Unbroken
The few weeks since the end of the Fourth War, and the formal end of hostilities between the Alliance and Horde had left Siegfried feeling some strange combination of triumph, and confusion.
The young Knight - and now full-fledged war veteran muses silently to himself as he patrols the interior of Stromgarde, the plated soles of his sabatons clunking heavily with each step he takes. It felt strange to him that the war could end so suddenly; as suddenly as the Banshee Queen herself had vanished. She seems to be the common factor in all of this.
Still, war had taught him to savor victory, regardless of its source, or the size of the victory. The notion that it could have just as easily been his body they were burying in the city’s ever-expanding graveyard was not lost on him.
Making a sharp left, he strides up the slight incline that leads to the keep, and turns left once more, approaching the Altar of Kings… The very spot where he took up the mantle of Knight.
Casting that cobalt gaze up to the golden lion’s head, his arms fold loosely at his lower back, clasping his gauntlets together. Closing his eyes, he clears his mind, and gives himself the chance to simply enjoy the soft breeze that drifts about his armored form, and teases his golden locks, cloak, and tabard.
Over the course of this war, many things had been broken - both physically and otherwise. His faith in the Light, in the Alliance, and in himself however… That was merely tempered in the flames of strife.
It remains… Unbroken.
Opening his eyes, he turns to gaze out at the expanse of the fortress-city - his homeland - and smiles broadly. The war is over, and he is home.
