Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Warden had seen a cemetery like the one in Saint Isidora only once before in his life, when he was a child with his uncle in Nevarra. Of course he’d come across the occasional private boneyard behind a family’s home, but this was different. Four dozen monuments, at least, decorated the sprawling plot, overrun with moss and desert lilies. His tolerance for the unusual was high, but the thought of all those bodies - so many potential undead - being so close to civilization made him queasy. His objective was the small church beside the graveyard, built to serve the relatively significant Nevarran population. Lights inside still looked to be burning, so with any luck he’d be able to speak to who he needed to tonight.

“What do you make of all this, Assan?” He gave his mount, a young griffin, an affectionate pat. “Think this fellow will help us?” Assan responded with a little buck and the Warden chuckled. “Okay, okay. We’re almost there.” Outside the church he dismounted and tied Assan’s harness to a post before tossing him a piece of dried nug from his pouch.

“Stay here, boy. Hopefully I won’t be long.” Assan shook out his feathers and laid down.

The chapel was more…extravagant than he expected. Tacky was the word that actually came to mind, but he tried to be considerate when it came to working with other cultures. Tried. Much of the decor was made of bones - skulls, pelvises, femurs, arranged in bizarre shapes and displays. The flames in the candles were edged with a strange green.

“Hello?” He called out.

“Ah!” A human man, older and handsome, stood up from behind the pulpit - adorned with bones, of course - and waved the Warden over. “I thought I heard someone outside. Father Emmrich Volkarin.” He extended a hand and the Warden went in for the loudest handshake he’d ever experienced as the jewelry around the priest’s wrist and fingers jingled together.

“A pleasure, Father.”

“Oh, just Emmrich will suffice. And you are?”

“Davrin. Just Davrin.”

The priest nodded. “Marvelous, Davrin. I'd received missive that a Warden may be headed our way. What brings you?”

“Well,” he hesitated, “You know us. Always looking for some trouble. I’m making sure nothing unusual is thinking about waking up around here.”

Emmrich raised his eyebrows. “Has there been some cause for concern?”

“There might be. Can’t say for sure yet.”

“Well I assure you, the clergy of the Saint Isidora Mourn Watch is here to assist however we can.”

Davrin nodded. “About that. I was told to look for a gentleman of your order - Ingellvar, I think the name was?”

“Of course, he’s precisely the person a Warden should speak with.” He picked up a candle and gestured for Davrin to follow him towards a dark set of stairs at the back of the sanctuary.

“Who is he, exactly?”

“Our undertaker, and as of recently, coroner. Sure to be aware of any untoward goings-on.”

“I suppose a corpse handler would be.”

“Now now, don’t be impolite,” Emmrich replied brightly as they descended. “I know our ways are out of the ordinary for many, but keep an open mind! You may learn something.” At the bottom was a door left cracked into a pitch dark room from which emanated a strange, low murmuring. The priest knocked at the wall.

“Titus, my boy!”

“Give me a moment, Emmrich,” came a voice from the darkness, younger than Davrin had expected. The murmuring grew louder before a flash of green light burst from the room, then faded into a subdued glow and the voices were no more. “There we are. Come in.”

Emmrich led the way into what Davrin quickly realized was a morgue. On a table in the center was a body, well dressed and grotesquely preserved with jolts of necrotic magic running over it. No, no amount of cultural appreciation would allow him to fully accept the appalling way the Mourn Watch handled their dead. He tried to swallow his disgust and turned his attention instead to the man standing by the table, short and slim, in a strange protective mask and hood.

“Who’s this?” The man asked.

“This is Davrin. A Grey Warden! Davrin, my friend and colleague, Titus Ingellvar.”

The undertaker looked him over. “A Warden. Interesting.” He pulled off the mask, allowing his long ears to spring free, and shook loose his hair. “Did something happen?”

Davrin allowed himself a moment to take in the elf standing before him. Hair like dragonfire fell around his flushed face and sea-green eyes. He was beautiful. He shook himself alert.

“Just looking into a few things. Our Nevarra City correspondent said you might be the man to talk to.”

His ears flicked up. “Someone from Nevarra City sent you? To talk to me?”

Davrin shrugged. “That’s what I was told.”

Emmrich chuckled and clapped a hand on the undertaker’s shoulder. “You see? They haven’t given up on you entirely.” Titus shook him off and glanced at his timepiece.

“I have a half hour. Let’s talk. Emmrich, could we use the vestry? I hate to make our guest spend too much time down here.” He smiled and Davrin’s heart skipped a beat. In this dank, rotted cellar of a room, his smile was like the sun.

“Of course. I think I’ll be turning in soon, but please do let me know if I can be of any assistance. Lock up before you leave, won’t you Titus?”

Titus nodded and Emmrich headed back up to the chapel.

“I just need to put some things away and we can move upstairs. You’re here about the thing in the well, aren’t you?” He asked as he grabbed tools and jars of strange liquids and stuffed them into cupboards.

Davrin blinked. “I suppose if we’re gonna be upfront about all this, then yes. I am.”

“I wondered how long it would take for anyone to notice it.” Finally he removed his gloves, tucked them away, and gestured towards the stairway. “Come on, you didn’t sign up to spend time with corpses like I did.”

“I signed up for whatever I have to do.” He smiled and followed the undertaker.

“…You might need that attitude for this one,” Titus replied quietly.

In the vestry the two were greeted by a small animated skeleton, and Davrin recoiled. “You have undead right here? In the church?”

“He’s not exactly undead.” The skeleton slumped and Titus gave it a pat. “Don’t worry Manfred, our guest just isn’t used to places like this. Be a friend and make us up some tea?”

The skeleton hissed and wandered out of the room.

“He’s Emmrich’s…well, servant isn’t the right word. Project, more like. He’s harmless.”

“What do you mean he’s not undead?”

“Well, the thing animating the skeleton isn’t the spirit that originally occupied it. Whoever that was is long, long gone.”

“I can’t even pretend to understand what kind of difference that makes.”

“That’s hardly what’s important right now, anyway.” He checked his timepiece again. “The thing in the well. It is undead, and very seriously so.”

Davrin shook his head. “Is this not what happens when everyone is so loose and open with necromancy? You’re surrounded by bodies, it seems inevitable.”

Titus rolled his eyes. “I didn’t expect any different from you, I suppose. The thing in the well was never a person. And we’re not going about raising the dead all willy-nilly. I don’t know what you think we do and I don’t particularly care. But this thing wasn’t us.”

“So what is it, then?”

“Something that’s been down there a long, long time. And I think you’re here because you think it may be blighted.”

Davrin snorted. “You think a lot of things.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not necessarily. So how do you know all of this?”

At this Titus hesitated. “I…have a particular sense for necrotic energy.” Davrin could feel that it wasn’t the whole truth.

“What kind of sense?”

“I can hear spirits like that when they’re nearby. That one’s loud, and angry. But it’s patient. Waiting for something.”

Manfred returned with a tray of tea, setting it a little clumsily on the table between them.

“Good job, pal.” Titus rubbed his skull and he hissed contentedly before leaving again.

Davrin took a sniff and then a sip. “Oh, that’s terrific.”

“Emmrich imports his leaves from Nevarra. They do it well there.”

“Are you from Nevarra City?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just curious, is all.”

“Yeah, I’m from the city. Been a few years since I’ve been home, though.” He sipped at his tea.

“Something holding you back?”

A dark look passed over Titus’s face for just a moment before he returned to his pleasant demeanor. “Had a bit of a falling out with some of the folks in charge over there. But nowadays I just…don’t leave Saint Isidora.”

“Got roots down here now, huh?”

“Something like that.” Yet again he checked his timepiece. “I don’t have much longer tonight. Tomorrow I can take off a little early and show you where the well is, if you like.”

“That would be fine,” Davrin replied. “Got somewhere to be tonight?”

Titus glanced away. “Just home. I keep a tight schedule.”

“Let me walk you there?” Davrin gave him a smile and Titus blushed a little. “Hate to see you have to walk home alone.”

“Oh I…thank you, but no. I’ll be fine. You have somewhere to stay in town?”

“I saw a couple inns on my way in. Any recommendations?”

“I have a friend at the Bogfisher's Plunge, but any of them will do. Just don't stay at the Pride of Antiva.”

“What’s wrong with the-“

“Just don’t.” He stood abruptly. “I have to leave. Come by here before dusk tomorrow and we can go to the well. Now you go first, I have to lock up.”

Davrin hesitated, then tipped his hat. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Titus.”