Future Imperfect...

Dawn.

The tundra’s of Northern Dragonblight glisten from the first rays of sunlight on fresh snow. Spook was still huddled at Razorwyn’s hooves fast asleep. Moving ever-so-slightly so as to not wake her Saber, Razor rose stretched off the sleep and threw a few more logs on an already dying campfire.

Looking up, Dalaran hovered overhead like a majestic floating Camelot. The rooms are warm up there but Razor finds a calm peace here in the wilderness. “Those rooms have nothing on a view like this” Razor thought to herself as she looked over the tundra to Wyrmrest Temple off in the distance and tossed two chilled meat steaks onto the fire.

“Spook, rise and shine. Ironforge beckons today. I hope to catch up with an old friend. Grab some food and let’s get ready to head out” Razor told her groggy kitty. With a stretch and accompanying yawn, Spook settled into a rare steak. Soon the two were off to Dalaran’s portals.

Ironforge. Its mere sight exhibits a strength and pride that the Dwarven people are oh-so-good at projecting. Razor’s skills at hunting are a testament to the exceptional skills bestowed upon her by the hunters if Ironforge. Razorwyn has fond memories within these steel and stone walls.

Speaking of fond memories, Razor makes her way past the Ironforge Gryphon Master. Nearby she spies a banner that stirred many emotions in her. “The Order of Sterling. Honor, Blood and Glory Be Our Path” a sign read above the door to the official guild hall of the Order of Sterling.

Razorwyn pauses. With a look back, she grasps her tabard, takes a deep breath and disappears into the crowds deep in thought.

To be continued…

'Good Health, Long Life'
From the journals of Razorwyn Moonstrider

Welcome Friends

'Sitting amongst the towering mushrooms of Zangramarsh, Razorwyn finishes up a freshly cleaned carcass. It had just stopped raining so she sheaths her knife and readies her gear. Throwing a chunk of sporebat meat to Spook her faithful companion, she opens a flask of Darnassian ale and tips it to her lips. Wiping the froth away, she turns to her journal...'

Greetings friends. I am Razorwyn Moonstrider.
People who know me call me Razor. I came to be here with you all in Azeroth much like many of my brothers and sisters.

By accident.

Through a series of trials and tribulations, I've wound up in this hell known as Outland where I sit now scribbling in this tattered journal. It's one of the things that keeps me sane in this war-torn realm. All too often you do not have time to contemplate or put together thoughts. All too often you are forced into reaction. So here I sit. So here I write.

'Finishing his meal, Spook makes his way to Razor's side where he turns in tight circles in the grass making a soft bed for a well needed rest and a much welcomed massage on the scruff of his neck. Razor continues in her journal...'

It feels good to be in the marsh amongst these giant mushrooms. Zangarmarsh, the locals call it. It has an odd, eerie beauty about it. I find myself spending many an hour here enjoying its solitude. A stark difference from the Blasted Lands that brought me here or the ravaged upheavals of Hellfire Peninsula. What is this place? What gods saw the need to bring us here? Whatever that need is, here I sit. Destiny awaits me and I accept that destiny however reluctantly.

Well, it is time that I make the journey back to Shattrath City. I will try and post my entries within the capital cities as I travel to their gates often.

~From the journals of Razorwyn Moonstrider