Klausner

William Klausner is a Human-born Forsaken. A rogue by both trade and nature he owes little loyalty to the Horde and doesn’t care much for the Alliance. His current loyalties are to Commodore Sion, his Captain Illyxia Darklight, and the crew of the Wreck. Klausner also has a very close bond with the Tauren Ruthgarten Honesthooof.
==Physical Traits==
===Appearance===
Klausner looks much like he did in life. His handsome features have been left mostly untarnished by death. However, he is still clearly identifiable as one of the dead.
His bright yellow eyes are the only part of him that could be described as warm, when he is in a good mood they are fairly translucent and a sharp observer can see intact eyes and green irises behind the vale. When angered or in a foul mood the light intensifies, flickering maddeningly. He has clearly sustained a horrific injury at some point, possibly official torture whilst imprisoned, or as an act of revenge by one of the criminal gangs that operate in Silvermoon. These wounds have never healed properly and are visible as a patch of much darker skin from just below the eyes to just above the jaw line, the skin is smooth to the touch and feels youthful. He is also missing his nose as a result of this injury but whether or not it detracts from his appearance is a matter of opinion, personally he believes it improves his profile and is in no rush for it to grow back.
His body is of slim build as is standard of the Forsaken and heavily toned, no fat obscuring the result of his lifestyle as a human, fighting in bars and running from the law. His skin is devoid of the impurities that blight most of the living, but has a blue tint to it that can only be explained as a by-product of the magic that returned him to life.
Despite the fact that his body is devoid of rot and decay his arms and legs are mostly skeletal. His elbows and knees are fully exposed, his body long having given up trying to maintain an area so frequently damaged through brawling, sailing, and a hard life of survival in the wild. His ankles and feet are mostly covered by flesh and skin but towards the joints of the toes the skin is ragged and torn degrading along their length so that the latter half of his toes are completely exposed. The bones of his toes are filed slightly to points to replace his missing nails and to provide him with a mean kick. The bones of his forearms are equally apparent, his wrist joints revealed in all their glory, the damage done to the joint a testament to the number of times he has dislocated his entire wrist to escape manacles designed to hold a prisoner long after the removal of their thumbs. The fact he still has thumbs are a point of pride to the Forsaken and the thin layer of flesh and skin still covering his fingers make his hands soft to the touch.
Several of his lower ribs are exposed and he has fashioned one into a short thin blade, which has been used more than once on a careless cell guard, arrogant Death Knight who thought the unarmed Forsaken was helpless, or unfortunate victim in a brawl or street fight.
His hair is long and black, cut in a fashion sported by most young men just prior to Arthas’ betrayal. It is frequently cleaned and cared for to ensure he is not left hairless like many of the dead but is not preened, conditioned, waxed, gelled or greased. He is, after all, not a “Pansy man-Elf”.
No matter where he is he will always be followed by ‘Soap’ a small prairie dog. Summoned by Ruthgartern after a lengthy ritual involving much dancing and chanting the creature has followed Klausner ever since. Klausner is convinced the thing has mysterious powers as it has in the past survived being rolled over by a cannon, ‘swimming lessons’ in the great sea, and scraps with raptors. It has also lived a much longer life than could be expected of a mammal its size. And, if you believe Ruthgarten, can talk.
===Weapons, Armour, and Equipment===
He is usually dressed in an assortment of leather armour, thick enough to provide some protection from blunt or slashing weapons, but not thick enough to protect him from a sword thrust or heavy enough to restrict his movements. Well worn leather boots, reaching just below the knee, hide thick metal greaves over his shins. The toes of these boots have been torn off to reveal his toes. This leather armour is usually hidden from behind by a long, dark brown, leather duster. The only armour visible from above or behind are the thick leather pauldrons strapped across his shoulders. These provide his neck with complete protection from the sides, and protection from cutting weapons to the front and rear. Each one has several small assorted bones strapped to them, the significance of these is unclear.
A thick leather baldric is slung over his right shoulder, the heavy buckle is plain and unadorned resting on his chest. Hung from the baldric is a finely sharpened scimitar, slid through a hoop scabbard of toughened leather. This style of scabbard makes the weapon quicker to draw in an emergency but leaves the blade exposed to the elements and a lot of work is required to keep it from rusting. Tucked into his belt, obscured by the duster is a single pistol. A medium length barrel and fine craftsmanship make it accurate at short to medium range but of limited use against targets more than fifty yards away. If he is close to his undead steed he may also be carrying a short but powerful bow or a long barrelled rifle.
==Speech==
===Accent===
Klausner’s accent shifts and changes as often as his affections and loyalty. Every day he seems to add some new quirk or mannerism to his speech, constantly updating, testing, and improvising. Determined to leave his past as one of the aristocracy behind he adopted an accent common amongst the working men of the City. Perhaps as a result of his love for the dramatic and theatre and his time spent with races from all over the world he has great control over his speech, seemingly choosing an accent as precisely as some choose an outfit. Recently he has settled on an accent stereotypical of pirates everywhere however, he has not given up on experimentation and the breadth of this accent changes from day to day.
===Languages===
Common - Klausner remembers the Common language with perfect clarity. Speaking it with ease it flows of his tongue far more eloquently any other language. However, it is an embarrassing reminder of his upbringing and he’ll usually only speak the language when communicating with members of the Alliance or Goblin merchants.
Gutterspeak - Another language he learnt during life it is ‘Gutter’ which he refers to as his mother tongue. Taught it by the League as a teenager he is now perfectly fluent in the language. Containing elements of Dwarvish and Thalassian it is a language of adaptation and improvisation. He rarely uses the language when dealing with anyone but his kin the Forsaken but does occasionally let loose a sentence or two if surprised or to insult a Sin’Dorei who believes they can speak the language.
Orcish - Fluent in the universal language of the Horde Klausner has no trouble communicating with other races. Having learnt the language as an adult and from a dedicated teacher rather than a parent he speaks the language well with fewer bad linguistic habits than most native speakers. The last few years spent in the company of the Horde have left him with a large vocabulary although he rarely uses it.
Thalassian - Klausner knows little of the language. A few general phrases and greetings, a few terms and expressions which have slipped into Gutterspeak over the years but little more. Recently he has started to make an effort to learn the language.
==Personality==
Klausner has two aims in life. Live as long as possible and have as much fun as possible. Since joining the crew and having picked up some of their quirks he has often been heard stating this in a simpler form, “Take what you can, give nothing back!”
Klausner and patience have a weird relationship. Loathe to wait for anything that can be taken straight away he shows little restraint when it comes to pursuing what he wants. However, knowing that he will live forever, he does not feel rushed to achieve anything. Despite not needing sleep to survive he has been heard to describe it as relaxing and is capable of sleep when he wants to. When not sleeping through the night, or spending it with company, Klausner can often be found simply staring into space doing what he describes as “watching time pass”. Set adrift in the ocean, he would happily wait patiently to drift to shore somewhere, or spend decades on a desert island awaiting rescue. But if forced to wait but a few minutes for service in a bar, he will become irritable and aggressive.
He hates authority, feeling that the only thing that should restrict a mans actions are ‘what a man can do, and what a man can’t do’. Laws protect the weak in his opinion and give those born to the right father a feeling of superiority they don’t deserve. A revolutionary at heart he would do more for the oppressed masses, if only he gave a damn about the plight of others.
Having rarely entered a relationship hoping it would last longer than a few pleasurable weeks he has neither a fear nor repulsion of commitment, just a general disinterest. His only opinion on the subject is that commitment might get him killed and as he told one brief conquest “You love me, lass. So you wouldn’t want that.”
Despite this uncaring attitude he is very empathetic. He is also capable of feeling very strong attraction and feelings of love for another person. In the past these brief bouts of infatuation have lasted no longer than a month or two. Either he has been unable to woo the object of his love, grown bored with the chase, or the girl has not lived up to expectations and he has moved on. Only once has a woman ever held his attention for longer than a few months without reciprocating his feelings. A fellow immortal he truly believes they’re meant to be together, but is willing to wait.
==Fighting Style and Constitution==
Trained from a young age to fight as a gentleman Klausner’s skill with a rapier, sabre, or foil is comparable only with the master swordsmen of Stormwind, Gilneas, Kul’Tiras or Silvermoon. Exquisite form and footwork is spoiled only by his utter disdain for such weapons and his refusal to use one properly. However, in private he has resumed practise with a blade stolen from a naval officer of Kul’Tiras and the rusty techniques learned in another life are once again close to second nature for the Forsaken. For now his technique could be described as intentionally floppy, over-dramatic, and violent.
Much of his style relies upon misdirection, deception, or simply killing people with the pistol they didn’t know he had.
When forced to fight fairer than he’d like, usually after having used the pistol shot for something frivolous, he’ll rely on a slightly curved scimitar imported from Kalimdor, the weight and robustness of the weapon appeals to the Forsaken and has been a near constant companion for several years. Even then, dirty tricks and unfair advantages are typical of him. Punching, kicking, grappling, biting, gouging, and scratching. Nothing is beneath Klausner. When fighting unarmed Klausner is equally vicious, trained through experience he is a master of the free-for-all brawl typical of the bars and pubs littering Lordaeron and Silvermoon.
Although fairly easy to take down due to his lack of armour and lightweight build Klausner’s ability to take damage and survive is near legendary. Since his first death Klausner has suffered wounds enough to kill him many times over. An intense desire to survive and what appears to be an unnatural connection with nature for a Forsaken means that his body can regenerate superficial wounds within a matter of hours and major wounds over a period of several years. Easy to beat if cornered, outnumbered, or simply caught off guard it is keeping the Forsaken down that is difficult. Still feeling pain and fearing eternal death the Forsaken feels fear all too keenly for his liking and is loathe to test his capacity to regenerate any more than he already has.
==Undead Qualities and Lifelike Traits==
Dead in every respect Klausner’s body is driven by the same magical energies that returned him from death. Breathing only to appear more life like his lungs serve no purpose, his speech as reliant upon magic as his movements. His sense of touch was unaffected by death and he still feels pain as keenly as most mortals. He still blinks instinctively when at ease but suffers little discomfort if he doesn’t and might adopt a dead stare if focusing intently on something.
Drinking however is something he does a lot. Whether in company of alone. Despite being immune to the effects of most poisons, illnesses, and diseases alcohol does affect him. He enjoys the taste, the sensation, and the image.
Eating serves the Forsaken in two ways. It's a good way to pass the time. Still deriving pleasure from the taste and texture of food Klausner will often eat if in company of simply bored. In addition consuming flesh seems to rapidly accelerate his ability to regenerate from harm.
Unable to sleep naturally he is always conscious to some degree. He can however imitate sleep very precisely and will usually do so if spending the night with company. Unable to sleep away the hours he can sometimes be seen staring blankly at nights, looking at nothing in particular, trapped in his own thoughts.
==Companions==
===Skeletal Warhorse===
Since his death Klausner has never developed a strong connection with any of his mounts. Having developed a habit of ‘accidentally’ taking the wrong horse from a stable this is probably a good thing. If he had a strong bond with his mount he would undoubtedly be heartbroken to discover that his beloved friend had inadvertently been traded for a magnificent warhorse. These mounts are rarely named. Instead they are referred to by practical names, obscure references, of private joke nick-names.
His current mode of transport is a skeletal horse. Standing sixteen hands high the beast is easily countable amongst the tallest of its kind. In life it’s size and weight would have made it a particularly fine tilting mount. In death however, its exposed bones and lightweight make it ill-suited to anything but endurance. Never seeming to tire it is used to carry Klausner’s belongings whilst on land and outrun pursuit. Its body and legs are covered by a purple caparison and the only armour it wears is a thick metal plate attached to it’s chest.
This latest horse has never displayed any intelligence or independent thought. Left somewhere it will wait as long as it takes for someone to collect it. It has no loyalty to anything, not even itself. Regardless of this bilateral lack of affection, Klausner still appreciates the beast for it’s practical uses and speed.
===Soap===
Soap! A small rodent about thirty centimetres in length and almost a kilogram in weight the indomitable guardian has taken to his duty to protect Klausner for eternity with passion. Loyal to a fault Soap has refused to abandon Klausner despite his charges irritable nature and adrenaline junkie ways. Summoned by the Tauren Ruthgarten Honesthoof most who meet the small creature and live to tell the tale will talk about it’s mysterious powers till the day they die. Seemingly indestructible and possessing a keen intelligence Soap is not to be underestimated.
Until recently Klausner treated his unfortunate companion with clear dislike. Despite trying dozens of times to dispose of the creature Soap has always survived and found it’s way back to Klausner’s side. However recently Klausner’s attitude has changed. An unexplained temporary dithumb|left|Soap consuming something that may or may not be your soul!sappearance of the creature left Klausner in a frantic state. Still showing public disdain for Soap only those who know him well know Klausner has developed a strong affection for the small blob of fur.
Ruthgarten is uncertain about the rodents origins and despite many discussions with the creature has learned nothing of Soaps past. Ruthgarten has concluded that Soap is some sort of primal god and that the ‘Soap Dance’ that he performed just before the creatures appearance must be part of a long forgotten ritual to summon the omnipotent god. Despite all the evidence to the contrary and Ruthgartens insistence that Soap is extraordinary most people agree that Soap is merely an astoundingly fortunate pet.
==Family and Friends==
===Friends===
* Illyxia Darklight
* Ruthgarten Honesthoof
* Sion D'Coleus
* Shi'fon Winterax 
* Cirren (Affectionately known as Ponce)
* Oddette
* Elisandra Amerial
===Family===
Father - Lord Albrecht of the Glorious House of Klausner
Mother - The Lady Klausner
Elder Brother - Henry Robert Rufus, first son of the Glorious House of Klausner
Other Legitimate Siblings - Possibly an elder or younger sister
Bastard Siblings - Two elder brothers, possibly some younger brothers, most likely several sisters.
Klausner presumes all of his family to be dead however, if anybody is interested in Roleplaying any of the above then leave a comment on the talk page and we can work something out. Names can be changed to suit.
==Quotes==
“Bollocks.”
==Stories==
* Isiliosyphilis
==Theme Tunes==
* Pain (Slayer Mix) - Four Star Mary
* Wrought - Peratus
* Running Up that Hill - Placebo
* London Calling - The Clash
* Should I Stay or Should I Go - The Clash
* Anarchy in the UK - The Sex Pistols
* You Know My Name - Chris Cornell
* Rest in Peace - James Marsters
* Bad Things - Jace Everett
==Background==
===Cursed===
“ Cursed from birth! That’s how I’d describe my life. Cursed to be born the second son...”
William Marsters Arthas was born the second son of the Glorious House of Klausner. Well, the fourth son, actually. But as his father would often tell his first son, Henry,
“Bastards are a fact of life, lad! The more you have, the more you’ve lived. But they only share your blood, not your name. And that is what matters!”
And so, officially, Klausner was the second son. A fate almost worse than that of the bastards.
This alone probably tells you more than enough about the “Glory” held by the House of Klausner. The Lord was a bully, a staunch supporter of the King and the Light given rights of the aristocracy. As a man he was flawed, prone to violence, drink, and frequent indiscretions with the serving girls. Concerned only with his standing at court, how rich he was, and his first son. Both the boys were taught to dance, fence, and ride, Henry so he could take his father’s place as Lord when the old man died, and William so Henry had somebody to outshine. In addition to this William was also educated to the highest degree as preperation for his future as a member of the clergy.
William however, had other ideas. Being able to read and write he buried himself in the fantasy world of the actors and playwrights of the City. He imagined his future as an actor as thrilling and exciting, playing the fearsome Bandit King opposite Detlef Shierk’s heroic Terenas Menethil. And one day graduating to the role of lead, head of his own company in his very own theatre.
This dream would never truly leave the young boy, and as he grew up he practised the different roles incessantly, their different mannerisms, their style of speech, their different expressions. Imagining every time he and his bother fought as the thrilling finale to the fifth act.
===Inheritance===
“Aye, Captain. The Rapier’s mine, but it’s because it ain’t mine that it is mine...”
As Henry neared his eighteenth birthday the entire household was in uproar. The Lord because his son was coming of age, William because his brother was coming of age, their mother because Henry was coming of age, the servants because Henry was coming of age, even the falcons kept for sport were aware that Henry was coming of age. William was told in no uncertain terms that this was the most momentous day of his life, even more important than his own coming of age, still three years away.
The entire household was packed onto carts and sent down the rickety roads of the City to the Lords estates in the country. They spent a week there preparing for the great occasion, all of the Lords friends were in attendance, with their own entourage and families. Even the Lord’s bastards were there to see the legitimate result of their fathers promiscuity ascend to what the country peasants must have thought was godhood for all the fanfare going on.
On the day itself anyone who was anyone, and anyone unfortunate enough to be a well connected no one, were dressed in their best clothes and stood in the towering great hall of the country manor to see the boy knighted. As everyone was constantly reminded, the Arch-Bishop of the Light himself had come to take the boys vow. Blessed by the Light, and knighted by his father, the boy accepted the gift of the family sword. A finely wrought rapier from the time of the founding of Lordaeron.
If this was a play, William concluded, the hero would take what he wanted from the villain.
That night William snuck into his brothers room and stole the sword, burying it in the grounds. His father was furious, although he never found out it was William. Blaming one of the servants for the theft the Lord had her dismissed and William’s attempts to prove her innocence by digging up the sword failed. The sword was no longer where it had been buried.
===The League===
“The League of Second Sons! Better gamblers, drinkers, wenchers, and brawlers don’t exist! It was true then, and it’s damn true now!”
The League of Second Sons, as Williams drink fuelled outburst (punctuated by a glass bottle over the head of the doubting listener) suggests were a group of young men. Not strictly second sons the league was made up of any noble who had been born too late to earn a title. Again as William’s outburst suggests, they were wastrels. Rakes to a man, and proud of it. They’d been born, they surmised, to spend their father’s money, and embarrass their brothers with their actions.
And this they did well. With as much grace as any man can posses after his sixth cask of beer they’d head down the road of a thousand taverns and aim to cause as much trouble as possible. Slinking back to their homes in the early hours to rest up and prepare for the next night. Trouble with the watch was frequent, but the membership fee and a colossal treasury, funded rumours suggest by the King’s secret half-brother, meant that no matter how much trouble a leaguer was in, a long suffering butler with a purse bursting with gold would arrive to bail them out.
This was how William’s education and breeding went to use. Ensuring that the pimps, prostitutes, tavern keepers, and dealers would always have a trade. Determined never to give up this life and join the ranks of the clergy William supped deep from the cup of life. Never giving up his aims of making it as an actor he appeared in a few back-street playhouses in minor roles and even wrote a play, submitted to Detlef Shierk under a false name. An anagram, one that didn’t take the genius playwright long to work out. . It was never performed but, William did receive a letter offering employment and it was much appreciated, until his father got his hands on it. Banned from ever again performing in public,
“Like a common born prostitutes son!”
William rebelled, again...
William was altogether glad when his father died. Until he realised he’d most likely die as well.
===Death===
“Mortality means each breath is a grain of sand falling through the hourglass of life.” 
The Plague, more popular in it’s time than syphilis and more deadly than insulting the sister of Ernst Pavro, the finest blade in Lordaeron, it cut through the populace of Lordaeron. After many terrifying months the Crown Prince, William’s namesake, Arthas Menethil saved the kingdom. Then promptly found a sword, killed his father and butchered the kingdom. 
Dragged from his bed by the dead, William lived just long enough to see flames engulfing the City through an open window before both he and the nameless girl he’d spent the night with were bludgeoned to death.
William Marsters Arthas, second son of the Glorious House of Klausner died aged just seventeen years old on a prostitutes floor. It was there he would be reborn.
===The Dark Lady===
“I don’t remember what it were like bein’ dead. I don’t remember what I did whilst Arthas was rocking up Lordaeron neither. What I do remember, was wakin’ up to see her...”
“Waking up” is usually a traumatic experience for an undead slave of the Lich King. Imagining oneself to be dead then finding one is not so can take a man by surprise. In William’s case this was equally true, his circumstances made exceptional only by his proximity to the Dark Lady. Awakening on the cold hard floor of the throne room nursing the worst hangover of his life, William looked up at the two Deathstalkers flanking him. One looked down at the cursing forsaken and told him to watch his tongue in the presence of royalty.
The mention of royalty snapped William to his senses. Looking around him he could see other recently awoken Forsaken looking up at the raised stage in reverence. A fine voice echoed around the room, stirring even dead hearts to beat with pride, ambition, and cruelty. Shaking his head to clear his sight William focused on the stage looking for the leading lady. And what a fine looking lead she was. William cracked a grin and remarked,
“I would...”
This earned him a sound beating from the flanking guards and a jail sentence. Just twenty minutes into his undead life William Marsters Arthas, second son of the Glorious House of Klausner found himself in a cell.
===Immortality===
“Death, the great equaliser you reckon? All men die and all that? A load of bollocks, mate! All men die alright, at least once. The trouble is some of us come back, some of us come back in positions of power you’d rather they didn’t...”
Locked in a cell with only other men for company William had time to reflect upon life, take stock of the situation, and demand to speak to the jailor.
“Oi, mate! Listen in, yeh? I’m a Leaguer I am and ain’t meant to share cells with scum like this! Also, where’s old Buttle!? He’s paid well to make sure my sort don’t end up in places like this and I demand to know where he is!”
Well, that sort of talk might have caused a jailor to bow meekly, remove his cap, and beg forgiveness before the plague. But now, apparently, things had changed, as the jailor enjoyed telling the horror stricken young Forsaken.
“You’re a Leaguer are you? Well, I’ve got some bad news for you, lad. Your sort don’t exist no more. All of Daddy’s gold is gone, and I hold the power now. So shut it!”
Still locked in a cell with only other men for company William had time to reflect upon life, take stock of the situation, and realise that he didn’t have a clue what to do.
Looking down at his body he was surprised to find he was still in rather good shape, he couldn’t see his face but it felt in good condition, better than those of his cellmates at the very least. He also realised he wasn’t breathing, which was weird, and that although he could feel the cold seeping in through the stone floor it didn’t make him shiver, or even uncomfortable. Concluding that dying might just have been a positive thing he resolved to wait and see what would happen if he just waited for something to happen.
After a few months of sitting and waiting William Klausner walked free of the Undercity gaol. Resolving to embrace his new life and the infinite possibilities it offered. Grinning broadly he strode into the gathering darkness of the night, straight into the nearest pub.
===White Riot===
“I’ve died, I know what it’s like. No man dies wishing they’d done more for the poor, visited the cathedral more often, or obeyed the Lights edicts a little better. Every man dies wishing they’d been braver, been that little bit more rebellious, had a little more fun.”
And Klausner did have fun. Resuming the sort of life he’d had as a Leaguer he spent the next few years in and out of jail for petty offences. As he fell deeper into the underworld of Forsaken life he started running with the criminal gangs that were also trying to cling onto the lives they’d had. As his offences got worse the sentences became longer and the rebellious Klausner became more unwilling to wait them out. To say he’d become a escape artist would be an overstatement, he was simply too small a fry to worry about in the scheme of things. A low priority and posing little real danger to the state he was never watched too closely and the sweet talking Klausner with a knack for good fortune found many inventive and unbelievable ways of escaping cells. After a while, the guards ceased trying to find him after an escape knowing that within a few weeks he’d be back behind bars for something as minor as being drunk in the street.
As exciting as his life might seem to an outsider, Klauser was getting bored. His brothers and sisters in death sure knew how to steal gold, gain power, and cause trouble. But they hardly qualified as lively company, the majority with no ambition more complex than kill the living. When he murdered a Deathstalker after a misunderstanding regarding Klausner’s possession of a crate of elven herbs imported from Eversong. Klausner did what any sensible person would do in a situation like this. Run away to Silvermoon.
===The Rule of Law===
“Laws aren’t meant to be broken. People who say that are just pansies trying to sound punk. Laws are meant to be obeyed, the trouble starts when they stop you doin’ what you want. That’s when have to decide whether to do what you should do, or what you can do.”
Old habits die hard, and those of a man already dead even harder. Klausner always thought changing who you are to suit others was stupid, if every man lived his life as he pleased things would be a lot better. To that end Klausner chose not to learn a lesson from the Undercity affair and continued living life to the fullest in Silvermoon. The law chose not to learn a lesson either and so the cycle of arrest, escape, arrest, escape, arrest continued anew. Of course, Klausner was also learning how to escape from the law, despite vowing never to change, he was learning to pick his fights and run when necessary.
Silvermoon’s ruling elite didn’t take kindly to this uppity dead thing flouting their laws and escaping the consequences so frequently and issued a warrant for his arrest. The first time Klausner saw one of the posters his only thoughts were what a terrible likeness it was and how amusing that his petty crimes and audacious escapes had caught the attention of the toffs. He was less amused when a patrol of watchmen came across him reading the poster and pursued him for half an hour. Klausner decided to lay low for a while, running from the law was less fun when one didn’t deserve it. A man should be punished for what he’s done recently, not for the sentences he hasn’t served in the past.
Proving incredibly elusive when he wasn’t smashing up a bar or joining in with street fights it took months before he was finally caught.
In the end what brought him down was another murder, his own. Knifed in a bar fight and left to die in a gutter his body healed, but his luck was ruined. Found by a concerned watchman he was wheeled to the local watch station to be cared for till morning where he was identified as the Forsaken Rake who’s minor exploits had garnered a little attention amongst the gossiping aristocracy. Dragged before a court he was found guilty of several things, some true, some not, and sentenced to a hundred years imprisonment in a windowless cell, with only a hole in the ceiling for access. Klausner could not believe it, such a punishment for a man like him was ridiculous!
“Is that the best you can do, mate? I’ll outlive that sentence and you by a thousand years!”
Another important lesson was reluctantly learnt by the Forsaken, keep your mouth shut. After some deliberation the judge changed the verdict to lifetime imprisonment in aforementioned cell, or a lifetime serving in Warsong Gulch. Having learnt the lesson of the previous hour Klausner chose the latter stating, privately, that escaping a battlefield is easier than a hole in the ground.
===War===
“War’s shit. You reckon the fighting will be hard, those who ain’t experienced it. But that’s the easy part, killing and surviving, anyone can do that.”
Klausner and the other felons all agreed. What was hard was carrying your kit. Day in, day out, carrying your bodyweight around on your back. Running too and from locations on the battlefield. Looking after your equipment was a nightmare too. Not stabbing your superior harder than all the rest combined. But if this is what it would take to earn..well take, his freedom it’s what he’d have to do.
As any good escapee knows, accomplices help. Not because they’re useful to the plan, or that teamwork is any better than running solo when you’re planning to break out of a cell. But because accomplices can often be slower than you, be recaptured quicker, disrupt, and bog down the pursuit. Aiding your own escape. To this end Klausner sought out and found the biggest, dumbest, slowest comrades he could amongst the penal colony. Now, slow people are rarely in short supply amongst the huddling masses of convicts, ‘the slow get caught’ as the saying would go if Klausner told enough people. And the big are rarely in short supply amongst a combat penal unit. The big like hitting thing, and hitting things with big weapons is even better! Klausner also recruited one other accomplice, a fellow Forsaken. Not because he was slow, dumb, clever, deadly, or any other quality except that he had a particularly fine leather jacket that Klaus’ had had his eye on and wasn’t leaving without.
The night of the escape was heralded by a particularly good night of dice. Laden down with gold might be considered a disadvantage when one intends to escape persuit. But Klausner was feeling lucky, and the rolls had proven it. Gathering his accomplices together he gave them a quick prep talk,
“This is how it’ll work, lads. Quickest at the front, slowest at the back. If you survive the night head for Felwood, we’ll meet up there.”
Now, Klausner had no desire or intention to head for Felwood, but he didn’t want the others following him and leaving a massive trail, better if they split up and got picked off one by one. Besides, he really wanted to go to Ratchet, he reckoned he could get a ship back to the Eastern Kingdoms from there.
A fight started on the other side of camp as a distraction signalled the start of the race. All conspirators ran their legs off, figuratively. Shame only the two forsaken could reattach theirs figuratively. They were the only two to get away, but the rest did their job. By the morning the trail was cold, the Horde knew two had escaped, but had no idea who, the chaotic records kept by the army gave no indication to who survived from day to day and for this reason the pursuit was abandoned. With no names or descriptions to go by, tracking parties would only get so far once they headed into populated areas. The operation was a complete success, apart from one small detail...
===The Coat===
“It’s a nice coat, don’t you think? Shame about poor Garrik, but he had to die. He made an awful noise as he died, can’t quite describe it. What? Nah, he ain’t gonna come back to get me. I kept his head for a few days so I’d know for sure if he got back up. Seems losin’ your head’s too much even for my kind.”
Mind you, escaping your own side whilst in hostile territory still leaves you firmly inside the metaphorical (and in this case, physical) forest. Klausner spent the next few days stalking through the dark forests of Ashenvale dwelling on the fact perhaps he would like the Horde to win a victory here, the trees are bloody annoying. And the wildlife! Couldn’t shoot at anything with your bow without it turning into an elf with green lighting flying from it’s eyes or an irate bear!
Still, at least he hadn’t run into any patrols, Alliance or Horde. Having just thought this cheery thought he stopped in his tracks, looked rapidly left and right then left again. Stood stock still for a second, then darted for cover. Precognition’s all well and good, but Klaus’ would trust irony over a wizened old hag any day, and right now, irony was telling him he was about to meet a patrol, Alliance, Horde, or most likely both.
Irony didn’t fail to deliver and as chance would have it a lone elf had just watched the Forsaken’s strange little performance. Muttering darkly about the dead he made a noise like a mating tree-frog, the prearranged signal, and sat waiting for reinforcements, cursing in his mind as several tree-frogs in heat hopped happily towards him.
===Ruthgarten===
“I still don’t quite believe what happened, he came out of the bushes like some whirling dervish, a melon stuck on either horn and a parade of frogs following him! Still, I can’t say I’d prefer not to have met him, he saved my life after all.”
As Klausner described so it happened. Right amongst the gathering formation of elves. Assorted hues of purple scattered before the strange creatures fury. At that very moment a large party of marauding Orcs burst from the bushes, rushing at the scattered ranks of archers.
Klausner looked around confused. Reaching for his bow he cocked an arrow. He looked left, looked right, and tried to take stock of the situation. He couldn’t. Not a single clever idea struck him, not even to run. He tried to make a decision, he couldn’t. He decided to wait it out, but got bored. Letting loose an arrow into the chaotic melee before him he smiled as a particularly tall night elf with hair to his waist took an arrow to the crotch. Men-one Pansies-nil the Forsaken thought as he cocked another arrow.
Things continued in this vain for a good while. The whirling dervish whirled it’s way into a tree and lay stunned amongst the chaos, his loyal followers swarming across the retreating forms of both Alliance and Horde warriors. Klausner picked his way through the scene, scavenging from the dead, making his way towards the device of chaos that had saved him. As chance would have it the device of chaos sat up and looked around startled,
“There’s a cabbage in my hat!”
This sentence was to set the tone for a friendship that would stand the test of time and become the subject of a world renowned academic paper entitled “opposites attract”.
The Tauren introduced himself as Ruthgarten Honesthoof and then each frog by name. He told Klauser he had come from the Plaguelands. After the Battle of Lights Hope Chapel an irritable Death Knight sergeant had told the impressionable Tauren to ‘take a walk’ and he had ended up in Ashenvale.
Not thinking to question the practicalities of walking from one continent to the other Klausner quickly brought the Tauren up to speed on what was happening. Klausner didn’t quite know why but he enjoyed the Tauren’s company, maybe it was the impression it made. Swaggering into a bar with a massive Tauren friend in tow certainly makes an impression. Or maybe it was just the conversation. Explaining to a giant horned cow with dark energy seeping from its eyes, a Lich-Borne dealer of death, why he can’t grow a cocoon and turn into a butterfly amused the Forsaken enough to keep him around.
===Decisions===
“And that’s how it was for a long while. Just the two of us, cutting a swathe of broken hearts and cut purses across the continents. Booty Bay were fun, the Barons twin mistresses more fun still! But I digress from me point, we were inseparable.”
Klausner’s life seemed near perfect, with enough muscle in tow to ward off all but the most fearsome of crime lords who wanted to collect their debts. And enough travelling to avoid all but the most committed of thief catchers the pair lived life high. Ruthgarten was as naive as ever and Klausner was as compulsive as ever travelling wherever the fancy took him and doing whatever he could do. One day a rare occurrence happened and the heavens shifted, astrologers the world round declared this a time of great importance heralding a cataclysmic event was about to occur, Kings would die, Nations would fall, and a new world age would begin. They were half right, Ruthgarten was about to make a decision...
“Klausner...I want to go and visit Fred, and Boris, and Frank, and James, and Jeremy, and Frankfurt, an-“
“You want to go and visit your frogs!?”
“Yes...But how did you know, I only named a few of them, and they’re very common names...”
“Mind reader, mate.”
And so the decision was made, the pair would travel back to Kalidmor.
===Fate, Fortune, and Irony===
“Now, nobody blamed me at the time. Ruth thought I were quite innocent in the whole affair, blamed it on the Captain’s feelings of inadequacy we did. But people have implied since, that I might have been at fault and I want to set the record straight! I were not to blame for what happened during that crossing!”
As Klauser hints, something bad happened during the crossing. They were thrown overboard to be exact. Klausner took fancy to a young goblin women during the crossing. And being Klausner the ‘fancy’ took to him. Now, that was all well and good until the Captain found out that the ‘fancy’ were his wife. Tossed overboard and lost at sea things seemed hopeless, for the mortal anyway. Deciding that Ruth was gonna die anyway Klausner taught him to hold his breath and float on his back rather than swim. Then clambering onto his friends barrel like chest, picked up the plank they had been made to walk then had thrown in along with them and started to row.
Now, Klausner has a theory that Fortune thinks of him as a fond household pet, looking out for him, and throwing a bone to him every now and again. So, when they saw a desert island ahead after only a few hours ‘boating’ Klausner was hardly surprised.
Floating up on shore, Klausner left Ruth to extricate the cork from his mouth, dry his fur, and make start waving his arms to attract attention. Heading up the beach Klausner was about have a meeting with fate, another fond friend of his, “always there when needed, is old fate!”
===Pirates===
“Pirates! A more exciting and liberating bunch of people you can’t hope to meet! Real performers, real men (apart from the women, who are women), and real good fun!”
Klausner had stumbled across the sort of desert island that always has one group of pirates or another burying treasure upon it. And so, when one of the pirates threw what looked like a map into the middle of a group of pirates Klausner smelt gold and did what any sensible gent would do, check his belt and remember he’d left his sword on the boat, then raise his fists and charge into the brawl.
It was fate who’d beckoned him to this spot, and fate who’d caused all the pirates to be too preoccupied fighting each other to notice the map was undefended. Klausner grinned and licked his lips, there it was, for the taking, he made sure no one was looking then made the first step towards the map.
It may have been fate who’d set this moment up for him. But it were Irony who thought it had been ignoring it’s favoured champion lately because, at that precise moment, the swaying form of Illyxia-with the unmentionable middle name-Darklight stepped out of the bush behind him and brought a bottle down on his head.
===Part of the Crew===
“And that’s how it happened, that’s how I became part of the crew! Part of the most fearsome, the most terrible, the most accomplished band of pirates ever to grace this earth with it’s presence!”
Klausner stands up, swinging his scimitar for effect. He pauses mid-swing and looks down at the man who's listened to the story and paid for the nights drinks.
“Wait, you’re not with the watch are you, mate?”
“Oh yes, sonny. You’re coming with me.”
A dozen armoured knights reveal themselves from beneath heavy cloaks. Scattered around the bar they cover all the exits.
“Bollocks.”
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