Beyond the Veil [Athadra]

The wonders of this new place were utterly lost on Athadra, as she'd woken up in an alleyway after what had felt like a year asleep, with hardly enough time to get a sense of herself as she stumbled into something resembling a main thoroughfare. When she'd last closed her eyes, she'd been atop a tower, dressed in battlescarred armour and wielding a runed sword that she had plunged through a dragon's eye. Here, in this place, she had all of the scars and ache's she'd accrued in her fight against the darkspawn, all of the chorded muscle and instinct, but she had none of the regalia; now she was dressed in simple homespun clothes not unlike what she might've worn had she been born without magic and thus been allowed to grow into her family's life on the sheepfold where she was born.

Shock and confusion quickly gave way to suspicion and annoyance when her appearance began causing a sensation in the city folk---at first, she simply assumed she was in a Fereldan town unused to seeing any elves, but it quickly became apparent that these people were not Fereldans...perhaps not even Thedosians at all. When a mob began forming, Athadra conceded the better part of valour and made an escape, though her battle-sharpened instincts had her trying to ready her magic in case violence was inevitable...only to feel her mana gutter in her nerves, the familiar connection to the Fade severed as thoroughly as though she'd been made Tranquil. Upon this discovery, a flush of anxiety and adrenaline carried her past the city's limits; for many long moments she worried that she'd suffered the Rite, and had been stuck in some strange part of the Fade, where she'd be condemned to wander until her physical body was disposed of by templars.

A plan took shape in the thrall of her speculative fear, to find a forest if there was a forest to find, where she might take shelter and take proper stock. Unfortunately there seemed to be no trees within sight of the port town, so Athadra picked a random direction, still trying to extend her senses beyond the limits of her flesh, with no real success. She still felt the power of her own blood in her veins, whispering to be let loose, but she had no proper implements to accomplish that task, and little confidence in the result even if she did. Such thoughts took her attention, so that when the strange man's voice carried to her sensitive ears, she flinched and rounded upon him, quickly falling into a defensive posture.

"You don't dress like a templar," she observed, once she'd scanned him from forehead to feet. Though he had over a foot on her height, his size did not intimidate her---his potential to be a demon was much more worrisome. "I don't want anything you've got, and you can't have anything of mine. If you be a spirit, you'd be wise to begone."