The Romancer Opalbane

Episode Six: Sexy Mana

"There are three stipulations to this kidnapping if it is going to look authentic." Priest Faltheriel announced before the thugs and cutthroats in the room. In the tavern earlier that day, Alessandre overheard the time and location of Faltheriel's secret meeting. Unlike with Priest Benactus, it was much easier to sneak into this room because the young Blood Elf Faltheriel was arrogant and sloppy with his secrets.

Alessandre remembered attending similar meetings back when he was down on his luck and stuck in Stormwind about twenty years ago. Hanging out in Cutthroat Alley landed him a few rare assignments that got him back on his feet. Those key assassinations were surely what caused Shadowstep to welcome him into the Kaldorei rogue guild all those years ago. And imbetween jobs, it proved an excellent hunting ground… but Alessandre tried to resist that hunger to kill, his own little addiction. Every rogue was tempted into the profession by something forbidden. For some it was money, power, the ego stroke one got from deceiving so many… everyone had something. Cutthroat Alley meant a great deal to Alessandre and everyone else who needed desperately to be a rogue.

Faltheriel raised his hand for silence in the room. "First, in order to be bonded to an old god, a High Priest must have an ancient bloodline. We already know that Opalbane and her family have a significant one. But what is important for you to remember is that you take care in apprehending her. Don't mar any birthmarks, or markings of any kind on her skin. To diminish these in any way is to weaken her connection to her ancestors, and thus to the old god." He said.

Men around the room mumbled to eachother. Some nodded heads while others whispered in their friends' ears. To Alessandre, it seemed obvious that some of the meatheads in the room needed Faltheriel's lofty language translated into more brusque terms.

"He means don't smack her around." An especially large human man with sandy brown hair suddenly bellowed. Then, he raised his hands for silence, got it, and nodded for Faltheriel to continue.

"Err… Thank you Max. The second stipulation is thus: Opalbane must be in her right mind when she's taken before the cultists to complete the rites. Last time, she was drunk off her own feet, and none of the words she said before the windstones were heartfelt. That is the only reason why she's not in Silithus now. Under no circumstances, are you to allow her any alcohol. Even if she asks for it."

More confused whispers from the assembly.

"The Elf said not to give her any liquor."

"Especially rum." Faltheriel added, a silken gold eyebrow raised at the people gathered.

"Heh! What if she wants to have a good time with us?" someone in the crowd jibed and everyone else roared with laughter.

Faltheriel cleared his throat, and eyed Max who threatened all the scruffy men in the room with such oaths of violence, that Alessandre was even tempted to cover his ears. And he was an assassin by trade.

When silence was once again achieved, Faltheriel sighed. "That, unfortunately, brings me to the last stipulation of Priestess Opalbane's capture. I know that it is your way, and against the code of thieves and cutthroats, but I can't offer you this woman as a prize. Currently, she is virgin, and must remain a virgin if she is going to be worth anything to the Cultists."

Animated objections erupted throughout the room.

"Now, now, I'm giving each of you one hundred gold—a head—if this is done exactly right. You can hire out all the cathouses in Old Town with that kind of money. I don't see why this should be a problem."

"Sir, it's gonna' be real hard to convince these men not to touch a woman elf… most of 'em never even been close to one before. The only ones in the city are powerful soldiers, and won't be abused… and if they ain't that strong, then they're always in the Trade District around all them soldiers…I can't guarantee that a bedridden virgin princess is gonna' come out in ah… err… mint condition the way we found her."

Faltheriel groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a forefinger and thumb. "Are you telling me that… your men have no compulsion whatsoever… that they can't even keep their pants on for the ten minutes it will take to throw a bag over her head and drag her outside the city walls?"

The man named Max shrugged. Alessandre made a mental note: Max dies, Faltheriel dies…

Very quietly, too calmly, Faltheriel pulled off his delicate embroidered gloves and set them on the table before him. Most of the buildings in Cutthroat Alley were abandoned and boarded up. This one, which normally seemed empty, was always being watched for a good reason. It was the one decent place that certain types of people could hold meetings, away from the watchful eyes of the city guard or the thirsty innocence of curious passerby. Thugs of all types held Cutthroat Alley sacred, would defend this most dangerous place in Stormwind with their lives if need be. The location was at the crux of many criminal operations.

Alessandre was no stranger here, and he knew better than to move or even breathe too loudly. He'd come in here when no one expected a thief to enter, in broad daylight, and he would leave once all these experienced thieves and rogues were gone.

Faltheriel's pale hands had slender fingers. It looked like he hadn't done a day of work in his life. No one was really paying attention to him, except for Alessandre. The arguing over who would get to 'have' Opalbane was getting too loud. Then, without warning, Faltheriel pointed to a dwarf in the throng and the short bearded man grasped the sides of his head in pain.

The screaming brought everyone to a halt.

"When someone disappoints me…" Faltheriel began to explain, and twisted his delicate hands into an angry claw, "I feed on him thus," And then, the Blood Elf spread both his arms out wide, and a mad look came into his eyes. Blue magic erupted from his hands, and the agonizing man he targeted seemed to melt from his bones. A blue aura oozed from the dwarf, and finally coalesced into a glowing bright ball of energy. Everyone in the room backed away from it.

Faltheriel smiled as he saw the ball of mana energy whirl and pulsate. Then, he pushed the poor man's dilapidated body over, and the thug collapsed in a heap.

"I strip the life energy from his flesh, and claim it for my own." Then an ugly twisted look came to Faltheriel's perfect face, and he wrapped his gentle fingers around the volatile ball of energy and ushered the unwilling ball of energy into his mouth. It was grotesque to watch the blue power fight him, and veins of energy licked at the sides of his face like lightning as he ingested it whole.

"By the Light! You killed him." Someone shouted.

"Not yet, I didn't." Faltheriel snarled and everyone leapt back a step. Alessandre felt his skin crawl.

"He still breathes. But he, like the rest of you, wants to defy me, and mate with that priestess Kaldorei… do you not know that there is a greater pleasure than sex, a more consuming sensuality that rides on demons' wings?" Faltheriel sounded like a monster, but moved like a gentleman. "And all I shall pay you in is gold! You are greatly shortchanged by that price… if you even knew what she means to us, to completing our plans…" Faltheriel began to glow bright from the mana he'd consumed from the man. Alessandre scanned the many faces in the room… Faltheriel managed to pick out the one mana user among them, a young dwarf hunter with the same dark intentions the rogues had.

Alessandre knew he had to get out of there, and soon.

"And then… if he displeases me further…" but Faltheriel did not have to explain what he did next. Another graceful gesture at the agonizing dwarf on the ground, and purple energy leapt up from the body and into the palm of his hand. Enough of these men had dealt with dark adventurers to recognize a simple warlock spell.

"But I thought he was a priest?" Alessandre muttered to himself.

When it was done, the writhing dwarf lay still and dead. A purple soulshard the color of clotted blood lay in Faltheriel's palm. He walked back behind the table he'd been using as a makeshift podium and sat down.

"In a fortnight, you will return here to this place," he said, as he began to spin the dwarf's soulshard in idle circles, the way one played with a coin out of boredom. "You will bring your weapons, your gags, whatever you think will be helpful to you in apprehending a shadowpriestess… she should be willing, but even if she isn't, I want someone to be able to control her while we take care of the guards and other casters who try to stop us. You will put her in a cart, and take her from the city, where I will be waiting. When she arrives at my feet, the priestess will not be scarred, nor will she be affected by drink. And, she will still be a virgin." Faltheriel stopped playing with the shard then. He met the eyes of a few key people in the group, and then picked up the soulshard and swallowed it whole.

Words cannot describe the troubled looks of revulsion and disgust that came even into the faces of the worst of all men, gathered in that room.

Alessandre thought he would be sick.

Faltheriel closed his eyes, savoring the taste of the shard, and when he opened them again, they glowed a steady, menacing fel green.

"Is that quite clear?" he asked softly.

Max led the others in a resounding 'Yes' that satisfied the Blood Elf.

"I'm sure that you realize that was no parlor trick. "I've avoided taking the mana of sentient beings until tonight… I couldn't stand the fast any longer, and it was also convenient in helping me to make my point. If you cross me, you will meet a fate worse than death. I'm sure you also agree that whatever Priest Benactus, or any of the other Twilight Cultists in the city say is irrelevant from this point onward. All of you here work for me. I will not be disappointed."

This was the first time that Alessandre actually feared for his life in Cutthroat Alley. He risked everything and sneaked out alongside the others while stealthed, hoping to stay far away from Faltheriel and his strange ability to sense the mana of strangers.

"That sexy mana again…" Alessandre heard Faltheriel mumble after the rogue had left the room. Alessandre cringed and told himself over and over, It's just an addiction, just an addiction to magic… it's got nothing to do with me personally.

But Alessandre could not sneak down the stairs to the lower level fast enough. In the landing before the last set of stairs, Faltheriel caught up with his invisible quarry, and Alessandre was pinned in a corner. The other shady types got away from Faltheriel quickly and exited the house.

"You've stopped moving, have you? No matter, I could never resist mana like yours. Two mana pools lusting to take you over. One is as virginal as a moonwell, the other is fel mana, a thirsty whore. Why do they live in you like that together… why haven't you satisfied either of them?" Faltheriel sneered and glanced all around him. Alessandre felt safer that the Blood Elf couldn't see him, exactly.

"Who are you? A woman? A man? A beast, perhaps? You were there with Priest Benactus and I weren't you? At the time, I thought it was the old human… but it was you in the room, spying on us."

As a Night Elf, Alessandre was much taller than Faltheriel. Normally his height was an attractive asset, and he knew from experience that many women in the Alliance found that attractive. However, in this moment, Alessandre wished he wasn't so tall. As Faltheriel felt the empty air around him with the trembling hands of an addict, Alessandre knew that he had mere moments before he was discovered. There is nothing a rogue hates more than an unpredictable situation. Those who rely on stealth need to manipulate events in their favor, strike from the shadows when there is greatest advantage. Alessandre was dealing with an adversary whose class he was not sure of, whose racial abilities were confusing and new, and to make things worse, Alessandre wasn't sure who Faltheriel worked for, the Twilight Cultists, or the Burning Legion. Would it be far more dangerous to kill this Blood Elf?

Then Faltheriel faced him. "I see you, druid." Faltheriel said.

Did he truly see him? Alessandre thought quickly. No, not yet, or else Faltheriel would be surprised for a number of reasons. The most obvious being that druids, not even Night Elf druids, could stealth around unless in cat form. And that fact gave Alessandre an idea.

Just as Faltheriel lunged forward to grab hold of whatever he thought was in front of him, Alessandre dodged and switched into his cat form. In an instant, he had become smaller, and was able to slip around the Blood Elf easily.

Alessandre raced down the last flight of stairs, into the empty main room, and dashed toward the doorway. Faltheriel was left groping at thin air.

"I will find you, druid! Now I know that you are watching me…" the Blood Elf threatened in his superior tone.

Was it better if his enemy thought Alessandre was a druid? Alessandre twitched his purple nightsaber tail impatiently as he tried to reason the answer. Of course, in his cat form, he could not assess the danger. Alessandre left the house and crept into the shadows of Cutthroat Alley outside. He could sense the heartbeats of murderers.

Alessandre knew that he should go warn Opalbane but the familiar shadows, the stench of wanted men who thought they could hide transported Alessandre to another time and place. It was a place where he had reveled in his own addiction. Would it be so horrible if he enjoyed the hunt in Cutthroat Alley one last time? Alessandre's more reasonable thoughts were drowned out by his purring.