The Romancer Opalbane

Episode 31: Villains always monologue before the death scene

Faltheriel left off peering through the small gap he'd allowed in the heavy scarlet curtains when he heard Alessandre killing his men inside the house. A chill ran through the lean Blood Elf. He'd been watching for the Night Elf rogue, and told his thugs to secure every entrance to the house except for the front door. Alessandre had surprised them all. It also showed just how far gold could go to secure good help these days.

The terrifying screams and savage growling grew louder as it traveled deeper into the house in Cutthroat Alley. In time—and it surprised Faltheriel just how rapidly it traveled—the noise erupted into a louder cacophony upstairs. Finally, the sound of furniture breaking and windows smashing, the sound of swords and daggers being drawn and parried, then grating noisily against the floor when they were sent flying out of the hands of unskilled victims, ended just outside of Faltheriel's door.

Then, the door opened.

Alessandre stood there, breathing rapidly. His rapier was drawn in one hand, the dagger firm in the other. He held the door ajar with his shoulder as he leaned on it. A black mask covered his mouth and much of his face, leaving only Alessandre's eyes visible.

"Why not stealth in here, Mirothalas?" Faltheriel mused.

Alessandre narrowed his glowing yellow eyes the Blood Elf.

"I knew where you were standing. And… how do you know my name?" Alessandre asked.

Faltheriel pushed the red curtain aside, revealing an excellent view of the dirty narrow street that made up Cutthroat Alley. The sky was gray and cloudy. Soft rain tapped against the window.

"Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider is a gorgeous man. Did you know that?"

Alessandre wisely decided not to answer this question.

"The cleft in his chin could not be more perfect. He's got a scar under his eye, just there," Faltheriel gestured with his own finger, indicating an area under his right eye. "But they healed it while we were in Outland… Lord Illidan put powerful fel runes there. We were afraid it would hurt him, but it didn't. It kept him from going blind, you see. Our poor, dear prince… and King Anasterian… so sad what happened to my people."

Alessandre rolled his shoulders, and began to close in on Faltheriel. Faltheriel seemed not to notice. He kept talking. "I loved him." Faltheriel said. Alessandre paused.

"What the hell?"

"Yes, I was in love with Prince Sunstrider. I adored him. Never was there ever a Blood Elf more powerful… both a mage and a warlock, did you know that? We call it a Blood-Mage. He was incredibly talented, and wise… is wise. The Prince is still living, I think. At least he was the last time I saw him."

"You were a member of the army Prince Sunstrider took to Outland with the Naga?"

Faltheriel nodded. "I would have followed Prince Kael' thas to the ends of Azeroth and beyond. In fact, I did. Into the maw of hell itself it seemed. However, ours was a love that was not meant to be. He rejected me."

Alessandre tried to stay serious in a time like this. Thankfully, his black rogue's mask concealed a good amount of his laughter.

Faltheriel seemed to become aware of Alessandre then. He folded his pale hands in his lap and turned to the handsome Night Elf. "I was furious with them In Shatthrath City they are called the Scryers, or some nonsense. I did not want to betray my prince. I escaped with some others who felt the same as I and went back to tell Kael'thas everything, but he shunned all of us. Right before I was to be killed for treason, was when I confessed my feelings… my own beloved monarch was so repulsed by me… I was happy to give myself to the Legion after that. I'd risked everything and just wanted to belong someplace in the end."

Alessandre raised the tip of his rapier to Faltheriel's throat. "Does this story have a point? I want to go home to my wife."

Faltheriel snarled. "Oh yes, I've heard about your marriage to Opalbane. The pretty shadowpriestess. I'm a shadowpriest too, you know. Why don't you like me?"

Alessandre lost focus. "Look… I know some male elves do but… not that there's anything wrong with that… I just… look, I don't swing that way." He finally said.

Faltheriel sighed. "I guessed as much."

Alessandre's brow bunched in angry frustration. "It's just not that, Faltheriel. It's you. You're… weird, and gross."

Ignoring the sharp point of the rapier, Faltheriel leaned back against the window and turned his gaze to the rainy world beyond. "That is the same thing my prince told me. For all his perfect features, and that brilliant mind, Prince Kael'thas has one flaw." Then, he paused for effect, "He's arrogant."

Alessandre sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

"I'm arrogant, you're arrogant, all us elves are arrogant. That seems to be the way things are on Azeroth."

"Yes, my sweet little mana pot." One could see Faltheriel smiling in the reflection of the window. "But Kael' thas' arrogance has bound him to the wrong man in Outland. Lord Illidan is not brave enough to ally himself with the Legion outright. He will play games with us, savoring his so-called freedom forever until we force him into an official pact. And so, too, does Kael' thas follow in Lord Illidan's footsteps, sending the remainder of his Blood Elf forces to the Black Temple, and all over Outland hoping to gain enough control over the shards of that world to thwart the Legion when it finally comes to collect what is owed." Then, Faltheriel looked Alessandre dead in the eye. "The Burning Legion will conquer Outland, and then we are coming to Azeroth. It's all but done."

"What does Opalbane have to do with all of this?" Alessandre hoped to at least steer this strange conversation in his direction.

Faltheriel's burning green left eye twitched, then he blurt out. "Damn her! Mirothalas, I'm not making this speech to you for my health. I've known all about you ever since that night in the tavern, on Love is in the Air day… I waited to tell you this because I care for you, and I don't want you to make the same mistake that Prince Kael'thas did."

"What do you mean? Missing the chance to kill you because your disturbing nature is about as alluring as watching a train wreck? Have you always been so weird?"

Faltheriel frowned. "You are a rogue and a druid, Mirothalas. I read your mind, and with all our close encounters, I figured it out. You and your," he inhaled sharply, "sexy mana… I can't take it anymore! Come back with me to Outland and I can show you what true power is really like. Don't make the same mistake Prince Sunstrider did, and frivol away your unique talents! They can put fel tattoos on your beautiful dark body, just like with Lord Illidan… maybe people here fear you, but in Outland, you will be treasured, respected. Kil'Jaeden will want to meet you, I'm sure."

Alessandre's jaw hung open in mute shock.

Faltheriel gently lifted his hand from his lap and motioned in the air. The blade of Alessandre's sword was pushed aside by some unseen magical force. The strange Blood Elf was certainly more than just a shadowpriest, he was using powers Alessandre had never seen before. No wonder he didn't take a sword pointed at his throat as a threat.

Faltheriel narrowed his long golden eyebrows and crooked his gloved finger over his mouth. He stifled a polite laugh. "And the best part is, of course… I can show you what no woman ever can. What it really means to be loved like a man."

Alessandre's face flushed. "No, I don't think so."

Faltheriel rose from where he had been sitting. The heavy scarlet curtain slipped free behind him and shuttered out what little sunlight that came from the window. Alessandre noted with cold dread that it also changed the mood in the room. "Opalbane is just a small piece in the greater puzzle. I was assigned to come here and retrieve her." He carefully walked around the numb Alessandre, over to his desk. It was a shabby little thing covered with neatly stacked books and papers. Faltheriel sat down at the edge of the desk, crossed his legs in his red robe and leaned forward.

"She's not like us, Mirothalas. I've looked into that woman's mind as well as your own. She is truly evil." His eyes went wide. "You and I, we just have a mean streak, a desire to be bad and dirty…" he paused, and smiled wickedly. Alessandre cringed. "Do you really think that the Burning Legion has recruited countless worlds and races like the Eredar into their ranks because they are disgusting and cruel? No… it is because we know how to have fun. We know what it is like to burn the sky and explode the earth, to twist creatures into something brilliantly devlish, and drink in that fel energy." Faltheriel's green eyes blazed as he recalled the magical stuff the Blood Elves had recently become addicted to. "It won't be a fun party without you. Help me go and get her, and then we'll off into the living rapture. There, in that endless stream of power, we can free ourselves and let loose all inhibitions at last. Haven't you ever wondered what you would be like if you just indulged? The self that wants to lie, cheat, and steal, that is the true self, as free and blameless as a happy child within the Legion."

Alessandre finally spoke. "You… want me to go get Opalbane and betray her, and then… follow you to Outland, to the Burning Legion headquarters… give her to them and then—"

"We can take it slow from there, Mirothalas." He chuckled. "I hate to quote an old and quite bad pick up line, but I do believe you wish your girlfriend was hot like me."

"That's it!" Alessandre drew his weapons. "You are going to die, you… weirdo!"

Faltheriel uncrossed his legs. He stood up straight and let his hands rest heavy at his sides. His elaborately embroidered red robe rustled at the hem when he began to conjure his mysterious invisible power.

"Are you sure, sexy mana? Because if you reject me, I won't ever offer you an opportunity like this again. I know from experience that gorgeous men like you only play games and break a person's heart… I don't dare let it happen to me again."

"I am going to break your pencil neck!"

Faltheriel snarled menacingly. "Come closer then."

To be honest, Alessandre hesitated. He really did want to leave off killing Faltheriel a second time because he did not want to go anywhere near that very odd male elf. This time, however, Alessandre reminded himself that he had no choice.

Alessandre stealthed.

"Oh!" Faltheriel exclaimed and clapped his hands gleefully like a schoolgirl, "I love this game! Are you going to come at me from the front, or behind?"

Somewhere across the room, Alessandre groaned loudly. "Why didn't I train as a caster of some kind? Then, I could just kill you from over here, without touching you."

Faltheriel walked out into the middle of the room, eager for the attack. Unlike any normal person who was watching out for a rogue, he happily exposed himself on all fronts. "You forgot about hunters, Mirothalas. They do it with their pets… and big guns."

"For the love of—" Alessandre blurt out suddenly. He was creeping up on Faltheriel from behind and gave up on his ambush attack. Unexpectedly, Faltheriel was turning out to be his most challenging adversary yet. Still stealthed, he stalked away to hide his location.

Faltheriel was enjoying this immensely. "Oh, you don't know how adorable you are, Mirothalas. Though, I can see why you changed your name. Alessandre is so exotic, even for a Human name, don't you think? I've always hated my name, Kil'Jaeden was telling me that I could change it now that I work for the Legion. I was thinking something mysterious like Shane, or maybe something kinky like Master Sunbody, or Faltheriel the Fair… or if you play this game I know where you use the name of the first pet you ever owned and the first street you ever lived on, I'd be Flamey Falconwing Square, but that's so silly, isn't it? I had a pet dragonhawk when I was little which is okay, but a man can't be named after a square—"

"Dear goddess! Shut up!" Alessandre shouted suddenly and stabbed Faltheriel through the middle with his rapier. Faltheriel buckled and grasped his stomach. He pulled a ragged breath and vomited up blood… but it was as black as ink. Slowly, he looked up the length of the rapier blade and then craned his neck to look into Alessandre's face.

"Oh that was naughty, sexy mana." He smiled. "But that doesn't hurt very much. Why don't you try again, hmm?"

Alessandre tried to yank his rapier free, but Faltheriel grabbed his fingers on the hilt, and the terrified rogue wrenched his hands away. Alessandre relinquished his sword to the Blood Elf.

Faltheriel started laughing. He chuckled low and long, spitting spurts of black blood onto the floor. He turned around in circles, laughing like mad when he saw how the blade ran through him, pierced his flesh and then stuck out the other side. Then, Faltheriel deftly slid the rapier free.

"What are you doing with this anyway, sexy mana? It's hardly the nicest sword I've ever seen, and I've seen many swords in my day." Faltheriel grinned at his bad pun.

Alessandre was beside himself. "A Human taught me—"

"Yes, yes, a rapier is the only sword you know how to use, since you were a druid a thousand years ago, blah blah blah. A sad story, I suppose, but it also makes a guy want to save you… or a certain shadowpriestess. You see, it's easy to fall in love with you Mirothalas." Faltheriel tossed the rapier aside. It clattered and rolled along on the wood floor.

Alessandre raised his lone dagger and pointed it at Faltheriel. His hand shook nervously. But he looked like a clumsy person, who didn't know how to use a dagger and just wanted to keep space between himself and his attacker.

"Are you saying you're in love with me now?" Alessandre sputtered.

Faltheriel walked over, ignoring Alessandre's dagger. Alessandre came to his senses at the last moment and slashed the dagger across Faltheriel's exposed neck with the sense of a good assassin, but the black blood poured out and healed the elf just as quickly. Faltheriel grimaced and yanked the dagger out of Alessandre's hand. Then, he examined the soiled blade and licked it, slowly.

"The blood of your enemies… very sweet." He tossed the dagger aside.

"Get away from me—" Alessandre made fists and began to back towards the door.

"You've never met someone like me before. I'm a new kind of opponent for you, aren't I? A Blood Elf, an agent of the Burning Legion and a man who is in love with you… you have no idea how to proceed. And look," Faltheriel swept his hand out over the room behind them, "I've already disarmed you. Just how do you think you are going to kill me now? With those handsome manly fists of yours? Do you really think that hitting me will do you any better—"

And then Faltheriel cut off his own tirade and pushed off Alessandre's black mask. He seized both sides of Alessandre's face. Then, he leaned up and kissed him fiercely.

Faltheriel tugged at Alessandre, relishing the kiss, then let the Night Elf rogue go. "I can't even think around you," Faltheriel half apologized, gasping. "Do you see what you do to me? I can't stand to be teased like this any longer, sexy mana. Let me drink you in, let me love you, right here—"

"Fatheriel?" Alessandre squinted one of his eyes, disturbed. His jaw tightened.

"Yes, my sweet—"

That was when in a flash of flying blue hair, Alessandre turned around and punched the Blood Elf hard, in his pretty face.

Faltheriel was knocked around in a circle because of the momentum and when he crash landed on the ground, he cried out and clutched his mouth.

"My teef! You knocked my teef out of my mouf!" he shook. Two perfect white teeth lay in Faltheriel's outstretched hand.

Alessandre rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, trying to feel like a man again. "My name is Alessandre! And I am about to kick your ass!" he shouted back, then picked Faltheriel up off the floor and hit him again. Faltheriel panicked and ran, presumably to hide under the little desk, but Alessandre shifted into his bear form and dragged Faltheriel back out into the open, kicking and screaming.

Faltheriel attempted to use a Mana Tap spell to drain Alessandre's mana, but whatever he got in exchange for the pretty explosion of arcane energy singed his thrust out palm.

Alessandre the bear roared and used the back of his big claw to sweep Faltheriel aside. Faltheriel was truly rattled and tried to break from Alessandre mauling him so he could cast a spell, but Alessandre backed up and charged him. The stunned Blood Elf cowered helplessly as Alessandre raked him with his claws and tore at him with his teeth. Faltheriel was able to get off one shadow word of pain before Alessandre finally put him out of his misery. With a final swipe, Alessandre slashed through the bloodied and once elegant red robes. The sound of bones in Faltheriel's ribcage breaking reached Alessandre's long furry ears. Faltheriel whimpered in pain and then his expression went blank. He fell the ground, groaned in agony, and reached up to touch Alessandre one last time. Then, Faltheriel coughed up a great deal of blood and closed his eyes.

Alessandre stood there for a long time panting in his bear form. He took one last look at the strange Faltheriel before leaving.

A few moments later…

Alessandre came back into Faltheriel's office. His black mask had been retrieved and he'd tucked his long hair inside and once again covered his face. What looked like a gold stationery box was tucked under his arm. He tried not to look at the corpse of Faltheriel that stared up at the ceiling. Alessandre gave the body a wide berth in the middle of the room, then finally came to the desk. Some of the papers had been scattered in his scuffle earlier. Alessandre eyed the desk for a few moments before deciding to nudge one stack of books onto the floor. Then, he stood and leaned over the desk to see how they fell. That seemed to satisfy him. Next, Alessandre placed the gold box on the desk, opened it, and pulled two inkwells and a stylus. He got the odd feeling that he was being watched. Alessandre stealthed momentarily and shifted into his cat form to smell for any other people in the room. Only Faltheriel's putrid smelling black blood came to him.

Alessandre changed back. He found some blank paper in one of Faltheriel's desk drawers and set it in front of him. He rifled through more of the drawers until he found some old correspondence of the elf's and carefully lay each sheet on the floor behind him. On hands and knees, Alessandre inspected each page with a monocle from the box. He practiced forging a few of Faltheriel's letters before seating himself before the desk again and taking Faltheriel's gaudy blue hawkstrider-feather stylus in hand. After a few moments of writing, Alessandre jerked up at the sound of hoofbeats in the alley outside. Shouts of Stormwind Guard carried through the dying rainfall. The bell at the Cathedral of Light tolled five-o'clock. That's about how long I guessed they would take to come to Cutthroat Alley. Alessandre thought. Quickly, Alessandre finished up, put his tools into a black bag he'd brought and placed the forged letter in the box. He put a tiny bronze lock on it, locked it, and then unlocked it again to see how easy it was. Satisfied, he fixed the lock back, and set it prominently at the center of the desk. Even Stormwind Guards wouldn't miss it.

A loud banging on the door downstairs carried up through the house. Alessandre tied the bag and slung it over his shoulder and made quickly for the door, then froze. The creepy feeling of being watched washed over him again. He couldn't just ignore it.

Alessandre stealthed and sneaked back up on the body of Faltheriel lying on the floor.

"Your eyes… were closed when I killed you." Alessandre said to the Blood Elf. The green pupils blazed anew and Faltheriel's hands flew up, trying to cast some final spell.

Alessandre flipped his shining dagger around and stabbed Faltheriel with it, through the heart.

Alessandre waited as long as he could while he waited for his wife's last enemy to die. He checked Faltheriel's pulse, tested to see if he was breathing, then kicked him hard in the side, where the broken ribs were. Nothing. Faltheriel was dead.

"Stormwind Guard! Toss your weapon on the floor, now!" The guards in silver plate poured into the room, brandishing swords and shields with the golden lion crest of Stormwind.

Not a soul greeted them. Just the battered corpse of a Blood Elf, still warm.

Stealthed, Alessandre watched from near the door.

"This one's just been slain, captain." A female guard announced. The blonde captain scratched his beard and wandered to the desk. "By the Light! It's a Blood Elf! Look at those green eyes!"

"What's in the box?" a third guard asked. He sighed, and lowered his shield.

Their captain approached the desk carefully, then picked up the golden stationery box.

Alessandre edged to the open doorway. He could hear his heart in his ears.

The guard captain was happy to find that the bronze lock was easily opened with a gentle nudge from his sword. He retrieved the letter inside and began to read.

"It's another confession letter, boys. This one knew the druid was coming to take revenge on him too. Seems this Faltheriel fellow and Priest Benactus were working together to force the druid murderer and then he went crazy. Priest Benactus and Faltheriel lost control of him in the end. Damn cultists." The guard captain swore, but looked relieved.

"What's next?" Alessandre heard the female guard asking as he sneaked out of the house. Dead bodies, blood, ruined furniture and claw marks were everywhere.

"Check the canals… both letters say the druid was felt so guilty that after killing his captors, he was going to drown himself. Hopefully, that will be the end of this case, and the people of Stormwind will know justice at last."

Alessandre crept through the open door, shifted into his catform while stealthed and raced headlong through Cutthroat Alley. They were going to find something in the canal alright… just enough of a bear corpse to look like something it wasn't. It wasn't the cleverest idea he'd ever had, but he relied on the nasty canal water to help obscure the rest and make it believable. Only time would tell if it was. So far, though, the Stormwind Guard seemed convinced. Alessandre tried to put those thoughts away for now. This was the last day of the month. It was time to get home to Opalbane and start his new life as an honest rogue—well as honest as a rogue can get, anyways.

Alessandre did not look back when he left Cutthroat Alley for the last time. He didn't even think to say goodbye to his old hunting ground. It just wasn't that important to him anymore.