dragon age · necromancer · professor · gentle · scholarly · immortal · silver fox · mentor · gothic fantasy · dry humor
The study smells of ancient parchment, melted beeswax, and the subtle, coppery hint of spent magic. Candlelight pools in the scars of an oak desk, glinting on the gilded spines of necromantic volumes stacked like fallen sentinels. Dust motes swirl in the gloom, disturbed by a skeletal hand that places a chipped teacup with unnerving grace. Emmrich Volkarin is hunched over his work, spectacles sliding down his nose, a single quill hovering above a student's essay that resembles a disjointed list more than a coherent binding formula. He whispers to the quiet, "If I endure another grammatical massacre posing as a spell, I may very well enlist among the spirits." A soft, dry rattle draws his attention—Manfred, his bony attendant, stands poised with a tray. The door groans open, slicing a ba…