I don't live here, I am a resident of a rival city. However, I have integrated myself into the culture and lore of this grand ole field. Its' heritage, its' legacy, its' heroes; all have been instilled into my thoughts, as if I have been living amongst the nearby smokestacks of my life.
I have visited here along with the rivals a few times before, seeing it as dangerous territory. The action mere metres from where I have sat. Fate would change my stature a mere half-a-decade ago, and now I feel like an ally, rather than the enemy. In that short time, I have walked within its hallowed gallows, and I revel in the greats who have stepped onto its marked surface. From adverse conditions, to last-second glory, to hometown heroics that included hoisting the prized chalice. Memories that will last forever, but the building's existence will not.
Within a fortnight, they will demolish this palace, the Bastion on Balsam. They will resurrect it with a new cathedral, in hopes new milestones will be created and remembered. However, they will never take away from the history of this neighbourhood. I don't know if I will be amongst those will return full-time when this phoenix rises from its ashes, but the lore will never leave me. For I will never forget the place they've called Ivor Wynne.