It was cold and dark. Water lapped on a pale, bloodied, and bruised body.
Where am I? What's happened? Who's there?
A thousand questions streamed through her mind all at once. The attack on her ship had sent her drifting out at sea. Now she felt bare and defenseless. The crisp air of the south stung her. She tasted the filthy air. She was in the Free Marches; she'd determined. Her salt crusted eyes finally opened, stinging as harshly as her wounds. The sky was dark and heavy with storm clouds. She sat up and watched as a couple of urchins fled with her coin. She didn't chase them. She was in no position to hunt down children.
The little woman looked about, surveying her surroundings. She was in Kirkwall. The air here was different from the other times she'd been. There was a thick tension occupying the room for breath. She stood, wobbling to her feet. Her hand immediately lashed out for her neck. She grabbed at the small chain there and held tightly, sighing in relief. She dropped her hands to her sides and started up the stairs, heading for the higher grounds. On her way, she passed a closed off compound. Curiously enough, Qunari inhabited the area. That must've been the source of all the tension. The little fire haired woman passed by, continuing her hike up the stairs.
Eventually she stumbled into what was Lowtown. Now what? Where would she go? She had absolutely no idea what to do. Where would she stay? There must've been a tavern of sorts somewhere… The little woman scouted for a tavern and caught herself at the doors of one; The Hanged Man. She heard a sort of snicker and abominable noise. She whirled around; her black eyes set on a man in a black, half-cape, two more men of the same uniform behind him. Curious, the little woman approached the three in the alley; utterly confused and alert.
"Little poppet, it is so good to see you." The leader of the three grinned maliciously. The little woman's brow furrowed. She crossed her pale arms and shifted her weight to her right foot.
"Morris, what are you doing here?" She asked accusingly, "The Order said I was to be cut from all ties."
"Oh little, naïve poppet. Can you not greet a simple social calling?"
"This is no social call. This is violation of the tenets!" The woman yelled back furiously.
"My, my; the little exile is all in uproar over her lost laws." Morris sneered.
"What have you done Morris?" The woman asked finally. The man's face became dead set serious.
"Alberich… he's escaped." He replied. The woman arched a brow.
"Al? What has he done?" She asked, appalled. Morris grinned.
"Well, for helping you in stealing the Artifact, of course."
"We weren't stealing it Morrison Gales, and you know it!" The little woman spat. Morris backed away.
"You shouldn't speak to your betters that way, Treasa of Arachne…" He practically spat the name with disgust, stepping forward menacingly. Triss stood her ground, staring back just as viciously.
"We will be watching you, poppet." Morris sneered, turning on his heel. The other two followed after him. Triss watched as they disappeared, sighing into her hands. She turned back to the tavern, opening the doors. A brawl had broken out, and lots of blood sprayed in her direction. She groaned and shut the door, turning around towards Hightown.
Near the market district, men in black uniforms matching Morris's stepped out of alleyways, weapons armed and trained on Triss. She stopped, looking over her opponents. Each one was perfectly capable of capturing her in this position. Some were simple mercenaries in fancy outfits. Triss began to back away. The crowd of hunters came towards her. She turned and ran fast down the steps, skipping several with each pounding of her feet. The men were fast. They caught up with her. Triss took a sharp turn and quickly scaled up a building, running along the rooftops.
Some of the men followed after her, chasing her back down to Lowtown. Triss could spot the drastic change in rooftops. Some men slipped and fell back to the ground. The others wouldn't fall as easily. Triss sighed inwardly and flicked her fingers, small knives protruding from her sleeves. She slung one black blade at a man, the knife imbedding into his eye. He screeched, falling. The knife came back to Triss's fingers as if it were on string. She looked in front of her just in time to leap to another set of houses. The landing was great, until the thatched roof collapsed beneath her. Triss let a sharp shrill escape her as she toppled down with the rubble.