Born in Lorderon, raised in Lorderon, well, until that day happened. You know the day.  He was a herald to a minor noble house, before that a bard earning small change. The best thing about Janson was his voice. He could sing along with the best elven bards in azeroth.

When Arthas killed the king, Janson fled. He became a wandering bard, calling to his true nature. He was outside of Goldshire when life kind of took a turn for him. A group of defias had ambushed him, robbed him, and they were going to leave it at that, why bother right? One of them, recognized dear old Janson. At that point they decided to hang the poor man. And did so with ease.

 You can't really thin about much besides your life as you're hanging from a rope from a tree branch. Janson thought about the highs, the lows, this being a low by the way. He hung there for about 20 seconds, feeling the life drain out of him. The sound of a gun could be heard going off. The rope split. Janson hit the ground. He looked up to see a dwarf, dressed in leathers, carrying a rifle with a scope on it.

"Aye lad. Saved yer arse I did."

Janson began to speak, the words weren't there. He tried again, nothing. He nodded, wishing that he had died, rather than be robed of his most precious tool.

As the years went by, the dwarf, an officer of the law of sorts, took Janson under his wing, taught him how to fight, how to live, how to be a person again. They developed a hand signaling code, it worked well for them. The dwarf eventually left Janson to his own devices.

Thats when things kind of hit a low again. He didn't feel that he could continue as a bard, so he did the next best thing, he became a fence. Selling, buying, whatever. He made himself quite the bit of an empire. Labeled as one of the richest members of the undground.

When the paladins came for him, to stop a dangerous mastermind, he knew it was over. They slapped him in irons. Threw him in the stockades, and forgot about him. 3 long years, learning to survive, learning to live like a criminal. No one heard him scream, but him.

Things changed, as they usually do. A member of SI:7 came to speak with him one day.They offered him a job as a moderator. Simply watch and report. They trained him in combat, they trained him in stealth procedures. And for a year, he worked. He uncovered massive plots, he defeated the head of the defias. Struck a blow to the scarlet crusade.

Soon after, a year in fact, SI:7 released him from his duty. He went free lance, started dabbeling in engineering, started working with his hands more. He then began plotting. The black guard led by a mad man recruited him. He accepted, he lasted a month. A member of their guard, a necromancer, gave him a gift, he restored Janson's voice, at the cost of an inocent. The notion bothered him, slightly. But not enough to lose it again.

Northend came calling. They had plans to fight the scourge, they had plans to fight Lorderon and the forsaken. A worthy cause. He heard a paladin speaking of the plans, and took the iniative. He snuck into the belly of the beast, undercity itself, and charted a map. The paladin nodded said he'd put a good word in, next thing he knew, he was wearing a tabard and doing jobs that required a bit more secrecy. His terms with the commonwealth, as far as he knows are much like Si:7's, do something and get caught, you no longer exist. Do something and dont get caught, your life is great.