The Romancer Opalbane
Episode Thirteen: Kicking the habit... of ganking
"So, should I pay you for your services, or what?" Myrielle teased Alessandre when he finally woke up. Alessandre squinted up at the Night Elf face that wasn't the woman he'd dreamed about.
"Uggh," he moaned.
"Actually, you should be paying me. I paid your tab last night at that cathouse."
"I went to a cathouse?" Alessandre asked groggily.
"Yes, and a bad one at that. I bailed your ass out, don't you remember?"
Alessandre shook his head that he didn't.
Myrielle pulled the covers up over her large chest and then snuggled up next to Alessandre. He was too tired to move away.
"Why did you growl at me last night?"
"Sometimes I do that when I'm mad. I can't help it." Alessandre responded drowsily.
Myrielle couldn't resist stroking his long blue hair while he rested. Male elves had an annoying tendency to have better hair than you did at the worst moments.
"Do you purr too?" Myrielle asked carefully.
"Unnhuh." Alessandre moaned. "Ugh, my head hurts so much. What was I drinking."
"Your stupid wine, as usual. So, what does it feel like to have fur? I bet it feels wonderful... don't you want to show me?"
Alessandre rolled over onto his stomach. He started to snore.
"Al? Al?" Myrielle started poking him, but Alessandre wouldn't budge. Finally, she screamed at him and he came alive.
"Ow! Goddess! What the hell are you doing?"
Myrielle seized Alessandre's chin firmly in her graceful fingers and made him look into her eyes. Then, she said as calmly as possible, careful to enunciate every word: "I want to rub my naked body all over your excellent purple fur. Now change, so I can do it!"
Alessandre's shining yellow pupils rolled to the back of his head, and he passed out.
"Dammit!" Myrielle swore loudly and turned around so she could slam her fist into the wooden headboard.
Later that day at SI: 7...
The rogue called Han sighed heavily. "Not only does your story not make any sense whatsoever, your evidence isn't good enough."
"What do you mean it's not good enough!" Myrielle flared. "I dressed up like a whore, I went to the nastiest cathouse in Stormwind... I slept with my prick of an ex-boyfriend who almost ruined my life... and what I told you wasn't good enough?"
"Look sweetheart," Han crossed his arms tightly against his chest. "I might growl like a nightsaber too, if a pretty woman asked me. Hell, I'd bark like a dog, I've actually jumped into the Great Forge in Ironforge once for a woman as beautiful as yourself. I don't see why that makes this Alessandre a feral druid, as well as a rogue."
"But he is! I don't know how he got that way... I've never heard of anyone changing their class. But I just know. A man may have been making love to me last night, but he didn't feel like a man. And this isn't the first time! Back when we were dating, one time Al–"
"Al this, Al that." Han mocked in a lady's high pitched voice. "I get so tired of these rumors buzzing around SI: 7. He's not even in our organization, but he's the most talked about rogue within these walls. You know, I've missed out on a lot of good dates because of that gifted sonofabitch."
"Han, that's pretty mean." Myrielle gasped.
"Now you're defending him! Geez! A man can't catch a break..." Han trailed off then. "Well, actually, I think I do get a nice break out of this." Han placed a gold coin in Myrielle's hand. "You know what to do." the human rogue smiled wickedly.
Myrielle groaned. Now, she had to go down to Willy's Secret and plan a lap dance for Han. And, if she had learned anything about SI: 7 during her many years with them, Han was probably going to turn it into a community event, to keep from offending any of his comrades. The humans were sometimes, overly fair.
"This... has got to be... the MOST demeaning day of my life." Myrielle groaned as she headed down to recently popular lingerie store.
Later in Cutthroat Alley...
Alessandre hadn't waited for Myrielle to come back that morning. He simply took a handful of gold, because he didn't really have any money of his own after last night, and stealthed out of the apartment she kept in Old Town. Alessandre tried to remember if he said anything significant to Myrielle last night. Of course, through his blaring headache, he didn't remember anything at all. But that old nagging frustration in his loins was long gone, and he was sure what that meant. Alessandre didn't want to think about what sleeping with Myrielle meant for Opalbane and himself. That is, if he ever saw Opalbane again.
But just in case he had said anything incriminating, Alessandre headed to the one place any rogue could go if he needed to lay low, and fit in no matter what: Cutthroat Alley. Nor had Alessandre exactly banished the notion that he could start ganking people again if he got bored.
That's what the murders were, really, an addiction to ganking people. Alessandre had begun to accept that about himself.
Night fell, and Alessandre was sleeping on his old rooftop in cat form to pass the time. Catnaps were the best. But as the sun set it got very cold up there, and it forced him awake. He opened his bright yellow eyes just in time to notice that the old meeting house was bustling with activity. Alessandre stealthed and went to investigate.
Silently, he slipped through the small spaces imbetween people's long legs to get through the crowd. Alessandre thought he recognized some faces, but in his catform he couldn't think very clearly and wasn't entirely sure. His furry little head was better at thinking about how to kill things lightning fast, but not figuring out the why. That was more of a rogue's job.
One face, however, meant a great deal to Alessandre no matter what form he was in: Priest Faltheriel.
"Gentlemen. I am so happy to see you assemble here at such short notice. Max, can you keep them quiet please?"
Max dies, Faltheriel dies, Benactus dies... Alessandre resumed his mental list in the deep recesses of his feral consciousness.
Just as he had before, Max threatened the room for silence and he got it.
"You all remember the rules don't you?" All around the room, the thugs nodded. "Well, forget them. I'm going to confess a little something to you all me and my doings. It's not really a big secret. You may even be familiar with my little problem. My cohort, Priest Benactus, doesn't trust me at all." Faltheriel frowned pitifully, like a two year old. Alessandre really wished Faltheriel wouldn't speak in that mock baby voice. It made the fact that Faltheriel had wanted to be intimate with him–and might have used that very voice in the act–nearly unbearable. "Benactus has kept many secrets from me, and I watched him be so bold as to shun an official from Darnassus. I underestimated the priest, and I have a strong feeling that Benactus is coming after me next." Faltheriel sighed and began to pace. "But my objective still remains. I need the girl Opalbane!"
Faltheriel paused dramatically. "That's where you all come in. You see, my superiors are different from Benactus' bosses. They don't want Opalbane unmarked, or as a virgin, or even sober. They just want her alive. Can you boys do that for me?"
Men all around the room erupted into a wild frenzy. Arguments over who would get Opalbane first started anew. Alessandre couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not only had Benactus outsmarted him, he'd outdone Faltheriel as well. Clearly, Faltheriel was an agent of the Burning Legion, and Benactus had figured it out before Alessandre had.
"Hush now, boys." Faltheriel urged coyly. Alessandre shuddered. "This is the only catch. I need for you to go right now. Get all your little weapons and go immediately. My associate is already onto me, I'm afraid, and I need to strike as soon as possible. Before, I feared that if ths failed at all, I might need to keep my cover as Twilight Cultist so we had to keep to the rules. Now, it's time to be completely ruthless." Then, Faltheriel actually rubbed his hands together the way phony evil villains did. What was wrong with this guy? He was trying way too hard.
Everyone in this room dies, Faltheriel dies... twice. Alessandre was getting sick just thinking about having to touch the Blood Elf again.
"Alright, you have your orders. My carriage will be parked just outside the blacksmith in Goldshire. I'm sure all of you have been there at some point in your lives. When you're done with her, bring her to me. Now remember, anything goes if it will encourage you to get the job done faster, but don't kill her."
This was a disaster. Alessandre shifted out of his catform and remained stealthed, listening to men going on cheerfully about all the horrible things they were going to do to the woman he loved. The rage inside of Alessandre built. He had been outsmarted by Priest Benactus, someone who had Opalbane's heart but was unworthy of it, and by that silly prancing male Elf Faltheriel... only his revulsion for the Blood Elf kept Alessandre from leaping on the delicate man as he departed from the meeting house. Later... later he would get the stomach to kill him.
While stealthed, Alessandre shifted back into his normal form and sneaked out of the house. Alessandre knew that he had to go to Opalbane, no matter what kind of case Benactus was building against him. It occurred to Alessandre then that Benactus' show of strength in the office was mostly just that, a good threat. Benactus couldn't physically prevent Alessandre from protecting Opalbane and he knew it. The best the old priest could do was play mind games with Alessandre and try to convince him to stay away. The truth was, Alessandre had a choice, he'd always had a choice. This mission was no longer about Priestess Feathershine or Shadowstep. It was no longer about doing a better job than Myrielle. Nor was it about finally saving face as a rogue after Wisthera had ruined him back in Thelsamar several months ago. It was about Opalbane. Alessandre could still save her, even with a ruined reputation. It was a great risk but to a rogue life was risk, wasn't it? Maybe Opalbane might reject him, but what was more important was that Alessandre kept his promise to Opalbane: that he kept her safe and that she lived.
Alessandre cursed himself for giving into self doubt and despair before... but that was just how good Benactus was. The old shadowpriest had been keeping all kinds of dark secrets all these years and he worked in the Cathedral of Light. It was the oldest trick in the book really, allowing your enemy to underestimate you.
"Hey, I hear that those purple chicks are immortal. Think we can stab her a couple times?" One of the rogues asked his friends in the alley outside.
Alessandre froze. He took slow, patient breaths. He told himself over and over again that he was no murderer; he didn't have to be if he just tried to control himself. Getting to Opalbane right now was more important. Alessandre began to wonder if his dark addiction to hunting people made him sound just as crazy as these men. Hunting men had been a fetish for him too, for thousands of years... now he felt disgusted with himself.
"Oh! I hear that if you cut a limb off it grows back? Anyone dare me to do it?"
"No you idiot, that's Trolls. Elves can't do that."
"But I hear that Elves is related to Trolls. I bet ya if I do it, it'll grow right back. Who's gonna bet?"
"I'll put a gold on that."
"No, I'll bet five gold that it doesn't work." and they kept laughing and going on and on about doing terrible things to Opalbane until Alessandre couldn't take it anymore.
"Die!" he half growled at the speaker and ambushed him from behind. It was a one shot and the guy fell over dead. Before anyone could see him, Alessandre shifted quickly into his bear form.
The other rogues scrambled. Some were able to drop into stealth.
"It's that druid again!" someone shouted, and all the cutthroats from the meeting rushed Alessandre at once. Ever a good feral druid, Alessandre used his bear form to handle the mob.
They tore at him with their daggers, but Alessandre had more life and armor in his bear form and was able to endure a lot of the attacks. He let himself fill up with rage, and tore right through people. Men died in great numbers, and Alessandre the murderer should have enjoyed it, but he did not. Alessandre was terrified that if he didn't get himself out of this mess, there would be no one to warn Opalbane.
Alessandre learned a long time ago, after he was kicked out of Silithus and stripped of his rank, that he could not heal himself. For some reason, his mana was tainted and he could only use for one thing. It was the one thing his feral druid mana was meant for at very moment that his lost love shot him with the mysterious fel shadow power: shift.
Any normal druid would have shifted out and stunned his attackers, healed himself many times by now. That was impossible for the handsome Night Elf rogue. It was far too dangerous to risk, but at the last moment, Alessandre shifted back into his rogue form and vanished. He was surprised at how much life he had left. It wasn't very much at all. Bandaging took one out of stealth and so did taking a healing potion or eating. Alessandre had to risk it. He drank the healing potion he always kept in his breast pocket, just in case.
As soon as Alessandre was knocked out of stealth by the potion, the rogues fell on him fast. He tried to shift back into his feral form and restealth, but the rogues had already engaged him in combat. He went back to his bear form immediately, to reduce the damage but more rogues were coming into the alley from the house. Alessandre could not hold them off. If he kept killing them, he was going to die.
Unless he made the right choice.
Alessandre thought quickly and charged a man who was running out of the only exit and entrance to Cutthroat Alley. The fast charge helped Alessandre to get distance from his attackers. Once freed, Alessandre raced out of the alley and into the street outside. As soon as he had a scrap of a lead, Alessandre shifted into his cheetah form and raced to Old Town where he could hide as a rogue. He had to lose his attackers before going to Opalbane. Inevitably, Alessandre passed by the Trade District on the way to the right bridge across the expansive canal that divided the city.
There, he almost crashed into a real druid.
"Careful brother." the tall Night Elf druid greeted Alessandre warmly, and cast a rejuevenation spell, mark of the wild, and a thorns buff on him when it was clear the stranger was injured. Druids hadn't changed in a thousand years, Alessandre observed gratefully somewhere in the back of his feral mind. "We are all hurrying out of the city to satisfy the Archdruid's behest, but there is no need to push." the druid admonished Alessandre.
Alessandre backpedaled a few hasty steps as he tried to figure out what the druid meant. Of course, in his cat form, the association didn't register.
"You can get in front of me if you like. You look troubled." Another friendly druid wearing a helmet that resembled moose antlers bent down and beckoned to Alessandre, almost if he were a real cat. "We're all anxious to do what the Archdruid wants. It seems there is an emergency and all the druids in Stormwind are needed back in Darnassus immediately. Before we leave though, they want all of us to gather in the Trade District."
The cutthroats caught up to the huge assembly of Night Elf druids in their various forms. Alessandre took advantage of the confusion and ran through a pack of cheetahs who raced across his bridge to meet the others. By the skin of his teeth, he managed to lose his pursuers... except for two men who noticed the lone cheetah run off into the night.
One man looked at the other. "That stupid druid's headed to Old Town." he chuckled then looked at his friend. "You ever heard of karma?" His partner nodded and grinned wickedly.