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By Danjinn Sparr Edit

Ten minutes to midnight… The bastards were late, typical.

The hooded man sighed, thrusting the battered pocket-watch back into his cloak. The leafy canopy of Elwynn seemed deceivingly peaceful under the soft glow of moonlight, yet he knew somewhere out there they were waiting and watching. Lifting a gently smoldering cigar to his lips, the man glanced about once more, searching the tree-line for the telltale silhouettes of the bandits. After what seemed an eternity, a voice called out from the woods, “The machine will not run smoothly…” “If th’ parts go renegade,” the hooded man replied.

“Danjinn Sparr, it’s been too long.” A grim figure emerged from the woods, garbed in a patchwork assortment of leathers and mail; a heartbeat later several more similarly dressed men arose from the undergrowth, fanning out behind the speaker.

Danjinn smirked lazily, exhaling a long plume of narcotic smoke before replying calmly. “Garrick, late as ever, th’ Guard aint ‘ung yer yet I see.”

Without answer, Garrick strode forward and grasped Danjinn’s forearm, forcing up the sleeve of his right arm before grunting in satisfaction at the cog tattoo crudely inked into the flesh.

“At least you haven’t abandoned us completely, Sparr,” Garrick spat, letting the sleeve drop back down to cover the mark. With a single gesture from the bandit leader the other men rapidly encircled the pair, an assortment of pistols and crossbows trained upon Danjinn, ruling out any foul play.

Spitting angrily, Danjinn let his gaze wander calmly between the nearest two bandits before resting once more upon the speaker. “So tha’s how its gonna be, ‘ey? I never abandoned the damned cause, everythin’ I’ve done ‘as been fer th’ advancement of th’ Brotherhood. An’ still is. It’s why I’m here innit?”

He was treading on rotten-ice here and Danjinn was painfully aware of it. There was every possibility he would not be leaving this clearing alive. Still, he needed the support of Garrick’s band and others like it if he were to proceed with his scheme. Danjinn cricked his neck whilst letting one hand slide slowly to his belt and the pair of flintlocks concealed there. He wanted Garrick to know he wouldn’t be going quietly to an early grave.

Smirking dryly upon registering the movement, Garrick shook his head slowly. “I’m no fool, Danjinn. While you hid comfortably behind the walls of Stormwind, the rest of us suffered. Cleef is dead and the Brotherhood is reeling.”

“Aye, I’m feckin’ aware…” Danjinn began before being cut off abruptly. The bandit-leader’s voice rose angrily.

“And yet you did nothing! Nothing but become fat off the wealth that should rightly been the Brotherhood’s. Don’t think Stark hasn’t been watching you, Sparr. Your nothing but an oath breaker and its past-time you were put down!” With a single nod, Garrick took several paces back and drew his blade. “Gut him.”

Gleefully, the bandits grinned at each other before raising their weapons, intending to turn Danjinn into something very much resembling a pin-cushion in a matter of moments. But the rogue had hardly been idle whilst he had awaited Garrick’s arrival, far from it. With a fluid flick of the wrist, he sent the smoldering cigar spinning into the long grass beneath his feet, simultaneously screwing his eyes shut and launching backwards into a startled bandit

In that moment the moon-bathed clearing on the forest’s edge dissapered, ignited in pure, searing brightness. For several agonisingly long moments, Danjinn was alone in this world of blindness, muffled screams of confused horror his only companions. Then, just as suddenly his vision cleared, a wicked grin of satisfaction spreading across his features at the scene that greeted him. The bodies of the dead and dying littered the clearing. Some still groaning in agony, clawing at bleeding eyes and ears in vain.

Wincing, Danjinn rolled out from under the corpse of a luckless bandit, before surveying the scene properly. Wasting no time in locating Garrick, the rogue chuckled grimly. Arrogant bastard, presuming to just dispose of me… Angrily he lashed out at Garrick’s body, surprised to be rewarded with a murmured groan of mercy. Grinning once more, Danjinn procured a flintlock from his belt, loading it unhurriedly whilst casually remarking to his fallen foe, “Stark should’ a told yer ‘ow hard I am t’kill, Garrick. Still, maybe ‘e wanted you dead, not me.”

Extending his arm, Danjinn pointed the primed weapon in the bandit-leader’s face, briefly savoring the look of terror he found there before pulling the trigger…

One band down, bloody Light only knows ‘ow many to go…

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