A Grim Homecoming by Beutha

[Keeper Of Lore]

Beutha despised the place. The dark shadows that made it appear twilight even at the height of the day, the smell of acrid smoke mixed with the underlying stench of decay, refuse, cheap perfumes and the hint of death. She despised the background whispers that went on incessantly in the dark corners, the furtive movements of people holding their clandestine rendezvous for whatever secretive business they pursued.

Perhaps more than anything else however Bea despised the fact that she knew all of these things intimately, that they were actually familiar to her in the way that some might find the aroma of mother's cooking filling a home after a long absence familiar.

The Drag.

How eerily fitting that High Inquisitor Acherontia had chosen this very location for her Inquisition. Had she known? It is not as if Beutha had spoken of her past to anyone within the Grim at any length. She could count on one hand the number of people that knew of her troubled history and none of them were Grim. Yet not only had the warlock chosen this very location for Bea's Inquisition, but her questioning had unerringly zeroed in on that dark chapter in her early life along with her very early childhood in the internment camps.

"Well, they did not chose her for High Inquisitor on a whim I imagine." she thought to herself as she strode through the familiar dark alleys and cul de sacs of Orgrimmar's dark underbelly, thinking back on that meeting.

Do you have a home? the High Inquisitor had asked near the end of the interview. Beutha told her of the loft in Ratchet she rented only to receive a shake of Acherontia's head.

This is your home.

The words sent a cold chill into Beutha's heart until she went on to explain.

Keep your loft in Ratchet or part with it as you see fit, however for the next month you will live here, in the Drag. You are coming here to make a difference.

It was the girls. Bea was to seek out and help as many of the girls she could to escape from their ill fated lives. "Potential soldiers" Acherontia called them. Lives saved from their dark and deadly world to one day perhaps swell the ranks of the Grim if found suitable.

But Beutha suspected that was not the real reason. She could not but think that she was being sent here to finally release herself.

Yes, she had returned here already before to speak with some of the underworld masters and to conduct trade with merchants of some of the more exotic substances than could be found in regular markets, but each time she was careful to avoid eye contact and kept to the more frequented and open areas. This time however she would be immersing herself back into the ooze, where 'Beutha' was a runaway working girl and would be dealt with brutally if discovered.

Or at least they would try, for this was not Beutha the whore that prowled the dirty sand of Drag but Beutha, Warbringer of the Grim, who had the weight and support of everything that name conjured in the minds of the simple folk behind it.

Walking now through the familiar maze of alleys where her sisters worked she held her head up high and open, her black tabard with the emblazoned crest worn proudly on her chest and twin swords at her sides, edges glittering sharp and glistening slick with something else.

As she strode through she glanced at each drawn face that turned to regard her as she passed, looking for those familiar. There was old Halmah the Crone in her usual corner, called the Crone for the fact she was several years older than most of the girls but still hale enough to fetch a decent price. She looked more like her nickname now however than Bea recalled, worn out from her life. The woman regarded Beutha a moment in curiosity then shrugged and turned away. She knew trouble when she saw it and when to mind her own business. One did not last as long as she if they didn't learn that lesson early. A little ways further she saw the unmistakeable countenance of Tattooed Tegra, her bare arms covered in the ink designs that earned her that name along with the twin cat eyes and whiskers etched on to her eyelids. Elsewhere she passed others she recalled. Some obviously failed to recognize her while a few followed the example of Halmah and pretended not to notice. Still Beutha was confident that her old handler Grakan would learn of her presence here within the hour.

There were many new faces in the mix, wided eyed, unscarred and not yet marked with the tell tale hard stare one develops in the Drag. Most troubling however were the faces she did not see. The places where they usually haunted stood occupied by strangers or stood silent and dark. Real estate on the street being what it was there would be only one reason for them to not be there. They were gone. Either run away, stolen away or simply..gone.

A few more turns and Beutha stopped before a tiny alcove. The sight of it caused her breathing to quicken imperceptibly, despite her efforts to remain calm, a flood of emotions and memories accompanying it. Something stirred within. A scratchy voice came from the interior behind the curtain of beads that hung from the small opening that served as a door.

"Whatcha be wantin dere darlin? A bit of familiah sugah? Tired of da men are ja chile? Pahmet fix ya right up den fer a good price ja."

The beads parted to reveal a tall troll, her pock marked and scarred visage framed by a mass of green braids. Two of the longest tusks she had ever seen on a female troll stood out proudly from her lower jaw decorated in concentric circles of red and black pigment.

Beutha smiled sweetly and slid closer to the troll woman. Reaching out tenderly she stroked the side of the woman's face.

"Only one thing I want from you hon....." she said a second before grasping one of the tusks in her gauntleted hand and twisting the troll's head around. The woman cried out as her body turned along with the head. Beutha grabbed her one of the flailing arms of the troll woman and with a well planted foot sent her careening down the alley to crumple face first into the sand. "....that's for you to get out of my space."

The troll scrambled to her feet, face flushed in anger and frustration. She took one step towards Beutha, her large three fingered hands curled up in fists only to stop cold, noticing the elaborate armour and long blades for the first time. With a long curse in trollish she turned and loped off into the shadows.

It was perhaps a bit dramatic but it would serve her purpose. Besides,this was her home.

[Keeper Of Lore]

"Well, its been nice chattin with ya but I see that its time I got moving along. If you knew what was good for ya, youze be making yerself scarce also." Tattooed Tegra turned from Beutha with the briefest of smiles, a reassuring gesture that reaffirmed an old friendship. However it lasted but the fleetest of moments before she shot a meaningful glance over to the approaching pair that was the reason for her hasty departure.

Beutha followed her gaze to regard the figures that were making their way purposefully towards where she stood chatting.

It took longer than I expected. Obviously the troll woman is green and not an established income earner yet, or the response would have been much swifter.

Indeed, it was the troll she had evicted from her alcove the day previous who strode with a confident swagger towards Beutha and Tegra, the latter already slipping away deeper into the alley with a hasty nonchalance (a unique maneuver learned early on by the girls of the Drag and is easier described than performed). The reason for the troll's confidence followed a step behind, his large green fist closed around the handle of a heavy iron mace which he tapped into the palm of his other hand with each second stride of his thick, muscular legs. The enforcer was bare chested, his pectorals rippling with each tap of the mace. He wore a pair of dirt stained leather pants held up by a studded belt which sported a massive iron buckle in the shape of a wolf head. The sound of his boots echoed through the dark alleys, sending any other lurkers darting away to avoid his path. Not too far away mind you as the fascination of impending violence always managed to earn an audience.

"Dere she be! Dere be the wench dat done tro me outah mah place. Oh misseh ju gun get it naw. Pahmet not alone dis tahm. Pahmet got pertekshun." The troll gestured at Beutha with a single thick digit, her head bobbing in affirmation, making her overly long painted tusks blur in an arc of red and black.

The enforcer grunted, which in the world of Drag enforcers served as an epic monologue. Not slowing an iota he swept past the troll Pahmet and surged inexorably towards where Beutha stood so very still, her frame showing nothing of the coiled springs that were wound up inside ready to be unleashed. With a subtle shift of her arm she slid her hand into the special holder she had fashioned into the back of her belt, fingers closing around the object it held.

No words were exchanged. The enforcer simply raised his right arm, the mace held proudly on high and poised for a crushing downward blow aimed at Beutha's skull. Beutha waited patiently as time slowed into that unique phenomenon of battle sense, her eyes riveted on a spot just below the center of his chest, letting her peripheral vision take in the rest of his massive frame as she was taught. The very slight twitch of a single tendon at his elbow was her cue that the mace was about to drop suddenly down. It was the trigger that unleashed the springs from their restraint. With blurring speed Beutha lashed out with her left hand, its backside impacting the inside of the descending right arm of the enforcer, changing its trajectory few inches to the right, just far enough to allow the mace to pass harmlessly past her left. Simultaneously she shifted slightly to her right and shot her right arm straight out to connect with the side of the enforcer's neck. In her fisted hand she held a wicked looking arrangement of steel and polished bone which impacted with a sickening wet sound with the fleshy part at the base of his neck. His eyes went wide the instant of impact followed by a flush of panic as he tried to inhale to shout out his anger only to discover his windpipe had swollen shut. The mace clattered to the ground as both hands shot to his neck in that way all choking victims instinctively do, his face deepening color as it flushed with oxygen starved blood.

Beutha took a step back and watched the enforcer's distress with detachment. In a few moments he lost consciousness and fell into the sand of the Drag.

Her survey of the defeated opponent was broken by the sound of the troll woman crying out in frustration and alarm.

"What'd ju do naw? No no no! Ju done kilt him! Naw we bot gonna pay! Dey not gonna be happeh. Not wun bit!" She sank down to the ground and wrapped her arms around her curled up legs, rocking back and forth in her anguish emitting sporadic moans and whimpers.

Beutha picked up the mace and tossed it into a nearby waste barrel. She then went over to the troll woman and eased her back to her feet.

"Easy now. Pahmet is it? Don't worry hun, he isn't dead. Just taking a nap for a while. Still, you are right. When he wakes up and reports back I expect there will be some trouble, for both you and I. You shouldn't have went to them and brought him here. That was a mistake. You had to know I was not going to take a beating from the likes of that lout, or at the very least you should have known."

Beutha gently guided her down the alley away from the scene of the very brief fight, where the denizens of the Drag were already slithering back into the semi light, whispering to each other and jostling for position to be the first to pounce on the still form of the enforcer for choice looting. Pahmet didn't resist as Beutha led her back to her own alcove, where she noted absently through the fog of her trauma that the former screen of beads had been replaced with a strong wooden door frame.

"Come, Ill fix you something hot to eat and a good warming drink. Then we will talk. We are in this together now Pahmet. Because of your mistake we are both in danger now. But never fear hun,I won't let them hurt you. You just let Beutha take care of you. You and anyone else you think is in trouble with them. You tell them, come see Beutha."

The troll nodded through her worried tears.

Good. You did wonderfully Pahmet, thought Beutha as she brewed some tea. You reacted just as I had hoped. Now they will come back in more force, but I will be ready for that. It is all part of the plan.