It had been almost two decades since Stromgarde experienced any semblance of peace.
The death of Thoras Trollbane had been the death knell for her homeland for so long, as her greatest hero was lost to Outland, and the legacy of the great king had been passed onto someone completely unworthy of her reigns. Ever since she was old enough to pick up a sword, she had not seen her homeland know peace. And she had never seen it whole. A united Stromgarde, at the height of its glory before the fateful betrayal of Alterac...she was too young to remember.
The stone walls of Stromgarde, and draped with banners of red and white, stood proudly against the morning sun. The sight was truly beautiful, undimmed by the decades of hardship that had stricken both Stromgarde and her people. Basteala looked up as she heard the patter of children running in the streets. Of laughter, and joy as two young boys chased one another. A shout of an angry, older woman calling the youths to order. The groan of an old cart being dragged across the road by heavy beasts of burden, the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, its doors open for business without fear of raiding for the first time in a generation.
For the first time in many years, the cobblestone streets felt more than just the boots of soldiers on their way to battle or some desperate last stand.
Basteala hears a loud crash as a door flies open to her left. She feels something small and fast slam into her leg. Basteala grunts and stiffens for a moment, before looking down at the source. A little girl looked back at her, wide eyed. Bast could feel the child’s gaze taking in everything from the armor she wore, to the sword at her hip, to the subtle glow beneath her gauntlet. All at once, a brilliant grin appeared on the girl’s face, she pointed, and hopped excitedly.
“Mommy! Look how bright she is! Is she a paladin? Huh?” The little redheaded girl was bouncing with excitement now. Basteala couldn't help but smile, seeing more than a shade of her younger self in this boisterous, eager young child.
“Abigail! You leave that woman alone!” An older, stern voice scolded from the doorway inside the bakery. “You get back here! I’m sure she’s very busy and has important things to do, and so do you, young lady!” The girl deflates under the scolding, and bows her head. Some might have been annoyed by the sudden interruption breaking the moment, but to Bast, this was the moment. It was yet another sign of peace that her home had not known since she was a young girl, herself. Basteala looks up at the angry mother, tapping a wooden spoon against the palm of her hand, and offers the matriarch a smile.
“On the contrary, miss. This is the first true moment of rest I’ve had in a very long time.” She looks down at the girl, feeling a warmth in her chest as she says, “And I am indeed a paladin, miss.” The girl’s eyes widened even more, while the mother crossed her arms in the doorway. Basteala leans down and pats the girl on the head. “Now you go on and finish your chores. I’ll come back to see you after you’re done, okay?”
“Okaaaay~!” The girl smiles, and skips back to the bakery. The woman shakes her head and closes the door. Basteala didn’t hear any shouting, at least. She made a mental note to buy some bread from the shop before leaving, and checking in on the young girl with dreams of being a hero. The paladin smiles to herself, before continuing her walk. Through streets, through the market, the barracks, new faces to old memories she held dear. Her first day holding a weapon, her first ride on a horse, her first victory in a tournament, precious all. It was a happier time. A simpler time…
Finally Basteala would make her way out of the courtyard, beyond the protective walls of the kingdom. Basteala closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath of fair from the fresh, clear meadows she had been born and grew up on. She had been home a couple times before, but to do it here, now--with the world at peace--made it all the sweeter. Basteala continued walking, before finally finding it. Her spot. A hill just beyond the wall, leading out into open sea. The only place in Arathi Highlands--on solid ground at least--where one could see the ocean. She sits down, and sighs, taking a moment to enjoy the smell of the ocean, the crashing of the waves. It was peaceful, tranquil. This had always been her favorite place to go as a youngster to think. To dream.
Stromgarde. The cradle of humanity, the birthplace of a united civilization, one whose descendents spread across the whole of Azeroth. A land that for so long had known bitter hardship. Basteala turns back, and gently, reverently, runs her fingers along the castle wall. For years, the walls of her home a hideout for the Syndicate, a place of blunder for violent murderers in the Boulderfist Clan, a home to traitors that had defiled the very land they stepped on. A once good place had been twisted into a den of evil. But no more. The darkness had been washed away, as good people stood up for a place that many had written off as lost for so long. The parallel to her own life was not lost on her. Baseala sighs, watching the waves, taking this to let go of her worries, and simply take in the sights, the smells, the sounds of a home that had finally been won. Basteala gently runs her fingers through the grass, as a mother might pat the head of her beloved child.
“We’ve both been through a lot, haven’t we?”
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