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Booty Bay, a city that had always appealed to Danjinn’s sensibilities. Lawless and rowdy, the pirate haven attracted the worst dregs society had to offer. Within its run down and winding streets you were guaranteed to find anything and everything imaginable, providing you were not robbed blind and left to rot in the jungle beforehand. Its most attractive quality was of course the potency of its pipe-weed. Small wars had been fought over control of its possession, Danjinn mused with a quiet chuckle. Raising a grimy mug of junglevine to his lips, he couldn’t help but smirk upon considering the motivation for his latest trip. Considering the nature of the Bay and its inhabitants, it would come as somewhat of a surprise to some to learn that a woman that professed such strong disdain for all things illicit would choose to run away to the cesspit that was Booty Bay. But then, that was Caiden Murphy. Though she would doubtless deny it fiercely, the woman was a true hypocrite. Not for the first time, Danjinn wondered just how she managed to justify herself within her own head. Still, for all her shortcomings and flaws, he always felt curiously uplifted in her company. With a nonchalant grunt, he promptly dismissed that line of thought. Personal attachment yielded nothing but unnecessary complications and pain. A lesson he had thoroughly learnt. ‘Fox’, now there was a woman more in keeping with the street-boss’s usual tastes. Delightfully malleable and oh so easy on the senses, Danjinn predicted she would continue to provide a source of distraction for months to come. Distractions? The man chuckled ruefully at his own startling realization. When had it reached that point, requiring distraction from his profession? Not so long ago he had enjoyed, nay, thrived upon the simple thrill of his trade. The intoxicating, heady pleasure that accompanied holding the power of life and death, the satisfaction of witnessing bloated, panic-stricken aristocrats as their wealth was plundered before their helplessly eyes by Danjinn’s men. With a wistful smile, the bandit turned crime-boss let his thoughts flit back to simpler times…

The carriage slowly trundled along the road, beneath the expansive canopy of Elwynn Forest. Only a fool could fail to recognise it for what it was. Arrogantly embossed upon the coach’s side for the entire world to see was the symbol of one of Stormwind’s hated aristocracy. ‘Blue-Bloods, all th’ same, ey boss? Feckin’ denser than an orc,’ Goren remarked, grinning toothily up at his superior. Nodding silently in response, Danjinn Sparr sneered. The man was right in saying as much. Over the past several weeks, attacks upon travelling nobles had become a frequent occurrence, thanks in part to Danjinn and his band of thugs. Yet still they traversed the roads between Stormwind and its surroundings counties, showing a bold disregard for their own safety. Chuckling quietly, the bandit-leader shrugged to himself, if the nobs decided to disregard common sense and acquiesce so easily to his wants, then who was he to complain. Narrowing his eyes, Danjinn’s gaze slid to the half-dozen men guarding the carriage and its treasures. Their manner and attire reeked of misplaced confidence and a foolish certainty in the strength of numbers. Most sauntered alongside the carriage, chattering between themselves, blissfully unaware of their imminent deaths.

‘Ready yerselves boys, time t’ meet our guests.’ The order was greeted enthusiastically by the cocking of pistols and notching of bowstrings. A lopsided grin slid across Danjinn’s face as he paused to briefly savour the moment. It was always the same that quiet, calm second, a heartbeat before all descended into the uncoordinated chaotic swirl of battle, when life hung on a tenuous thread, waiting to be snuffed out in countless myriad ways. His musings were cut abruptly short by the blaring cough of a score of firearms as his lads opened fired. Instantly, shrieking yells of panic and pain replaced the previous chatter on the road below as several of the caravan-guards went down, their bodies riddled with feathered quarrels and leaden pistol-balls. Drawing two weathered flintlocks from the bandolier strapped firmly across his chest, the bandit-leader rose from his vantage point amidst the undergrowth and strode confidently towards the caravan, casually dispatching a wide-eyed guardsman as he stumbled towards the transient safety of the woods. Battle was well and truly joined now as his lads discarded their projectiles and drew steel, leaping into the midst of their confused prey. Still reeling from the swiftness of the ambush, many of the guardsmen were cut-down before they could even fathom the danger they faced. Briefly, wild-eyed and laughing manically his childhood friend, Porrick ‘Pecker’ flew past Danjinn, swathed in the dark leathers and crimson mask of the Brotherhood, sinking a pair of wicked blades into the chest of a hapless foe. As realisation sunk in and the truth of the situation registered frenzied cries of ‘Defias’ and ‘Bandits!’ rang out from the surviving household-guard. Drawing their blades the men bravely launched themselves into the hopelessly one sided fight. Danjinn levelled his pistol as a man rushed towards him, murderous intent writ plainly across his features. The deadly weapon belched a cloud of acrid smoke. The guardsman dead before he hit the ground. Moving onward without care, Danjinn dropped his spent weapons, plucking a second pair from the bandolier and cocking them in one smooth motion, dispatching two more targets in as many heartbeats.

A quick glance told Danjinn all he needed to know. Faced with such overwhelming odds, surprised and surrounded, the caravan-guard had been slaughtered like mindless cattle. All in all, the entire skirmish had lasted a minute at most. With a slight smile, Danjinn silently commended himself. Now came the part he relished most. Flinging open the carriage door, the bandit-leader grinned nastily as his gaze locked upon its sole occupant. ‘W-what in the name of the Light is the meaning of this…this affront? I demand an explanation!’ The swift change that overcame the noble’s indignant features was almost comical, Danjinn noted wryly. As the man realised the identity of his attackers, all courage fled him, his face draining of colour. Sneering in disgust, the bandit hauled the man from his seat to be thrown unceremoniously onto the road. Clawing helplessly at the dirt, the man that had, minutes before meant something in the world, broke down with a series of wracking sobs. Spurred on by the jeers of his victorious fellows, Danjinn cocked a pistol and with deliberate slowness trained it upon the pitiful, weeping form before him. With a crack, the broken man jolted as if shocked before falling still, looking for all the world as if he were merely sleeping. Amidst the roars of satisfied approval, Danjinn spoke, his voice rising above the din, ‘Loots ours, boys!’ Without pause, the band of triumphant men swamped the carriage, caring only for the treasures it carried…

With a nostalgic sigh, Danjinn shook himself back to the present and the crowded common-room he found himself in. Then was not now and he had changed, for better or worse. Still, he had a friend to find and a woman to bed. With an audacious chuckle, he rose to his feet and slipped out of the tavern and into the dark streets of Booty Bay.

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