you. You are the only man who has ever singlehandedly defeated five armed Lords while armed with one singular weapon.”
One of the Lords muttered wistfully, “They don’t lie when they say a mage’s body is the weapon…”
Taash finally caved, collapsing face-first into the bar, shoulders shaking. Rook was openly laughing now. “Professor ‘Volcarnage’ Volkarin does sound amazing—”
“STOP calling me that.” Emmrich hissed.
Isabela raised her cup to the gathered lords. “Did you lads want to tell the professor about the fanclub?”
“Oh, yes,” one of them confirmed, “we the Lords are your biggest fans Mr. Volcarnage!”
Rook slid off her chair.
Taash snorted into their pint.
Emmrich buried his face into both hands. “Someone end me now.”
“End you?” One of the Lords of Fortune scoffed. “We’ve been looking for you for YEARS. Do you know how much convincing it took for these bastards to finally believe me? We thought we’d never get to meet the man who towel-whipped Cassian over there into crying for his mum!”
Emmrich shot upright. “He started crying because I BROKE HIS ANKLE—”
“Indeed!” the man agreed eagerly, “With a towel no less!”
Rook, now flat on the floor, wheezed, “This is the best day of my life.”
Taash reached over and patted Emmrich’s back. “Congratulations. Welcome to the team.”
“This is a violation of my dignity.”
“Oh no,” Isabela purred, grinning wickedly. “Technically, you violated their dignity.”
The Lords of Fortune raised their mugs in salute to him.
“To Volcarnage!”
“Volcarnage!” The bar echoed.
Emmrich set his forehead on the bar and whispered, “I should have never left Nevarra.”