Base 19: Wing-Head Vapooliar

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce, we're ready to begin the assault." my assigned ironcoat officer informs me, his mail-veiled tricorn in hand. I glance his way, steadying my maps and my body answers ahead of my thoughts.

"No, delay the preparations. I never gave the order, to begin with." I tell him, chastising the man for going ahead without my consent. As the sole Valkinvar here, I am the supreme authority in this operation until someone above me arrives. Which, given the circumstances, has most certainly not happened.

The ironcoat officer steps back, a frown on his face and a twitch in his motions. I turn fully, meeting his gaze and he fumbles about, bringing out a small tablet. I take it from him and read it. My wrist flicks, sending the tablet soaring off into the distance. A puff of dust goes off in my grand-halfman periphery.

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce...?" the ironcoat officer questions, all manner of thoughts keeping him on-edge and tight in the muscles.

"Any orders from now on come from my word directly." I explain, frowning as a palm clutches my chin. Those were not my orders, but they bore the mark of the Valkinvar. A tired sigh escapes me and I shake my head, minding my head as I leave the makeshift command post. The ironcoat officer joins me at my side, yet another nameless face to join me in this bloody war.

I'm trying my hardest to keep my men alive. I'm trying with all I am and can. Not out of obligation for past mistakes or anything clinging to my thoughts. Just for the war effort as a whole. Those with authority over me have been awfully touchy on casualties, regardless of how light they are.

It's not even deaths alone they're concerned with. Each injury is practically blown out of proportion and for some reason, on top of it all... I'm not allowed to go out on my own and fight. No Valkinvar is, no matter how low-ranked she or he is.

It makes no sense.

The war is going badly for us, it's going horribly for all of the people loyal to Waionr and his Chosen Theocracy. But this is no excuse for us to be paralyzed with inaction and doubt. Whatever the events of the past months have been, the Seven-Peaks Union pulled away. Skeleton garrisons with barely any modern equipment are all that remains.

Our greatest enemy pulled out entirely, and what information we have been able to gather is related to the south. Whatever caused that massive seizure among the Ordoar Staguiffmani back during that appropriately named Cycle of Screaming Witches. It has our enemy's attention. We have the upper hand for the time being, a moment to go out and reconquer!

At worst, we can simply do what Allyoceer had me do back during the Siege of the Long Battery Fort. Head out to old fronts, scavenge what supplies we can, and make our way back with them. Something, anything... Something more than this lethargic, barely motivated effort.

It took us too long to even dip our toes into the forts of the Line Before. We should be on our way to refortifying the Seventh Line with all that we have. Bleed the Seven-Peaks Union dry of all we can before they can get their momentum back. They haven't been back in force for months, so why are we so slow...?

I don't get it. I really don't and no one I know, professional or otherwise, seems to either. It's the same everywhere. A mysterious fog is in everyone's minds as to how to proceed.

We cannot simply wait within the walls of Thurn's Forge, underneath the shield dome. The Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar needs to stand strong. Not crumble because we never fought for our rights to at least be remembered as warriors by history. If we're only going to cower, then we might as well surrender. There is no victory to be found in attrition.

We've two centuries of proof regarding that lack of action.

But, I suppose that's the problem. The war was going so uneventfully fine all those grand-cycles ago. Before my loss of oath, before I stopped being a true Valkinvar. Everyone might know me as Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar now, though they are wrong. I'm just Vapooliar by right these cycles.

Whatever we were doing wrong back then, nothing has changed in the minds of everyone else. I'm the only one who's really changed, and it's because of my absence from the war. The world beyond Waionr's Chosen Theocracy has opened my mind in a way no one else has theirs. I want to believe something so simple is the case... But it simply cannot be.

The rumours back in the city, the gossip and open conversations. People can tell what is going on. There is something wrong and no one can quite rightly put their finger on it. Let alone a blade sharp enough to cut it wide open.

My focus leaves my mind and I reach the crest of the narrow road. The still intact bend gives me pause and I turn around to look over my men. My accompanying ironcoat officer keeps his distance, not so gunproof as I am. Even then, a chunk of mountain lies between me and being an open target.

My needlessly convoluted orders want me to take my men along this path. Take the fortress through storming assault. Yet, somehow, they never comprehend the idea I can rip apart the fortress occupants alone. Sense and efficiency have no place in the current war effort if they ever did to begin with.

Other Valkinvar of all stripes and colours have been held to this overly strict standard. Imprisonment, public displays of humiliation and discipline. It makes no sense. I can't circumvent this either, there's too much at risk and who knows which of my men is willing to keep their lips tight?

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce, we ought to proceed..." the ironcoat officer urges quietly, and I hold back my frustrations. A gloved hand comes to my helmet and I take it off, revealing my field of mud brown hair. Barely a blade of green to it. Pale, weak. Strong and gemstone-inspired, none of it is like those at the top of the Valkinvar. Though I am stronger through virtue of being among equals again, I'm not much more than what I was at Giant's Victory.

"I'm thinking." I answer, my voice withholding much of the stern nature I wish to be showing. I need to make an assault that fulfils the standards of my absurd orders and I need to try and circumvent my chances of casualties. My eyes shut tight, forcing themselves against each other until the aches burst them back open. This is ridiculous!

I can fly out and kill whatever measly garrison is in the fortress. I can clean it up with no casualties at all and then fly off to handle so many more. We can free our occupied cities and towns. Save our people... But, no, I am imprisoned by the thought of punishment in a war that is so bad we should be letting prisoners run free for the mere manpower!

"Tch." I click, stepping out into the open, sword drawn. I twist the way of the ironcoat officer, tossing my helmet his way. He drops his gear, catching my helmet with a yelp and groan. Others rush to him, securing his footing and keeping him upright. They try to haul my armour safely down, and they fail. Many freeze up over the perceived disrespect, but I have no anguish to give.

The armour of a Valkinvar is no easy task to hold on to with such weak bodies. A firearm on the fortress battlements barks fire and I lean aside, avoiding the bullet. Not a glance spared its way. My sword sinks into the ground, the mountain rock no match for the fine, magic-rich edge.

The garrison panics, throwing themselves about and a line of shots come for me. Some strike my steel and leave no mark. Others pat away from my skin, flat as if they had actually struck metal. I watch a small group rush for one of the guns. The first sparks of its rear fill my iris' as they focus on it.

The gun thunders, hurling a cast-iron cannonball straight for me. It closes in and shatters against my chest, not so much as a shudder shaking me up. I sigh at length and step back into cover. My hand comes up, calling my sword back to my side.

"The garrison isn't even what we've been fighting since Giant's Victory." I huff, displeased by how there's significantly less risk than before. While I cannot be entirely sure as to who fills the fortress, they are of the Seven-Peaks Union. No bandits, rogue soldiers or militia group would leave a flag like that still bellowing on the wind. Not in a land as holy as this.

Deception without true military intent is against the Laws of Waionr... Bah.

"So shall we...?" the ironcoat officer questions as I lean for my helmet. I take it back into hand, putting it by my hip as my mind lingers on the other details. Their weapons are nothing fancy or unknown. Certainly not the usual of our land, but they're nothing compared to what the Royal Army of the Jhermonikra has been using until now. Yet they're also not so decrepit as to be on the same level as what I used to see at Giant's Victory.

It's an odd affair. So much changed since those days. A world no one within Waionr's Chosen Theocracy can comprehend has developed beyond our borders. We who were once a land famed for their imperial might and sciences of war have been long left behind.

Luxuries I grew used to at Suhurlodst Academy of Arcane Learning and Understanding don't exist here. What little I have been able to speak of about my time away from the Valkinvar has utterly flabbergasted so many. It's like a God of Time or something has come about, bringing us from a land we should not be in. It's so absurd it must be true with how absurd this war has gone. 

Stable fronts collapsed so quickly. In only a couple of grand-cycles after my failure at Giant's Victory, the Seventh Line fell. In no time after that, the Seven-Peaks Union was firing away at Thurn's Forge. Whatever land we still held beyond the Line Before is all but gone. Taken from us by the just right that governs All-That-Remains. Violence.

Still, that is a thing to consider as of the moment. The fortress garrison is nothing special. I am pretty sure I even spied the signs of one of those towering figures. Ones I only recall vaguely due to their presence before the war went bad. There was one in the garrison. Whoever these men are, they're the runts of the Royal Army of the Jhermonikra.

Gifted with the scraps of weaponry too foul to end up in the hands of the shadow-faced soldiers. Not worthy enough to mount the walls of their airships and other machines. Whoever they are, they have no power, no strength or force. They're weak and pitiful.

Why, I could bash aside every bullet, artillery shot and every blade aside myself-

"Of course!" I exclaim, coming to clarity about my awkward circumstances.

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce?" the ironcoat officer asks, his attention going about to his men.

"Prepare the Ironcoats. You will march up behind me with our forces. We will take the fortress while I terrify the garrison into surrendering, or better." I explain, my helmet-grip tightening as the ease of the situation releases so much tension in each muscle strand.

All I have to do is knock aside bullets and cannonballs. I can react to all of that and nothing will be able to harm me at all, or notably so. The first firing line will be impotent. And I will clean the walls. The men will still be involved in the attack, just not so much so that they will find themselves bleeding in any way. 

"ASSAULT MARCH FORMATION, MEN OF WAIONR! TWO... LINES!" the ironcoat officer bellows, his back straight as the boom-pikes in the hands of the men. I nod, moving my helmet over and back onto my head. The well-worked steel shadows my body entirely and my eyes narrow with impatience. 

This whole affair is such a waste of everyone's time!