'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
