#thefadediscordserver

In the mornings, he would do his stretches, take his tea with a half spoonful of milk and sugar, if he felt like it, and organize his tasks for the day.

Then he would make breakfast for Manfred and get him dressed appropriately for the weather outside, which led to many compromises between needing and wanting for the young boy.

By the time he set him down at his daycare, it was already eight am. Afterwards, he would get in his old car, drive to the University campus, gaze at the carapace of an especially beautiful chafer specimen, and grab a single coffee. There he would stay to have a small talk with one of the cafeteria workers before beginning his first lecture at nine a.m. sharp.

Archeology had quite the pull. Most wanted to unveil the mysteries of the past through the field that had become popular in the eyes of the broader public. Those who buried their noses into research quickly came across his name: Professor Emmrich Volkarin, expert in mortuary practices in the Forgotten Age and anthropology.

That was, for some part, the reason why at the beginning of each semester there was a mass of shining eyes following his quick handwriting ghosting over the board, while eager ears absorbed every piece of wisdom that he could offer them. He stuffed their ears with concepts, terminology, and ethical questions that bled from his lips, until their heads overflowed, at which point Emmrich would release the bleary-eyed group into the rest of the day.

Over the first three weeks, the numbers would lessen as people realized that they would not reach the glory that they dreamed of, instead ending up in laboratories, in museums, or in contract archaeology in the field. Even if less glorious, it was not any less interesting. At least to him and the remaining students.

With those that stayed, he got to work.

It was at the end of the semester, which had dulled the initial excitement quite noticeably. It was especially evident in the halfheartedly stifled yawns and late-night emails begging for an extension of a paper. Still, Emmrich held himself with pride. No matter how exhausted his students were, they straightened their backs as soon as he walked into the lecture hall and listened attentively.

Some days, it felt like he was a broken record, going over the same concepts time and time and time again until his words felt like they had lost all meaning. But seeing the hope and passion in their eyes, he felt his resolve strengthen.

That was what he wanted to do in life. What else could he hope to wish for?

Between his lectures, he would pass over the campus, yearn to see a certain shock of auburn hue, converse with colleagues, which was mostly Myrna recently, and take a meal.

At thirteen p.m, he had one hour for open consultation.

After he wrapped up his last lecture at fifteen pm, he would pick up Manfred and come back home to his apartment.

The hours with Manfred were precious to Emmrich and he savored them as much as he could, considering the little time they had each day. Late at night, when he would tuck the child into bed, place the stuffed skeleton in the tiny, waiting arms before reading him a story, were among Emmrichs favorite.

For Manfred the day was then finished at eight pm, but for Emmrich the work had just begun. Whisking up finals that were demanding but not cruel, answering emails, speaking about details and literature for papers, and wrangling messages from several of his colleagues.

This could easily last until the the early hours of the morning - especially as they propelled close to the finals- despite him trying to wrap up his tasks before two am.

If fate had mercy on him, he managed to squeeze in an hour or two for his own research. Right now, he was in the middle of reading a paper about the idea that map making was just another type of storytelling, and thus was able to draw attention to - or away from- certain details. He found this concept not only intriguing, because he used GIS for the documentation of graveyards, much like everybody else; the immense love for storytelling was a tendency that he had observed over the course of the last two years and he tried to make room for it as much as he could.

After finishing his night routine, he would fall into bed, exhausted to the bone. If he dreamed of a golden ray of evening light breaking against a stained glass of red wine and searching gray-green eyes, he would speak no word of it.

Then he would repeat this every single day, while nothing ever changed.

Which is why, on a stormy Thursday afternoon, half an hour later than he would have wanted to leave, he was surprised to find himself at Myrna‘s desk, being proposed a rather – he was at loss for a different word- foolish idea.

Putting his elbows on top of the table, he folded his hands. The only lifeline left for him after hearing their plans. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You want to attempt a new interpretation of the infamous Tearstone site; the one Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain researched decades ago?”

“And we want to do an exhibition about it,” the man next to Myrna said. He was a stark contrast to her proper and elegant demeanor. With his button up -unbuttoned almost halfway down- the leather jacket and his graying hair slicked back, he looked like he belonged in a punk-shack rather than an university.

But his name had gotten ahead of him. This was the infamous Varric Tethras. Shaking up the scholarly circles for over twenty years, he was more of a writer and a connector and less a researcher himself. But Varric was well versed in getting the people he wanted arranged in a team that could take on any task, no matter how.

“And we have a good team,” Varric added, dropping another piece of sugar in his pitch-black coffee. His voice was rough but kind, which Emmrich had noticed soothing the woman next to him, who was nervously tapping the tips of her fingers against her leg. “Rook over here is competent and a marvelous cartographer. She also knows how to get out of any situation.”

Emmrich tried not to look at the woman sitting next to Varric too often or too long but he could not help it, as she attracted his gaze like moth to a flame; and he was helpless against his feeling despite the nervous, almost electric, curling in his stomach. Whenever their eyes met, he felt as if struck and promptly looked away in a polite manner.

After Varric had introduced her as Rook and thus given the cue for her to speak, Emmrich had to look at her properly. I am leaving you the words.

Once again it took his breath away.

The long, symmetrical face and high cheekbones were the pale canvas that her freckles painted upon, whereas her scars were the lines that connected the dots to form a pattern of faint red and playful brown. It made Emmrich remember the paper he read and he wondered what story the map on her face would tell.

She wore a marginally oversized beige suit, which was donned with a black line art print depicting beetles, complementing the bug-eye piercing sitting on the bridge of her nose. The belt around her hip had a buckle with yet another bug, fitting to black suit trousers complementing the busy looking blazer. A blouse did not exist, Emmrich had noticed with some pleasantly surprised shock. While the blazer was modest enough and buttoned, there was only buttoned strips of fabric that imitated the button border of a blouse, with several gray fabric pieces flowing underneath the flaps of the blazer. Between those strips was only skin.

While her posture was straight, holding herself as enduring as the Rook that Varric had called upon her brow, he saw her gloved hands trembling. Still, the most fascinating feature about her were her eyes. Green and gray; welcoming yet sharp, looked back at him, mirroring the strange shock of hazy recognition that haunted his insides.

As if captured by a strange spell, he kept his eyes locked on her, unable to tear his gaze away.

An emotion on her face arrived and left as quickly as a summers rain and in its shadow, her voice rose. Melodic, charming and awfully familiar. “Once upon a time, Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain unearthed the side and used it to taint the idea of that time period with their research. It is time that their backwater approach gets challenged. Quite frankly, we believe that they are very wrong about the meaning of the settlement. It’s time find out the true story.”

Through the loud pounding of his heart in his ears, he had to fish through the fractured scraps he could make sense of to understand her meaning. After this, he was, again, too baffled to speak.

Myrna cleared her throat, her eyes flicking between their guests and him and leaned forward with elegant pointedness. “They could use your help. You have expertise that most cannot dream of and are well known enough to protect their credibility.”

Emmrich nodded slowly. After many years making a name of himself, putting his name under a research project was sure to help. “An understandable thought. But I must ask, even if I would agree to this, how would I be able to take care of Manfred?”

“You can bring him, too. They have a lodging to stay at and if it’s too stressful, both me and Vorgoth are available for babysitting at any time." When Emmrich inhaled to protest, she held up her hand, making him choke on the word he wanted to form. "I wanted to take some time off anyway."

Vorgoth was an assistant at the university who had appeared a few years ago, almost as if materializing out of thin air. Noticeable about Vorgoth was that the only color on Vorgoth were the golden rings and arms and hands. Everything else was black on black, with oversized but carefully draped yet baggy clothes. No one knew where Vorgoth came from, no one knew if Vorgoth had a surname, no one knew what Vorgoth had done before, but they all only knew that Vorgoth was exceedingly good at what Vorgoth did and a few knew that Myrna and Vorgoth were dating.

Emmrich realized that he was out of viable excuses. He was not entirely sure if he truly wanted an excuse or if he was simply denying the change out of habit.

“Though we need to fly under the radar for a bit,” Varric said, grimacing. “My friend Solas rather wants to keep the site locked away, you know? Chuckles is antsy when it comes to his family and even more at the thought that we could poke the wasps’ nests, now that he is finally close to getting them to retire.”

“They won’t,” Rook said through her teeth. “They rather want to pester us until they go to their graves.”

“Probably beyond that. But Solas cannot bear to see it. He might be a powerful politician but he also is their baby brother - and a good man. He thinks putting this to rest quietly will save more people than unearthing all the damage this has done.” Varric put his elbows on the table, and looked at Emmrich. “This is why we need you."

Emmrich stilled. He had learned to look beyond outer appearances, the game of pretense that people fell so easily into, and observe what laid beyond.

Underneath Varric’s teasing attitude and rough style, were sharp eyes and an even sharper mind. The mouth that only stopped talking to listen, felt like it was already curving around his mind. Yet, there was something deeply wounded inside the man. A softness he tried to hide from the cruel talons of the world. A good man.

Then there was Rook. Her clothing was unusual - but not as unusual for a field made for specialists and their, at times, questionable fashion choice. What caught his eye was that despite the attempt to hide it as oversized, it was ill fitting and resewn several times.

Maybe that's why she held her back this straight and her head stubbornly high, with eyes that stared right back at a gaze thrown upon her, attentive and bright.

A deep look into them showed him the same thing people had seen when he was younger and less experienced at hiding behind words and gestures. Long before he had enough money to feed himself and Manfred for a week without having to bat an eye.

Understanding filled him. She had an orphan’s eyes. There was no richness, no influential family to catch her should her endeavor make her fall to the ground. If this would fail, she would simply shatter, while the rest of the world would go on. The tapping on her leg became a scurrying.

Underneath this shared truth, there lurked more. A yearning to be known and the terror at being perceived. Despite that emotion making her shiver, she conquered her fear and sat here, now to be seen and soon to be known. Despite that she went against Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Despite that she stared at him, as if he was the one to prove himself and not them.

It reminded Emmrich of childhood stories, where heroines coming from nothing and put into the world on their own would fight evil and bring the world to balance once more. But if they were the heroes and the villains where clear as day, who was he in this equation?

A smirk grew on Varric’s face and felt like his fate had been decided long ago. "What do you say?"

For some reason that he could not quite place – no matter how many hours he stared at his bedroom wall in silent horror the following days – he found himself inspired by them.

With the feeling that his participation had been decided long ago, Emmrich agreed.

That night he dreamed of a familiar voice and a conversation held in hazed wonder once again.

The Team

A few weeks later, he found himself sitting in a cramped, poorly furnished conference room, at a too small table with six other people -and one shaggy dog- none of which he knew except for Rook.

She was fidgety but looked as lovely as ever. Today, she wore a simple dress, dark green, and the same suit jacket she had worn before. The only accessories she allowed herself were her piercing and some earrings. It was a shame. The long elegant hands and slender fingers almost begged to be adorned by rings and bangles.

It was too lax to be considered fitting for the circles Emmrich had been invited to. Looking around the room, he realized that he was seemingly overdressed.

It was almost laughable that he had been anxious about his choice of wardrobe this morning - as Manfred had spilled on his trousers and he had to hastily reschedule from his three-piece suit to another choice entirely - considering the shirts and shorts around him, some stained with grime that had been hastily tried to rub away.

Twiddling with the green cardigan that he had chosen instead, sitting over his brown vest, matching green tie and light brown trousers, he found himself strangely apart.

There were five other people in the room, all but one wearing strips of tape with their name on it. Instead of dwelling on the thought, Emmrich reached for the tape and wrinkled his nose. Usually those left pesky residue on fabric, which would take a deep cleaning to get out. Suddenly he was grateful to not have worn his most expensive suit.

He was in the process of writing his name down neatly on the strip, which proved to be quite difficult, as a woman barged in. In her arms, she tried to balance several coffee cups, various books, snacks, and the strap of her bag which stubbornly slipped down from her shoulder. Her face was tattooed in the traditional Dalish way curving around her cheeks and forehead, framing alert brown eyes now blinking in shock.

“Am I too late? Wait, no. We are only starting in two minutes. I mean that’s what I think or did I get the wrong time again?”

“Easy, Bellara,” Rook said, pointing to the only empty chair left, which was situated between Emmrich and an elegantly dressed woman with a fascinator pinned to her hair, obscuring some of her face. “You are right on time. There is a place left next to Neve and Emmrich.”

Her eyes fell on his half-written name tag and Emmrich held out his hand.

"Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch."

“Oh, hello Professor--" she gasped and grabbed his hand tightly. "You are the Professor I am emailing with?! Professor Volkarin? Oh, I am so glad to finally meet you. I am Bellara Lutare, we have been writing, but you already know that.”

The name did ring a bell. While he had never spoken in person to her before, they had often exchanged emails, after Miss Lutare’s -who was a historian and IT-specialist- first inquiry about his knowledge on the Forgotten Age.

The email itself had arrived at four am, while he had worked on grading papers on the possible recreation and meaning of funerary rites, leaving him with a horrified look toward the clock as soon as he heard the ping. After his response, the correspondence had not stopped as new questions from both sides arose. Seeing the brilliant upcoming researcher now was a pleasant surprise.

She shook his hand two moments too long, while Emmrich anxiously watched the heap of cups that was at risk to spill over him. When she noticed this with a quick turn of her head, she unceremoniously let go and dropped everything on the table, shoving the coffee in the middle of it.

"This is for everyone. I didn't know what you all would drink, so I just got what I saw."

Something in her face shifted and she turned to her other seat neighbor, who elegantly offered her a gloved hand.

“Gallus. Detective and nuisance to local politicians.” Her voice was raspy, sounding as if she smoked regularly, but warm.

“Ah, great. Wait- Neve Gallus? Oh, my gods. This is such an honor. We have a detective? Why do we need a detective?” Bellara shook the offered hand enthusiastically, while her head swung between Detective Gallus and Rook.

While Emmrich wondered the same thing, he noted Rooks scurrying hands again and cleared his throat. At his subtle nod to Rook, Bellara straightened.

Rook’s eyes flicked to the clock that was hanging above them and Bellara followed her gaze. “Oh, yes, um, sorry.”

With that she dropped on the chair between Neve and Emmrich and began typing on her laptop only mere seconds later. Swinging between amusement and utter bewilderment, Emmrich was not sure how to feel exactly. This group certainly seemed to be a lively one but did it truly have the potential to deal with the "elven gods"?

As Rook opened up a power point, standing at the little makeshift podium, a cup of coffee was passed to him by the smaller red-haired woman on his left. He thanked her and waited for Rook to begin.

“Hello, you can call me Rook and I am in charge while Varric is… hindered.”

Ah, yes. Emmrich had heard about Varric’s car accident. The poor soul had been taken from the world of the living far too soon.

“Varric wanted me to let you know that he believes in us. This is why we will venture on. I want to give more insight of our plan and for you all to get introduced. It’s important to know that…”'She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Anyone who wants out, can leave after the briefing but once you’re in, you’re in. You have to know that this could be dangerous. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are not to be underestimated.”

The word danger hung heavy around the group. Usually, the most dangerous thing in archeology was a misplaced ladder or an inattentive driver moving the excavator. Or angering the excavation leader. Yet all issues, no matter how dangerous they could be, were by no means worth a secret meeting and the suspected need to leave.

Rook pressed a button and the first slide started. It was a Title.

The Veilguard Project.

“We will be what Varric has coined the Veilguard and, as most of you already know, we are tasked to reevaluate the meaning of the Tearstone site. Both the settlement and the burial part. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, both coming from a well-connected and influential family, have dug the place fourty years before under...” Her mouth twitched sharply. Once, twice. Then she continued, “Questionable working conditions. The local workers were barely paid and many suffered injuries, which, of course, were quickly brushed under the rug.”

Slides with old pictures of two well-dressed people were shown. They stood in the foreground in each picture and what Emmrich saw made them shiver.

The first was a slender and tall woman who was elegantly dressed. With her pinned updo and the fine silks she was dressed in, she looked as if she did not belong on an excavation. It was only because of the maniacal, cruel glint in her eyes, that Emmich suspected her to be more involved than anyone would anticipate at first glance. For some reason, he felt as if he was due for a vivisection, only that she would look as if she would probe him alive.

She was leaning on the other man, who was well groomed and richly dressed. Standing upright, with broad shoulders, he was above average height but still half a head shorter than the woman. The man had the aura of someone you wanted to listen to, someone that made the rules that everyone would heed, until they realized he had asked them to tie a noose around their own neck.

Such people were dangerous as they were calculated, cruel, and self-righteous.

The cold ice in their eyes made Emmrich’s stomach turn, even with the distortion of time and a camera lens guarding him from them. Thankfully, Rook turned over to a different slide, which depicted several sketches and reconstructional drawings of Tearstone.

"We have evidence of ancient texts that claim Tearstone was a place of trade, of contact between the cultures. For years, it stood unchallenged as one of the greatest places of all time. With several ports, market places, ritual sites, and graveyards it could host up to 4000 people. We do not know what made the place collapse. The texts speak of a sudden destruction of the side that felt almost unexplainable."

Rook took a sip of her drink before continuing. The next slide were several newspaper headlines.

"After Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain excavated, they had a exhibition claiming the solution to be one singular ritualistic dagger. They said it was an isolated, highly militaristic settlement killing and enslaving everything in sight, brought to its end as war ravaged the country. This gave trajectory to their idea that the past has been only violence and death and that the present cannot be anything else."

Now there was a picture of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain again. This time they stood with a bald man, with a cooler aura surrounding him and several other politicians. Emmrich sneered. Of those he recognized, many have had an unwelcome impact Housing, equality and the finance of education. What shocked him the most was not their company, it was the fact that they carried the ancient ritual dagger with them as if it was a mere cake knife.

"They used this to further narratives that shape our history today. Granted, they are only two archaeologists and do not change the course of modern politics. But they have used their connections well and tried to change the perception of the past into the direction they favored, contributing to a lot of misinformation, hate and, frankly, bad research."

"Did no one ask questions?" Neve said, resting her chin on folded hands.

Rook beamed at her. "This is the right question, Neve Gallus. Why do two archaeologists have so much of an impact and why should we all in this room care about them?" A new slide opened. It consisted mostly of newspaper cut outs. Mystery accident left four people injured. Cursed Burial Site Strikes Again- When Will The Horror End? "Whenever people question them? There are injuries and most recently… people that vanish."

A gasp filled the room. Bellara leaned forward. "Like… in a real crime?"

"Yes. Neve herself brought this to Varric’s attention."

"Especially because their brother Solas wants to hide it so bad," Neve added. "Took me a while to figure out who was trying to get away from underneath my nose."

"Now, we have two or rather three objectives," Rook said, lifting a finger. "Firstly, we out the truth because it matters historically and archaeologically. We use our combined skills and reevaluate the site. Then, we will have an exhibition at the Veil Jumper Museum."

Emmrich perked up. One of his former lovers, Strife, was the new curator of the new museum. The last he heard he and his protégé, Irelin, were focusing on ancient elven culture. A feat that had been most warmly welcomed and was well deserved.

"Second objective. We find out the truth about these crimes via detective work and bring the "elven gods" to justice. Last but not least, when they are due for their retirement party in a few months, we will have the exhibition ready and all of our evidence collected so that we can keep them from retiring in peace. Now, I have spoken a lot. Any questions?"

"Are there still some areas left untouched?" Emmrich said, intrigue building under his skin.

"Another good question." She cocked her head at him. "Varric, Harding, and I did quick, legal surveys - in the middle of the night- and found they only touched the ritual site and small parts around it. We estimated two-thirds, of the whole site to be unknown."

At her words, he inhaled sharply. To come to such a controversial conclusion after inspecting only a fraction of a site was more than short-sighted. It was arrogant and, if he was honest to himself, also bad research. Knowing their reputation, he should have expected such behavior.

A person at the other side of the table gave what could be described as both a scoff and a laugh. They were broad shouldered, with several piercings and a long braid with shaved sides. On their left shoulder, a wrinkled strip with a messily scribbled “Taash. They/them or fuck off” was stuck on their shirt.

“We are here to ruin to old people’s days?”, they asked.

The man, whose name tag just said Davrin, he/him, chuckled at that and petted the head of the huge dog that was currently drooling on his lap. “No, we are here to bring those people to justice.”

“And find out the truth!” Bellara piped in.

“Okay, but why do you care?” Taash asked.

“Ah.” Rook intervened quickly, getting the attention back to her. “This is the right question, actually. Davrin, would you tell them about Weisshaupt, please?”

Davrin grimaced. “They came to our base – I was still military back then and guarding some poor archaeologists digging on an ancient ritual site in an unsafe environment. They swept in, harassed the team, got several people fired. Total disregard for anyone’s safety. Then, they send people to work at midnight against the explicit wishes of our boss. There was an accident. They did not follow safety protocol and a wall fell down. People got hurt, one lost her arm, and Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain fled before we were able to question them. When asked, my boss claimed they were never there.”

A quiet anger rose in Emmrich chest, like a promise rising to lips. Why was it always the common people getting hurt by the actions of the few? The room was silent for a moment, as Davrin’swords hung heavy between them, a pained look spreading on his face. “I left with Assan here, as soon as I was able to. Chose to work with archaeologists and got an education as a technician. Swapped the gun for a shovel so to speak. Turns out, the boy is also really good at sniffing bones and ceramics.”

“Ceramics? Where is he when I am trying to throw a new cup?” the woman – Just Harding :) she/her - snorted.

“What, are you here for the pottery?” he answered with a smirk.

“NO. I am here for botany,” she shot back, annoyance pooling in her eyes.

“You’re an archaeologist?” Bellara asked, curiosity painting her expression. “That is so cool. Do you have a comparison field? OH. Do you have forbidden stuff there? Can I see?”

Harding rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do. But why is everyone up in my business about that? The poppy is there almost completely legally”

“Almost?” Neve said, raising an eyebrow. Emmrich marveled at the neatly manicured teal fingernails; a stark contrast to the falsely buttoned vest and purple circles under her eyes.

“Wha-Ah, no! No one bats an eye if the zoologists need to “quickly” decarnate an entire horse in their backyard, but as soon as I have some mildly -”

"It's not quick. Takes a while to decarnate entirely," Taash said and Harding scoffed.

“Just saying,” she said, holding her hands up and leaned back.

“Thank you, Harding, for your introduction,” Rook said, mirth dripping in her voice. They exchanged a friendly glance that spoke lengths about former interactions. “Now, the rest please, while we're already at it. Who are you and what is your field of expertise?"

“Oooh, can I go next?” Bellara asked and, without waiting for an answer, added: “I am Bellara Lutare, I started as a historian and then got into IT. Turns out abroad, this is a real thing, so I studied this and came back. Which leaves me doing all your data and math for you while you go do something else."

"And you can transcribe elven," Rook said.

"Yes, I mean, technically I can but …I haven't done that in a while. I can get into it again, I mean, it's fine. I'll just need a quick refresher." She looked around somewhat sheepishly and nodded uncertainly, which made Rook give her an encouraging thumbs up. With that the attention shifted towards the woman next to Bellara.

“I am Detective Neve Gallus and was asked to acquire some dirt on Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain… If you heard about my work, no you didn’t.” She looked over to Taash. “And you?”

“I’m Taash. I’m an archaeologist.”

“Nothing more?” Davrin said, shifting in his seat as Assans head seemed to become heavy on his leg. Instead of moving, the dog simply drooled and looked at the man with pleading eyes.

They scoffed, squinting at Harding. “Underwater at first. Changed my expertise. Now I'm in zoology.”

Harding shot Taash an accusatory look but they only shrugged, crossing their arms in front of their chest. Davrin shook his head and continued.

“Well, you already know I’m Davrin. I was military and am now an excavation technician. This is my boy Assan. But who is the edgy shadow in the corner?”

The man leaning at the wall scoffed. He was dressed in fine clothing which, despite being expensive looking, was easy to move in and not too flashy. Emmrich noticed that he had even darker eye-bags than Neve Gallus. There was a haunted-ness that hung around his sharp features, that made Emmrich’s heart fill with worry. He did not look beyond the age of 40 but held himself with the exhaustion of a much older person. “Lucanis Dellamorte. And there was no chair left for me, unless you want to swap.”

The room fel awfully silent at the name. The Dellamorte family was famous, or rather infamous, in several countries for being involved in the Crow network.

The Dellamorte family was a group of investors and patrons of various arts and houses, yet if you believed the rumors, this was only a front to dabble in the darkest corner of trades.

“Dellamorte?” Neve’s voice was surprisingly calm. “How are you involved?”

“I owe Rook.” While he said nothing more, the look that passed between them spoke lengths; one of a life saved and a debt that could never be settled.

By the maker, what on earth did she do that saved a Dellamorte’s life? But truth to be told, if he was in her debt, that made him a powerful ally.

“And who is the stuck up back there? Taash spoke up. It took him a moment to notice that the disdainful look was meant for him.

Everyone’s attention suddenly turned to Emmrich. “I-” He straightened himself and folded his hands on the table. His unfinished name strip sat awkwardly ruffled on the table. “I am Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch University. I specialize in Mortuary Practices and Anthropology, which is why I was kindly asked by Rook and Varric to join this project.”

Harding leaned forward. "Wait… I heard your name before. Aren't you famous or something like that?"

"Some of my research broached various fields and many found it resonating with them. Nothing more, nothing less."

To his surprise Bellara shook her head. "No, he is humble. I heard about him so many times already! People love him and those that don't, well, they can't hate him."

Emmrich sighed almost inaudibly, forcing a pleasant smile upon his lips. "Thank you, Bellara."

"You're welcome!"She beamed. With the same enthusiastic energy, she ripped of his name tag from the table and offered it to him. He found himself accepting it and pressing it on his cardigan as neatly as he could, fixing the upper corner several times until it stuck tightly to the fabric.

A warm and uncomfortable feeling kept creeping into his cheeks.

"So," Davrin said now that the attention flew away from Emmrich and turned to Rook. "Why are you here, Misfit Number one?"

While Rook did chuckle at the name, there was a sadness in it that made him halt. She lifted her head up high, fierce eyes meeting the group and spoke with the tone of someone who had recounted this story several times; a lot ending in rejection. How she stood there all alone in the bright light of the projector, made Emmrich wish he could whisk her away, just to make that frown lighten.

Why was there the feeling that he knew the woman lodged in the back of his mind? It almost felt like a constant puckering, a painful ache as he fished for the memory of where he had met her before. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Why did he think of rings when he saw her slender finger?

One of those fingers rose up to scratch a scar on her cheek. “I actually wanted to do my PhD about the usage of beetles in mortuary practices of the Nevarran Storm Age. Had a scholarship mapped out for me and all that. Turns out, speaking against the wrong kind of people at the wrong time will ruin your funding and your future for you. It's easier to fall than to rise after all.”

Emmrich’s mouth turned into a thin line and he felt his stomach turn. He had seen it countless times before. Bright, young students squashed by an unforgiving system. One misstep, one wrong topic breached too early in front of the wrong person- before they gotten so high up no one dared to speak against them - and it could be over before it had begun.

With a controlled movement she searched for the slide of the georeferencation of the side. “I always had a knack for QGIS and making maps in my free time. So, I worked here and there, got different qualifications, spent some time working abroad, and eventually met Varric. He entrusted me with this, said a Rook beats the king and queen if you only find the right story to tell.”

„Wait, you got here by annoying the big people?“ Neve asked, dropping an unholy amount of sugar in her coffee. Emmrich swore he could see Lucanis eye twitch in the corner.

„You could say that. I bite up and work well under pressure. Impressed Varric. But I can understand if it puts you off. As I said, you can leave now. I won’t hold it against you. If you stay, you are in for good.”

No one stirred as Rooks piercing eyes wandered over every single face, solemnly checking in on them, before finally settling on Emmrich.

Their eyes met and suddenly there was another memory: A laugh and the feeling of not being alone anymore. A name came scratching at the back of his head, taunting him, dancing through his mouth, making it taste like honeyed wine and plum until it landed on the tip of his tongue. When she looked away, the moment was over and the name stuffed itself back into his throat. To get rid of the unpleasant feeling, he cleared his throat, making the others turn towards him.

I know you, he thought but the words did not leave his mouth. As the stares of the group continued he brushed off an invisible piece of lint. Thankfully, he did always have a knack for finding the right words when being put on the spot. “It is always most important to have a leader that can work where others fail and that knows how to fight against the odds. You are better equipped to lead the team than many others."

“And we need someone who is not afraid to piss of the wrong people,” Neve added.

"Oh, and having someone good with maps is, well, good!"

They all nodded. Rook seemed more surprised than he had ever seen her.

“Wait, so you are… in?” Rook asked, leaning forward on the table. Determination called back to her from every single person in the room.

“Yes,” Harding said, a vicious glint in her eyes. “Let’s go!”