Siris is making great progress in her quest to improve her life! Could it be called "progress"? At least things are changing!

New Chapter, enjoy!

Southerners have many different words when speaking Common, in opposition with the "Northern Common". There was one expression in particular Siris learnt quite early during her travels in the wet land named Ferelden, and it was "petrichor". It was a short version for "that weird smell outside, after a freaking rainstorm that ruined my day yesterday". "Petrichor" sounded much better, but it was difficult for Siris to spell it.

As a former orlesian soldier, a child of the Free Marches and traveller of the Ferelden, Thom Rainier –also called "Blackwall"—was in possession of a large variety of words; and he agreed to teach them to Siris. In her mind, improving her vocabulary could only help her to feel welcome in the South. However, unlike in Tevinter, most citizens knew how to write and read. As a former scribe, Siris knew how to do that, but only in certain languages, most of them dead: ancient elvish (modern elvish never was written, or at least not in Tevinter for obvious reasons of slavery and scarce Dalish Clans), old tevene and modern tevene (the second not being often used, even in daily conversations) and ancient Common. Ancient Common was the very first version of the language the dwarves made to simplify trades; centuries ago. Nowadays, "Common" is not unified anymore: Northern Common and Southern Common, even with a lot of similarities, had also a lot of differences. A same word could have different meanings wherever you speak it. Some words existed in Tevinter but were unknown in the Free Marches. Since most Southerners never travelled North, and most Northerners never travels South, this problem was not, per se, a "problem". However, for people like Siris it was a "pain in the fucking ass" as Blackwall liked to describe it every time he had to explain a word to his elven friend.

As they were heading to Haven, the group escorted by the Ara'val Order made few stops. Sometimes it was because the mages were tired: being locked in a Circle most of their life did not help build any sort of endurance. Others times it was simply to rest during the night. Oddly enough, traveling at night was more dangerous than during the day. Why? The Templars of course. The rogue templars fully expect to find mages easier at night: the use of magic creates light, the idea that "at night it's safe" lead their pray into their traps, etc… Blackwall and his troop traveled in the area enough to know that it was better to make camp at night and be ready for battle instead of walking straight in a trap and being slaughtered.

Is has been three days since they left Redcliff and Siris only left Blackwall's side when nature demanded it. The man was intelligent enough to guess something was wrong: he knew the woman enough, but most of all, he knew the mages looks towards her too well. They were up to something in their distrust. As they settle camp for the third night, he reminded the group of basic survival rules: don't back-stab the people who could save your life; then reminded everyone's role. Siris being the only truly talented Healer around forced the mages to back off a little: they knew a lot of theory about healing spells; but few knew that using fire to scar an injury was stupid, painful and prone to result in life-frightening infections. Then, Siris observe the man organising the night shifts; and set the camp up. Then, the young elf noticed the qunari was doing nothing and offered to have a look at his burn. Earlier in the day, the group was attacked by rogue templars, and the qunari had a bad cut. One of the mages thought burning it would settle the problem. It did not: the qunari screamed in pain and lash out on the mage, crushing his head with a rock. One less shemlen mage who wanted Siris dead, but it was still worrying. Fortunately, the qunari was calm with Siris. Was it because her height made her looked like a child? Or perhaps it was an undetectable influence of Healer other the oxman? No matter. He let her have a look at his chest. The cut originally started at his shoulder and came down to the opposite pectoral. The blade was not as sharp as it might have been in the past: instead of cutting, it tore the skin and the flesh in a gruesome manner. The burning the mage tried on the man did not fully cauterize the injury; and the burnt part looked as bad as the rest. Fortunately, it was nothing Siris could not handle. In her head, useful memories of Healer's previous student showed similar situation. The elf offered a bit of alcohol to the qunari; once he had a sip, used the (little) rest on the injury. He growled and voiced his discontent. But her method was not magic and did not try to make it worst; he put some effort into keeping his violent urge in check. Especially with Blackwall shooting daggers with his eyes at him, ready to shop him down with his sword if the oxman decided to make the wrong move. The qunari was not feeling better once Siris finished her work. But his injury looked far prettier than before. As thanks, he growled at the mages how stayed at a fair distance from both the oxman and the elven woman.

Siris sat down near one of the fire, with Blackwall. She took a parchment and a coal shard to write knew words.

"Chevalier" Blackwall said. "C-H-E-V-A-L-I-E-R. In orlesians, it means "knight", but is used for a specific type of soldier, and have nothing to do with the Templars. Most of them are nobles, knows the Game at the very least by reputation. They serve as officers in the Orlesian Army, and represent Noble house. They are different from Champions, because these ones don't give a flying shit about politics: they fight for glory, posterity and most of all for what is right. Champions don't need benefactors like the Chevaliers do, because their reputation only allows opens pockets."

"Were you a chevalier?" Siris asked.

Blackwall had a nervous chuckle.

"Hell no. I was just a Captain." He said. "I was trained to be Champion, though. Did not go well, as you may have noticed."

Siris carefully spelled the word on her parchment. Orlesian words were difficult, foreign. Tevene, in comparison, was easier to spell and pronounce.

"Tell me, Little Bird, when and where did you learn all that crazy healing stuff you did on the qunari?" Blackwall asked.

"You know who taught me." Siris answered.

"Oh. That person…" The warrior said with unease. "Not a… well… (he lowered his voice) demon?"

"No. Spirit." Siris whispered. "Not "here", though. Still in the Fade. Can't hear it when no magic around. It shows me many things when there is magic, and print many memories during my sleep. My friend in Haven confirmed that."

"He's a mage?"

"Yes."

There was no point hiding it. The chances that "Blackwall" Rainier met Solas one day were thin. Not impossible though. Which meant that if the two men were to meet, it was better if Blackwall doesn't get spooked by the ancient elf's magic powers.

The silence that follow could not get thicker. The mages stayed around their fire, the Ara'val team navigated between them and Blackwall. Then, most of these people went to sleep, leaving Rainier and Siris to take the first round of watch. Scouts did not spot any templars or apostate around. But the world was running short with luck these last months… nothing happened while the two friends were up. The qunari took over.

When Siris laid her head on her traveling bag and closed her eyes, she could only feel exhaustion. Her ankle was a bit numb, her body was made with only sore muscles...

As she opened her eyes, Siris quickly stood up and seek for what one could eventually call a "dress". The word was used loosely, as it was, in truth, a jute bag used for potatoes. Most people wore that here. The once staying naked were on another building, living close to the Master's quarters.

"You have to hurry." Camilius said. "The mistresses were mad last night. The Master went for knew slaves. Until then, we're on our own."

Siris nodded and followed the human slave in the mansion's corridor. They crossed the courtyard to reach the kitchens. It was still very early in the morning. In there was already working a lot of slaves. Anxiously rushing the meals for the masters; all heard what happened.

"Who did we lose?" Siris asked as she put an apron on and helped Amelia with the apples.

"Rosia, Vicius, Wilhelm, Balaz, Julius, Tamzen, Imir, Brynjolf, Xanders and Prenia." Camilius shouted from across the kitchen.

"Wilhelm made the young mistress Hannais mad, so she and her older sister used him to fuel a ritual. Then, he wasn't enough." Amelia said. "The master was mad that we made his daughters mad. I just came back from the Others' quarters… it's a mess. Once the meal is ready, you and me have been task to go there and clean."

Siris remained silent. She was not looking forward to that. But the meal was cook soon after the discussion, so the two elven slaves took brooms, rags and buckets of water and went to the Other's Quarters. "A mess" was an understatement. The girls and boys were still unconscious, covered with sperm and oil.

"Don't stare, Siris." Amelia whispered. "Be glad you aren't with them."

Siris turned her eyes away, and cleaned the floor, evacuated the ripped sheets, open the windows to let the foul smell out. They changed the candles, cleaned the slaves then headed outside. From the corner of her eyes, Siris spotted a girl. A young elf, freshly caught by the slavers, and bought by the Master. She came from the famous Free Marchers, used to live in an "alienage". Tonight, the Master fucked everybody in the room, but it seemed the girl had the worst. The girl in question had woken up a few moments ago. When Siris and Amelia went towards the door, she stood up and headed to the window.

Siris saw it.

But let the sinister noise of a cracking neck on the ground three floor below echoed in all the mansion.

Siris was awake by Blackwall, as the group was moving again. It was early morning, all have eaten already. Rainier thought Siris needed sleep. He could not have guessed how much she wished he woke her up sooner. But the elven woman said nothing. She woke up, took a piece of bread her friend gave her and ate it while following the others.

At the end of the day, the group advance enough in Ferelden to see in the distance the famous Temple of Sacred ashes. Before it, Haven, and between these two location and the group, waves of mages and templars from all corner of Thedas.

Next chapter very soon!