The Return

Return to RP Stories

Janner: The New Society
Janner breathed deeply as his Gryphon touched down on the small landing balcony of Stormwind City. It had been a long, windy flight from the North, and he still had a hang-over from last night's Ball. He picked up all his bags and things, which were quite plentiful, as he had brought all his belongings. He had moved within an hour - packed, travelled and arrived. Moving was in his blood, and as a child he had been traveling around getting used to "fleeing" from places to find the next destination. "Whar' tha wind an' tha stahs lead us, w'go", as Mam used to say, he would often think.

He walked slowly, and as he did, lifted his heavy backpack on to his pack, while dragging the rest of his bags in his hands, before lifting them, too, slowly, into his lap. He replayed the events he had just experienced in his head, half surprised, half not, at what had happened...

It had been only early morning when he arrived in Aerie Peak from the Ball in Darnassus. He had been fairly sober, or atleast sober on his scale, and thus been able to leave for his journey early enough. The sun hadn't risen when he left. As he traveled east, it seemed as if time passed two times faster, as the sun was way high in the air when he arrived. In Darnassus though, it was still dawn.

He had walked up to the bar in Aerie Peak, and was rudely interrupted while ordering his morning drink, or drinks, and told that the High Thane needed to see him. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and once he got outside, threw up in the mailbox. He made his way to the Thane.

There the stout little dwarf had stood, with a serious look on his face - as always, even when he ordered a pint -, and a large hammer in his hand. The mace was of such a size that Janner would often, when drunk, giggle at the comparison, as the mace was nearly twice the size of it's wielder. This time though, the talk had been serious.

The High Thane explained to Janner, or "Mister Pike", as opposed to "Baron Pike" as usual, how he would have to revoke his title of Baron, and also expel the whole Wild Rose Society out of their home. Janner was, as said earlier, half surprised, and half not. Reasons were given, including "attracting shady business to their respectable home", "thieving their equipment, including two tanks and an airplane" and so on. Janner didn't listen to it all. His ears were throbbing.

He didn't really mind having to leave, he had noticed a nice little "business" opening back in Stormwind of late, and had planned on getting his hands on some of it. Or, all of it, he preferred. He returned to the Society members and told them of the change, and got them to pack and travel. They would meet up in the Pig 'n' Whistle.

Due to the already-in-mind business opening, Janner had prepared many things. A few of the shops and companies in Stormwind were already paying Janner for protection in these dangerous times. "No Militia any more", they would say, and he would only remind them "Well, thar're tha Scarlets protectin' tha streets". It usually got them to begin paying.

So, after Janner arrived in Stormwind, he headed to the Pig 'n' Whistle, one of their biggest racketeering places, and made some final arrangements with the owners. For free use of the building, and allowing them to sell drinks - mainly to each other - from their own Wild Rose Pub, and for a little extra money, the Wild Rose Society would keep them safe. Janner meandered around Stormwind, making the same deal with a few other shopkeepers.

The rest of the Society arrived, including Don Tugnas Splattersplog, from his home in the mountains. One year alone in the mountains does bad things to a man. Don Tugnas was the living proof of this. In the middle of his mad rants, he signed over his old title - Don - to Janner.

Janner did not have a need to address the Society in a specific way about the "changes", they knew. They knew because he did. They knew, because they were family. There was a bond, and an oath between them. An oath they had taken silently, each in their own imagination. An oath of blood and promises, loyalty to the Society.

Don Pike took a stand in the inn, with the rest of the Society around him. They acknowledged what was going on, in the darkening streets of Stormwind, as the world grew an unsafer place. They would now be keeping it safe. Safety is a very relative concept.

Esme: The Prophecy Of The Cards
The night in Silverpine Forest was deathly still for a change. The worgen seemed to have quietened down to a sullen silence, and at the Ivar Patch, someone had once again slaughtered the encroaching ghouls, bringing peace and quiet to the mouldering pumpkin patch.

THWUMP. TWAAAAANG! At her farmhouse table, Esme looked up from the deck of Tarot cards she'd been expertly shuffling and glared at her husband, who had been chucking his throwing dagger at a Gnomish photograph of Sister Magwitch pinned to the wall. "You do realise that I'm trying to concentrate?" she snapped. Trauma grinned, yanked the knife out of the wall with a taloned hand, and used it to pick the remains of an extremely unlucky Winter Veil carol singer out of his teeth.

Esme sighed to herself, clutching her forehead, and cut the cards, laying them out face down on the table. Ignoring the sound of Trauma feeding her familiar the caroller's big toe, she let her mind unfocus as her hand hovered over the fanned-out deck. Seemingly at random, the witch picked a card and turned it over in her claw.

Before her was a crude drawing of a city in flames. Frowing, Esme grabbed another card and flipped it.

A picture of a weathervane.

The witch clicked her tongue and turned the third and final card, watched by her cycloptic husband with only a passing interest.

The last card was one of several in the deck enchanted so that the picture changed as you looked at it. This one showed a handsome human man who gradually turned into a worgen.

Esme sat back in her chair, and allowed her mind to slip into the daydream-like state needed to interpret the cards. The trick, as she was fond of telling people, was not to simply memorise the possible meanings of each individual card, but to train yourself to see the truths spelled out by all three cards together. it was a fun process for her, almost fanciful- letting each subtle nuance and different explanation skip merrily through her imagination, before settling on the final, and undeniable truth.

She remembered the man clearly- strapping, and stinking of alcohol as much as she reeked of the grave. She remembered the fury and incomprehension in his eyes as she crouched over the five corpses at Beggar's haunt, the insane little gnome she should have eaten on sight giggling by her side. She remembered barely escaping with her life, fleeing through the mists of Duskwood with knives at her back.

The burning city. The weathervane. The man becoming a monster.

"Oh Mr Pike," she hissed, her claws beating a rapid tattoo on the table. "How funny it is, how quickly we become those we loathe."

From across the room, Trauma burped and placed the bloodstained Winter Veil hat they'd stolen from their supper on his head.

Dagoney: Law No Longer
Dagoney sat in the corner of The Command Centre. He looked about the old place with a sense of longing and despair. He had devoted a mere few days of life to this place, yet it felt like Home.

The Old cedar chair creaked, and in came a figure.

Then it was gone. Occasionally The Elf saw these, ghosts. He was giving this place up. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a crimson star. "The Sign of Lieutenant Commander..." He breathed. The Star fell to the floor, and shattered.

There was no longer law in Stormwind....

Lashela: The Consul
The lady leaned on the back of the crimson velvety chair, a grim smile drawn on her lips, as the man dressed in black leather tells her the news.

- Most interesting indeed... Such an opportunity for you, isn't it?

The man nods once. Lashela feels his smile, hidden by the mask, even with her eyes closed.

- Perhaps we should set our sight on that dump of a city after all... Take care of everything, my dear Dark Consul...

With a flash, the man disappears, only a trace of smoke in the air revealing he ever was there. Once again, she opens her book...

Entriia: Petty Thief?
Entriia giggled softly, although it sounded more like a hiccough. She swayed slightly on the barrel, trying to keep herself balanced. The dwarf and the human swung again at each other to no avail, both dodging each others attack. "I saw you at tha ball the other night. Tha police chief is lookin for you" Remarked Janner in his odd gypsian accent. Entriia raised her eye brows slightly then returned her attention to the fight just as Janner jumped down from besides her and unslung his rifle, pointing it at the brawling figures. "This isnea yer fight human" The dwarf said, swinging at the human again. "I know, I just want your wallet", Pike replied. "How about we deal with him first?" The human grinned, they both slipped out their own rifles.

Entriia laughed softly as moments later, Janner Pike dove around the corner of a building, narrowly avoiding being the target of two rifles. The would-be thief pulled himself up and ran. The two drunks pulled their hand weapons out again and continued their fight. Smirking to herself Entriia flipped the small dagger she had been playing with back into its sheath and nimbly hopped off the barrel. Destiny and fate work in odd and ironic ways, she thought to herself. Once the commander of the Militia, now a petty street criminal. Entriia giggled again in glee and melted away into the shadows of Old Town. The day’s sadness and pain forgotten...if only for a moment.

Janner: Business Opportunity
Don Janner Pike stepped out of the Pig 'n' Whistle - or Wild Rose Pub, as they called it - and the floorboards creaked under him. The Pub looked like it should've been dusty and in bad condition, but due to heavy traffic, it was only in bad condition. He heard sounds of fighting in the streets, and he saw a multitude of figures in the street.

A cat, hiding in the shadows could be seen behind a barrel and a box, though invisible to the rest of the residents, the Don noticed her from far. As one would say "takes one to know one", Janner did truely have talent in finding people, and in not being found himself. The cat could be identified as Entriia - the same unique markings and colours that he'd seen before; last at the Ball, sneaking around "undetected".

Between him and the cat, next to the mailbox, stood a young woman, with eyes that darted around - looking for something. Don Pike had seen her before, she had been eavesdropping on him and the Society, though he had noticed her straight away. She'd been hanging around the Pub ever since the Society arrived. She wasn't any trouble; Janner even liked admires. If she didn't wear the colours of a certain group, he'd be prepared to teach her.

Around the corner stood a gnome in red attire; so red he looked like a Scarlet. Janner knew him; he was what one would call an Ally. Janner refered to him with a name common to the Gyptian people, and more specifically their friends: Giovane D'Onore - Man of Honour. An ally that could be trusted, should be protected and was important like the family, though not in it.

The real gem of the situation, in Janner's eyes, were the elf and the dwarf in the center of attention. These two, of which he had seen both before in his Militia days, were quarreling, and pulling out their weapons. As Janner surveyed the situation and walked over to pat the hidden cat, the men began to bash at each other.

The reason of the fight was of no concern to Don Pike. Both of the men wore tabards and had affiliation to other groups; groups which were not useful to the Society. They were associates who would never meet the standards of men of honour, in the Roses' mind. Janner petted the cat, whispered a few words, with a slight chuckle, and stepped down, with his gun ready.

The fight would've been deemed long by one with less experience, but Janner knew, even from his days in the Militia, that fast fights also end in quick losses for one of the parties involved. Slow, tedious fights opened possibilities for escape, though he rarely required it. By the Don's standards, the fight was of average length, and espectable outcome.

With the help of his gnomish friend, who popped in halfway, Janner and the unnamed Gnome managed to get away, literally unscathed, holding a heavy purse of money, after victoriously rising champion from the little fight that broke out in their attempt. Janner had had to shoot the elf, but it wasn't anything deadly - just a little wing-spreading gesture to show them he wasn't some petty thieving punk. And, he wasn't. He was a businessman. He saw a business-opportunity, and went for it.