The morning air smelled of smoke and fear when I first stepped into Northshire. Marshal McBride's orders were simple and merciless: push the Blackrock back. As a hunter I've learned to read the land and the scent of an enemy, and by the river the orcs had made their presence known. I tracked down worgs and spies, answered Sergeant Willem's call, and drove the goblin assassins from the field. There was little time for ceremony — only breath-stealing sprints between skirmishes and the steady thrum of my bow string. When the rear was finally clear, I returned to the abbey with the satisfaction of a job done.
Elwynn's roads were no quieter. I carried Marshal Dughan's papers to Goldshire and pressed on toward the Jasperlode and Fargodeep mines, proving the kobold threats true. I put out flames at a vineyard and ferried messages to Stormwind; the people rely on swift hands as much as sharp eyes. Between hunting and delivery, I paused at the Lion's Pride Inn — the suggestion of rest felt earned. I have more to do: Westfall calls, and the path toward the mountains grows darker. But for tonight I string my bow, check my quiver, and keep watch.