The Journey Of Valessandra

Synopsis:

Valessandra the Blood Elf journeys to the Kingdom of Stormwind to establish diplomatic relations with the King after the war. Along the way, she meets a suave rogue...

Author's Note:

This is a story that takes place in the World of Warcraft. Features a client's original character. I welcome any feedback you may have. Enjoy!

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THE JOURNEY OF VALESSANDRA

Section I.

In the realm of Azeroth, there are few things more comforting than sleeping in one's own bed in one's own mansion, surrounded by all the comforts of home be they shiny, furry, or delectable. Why travel when one is so wealthy that she already has the world's treasures at her fingertips? Why fraternize with the myriad lesser races when one is already comfortable in her own community and needs only the companionship of other Blood Elves?

These questions and more fluttered around my mind like a halo of canaries even as I awoke in the dark of my rumbling carriage.

"Elthorion? A-are we there yet...?" I rubbed at my eyes. "Shan't we stop for supper?"

I peeled back the red curtains, seeing rows upon rows of cottages passing by. Hooves and horseshoes clinked and clopped upon the wet cobblestone as we rode on. Was this a town? Where were we now? My pocket watch showed half past eight. The rain was light--barely a drizzle, in fact-- but I expected better weather in the homeland of the humans. Despite my best efforts to dress warmly, the chill still prickled through my magicked purple garbs like a cloud of mosquitos.

"Codswallop, Elthorion! I would hardly consider such weather as worth traveling through! I was informed it would be sunny this week from dawn till dusk!"

"Tis just a bit of rain, Lady Valessandra," my coachman Elthorion replied from the front of the carriage. "The horses can certainly handle a bit of water. We should still arrive in Stormwind on schedule."

"I hardly believe that!" I said, tugging a woolen cloak from my luggage. "Goodness, this road doesn't seem very well-maintained either. What kind of backwater hamlet is this?"

"Tis Goldshire, my Lady. Just passed through the Elwynn Forest. I admit not the most civilized of towns, is it?"

"After this awful trip--" The carriage rattled and lurched. "--I will expect a full apology from the High King. Look--the road is not even paved!"

I was outraged to say the least. And if relations between the Alliance and the Horde were to be improved, they would must needs go through me first!

Lest you wonder, I am called Valessandra--Lady Valessandra of the Blood Elves. One may know me as a high-born mage from the Department of Foreign Affairs in Silvermoon City, the famed capital city of the Blood Elves.

Lasting days of peace had finally arrived after a long period of war between the Alliance and the Horde. In the past year, the leaders of each respective faction had come to a historic agreement that would change the world as we knew it. But to my chagrin, I was chosen as the representative of Silvermoon City and my race, and I was to travel by horsedrawn carriage for two weeks all the way down to the Alliance capital.

"This is preposterous!" I cried out in the office of the Regent Lord, Lor'themar Theron himself. "You wish for ME, the beautiful and esteemed Valessandra, to visit the humans in their HOMELAND?!"

"Lady Valessandra, I understand your consternation. But truth be told, I know no better person to represent us. You are among our most powerful mages. And among the most fair. I would trust no one else with the task of fostering diplomatic relations with the Alliance."

"But..." I stammered. "They are a bunch of... of... uncivilized ragamuffins!"

"Lady Valessandra, you will go there."

"Why me? Why not Noraelath? She loves the humans like she loves her pets!"

"Valessandra, please understand--" The Blood Elf Lord towered over me and furrowed his brow. "--times are changing. And there are those among us who resist this change. Some who will not bury their hatchet and wish to remain enemies with the Alliance, and would even hope to see the war continue for the sake of profit."

"Your point?"

"You are wealthy, Valessandra. Which means you cannot be bribed. You are formidable, which means you cannot be killed. Furthermore, you are vocal of your dislike for humans, which means you are honest. But despite that dislike, I know you would never actually kill a human."

"But I don't--"

"I don't want to wake up one morning and read a missive saying my ambassador assassinated Stormwind's King. Or that someone assassinated you. Do you understand me?"

And that is how I, the great mage Valessandra of Silvermoon, ended up "volunteering" to travel to the human capital of Stormwind.

"Poppycock!" I cursed.

Given little choice, I decided I might as well make a vacation of it. I purchased the most luxurious stagecoach that my coffers could buy, adorned with velvet curtains, clear glass windows, and fur-trimmed seats. I gathered all of my belongings: several cases of luggage, several weeks of dress robes, as well as a small library of grimoires to read during the trip.

I even brought along my personal familiar--a red lynx kitten named Richard who I would never dare leave at home unattended.

After enlisting the services of my personal coachman Elthorion--also a Blood Elf like myself--we set off for the distant Kingdom of Stormwind where--so the legend says--all boys begin their journeys before growing into men.

I should hope such a journey would go without incident.

*crack*

"W-what was that?" I cried.

The carriage jostled violently on the cobblestone. I heard a loud, dreadful cracking of splintered wood below my seat. The red-furred Richard leapt with a start. And when I opened the carriage door and looked down, my heart sank. One of the wheels struck a deep pothole in the road, cracking the axle.

Elthorion clambered down from his seat at the front of the carriage and shook his head. "This will take some time to fix, I'm afraid. And with all this rain, I wager I won't finish repairs until tomorrow morning."

"Oh, fiddlesticks," I swore. "Curse this whole trip! I most certainly won't be sleeping in a broken carriage of all things!"

"Might I suggest, my Lady, perhaps spending the night in town?"

"Don't insult me." I glared. "Spend the night in a human inn? I would never--"

He pointed at the building in front of us.

Lion's Pride Inn.

It was a rather quaint-looking establishment with two floors, beige stucco walls, and a blue shingled roof. Dozens of windows lit from within--and a cacophony of laughter besides--hinted at the night life within. At this time of night in this weather, I did not expect anyone to be going in and out of the building. And yet, even as I stood there thinking on whether I should even walk in, a purple-skinned Night Elf in poncho walked out the front door, passed by me, then strolled nonchalantly into the rain. I wagered a noble Blood Elf like myself walking into a tavern would be a rare sight, but perhaps not?

"Fine. Watch the carriage for me."

"Have a good time, my Lady," Elthorion said.

"I rather doubt that."

Richard sprung out of the carriage on his paws and leapt on my shoulder, clearly wanting a part of this new adventure. If there was yet one comfort I always enjoyed, it was little Richard's company.

I swung the door open and strolled in.

The smells! Oh, the odors!

The acrid scent of ale and man sweat filled my nose. This scent was different from that of the noblemen and noblewomen I had come to know at royal parties. No, these scents were of the working class--of chivalrous squires, skilled hunters and bandits, crafty merchants, and mere newbie adventurers; those on the lower rungs of any society that kept the wheels of civilization turning for the Kings and Queens who took them for granted.

I nearly hit my head on a wooden beam as I walked in. The atmosphere was warm and cozy. A gigantic moose head was mounted on the wall as a centerpiece, paired with a variety of other trophy mounts, including bears, tigers, and--of course--lions. The loud clinking of drinks and silverware rang in my ears as did the mix of laughter--young and old--at whatever merriment they were engaged in. To my left was a group of drunken men trading jokes. And to my right was a table of ruffians throwing dice and holding cards.

One of the tables in the corner featured a bandana-wearing man--also gambling--surrounded by a modest entourage of busty women. The man's eyes briefly met mine before I strolled up to the front counter and took a seat at the bar.

I cleared my throat. The dwarf bartender stood there drying mugs, barely acknowledging me.

"AHEM! Good sir!" I bellowed. "My name is Valessandra. I am a highborn Blood Elf!"

"Aye, so ye are," he replied casually, drying his cups.

I frowned. I could not be certain whether this was simply the culture here, or if he was acting genuinely rude.

"I have two questions, and I will want these questions to be answered immediately and with utmost poise and respect for a woman of my station."

"A'ight, how can I help ye?"

"First of all, my carriage encountered some difficulty on your streets outside, damaging its vital infrastructure. I am most tired and disgruntled. But I am willing to overlook this slight if you will grant me a single night in your inn's best suite."

"We don't have a suite. All the rooms are the same."

"I--what?"

"I said we don't have a suite."

"What kind of..." I stammered. "F-fine. I will reserve a regular room. Second of all, I would like a glass of your finest--your absolute finest--spirits! In a glass. Please."

"A'ight, here ye go."

The bartender grabbed the mug he had just dried. He walked over to an unmarked keg and opened a rusty spigot. I watched in horror as the thick, frothy brew glugged until it filled the cup to the top, and a second later he slid the mug to me across the polished counter without a word.

I was flabbergasted. Did he just serve ME the same ale he served everyone else?

"Tolerance, Valessandra," I mumbled to myself. "Tolerance! For we are in a strange land with strange customs. It could be that this foul brew is all this uncivilized culture can afford. Yes, yes, that must be it."

I brought the mug to my lips, the unpleasant carbonation prickling my upper lip. I swallowed, grimaced, then immediately smacked the mug back down again.

The bitterness!

"S-such swill!" I cried. I went to flag down the bartender again when I heard a barstool scrape next to me.

"Having trouble there, lass?"

"Hm?"

It was the man with the bandana.

He looked to be no older than twenty-five, but in the dimness he might have appeared thirty-five. He was an admittedly exemplary specimen with dense corded muscles and bronzed, scarred skin exposed under a leather tunic. His ill-shorn, jet-black hair tumbled in clumps around his ears, held in place by a plaid bandana with a mysterious insignia. His nose was straight and narrow with a rugged, five o'clock shadow on his cheeks. And his brown-eyed gaze--though tempered by alcohol--seemed fierce enough to tell a mountain of stories all on their own. His swole, chiseled pectorals under his unbuttoned collar dared me to peep, but I dared not look.

A toothpick dangled loosely from his lips as he spoke.

"Wait a tick! No, no, no--" The man shook his head. "That brew won't do, lass! Not for you. Hey Farley! Get her the number twelve!"

The man motioned toward Farley the bartender. This time, the bartender gave an emphatic nod and retrieved a fancier-looking bottle of wine from under the counter. He poured a clear, scarlet liquid into a much nicer wine glass. And with a single deft toss, the mysterious man flicked a shiny, gold coin directly into what must have been a tip jar.

He passed the glass to me.

"There ya go, lass! That should be more up your alley."

"Is that so?" I turned to him. "It is not in my nature to trust a stranger who buys me a drink without my consent. To whom am I speaking?"

"The name is Flint. I am a handsome, well-traveled man who loves playing with cards, coins, and women. Single and unmarried. Five-time winner of Stormwind's Nimble Fingers competition. I make my living as a mercenary--"

"You mean a thief?" I interjected. "I know your type well, rogue."

"Depends on the perspective, lass. I prefer the term 'Seeker of Rare Antiquities' myself. But I have many, many other titles as well."

"It is so very nice to meet you, Mr. Flint. But I am rather busy--"

"And you? What is your name?"

Oh hell.

"I am a Blood Elf. My name is Valessandra. I am on a mission to establish diplomatic--"

"Whoa! Too much!"

"I--I beg your pardon?"

"You say you're a Blood Elf. Your name is Valessandra. And with green eyes and bright red hair like that, I can see that you're easily the most stunning woman in this room. I don't need to know any more than that."

"Careful not to bite your own tongue lest you replace it with real silver. Do you always talk to women that way?"

"Nay. Just the ones who hate it." He winked.

"Hah." I feigned a laugh. "I think I shall go to my room--"

"Oh hey! That's a cute little one you've got there!"

"Ah, no--!"

The man reached for my right shoulder where little Richard quietly clung and watched. He usually did not take kindly to other people.

But to my surprise, the red lynx kitten did not protest. Flint, with the touch of a father, scratched at Richard's chin as though he knew exactly what he liked, inciting all manner of purrs that I'd never heard before.

"Nyaaaah--"

"That's a goooood kitty," Flint cooed. "Very, very good."

I was amazed.

"H-his name is Richard," I said. "That's very,

very

odd. He doesn't usually like humans!"

"I used to have one of them lynxes. His name was Bonegrinder. Lost his life in the war years ago--"

He withdrew his hand and shut his lips as though he had said too much. I could sense Richard's disappointment.

"Anyways," he continued, nibbling on his toothpick. "That's a vintage wine I bought ye. Try it!"

Glancing down at the placid, red liquid, I finally resolved to take the drink out of politeness. The numbing sweetness sparkled across my tongue like the waters of the Narm River, and the fragrant notes of foreign herbs and fruits tickled my taste buds with flavors long forgotten.

So, there WAS a benefit to traveling after all.

"I knew you'd like it," Flint smiled. "I discovered that vintage in one of my escapades against the trolls a few years ago. They stole a shipment of magicked wine. I took it. Sold a few bottles to Farley here where they've remained ever since."

"Trolls?" I furrowed my brow. "I'm impressed that a human could deal with them."

"What can I say? I am a man with many talents." He winked.

I gulped.

"Wh-what other talents do you have?"

"Talents--" He leaned in and whispered. "--better shown than said."

Oh, I thought. This was going somewhere.

I seemed to be heading down a rabbit hole. Despite my dislike for humans, I could feel every pore of my spine tingling with such intrusive yet salacious thoughts. I could feel my face burning, and I didn't think it was the wine.

Trolls? Talents? He must have been playing me like a fiddle.

"You are teasing me. I do not appreciate that, human."

"Aye, maybe I am. Then again--" He grinned with the toothpick in his lips. "--maybe I'm not."

"Heh," I chuckled as my heart raced. For whatever reason, he was pressing all of the right buttons and saying all of the right words. Even the glistening, stray bead of sweat dripping down his clavicle called to me.

"I-it's cute that you think you're going to bed me, Mr. Flint, but I do believe I am out of your league."

"No, lass," he replied. "You are out of mine."

Section II.

There was something in the air. There was something in the drink. There was something somewhere somehow doing something strange. Vacations could be as stressful as they were relaxing. And after a week of non-stop travel in a horsedrawn carriage, even with all the comforts of home, my body was tense with frustration that I ever had to make this trip in the first place.

If my friends or family back home ever learned that a human man had taken me under the sheets, I would never hear the end of it.

My inn room was predictably austere and sparsely furnished. Rain pattered on the windows behind dusty, burlap curtains. I turned and locked the door with my room key, making sure that no one was watching. A part of me was mortified that I would allow such a man to touch me, yet another was excited at the prospect of being seduced in a foreign land by a stranger.

With little Richard curled up at the foot of the bed, Flint wasted no time. He immediately embraced me from behind, pressing his lips and sliding his tongue across the nape of my neck. I sighed, feeling a cluster of moths fluttering in the pit of my stomach. I soughed through my teeth as he nibbled the underside of my elven ear, tugging my flesh as though testing just how much I could endure until pleasure turned into pain.

"You are my first Blood Elf," he said. "I do wonder what your customs are."

"S-so do I..." I panted. "For humans, that is."

His palms grazed the peaks of my breasts, still draped in my silken purple robes. I bit my lip, stifling my pants as his fingers sunk deep into my flesh, fondling me brusquely as his masculine desires bade him. He ran his wrists across my torso, tracing the hourglass curves of my body--every inch--as if relishing in the spoils of his efforts.

"Mmm..." I moaned.

"You were hiding some big beauties, lass..."

He kneaded the swells of my breasts through my clothes like heavy balls of dough, kissing my bare shoulders as he did so. But when I felt a familiar stiffness nudging into my backside, I knew this foreplay would not last much longer.

Flint withdrew from my neck, and I felt his fingernails graze me as he searched along the seam of my back for the clasps of my robe. Rogue that he was, he found them easily. One by one, he unhooked the metal clasps. The crisp air kissed my bare skin as each inch of fabric fell away. And when my robe slipped completely from my bare shoulders, Flint leaned over and planted kisses on them, brushing aside my locks of red hair. His rough chin felt like sandpaper, but the mild discomfort only further aroused me.

"Who did you say you were, lass?" He whispered, nudging his nose into my ear.

"I... am... V-Valessandra. Diplo--"

"Off to Stormwind to establish diplomatic relations, yes?"

I nodded.

"Well, no need to go there. You're already doing it."

He undid the last clasp of my robe. With a full-body shudder, my robes in their entirety sloughed to my ankles. I shivered, almost naked save for my underwear. Not even my black lace lingerie could protect me from the cold and drafty inn room. Even so, I could tell from his breathing that Flint was soaking up every centimeter of my naked skin with his sharp eyes.

"You're a right gorgeous lass," he whispered, spilling his fingers through my red hair. "Are all Blood Elves as ravishing as you?"

"I-I should hope not. I am as highborn as they come."

"Highborn? You one of those snooty types, then?"

"I--I beg your pardon?"

He suddenly groped my bottom. I jumped; his thumb dug hard into my tailbone, and I felt his middle finger reaching deep, deep down between my ass cheeks, aggressively exploring the gap down in my thighs.

What a brazen man.

"I shall be sure to treat her highness properly, then."

Flint then reached around with his other hand and slipped his fingers underneath my bra. He freed my nipples from their confines and cupped my right breast again, pinching at my hard nipple between his callused digits.