The Wrath of Heaven

Year 9:41 Age of the Dragon

The overwhelming smell of medicinal herbs and sickness permeated the healer's hut, a moderately sized building nestled on a hill in what had once been a quiet corner of Haven. Ragged coughs, labored wheezing and pained moans filled the air as Haven's resident healer tended to them.

"Shh your going to be fine." A gentle musical tone crooned, as cool cloth soothed fevered skin. The young soldier let out a wheezing sigh as he shivered under the thick wool blankets, breath coming in shallow gasps and eyes closed in exhaustion. The senior healer continued to speak in a deep and melodic tone that sounded otherworldly, an all but forgotten language. Returning the cloth to the basin, wringing it slightly before it was placed on the man's clammy forehead. A few moments later he was silent, falling into a peaceful sleep.

The basin was returned to the table by the front door where it had come from; the small hut had become quite full in the last few days, as a number of the soldiers had been brought in with symptoms ranging from fatigue to unexplained confusion and severe trouble breathing. Other cases, involving physical injury had to be diverted to the Apothecary next door to keep the numerous cases of altitude sickness contained and out of the way. The soldiers had arrived to aid in attempting to fight back against the growing horde of demons falling from the Breach, but had made little progress with the rifts growing, with the rate that the soldiers were arriving many were falling sick. With no time to take the normal gradual assent to Haven and then on up to the Temple, many of the lowland soldiers were suffering severely from the change in altitude. Without Cirilla, and her particular grasp on the healing arts, many of the young men would have to be sent down to lower regions or risk death.

Topping off the bowl with fresh cold water, her task was interrupted by the door opening as an elf child walked in, carrying a large clay pot in both arms.

"Ah, good Adan finished it just in time, thank you Rena." The jar was placed on a shelf by the fireplace, next to an identical but far less full container. It held a special herbal mixture from the Apothecary next door that Adan had been gracious enough to supply her with, at the current rate she was going through jars of the mixture a day brewing teas to help keep her patients hydrated and help there bodies adjust to the thinner air. It seemed she was able to release one only to have more brought in.

"Serah Cirilla, ya should really get some rest." Rena said, dusting off her hands as she used a foot to push the kettle further out over the fire, setting it to boil.

"I am fine Rena, but thank you for your concern." the woman replied with a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she patted the 14 year old elf on the head.

"Hey," The girl giggled quietly, cautious not to wake the sleeping sick. "But really you spend all night an' most the day in 'ere. Your going ta get run down and then you'll be the one get'n sick. How's dat gonna help anyone?" She asked, thick city accent in full effect as she put her hands on her small hips in a pose reminiscent of a scolding mother.

The elfling had come to live in Haven with her aunt some six months back, it had been quite a cultural shock for the young girl to go from the packed alienage of Denerim to the small town of Haven, but she had adapted quickly. The girl's aunt was the local seamstress and had tried to get Rena to take up the trade as well, but with little luck. Rena had had no interest in the trade nor patience to learn. It was only after Ciri had taken the girl out with her to collect herbs that she showed any interest in anything and it seemed herb lore had been just the thing. After that Rena had been taken on as her apprentice as well as studying under Adan when things were slow. She would be a brilliant healer or alchemist, that is when she finally decided on which profession to go into.

"I will be fine." Cirilla said kneeling down next to another patient and tucked the blanket up snugger around him. "But if you insist, I suppose I could take a short rest. Would you mind keeping an eye on them for a bit?"

"Sure thing boss." the girl said fist to her chest saluting cheekily, imitating the soldiers she had seen on the training field, her twin braids swishing by her pointed ears as the unevenly cropped brown hair stuck out haphazardly.

"Thank you, Da'len." she said taking off the apron she wore over her normal clothes and hung it in it's proper place on the wall by the door, before taking up her fur-lined shawl. Draping it over her shoulders she adjusted her head scarf, tucking a stray lock back in place. Her dark red hair was normally secured in a tight bun but despite her best efforts strands still managed to escape while she worked. Before making sure her sensitive ears were covered, out of contact with the bitter cold wind.

Picking her satchel up she pulled it over one shoulder and cast one calculated look at her sleeping patience, alert for any sign of distress or agitation but all were sleeping, if a little fitfully. Slipping out of the door she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and braced against the winter mountain chill, evening was setting in and the snowy landscape was being lit in a sickly green glow.

The Breach was loud overhead, the creatures being pushed and pulled through the tear in the Veil; some were thrilled to be through, while others feared the waking world as they were twisted and warped into something they were not. The assault on her mind, the moment the Breach had opened had been a gong going off in her head; it was deafening, blinding and disorienting all at the same time. Then the screaming had started; spirits and demons alike, it had taken a great deal more effort than she would ever admit to raise her shield fully and block out the Breach. That had been two days ago; she had gotten accustomed to it now enough to be able to extend her senses again without being overwhelmed. Haven seemed blissfully deaf to the commotion above them; not of the demons raining down but the turmoil just inside the tear.

Cirilla had seen many strange and terrifying things in her time: a civil war forgotten in history, the annihilation of her entire Order and the obliteration of their stronghold in a single night. She had seen the terror that was the First Blight and the four that followed. She had born whitness at the very birth of a new Order; so much like her own in service to all of Thedas, astride mighty Griffins. Watched them as they swore their oaths to defend the lands from future Blights. She had seen a innocent slave child embrace the old magic like few could, she watched with trepidation as the child grew to lead in the name of her deity and saw as her death changed the world.

The hole in the sky had just moved up close to the top of the list of unusual things she had never wanted to witness. Just above that incident in Nevera; involving a nug, a dwarves sculpture and a band of intoxicated Tal-Vashoth.

Shaking the image from her head with a distasteful grimace, Cirilla turned away from her hut and headed down the warn path toward The Singing Maiden. Passing the hut, that until recently had been used as storage space; emptied over the last few days as they used up the food stores even as more arrived daily. Now it was the refuge of the elven apostate, Solas.

The elf was seated on a crate with one foot drawn up in the seat with him, back leaning against the wall and staff propped against his shoulder. He looked to have been asleep until eyes cracked open at her approach, sharp and clearer than normal for someone just waking.

"Good evening." He greeted politely, inclining his head before resettling back against the hut wall.

"Greetings Solas." she replied nodding her head in acknowledgment, a stiff smile on her face. To say she found the elf unnerving would have been an understatement. She had not noticed anything unusual at first when she had been introduced to the apostate in passing the first evening after the Breach had opened. Having been suffering from a severe headache and trying to reinforce her mental shield. It had taken till the next morning before she had found a manageable height for the defenses to settle at; still allowing her mind to connect and be aware of those around her without being overwhelmed. It had become quite obvious then, the void.

Every life form possessed an almost visible energy; from the smallest plant to the largest dragon. Sentient life forms took that to the next stage; minds capable of processing emotions, fear, sadness, guilt, joy. All this Cirilla could sense and if she chose there was another level to delve into; to bare a mind open like a book, view memories as if they were her own and unearth secrets that would never see the light of day otherwise.

For the most part Cirilla remained on a delicate balance between perceiving the life force and emotions of those around her, delving deeper only when needed; usually a thought on the surface of someone's mind, to help in comforting a distraught patient. To witness the thoughts of everyone around her would have not only gone against what she had been taught was morally right, but more so it would have been as distressing as the Breach itself. All those emotions not her own; she didn't want it, not their pain and guilt, not their anger or fears. She didn't want any of it.

Then there was Solas, sitting there on the crate before her; his energy slightly brighter than most around him. Obviously a mage; those who channeled the energy of the fade tended to grow brighter than non-mages. She didn't even need to see him cast to know his mastery was in rift magic as well as an inclination toward spirit magic, given the orange flecked green tint the normally colorless energy took, just visible if she put any focus into looking.

She could see him there; watching her disinterestedly garbed in threadbare but practical clothes, vibrant and alive as Adan just down the road. She could tell the alchemist was currently brooding in a fowl mood, but the elf before her was strangely silent. Not just silent but completely guarded in a manner that had been lost over fifteen hundred years ago.

"Would you wish to join me for a meal?" she asked courteously probing, the shield was not just some hastily thrown together defense; it was smooth and mirror like, constructed masterfully in a manner so that it wasn't obvious that it was even there, if it had not been for the gaping lack of sentient thought.

"Not at present," the Elf shook his head stiffly, "Seeker Pentagaste is wanting answers that I have yet to be able to provide. I have been conferring with the Spirits but it has been a trial in patience."

"Spirits not cooperating?" She asked.

"More of that there is a never ending parade of people going through my room." He stated sardonically, gesturing at the convenient soldier who was exiting said hut with a sack of oats swung over one shoulder. "I can get no peace."

"Maybe another time." She offered pulling her shawl tighter about her shoulders, "Dareth shiral, Solas." Heading down the steps, her feet sure on the icy surface. The Elf was a mystery she could solve at another time. While an oddity if he could help seal the Breach she was more than content to let him at it; then later if they survived, figure out who had trained him to produce such flawless mental defenses. After 18 hours of tending to the sick, she was drained and really only wanted a hot meal at the moment; if the ages had taught her anything it was patience.

The tavern was crowded and loud but far warmer than the air outside. Ordering her dinner, Cirilla picked out a small table that rocked haphazardly when she set down her bowl and mug of tea. She knew most of the locals having been the village healer for the past three years, most of them had come to see her at one time or another. The newer residence though, she was still getting to know; more and more seemed to be pouring in by the day since the Conclave had exploded.

Picking at her food she watched as the tavern patrons milled about and Cirilla could not help but shake her head. Some things would never change; while the locations and cultures would be different as night and day, you could always find someplace were the alcohol flowed, food was hot and locals could chat.

She had wandered into the village a few years back and had decided on a whim to stay, it was quiet and people didn't ask many questions about her past. To them she was simply Cirilla Vrangvard the odd healer who kept to herself. It was a nice place to hide away for several years, maybe even a decade before moving on.

The last fifty years of her life had been spent in or around Fereldon with a few treks into Orlais on occasion; it was about time she moved on, maybe back up north. It was still to soon to take residence back up in Denerim again. Over the years she might have stopped coming to the south all together; Fereldans were filthy cheese lovers that reeked of dog, Orlais made up for the cleanliness and lost even more points with their completely impractical fashions and constant backstabbing. Add in the pushiness of the local Chantry; when they found not only was she able to quote most of the Chant of Light, after one bored winter in the Free Marches two centuries back. Only to find out she was not Andrastian and was in fact beyond conversion.

What kept her coming back was the local avvar tribes. They're cultural differences to most of Thedus had them viewed as heathen, to Cirilla they were a welcoming comfort. Anything magical in most of Thedas was viewed as something to be controlled and monitored, someone who had lived far longer than proper was automatically labeled Abomination. The other part would have wanted to study her, Tevinter in particular, even try to replicate her longevity; something she would never allow attempted again. The Avvar were different, their view of magic was freer and in tune with their simple lives. She had tended to drift from one tribe to another, change was a part of their lives and so nothing was permanent. While there were a few who had taken issue with her ageless appearance even after several decades, the Avvar as a whole had adapted to her peculiarities and accepted her. In return she had offered them her wisdom and counsel in times of great need; even representing a clan long ago to gain a rather impressive clan-beast.

She had even been persuaded into marriage on several occasions, though only once in resent memory. Like everything in their culture even marital bonds were not forever; and so left Cirilla less burden by being forced to choose between breaking vows or being tied to watch a lover as age took him. She had left that life and her most resent lover almost twenty years ago now, with him she had left a son full of boastful pride and approaching manhood. She wondered if he had learned some of his father's sense as well as his looks, apart from her hair. Movran had always said nothing good could come from that fact, particularly after the eight year old had picked a fight with a gurgut barehanded and had surprisingly gotten out of the fray mostly intact. Had he taken over a Chieftainship of his own or been cut down in his arrogance? A sad thought, and brutal fact, but so was the life of the Avvar.

Maybe it was time to head back to Tevinter; It had been-what nearly eighty years now since she had been to the country so close to her native lands. Despite what the ancient Tevinters had done, enslaving the elves and all but destroying their culture. Cirilla would always view the country as the closest thing to her homeland as was possible to find in this day and age.

There were still full streets in Minrathous that had barely changed with the passing ages, with architecture a ghost of an echo of what she had grown up around. A cruel reminder of the home she had lost and the oath she had failed when she had woken from the long sleep, truly alone for the first time and the elves so far fallen.

Cirilla stared down into the broken reflection in her tea, part of her wanted to go back. To see what had become of her family there, unlike with the Avvar who embraced change, it had been hard leaving Tevinter that last time. She had been involved with a scholar there, his family had disproved of their relationship but Mettius had always had some way of placating them.

Mettius Vedius Sejanus had been a soft spoken young man when she had met him, she had been teaching a history class at the college. He had immediately become enraptured in the subject, much to his parents displeasure when he had told them he would not be completing his magical studies. They had become friends over the course of his studies and when her tenure had ended he had invited her to accompany him on his first expedition to some far off ruin. One trip had turned into two and then three; with each trip more and more years seemed to go by and Cirilla was finding it harder and harder to make herself leave. Then one night she had flat out said she was leaving. That was the first time in all their years together she had ever heard Mettius get angry, even when dealing with his pushy relatives he never so much as raised his voice.

He had known, or at least had suspected she had been hiding something even back when he had studied under her. He had always loved puzzling things out, whether an obscure text or his strangely knowledgeable companion. And then things had begun to change, she had stopped being a puzzle he wanted to unravel and slowly began to care deeply for the woman who hadn't aged a day since he had met her seven years ago.

He had wanted to see things the way she did, why this temple brought a fond smile to her face? What mentions of certain era made her smile just a bit sadder. He wanted to know all these things, but he never asked, not after he had slowly begun to fall for her. He knew with every passing year, with each sad smile she sent him when they had completed yet another expedition; if he asked, that was all it was going to take and she would run never to be seen again in these lands during his lifetime. Then she had said she was leaving and something snapped.

"I don't care," he had shouted at her, "I won't ask and you don't have to tell me a thing more than you want too. To hell with what other people say. We can leave the country, there are plenty of old things down south that need unraveling. Just please don't leave me over something as stupid as this. Unless you have truly grown bored of my company."

She knew she would regret not leaving, some days she had even second guessed herself and nearly packed to leave again. She knew how this was going to end, and for some pathetic reason she allowed her self to stay. She was never meant to be alone, the scar on her palm said as much and yet here she was year after year, age after age going through the same destructive cycle, clinging to a companionship knowing one of these days it was going to break her.

They traveled for many years together all over Tevinter and the Free Marches, even a few years in Rivaine. They had split up for a few days when exploring some seaside ruins trying to take advantage of the tides and full moons, something she would always regret.

She had known something had been wrong when she got back to camp to find the fire cold. She had found Mettius, fevered and barely breathing in his tent. The healing amulet she had gifted him doing what it could, but it had taken several powerful healing spells to dislodge the foreign disease she could feel in his lungs, suffocating him. The two men that had been with him were long dead, Cirilla had to burn them and their things or risk the plague spreading.

Mettius had never fully recovered after that, he had tried to continue traveling for her sake but it was clear his health would not hold in cooler climates or when the weather turned. They moved back to Tevinter, got a descent sized house in a quiet district of Minrathous and settled in so that They might finally sift through the years of research and Mettius might finally get it all published. His black hair had been greying by then she recalled taking a sip from her lukewarm tea.

She had stayed like she had promised, even when people had begun to gossip. Dispite her best efforts Mettius had died from his illness, though not until he had lived to see their daughter married off. Cirilla had left then, her daughter moving on with her life and unable to sit back and watch another loved one whither and die before her. She would be an old woman now, Cirilla mused sadly, if she even still lived. It had been a long time since they had written, not since her granddaughter had been married off to some Magister and likely had grown children of her own by now.

"Hey Kitty, why the long face?" Came the charismatic voice of Varric Tethras as he seated himself uninvited across from her at the rickety table and drawing her from her somber thoughts.

"Hmm," Ciri hummed looking up from her food. "Hello Varric."

"Patient causing you trouble?" He guessed looking her over.

"No, just wondering how some people I know are handling all of-this." She gestured at the ceiling in a general indication of the Breach above.

"I'm sure they are fine, Kitty." Varric said in that charismatic tone of his, the one that had the locals practically falling over themselves to eat up his most resent tales. "Where are they, no offense but you don't sound like most of the locals?"

"Around," Ciri hedged with a secretive smile.

"Come now Kitty," The dwarf prodded good naturedly, "throw me a bone here. I'm not the only one curious, give me a bit and I'll come up with my own story, with proper embellishments of course."

"If I start giving up my secrets now then people might realize how boring my life really is," Ciri proclaimed in mock dispair, "No I believe I enjoy it far better with the less I say. Unless of course you would like to swap stories. I'd love to hear all about that crossbow of yours-Bianca wasn't it."

"Alright, alright you win Kitty." Varric said throwing his hands in the air in defeat, though he was still smiling kindly.

Varric always had a way with names, particularly for those he took an interest in. Kitty had been his name for her right off the bat, he had been trying to get her attention when a load of wounded from the first attempts at containing the Breach had gone horribly wrong.

"Hey, Cat Eyes!" had been what had caught her attention enough to focus on the dwarf and the wounded man he had been aiding. Later the name had simply been shortened to Kitty, or Kitty Cat on occasion. The source of the name had been obvious, eyes the color of liquid gold made even more unique by the elongated pupils that gave them a feline appearance.

For the most part Cirilla was passed off as any other human commoner, despite her unusual eye color. That is until her ears were on display; small ears that tapered to a fine tip. Normally they were obscured enough by her hair or given the cold climate hidden by a hood or scarf away from the biting chill. Paired with a facial structure that had the slightly sharp and angled look that could very easily have labeled her an elf if not for the fact that her build was far to tall and broad to believably pass as an elf. Most people assumed she was some cross of races even though it was well known that any children born from the union of an elf and a human, would be born human with no elvish features.

Ciri took a bite from her stew contemplatively. "Has Cassandra been bothering you again?" She asked in between bites and gesturing her spoon at the dwarf.

"Nah, not since she got her new obsession," Varric said with a dismissive wave of the hand and taking a drink from his tankard. "She's been leaving me be for the most part." Chewing thoughtfully as she eyed the Dwarf with a knowing amusement. She had a great many dealings with Dwarves over her life time and had always been fond of the sturdy creatures, her first posting after she had graduated out of the rank of apprentice had been in one of the Dwarven outposts. It was there that she had made her first friend who had had no connection to the Order and he had sheltered her and Arisaari for a number of years after the events that had destroyed her home. That had been back when the Dwarves had been more open to building settlements that reached all the way up to the surface, in what was now western Orlais. She always enjoyed the chance meeting of a Dwarf who was comfortable in the openness of the above lands of Thedis.

"Feeling neglected by your Seeker, are you?" she asked breaking off a piece of hard crust from her bread and dropping it in her stew to soften it. Jabbing it with her spoon to keep it from floating back up in the rich broth, she smiled teasingly at the Dwarf.

"I'll admit maybe a little," Varric conceded with a chuckle, "life just isn't the same when I don't have Cassandra prowling about with that disproving scowl on her face, making me look over my shoulder every few seconds." Ciri laughed softly shaking her head, soon enough Varric was called away by another patron leaving the healer to finish her meal in peace before returning to her hut to check on her patience.