The Romancer Opalbane
Episode Four: Hot Belf on Nelf action
Alessandre the rogue watched helplessly as Priest Benactus turned abruptly in the open doorway and pulled the heavy wooden door to his office closed fast, while facing it. In the brief second that Alessandre watched the relief on Benactus' face before the door shut, the rogue considered stopping the momentum with his foot.
But as the heavy door slammed and the doorframe around it trembled, Alessandre was reassured that he'd chosen correctly.
"I've barely got one good foot. I don't need to lose the other one," he muttered bitterly to himself.
It had taken two days, but Alessandre finally learned Priest Benactus' routine. And this morning, Alessandre discovered that Benactus was meeting with an agent of the Twilight's Hammer cult. It wasn't too hard to guess just what or whom they would be discussing. Alessandre pressed his invisible hands up against the shut door, unbelieving that Opalbane's fate teetered on the edge of his nimbleness. Why hadn't he been able to sneak into the room after Benactus swiftly enough? Of course, if Alessandre had known the meeting room in advance it would have been far easier to sneak inside beforehand. But it seemed that Benactus was wary of rogues. They way Benactus planned this meetings, without writing it down or saying aloud where it was, and the way that the shadowpriest turned instantly in the doorway so that he would face anyone who was trying to stealth past him were all simple but effective strategies for countering people who could turn invisible and sneak around you at a whim.
This did not deter Alessandre. He felt even more sure that his first impression of Benactus was right: this was a man with many secrets. Benactus was adept at keeping them because he had to deal in them so regularly.
Where Elune closed a door, she opened a window, didn't she? Alessandre knew from experience that was often the case, but he'd seen the grand stained glass window of Benactus' office from the courtyard outside. Ornate glass panes like that often remained shut, and it was the dead of winter.
"But it's been warm in Stormwind recently. If his fireplace isn't lit…"
Getting on the roof of the Cathedral of Light was easy. Nearly every rogue could guess the lay of a roof if they'd spent enough time sneaking around inside or outside of a building. Alessandre had been doing just that for the last few weeks before making contact with Opalbane on the Eve of Winter's Veil. It was shimmying down the tiny chimney that presented the biggest problem for Alessandre.
"Priest Faltheriel, so good to see you again."
Alessandre almost didn't catch the start of the meeting, the voices that carried up through the chimney were so muffled. Any normal rogue would have pressed as close to that chimney as possible and hoped that he could hear the better part of the conversation, but Alessandre wasn't your average rogue.
Alessandre took a deep calming breath, and looked around. He was alone. Then, while stealthed, he closed his eyes. He completely cleared his mind. He meditated until he could think of nothing else, feel nothing else but that basic, primal self that had no thoughts. This self is incapable of thinking, of speech, of fear, or love. This is the sub-self, the original essence that only reacts, lightning quick, to danger. It kills without remorse, without mercy. Savagery is all it knows. Alessandre let himself go completely, let the walls down, and allowed the beast in. And, when he became one with it, it was like the feral consciousness was a higher form of sentience. It had no boundaries, no culture, no goddess, nor a conscience with which to restrict itself. The law of survival, the rules of Cenarius come first within the heart of a nightsaber. The rogue transformed himself into death incarnate. In his cat form, blessed by that demigod, Alessandre felt superior to all other life.
Quietly, the slender invisible nightsaber hopped up ontop of the chimney and slipped down the chute in one swift motion. Easy for the naked eye to miss.
"…and it continues to be difficult. Each day, the hungry novices ask me about demons and the like. Do you know how frustrating that is?" the stranger's voice pleaded with Priest Benactus. As he slowly descended Alessandre simply watched where his paws pressed into the sooty walls of brick and listened. He was not capable of analyzing the words now, he knew from experience. But later, with the mind of a man who was a master of deception, a master forger, an assassin and a criminal mastermind, he could delicately unfold and reveal all the details of the conversation.
"You are still new to covert operations, Priest Faltheriel. You must resist the temptation to talk about what you love."
"How can I? Wouldn't it simply be better to recruit the novices who so clearly hunger to serve beings as powerful as the old gods? Why starve such eager talent?"
"Because that is not our job." Priest Benactus reproached the younger man firmly. Alessandre picked this moment to land in the black burnt out wood remnants of the fireplace, just as Priest Benactus' voice rose with anger. "There are others, in Silithus, who are concerned with recruitment, which can be a delicate process spanning decades. We are here to make sure that the needs of the Twilight Hammer are met, by putting pressure on those in power. You, specifically, will be a great asset in turning the Archmage. He's aluded us for far too long."
"What of the recent trial? The one with High Priestess Opalbane and the human mage Willypearl? I thought our chances to recruit him ended with that scandal." Alessandre's whirling yellow feline eyes were fixed on the other man's face. There was something incredibly familiar about it. But, then again, it was too angular.
Priest Benactus sighed heavily. "She is not a high priestess to the old god Zar'teaus yet. Either way, I am taking care of the Opalbane problem at the moment, so never you mind that. You are to focus on tempting the Archmage with your people's knowledge. It certainly served the Alliance before, and our counterparts in Silithus agree with me, Faltheriel. The presence of a Highborne priest will tempt the Archmage out of his silence. He will want to know more about you; if you have connections, other friends who have not become Blood Elves and are still willing to aid the Alliance."
Alessandre felt the purple fur on the back of his neck rise. Faltheriel's face was so familiar because it looked like his own Kaldorei face, like the face of Opalbane, Shadowstep… all the Night Elf faces he had ever seen in his life. The Highborne seated before him had once been a Night Elf, or his ancestors had been thousands of years ago, before they were banished for abusing magic and calling the Burning Legion into Azeroth. Though physically and ideologically different, the two races still shared some slight resemblances.
The High Elf removed his ornately embroidered dark hood. The long pointed ears and golden silk hair came into view. Alessandre, however, was fixed on the man's throat. It pulsed as he breathed, as he spoke. Alessandre wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, rip it open…
"I don't have those kinds of connections, Benactus."
"Then lie about them, Faltheriel. Bring the Archmage to our side by piquing his curiosity. Your mission is that simple. Now, did you really come here to get advice on what you should already know to do, new recruit? I sense that you know more than you're letting on… this was only an excuse to come see me." Priest Benactus raised a bushy black eyebrow at the young man.
The High Elf smiled. It seemed too wicked, too predatory for a mere youth and cultist to achieve. It was the overconfident guise of a villain, who knew evil intimately, knew all she did to destroy people, and loved her.
A growl bubbled up in Alessandre's throat, but he was able to silence it just in time.
"I want to help you to retrieve High Priestess Opalbane."
Priest Benactus gawked at the man. It was a dumb human look compared to the self-assured elven one his counterpart gave. "She is mine to deliver back to Silithus!"
"Is that why you are keeping her a secret? Because other than myself, there is no one here in Stormwind who can keep an eye on you?"
"Stop this nonsense, Faltheriel, you know there are others. You weren't recruited just yesterday."
"Oh yes, I know there are other cultists here in Stormwind. But none of them are as clever as you. They are far too obvious about their latent powers, flaunting them within the Mage's Sanctum, or in the Keep itself. Anyone who knew what to look for could find them, and they'd be dead before they dared doubt their abilities long enough to realize the threat and go on guard. You, on the other hand… you posed as a priest of the Light for years before turning to the shadow. Afterwards, the cultists recruited you. Now, you are a man with many layers of identity, each more delicate than the next."
Priest Benactus leaned back in his seat, and clawed the lion paw armrests of his high back chair.
Druids aren't very good at reconnaissance. Alessandre was hypnotized by the unique carved armrests of Benactus' chair during the brief silence, and then became obsessed with his own paws. When was the last time he'd cleaned his fur? Alessandre began to lick his own furry paws and wash his face.
"If you're threatening me, Faltheriel—"
"No, on the contrary. I want to help you. You see, as a High Elf, those in Silithus hardly trust me. They want to know why I am not a Sin'Dorei, or one of Prince Sunstrider's men and a servant of Lord Illidan in Outland. They don't truly believe that I am a free agent, still uncorrupted by the sway of a powerful demon like Illidan, or the Burning Legion which threatens even his fate… I think that is the real reason why they sent me here, because they don't trust me near the heart of operations in Silithus."
Priest Benactus thought for a moment, and then said, "I admit, you are probably right. But I don't see how I can help you."
"You want to return Opalbane to Silithus so that the old god Zar'teaus can finish his twelfth rite of godhood. I hear he's failed it many times in the last hundred years."
"Yes, but it's not for Zar'teaus' sake. I've been doing good work here in Stormwind, but with no recognition. I want a promotion, Faltheriel. If I can help Zar'teaus, he will be very grateful, in addition to the fact that I'll have salvaged the reputation of the Twilight Cultists in one fel swoop. When Opalbane was stolen from us by Priestess Feathershine, it caused many of the cult's supporters to doubt our strength."
Faltheriel nodded, and his pale elven ears bobbed comically in the rose colored sunlight that filtered through the large stained glass window.
"And I can never return to Silithus until I do something trustworthy, like… deliver your Opalbane to them." Faltheriel added.
"If you think I am going to let you take all the credit—"
"How could I ever dare? They'd never believe that I did it singlehandedly. Nor would they trust my efforts. But, if you vouched for me, saying that I was a great help to you, as the mastermind… the backing of someone like you could get me back to where I truly want to work, in Silithus."
Priest Benactus scratched his well clipped beard as he thought about the offer. Alessandre tried his best to pay attention, but became absorbed in rubbing his invisible back against Benactus' chairleg. It was a good scratch.
"It is difficult for me to leave the city with her. For right now, everyone is content to think that she entrusts me to her recovery, but everything will fall apart if she never gets well. It could cast a shadow on my abilities as a supposed priest of the Light."
"When she has truly accepted Zar'teaus in her heart, and can take the rites, let me know, and I can disappear at a moment's notice. If the Archmage questions me, I can just say that I am leaving to meet with one of my Highborne contacts."
"Very clever, Faltheriel. If I don't say so myself, I… what are you staring at? Is there something behind me?"
At that, Priest Benactus turned clear around in his chair, looking right at the spot where Alessandre lay curled up against his chairleg. Alessandre stopped what he was doing instantly and froze.
"No… no… I don't see anything. I just… you have excellent mana, Priest Benactus."
Priest Benactus whirled around and flinched at the other man. "What?"
"It's… delicious. It is riddled with fel energy, isn't it? And there is something else in it too… it is not completely corrupted, is it? As pure as a moonwell, as if you had two mana pools within you, resting side by side. One is like a gentle virgin, and the other an eager—"
"Faltheriel! That is quite enough. I don't respond to these strange male elf fantasies."
"Oh no, sir. It's just your mana. Might I touch your hand—"
"Absolutely not! Focus on the matter at hand. Do we have a deal or not? You will take Opalbane as soon as she's ready. My only request is that you do not let her drink. Please do not allow her to be drunk when she takes the rites this time. That is why she is not a full member and is able to elude our influence now."
But Faltheriel wasn't listening. He was still focused on a spot just behind Priest Benactus. There was nothing there, but he felt so strongly that there should be.
Meanwhile, Alessandre was watching Faltheriel intently. He knew just whose mana the High Elf sensed, and furthermore, that he sensed it at all proved that Faltheriel was no High Elf. And... it also made Alessandre feel a bit violated. First, Opalbane had stripped him in his sleep, and now this? And this was perhaps far worse because being hit on in cat form was more than disturbing.
"A magical addiction, I'm afraid. Since the destruction of the Sunwell… it's no matter really. Just hard to ignore unique mana, no matter if it is from a man or a woman. I certainly accept your offer, Benactus. There are some men who can help me take Opalbane… I can have them organized within two weeks."
"I can have her ready by then." Benactus nodded.
But Faltheriel was still watching the spot behind Benactus' chair, where Alessandre was hiding in the shadows of stealth. Now, more than ever, he wanted to rip out the man's throat. Maybe to Benactus, Faltheriel was a newly recruited Twilight's Cultist, but Alessandre was a learned rogue, and he knew better. The only Highborne in Azeroth who weren't destroyed by their painful magic addiction after the Sunwell was lost had learned to do so at a very high price. Blood Elves learned to feed off the mana of their enemies from a certain notorious demon… he was long an enemy of the Night Elves. But even more recently, there were rumors that Lord Illidan was doing work for the Burning Legion.
"So what does the Burning Legion want with Opalbane?" Alessandre muttered to himself before he shifted back into his human form and vanished into a state of improved stealth. When he did, the Blood Elf Faltheriel could no longer sense the rogue's mana. Second, Faltheriel noticed that Priest Benactus was holding the door wide open for his new accomplice to leave.
"A productive meeting, indeed." Priest Benactus smiled, and it was almost as good an imitation of the Blood Elf's.