Nessa Grimmeor [ Ravenholdt Redemption ]

I can not recall last time I was here, yet I do not need to take my eyes off my rugged old boots once since landing in Tarren Mill. They know their way.
The night casts a light upon the grass that makes it seem more blue than green. The water the turtles now rests in seems almost black. I think of how beautiful blood is in pale moonlight. It is black, but glows.
A scent of fresh rain and cold stone controls the air up this hill. I remember it, but I can not feel it through my haze of whiskey. I am not sure if I can smell things anymore, or just remember how they smell. The mud of my armor and the blood on my blades. Metallic and dry.
My feet have stopped. Before them stands a great wooden door leading into the wellguarded manor. The silence screams out to me. It is way too quiet not to be forced. I would look around, but it would do me no good. The shadows embracing the manor keeps them all safe. If they see me looking for them, they will know, that I know they are there. But that I do not know where they are. I am not giving them the satisfaction.
The pins once hidden in my hair now unlocks the door of the manor easily. Anywhere else, it is breaking in. At Ravenholdt, it is the key. If you can not pick its door open, you are unworthy to step a foot in.

The door whines as I open it. To meet me stands two kaldorei rogues in black.
”Fahrad is waiting”
They move just enough to let me squeeze through between them, but I walk. My shoulders and elbows smack into their chests harshly. I hear an ”oompfh!”. I won.
Victoriously I walk towards the stairs. The old floors creaks and cries at each step my boots take. I can hear the laces of them drag after me. I hear clattering sounds of metal, and without looking I know its Wolf cleaning up dishes from some feast. I can feel the scent of charcoaled meat.
As I climb the stairs, I know that he knows I am coming.

I see them. The overpolished boots that leads up to him. The short agile and furry being. His arms are tightly folded over his chest. His long brown hair is licked back into a ponytail. His face is still furry, but he looks allright. For a human.
”You are late.”
His voice is cold and indifferent. As always. He believed you should never give up anything about yourself upfront. The man was the biggest of secrets, and so, one of the best.
I lower my hat to shield my eyes, having no intrest in seing him inspecting me like I know he is.
Behind me stands Milton. A name that reminds me of cheese. But he isnt a cheese. He is Milton Beats, the giver of beatings, and boy does he love his job. I can smell fresh blood on his knuckles. I know one gesture from Fahrad and those fat mitts of his will punch at my lowerback, sending me to the floor paralyzed.
”Upstairs, my dear.”
It seems it is a human custom to make the lady lead the way. I do not care either way, but simply start moving up the stairs leading to the addec.

Without a choice, my lips starts twisting into a smirk. I remember why I had a crush on this human. I know he walks behind me, but none of his steps are audible. A perfect silence. I remember the hours I spent trying to move soundlessly through this manor, without success. I was good, but never flawless.
The big rusty handle clicks as I open the door to the addec. Through my haze of whiskey I catch traces of scents from mold and web.
Upon a crate lies a flickering flame caught on a dripping white candle embraced in a brass hold, and a leathery brown folder.
I feel Fahrads firm hand around my right arm as he excuses himself and moves pass me, reaching the folder before I even enter the addec.
Milton, the cheese, remains behind me. Damned pet, I have seen more independance in imps.

Fahrad strokes his hair back as he reads from the now open folder in his other hand. He fakes reading it. I know he does. The man always came prepared, or not at all. He knows every damned word in that folder by heart. But I also know it is futile to call him on it.

”Your last wantedposter, my dear, was months ago. This can mean two things.”
He closes the folder, done pretending to read.
”Either, congratulations are in order on you finally reaching your full potential, making all your actions go un-noticed. Or…”

In one heartbeat, I gasp soundlessly ”no” in protest to what I know is too late to protest. He gives a look over my shoulder. I want to evade it, but it was too late to even try before I even gasped.
Milton, you cheese.

My lowerback is frozen stuck, my knees burn from the sudden hit against the floors. I am twitching, and angry as a bee! But I am a mere fly, wrapped in sticky web. And here comes the spider.
Fahrads hand holds my scarred cheek. I can feel a finger stroke that pink scar of mine. He inspects me calmly. Indifferent.
”Or..
You reekof whiskey. Not just your breath, but your blood. Your eyes are unfocused. Your blade rusty. Boots, untied….and..”
His hand wraps tightly around my left wrist. My broken wrist, my twisted scarred nerve.
”Your wrist, is twitching since you got here. And you limp.”
The human stands up soundlessly without letting go of my wrist. Forcing me to raise my arm to follow his move.
”You are broken, my dear. And so useless to the Ravenholdt.”
I can hear Milton eagerly pace back and forth behind me.

But the unthinkable happens. A tone in that dead careless voice of the human. Disappointment.
”I trained you, Nessa. But not to be..this. I took you in when you were nothing but simple scum that could rot in the streets. And this is how you repay it?”
He had never had a tone in his voice. He had never been disappionted with me. Not when I stole from him, not when I threw that cat out the balcony, and not even when I poisioned a guard for flirting with me.
”You want to..rest, Nessa? Perhaps your usefulness has run its course.”
I see his eyes, they glow with mercy, which frightens me more than his common indifference. He nods at Milton over my shoulder.
Everything fades away.


24 hours later. The basement of Ravenholdt manor.
What is this? I am not dead?
My tangled hair hides my vision. Everything feels so.. fresh, and odd. My nose wrinkles up as I sniff the air around me. Metal, plastic, poisions. Cold stone. Sewer. Cat. Hair. Something is missing. I can not yet put my finger on what it is, but it feels vital.
Whiskey! Whiskey?! Where is it?! I desperatly sniff and when I realize how it is gone, my beautiful haze of whiskey, I hit my left arm against the cold stone floor. Clonk!!
….Wait, Clonk?
Before I get to investigate the odd sound, I feel two small fingers moving the hair from my eyes.
A gnome! Argh! I instantly hiss at the being, who jumps two steps back.
It is Zan Shivsproket, the engineer of Ravenholdt. I made him cry once for throwing his cat Salome out the balcony. Damned thing survived, of course. I hated it, it always sniffed around Mittens.
”G-greeetings friend! Your wrist should be in tippy top shape now! Yes sirre! Master Fahrad was most pleased!”
I twist the left arm side to side just enough to investigate this. Metal. I knock it against the floor repeatedly.
”He wants you to walk off the limp! Yes! And a-a-nymore whiskey and you will seize to be!” the gnome stutters at me. He always stuttered at me since that day I said I eat gnomes when nobody is looking.
”N-now rest Nessa Gr-Grimmeor! Rest and a-await or-orders. And d-dont touch S-salome!”
My head smacks against the cold stone floor once again.
I can not be bothered to chase that bloody gnome up the stairs from the basement I am lying in. Not yet.
No more whiskey.. Why could he just not kill me?