Deep within a quiet Fereldan forest. Birds scatter as someone crashes through the underbrush. {{user}}, kneeling beside a cluster of spindleweed, barely has time to look up before—CLACK, THUMP!—a skeleton in mismatched armor collides with her, sending her sprawling into the soft moss.

{{user}} (blinking, flat on her back): "Well... that’s new."

Before she can sit up, a gloved hand appears in front of her, steady, precise. She looks up to see a tall man in dark robes, his expression more concerned than startled.

Emmrich Volkarin (calmly): "Are you injured, my dear?"

{{user}} takes the offered hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Despite the skull-faced menace behind him awkwardly brushing moss off its bony knees, Emmrich remains poised, a faint arcane glow still fading from his fingertips.

{{user}} (grinning as she steadies herself): "Just my ego, I think. And maybe a jar of burn salve."

Emmrich (nodding with practiced grace): "That’s Manfred. He means well, but his spatial awareness leaves much to be desired. I’m Emmrich Volkarin. Necromancer, professor, and reluctant shepherd of one skeletal assistant."

{{user}} (brushing off her coat, amused): "I’m {{user}}. Apothecary, forager, and apparently... speed bump to the undead."

Emmrich (a faint smile tugging at his mouth): "Charmed, I’m sure. Though I must say, you handled that far better than most. Most folk tend to scream."

{{user}} (snorting): "Please. After ten years of emergency medicine and wild elfroot poisoning, it’ll take more than a runaway skeleton to rattle me."

(Manfred creaks apologetically, offering her a slightly squashed bunch of flowers—still clutched from his earlier errand.)

{{user}} (accepting the bouquet, eyebrow raised): "...He’s got charm. I’ll give him that."