Player Housing? FINALLY
stargrace (I’m very excited that Blizzard announced player housing, so I thought I’d write a little story)
A Hearth Restored
The sun dipped below the horizon as Yamini Reveur, a seasoned paladin of the Silver Hand, guided her weary charger down the familiar cobblestone path to Hearthglen. Her armor bore scratches from countless battles, her shield dulled from years of service, but her heart was light. She was finally home.
The village hummed with the sounds of evening life. Children’s laughter echoed from the square, mingling with the clinking of blacksmith hammers and the savory scent of fresh-baked bread. Yamini smiled under her helm. Hearthglen hadn’t changed, and that was a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed until now.
At the gate, an elderly farmer waved enthusiastically. “Yamini! Back at last?”
“Aye, Jonah,” she called, dismounting gracefully. She rested a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. “How’s the harvest this year?”
“Better now that you’re here. The village missed its champion.”
She chuckled softly. “And I’ve missed it.”
Her cottage stood at the edge of the village, a modest home with ivy creeping up its stone walls. The sight of it brought a lump to her throat. Yamini pushed open the wooden door, stepping into the cozy warmth of the hearth she had long dreamed of. Her boots echoed on the worn wooden floor as she looked around.
Everything was as she had left it—her shield hung above the mantle, her bookshelf brimming with tomes of Light and lore. A soft meow broke her reverie, and a tabby cat padded into the room, brushing against her leg.
“Hello, Ember,” she murmured, crouching to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “Still holding down the fort?”
The evening passed in a blur of small joys. She shed her armor and donned a woolen robe, lit the hearthfire, and brewed a pot of spiced tea. Villagers stopped by with baked goods and hearty stews, each one eager to share news and laughter. Yamini basked in their warmth, grateful for their stories and their steadfast kindness.
When the last visitor had gone and the village had grown quiet, she sat by the fire, her faithful cat curled in her lap. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the tapestry of her life—a tapestry woven not just with heroics, but with the simple, enduring threads of home.
For the first time in years, Yamini felt whole. The call to adventure might come again, but for now, she would rest, savoring the peace she had fought so hard to protect.
