Incline 3: Wing-Head Vapooliar

I crash against the mountain and dig my hand in. My magic sucks away into my muscles, amplifying my weight. The mountain cries pebbles and rocks, and soon, the earth itself. My arm flexes in, throwing me away into a brief, crater-making jog.

With a sigh, my magic returns to normal and I carry on walking through the isolated valley. An odd sight to find, this close to Thurn's Forge itself, but looking around... I can see why it has remained this way. No free-witch is ever going to come this close to the lands of the Valkinvar and the heart at its imperial core. The Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra, however, do not fear our power and they really haven't done so for a long time now.

What looks to be signs of a small, religious retreat has been reduced to ash and rubble. Like the disgraced Thoucomm Pathort told me all that time ago. When the war turned the way it did. Our life is going up into the sky as ash and all we shall see of it again is the settling grey that comes with it. 

The desecrated footpath cracks underfoot, my armour doing it no favours in its glass-like state. Were it not for the fact the destruction is so tailor-made to specific spots, it could've fooled me. But as is the same with much of our world, you go on long enough and you will find the markings of gods and goddesses. A shrine to all with a first among equals here.

I bend down, picking up a piece of shattered pottery still stained with its offerings and scents. My eyes survey the glove of my palm and I rub it along the ash, getting some of it off. It's like our home, really. We can take back as much as we want, but the fires will still have been lit. Murky messes will still remain if we are not diligent enough.

Yet... With the walls already shattered and the roads gone, our generations dead and not even buried with dignity. It's a wonder if Waionr's Chosen Theocracy will ever survive the war. If the Valkinvar as a group will, either. Maybe we will live, but I can't see the future with us holding Thurn's Forge as we always have for more than two-thousand years. 

Though, I suppose that is the way of things. The Ringed City of Ancient Suhurlodst is where the Valkinvar came from. A whole empire's worth of land away, deep into the boundaries of what was a kingdom. Now but one more land on this Continent of Wind. Who knows how the Valkinvar will carry on? It's just not destined to last in Thurn's Forge. Not like this.

It's a wonder where we would ever go, really. Thunlanann is nothing but wastelands as far as the eye can see and... And where there is life, there is no magic. We will die of starvation rather than in battle and all of us, no matter how pride shattered we are...

"All of us would rather die with our blood soaking the mud." I let out, finishing my heavy, tiresome thought. I throw aside the piece of pottery, breaking the now meaningless thing even further apart. My fists tighten and I shudder over the thoughts I am allowing to besiege me. If I allow these thoughts to remain or grow, nothing good will bloom. A plot of land is as susceptible to weeds as it is flowers and trees with sweet fruit. 

My magic rushes across the ground and I ascend into the air again, a gentle rise to my posture. Looking up and down the small, lonely valley... I need to leave it behind. Leave it to be forgotten until some far off time comes.

Even if it is to just use the hidden, out of sight area as a means to ambush our hated enemy is something...! Something we can be proud of. While defeat is bitter, fighting our way out of it and to a bloodied victory will give us time to recover. Something, anything, that will let us force a stalemate into this conflict, at the very least!

The short-rising peaks pass me, remaining underfoot as the rest of the earth is. I glance back the way of the fortress, ruined only so much as to remove the make-up of our people. A beauty that is appreciated only for its means to observe and mount guns, small and heavy. My eyes close, sealing tight as my magic carries itself away on the winds.

What few animals dare to stay around here comes into my thoughts. The birds, game and rodents. The carrion. No people, though, none that are to be concerned or regarded with. 

An outline of the fortress spreads across the black of my eyelids, then the ironcoats. The soldiers I protected completely and utterly. The scene grows, adding to my grasp of the situation. Pack animals suddenly introduce themselves, an odd scent coming back through my nose, past my tongue and into my lungs.

I open my eyes, taking in a deep breath, "Ah, they're here."

I propel myself forward, heading back to the fortress with haste that is anything but desperate. The air teeters on wanting to explode with rapturous joy, the kind only a Valkinvar-Imdvarce can readily experience. But I hold myself back. The sound, while a sign of what I claim and cling to being, is loud. Very much so.

My toes stretch against my sabatons in anticipation, gripping the edge of the fortress rock. I skip along, coming to a steady descent down some stairs. The ironcoats salute as is expected of them, but are otherwise idle with nothing to do. They've found posts to take, but we're all anxiously aware of how this meeting is about to go.

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce, splendid timing of return." my assigned officer chirps with force. I gesture for him to be at rest. Though his forceful blinking has me thinking he's had enough of it. He wants to move, something to do, regardless of how boring or stale it might be.

"Friendlies approaching!" a man at the gate tower calls out pointlessly, and I keep my hidden glance to the damaged gates. A stone catches in my throat and I gulp it down, dreading the omens that come with that banner on the lead wagon. The mark of this fine country's military government. Logistics and all that comes with it.

The very men and women that have somehow convinced themselves that we should be lethargic. We have all the time in the world right now to spread ourselves out to the best defensive lines. To force a grand opening with the full might of the Valkinvar and all of the Ordoars! And... We're playing the role of the submissive servant to...

Tablet pushers.

Now, having fought in this war for as much as I have, both after and before my fall from grace. I can respect the need and necessity for these details coming about and being invasive. We need equipment, funds, food and water to run campaigns. The mere idea of where to go and how to do it comes from these experts!

However, whatever it is. These past few years have seen them become utterly useless. Retreating to Thurn's Forge made sense as the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra marched and flew in on us. Millions of shadow-faced men marching without a single twitch of fear. Hundreds of thousands of those airships and so much more coming in with them.

When the fortresses kept falling. The cities, too. No town, village, monastery, castle or cave held out. We needed to gather at the capital, where the magic in this part of the world is at its strongest. When the moment came, we were supposed to fly out as one. Show them what it means to be a Valkinvar!

And yet, here we are. Subjects to incompetent kings the likes of which the men of Thrurstradtur would patronise us in deposing in bloody revolution. Thankfully for all of us here, I suppose, we're not required to do anything but keep our helmets on. No niceties, no smiles. Straight to business. 

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce, are our reports ready?" the head of the investigation asks and I step aside, turning to my ironcoat commander. A slight shrug comes about him and he snaps away, going into the fortress.

I turn back to the logistics lot, briefly eyeing their rough gear and jittery posture, "He's just going to arrange the ironcoats into order. If you'd be so kind as to come with me."

"W-We'll stay here." one woman lets out, further back. I glance down the people, meeting her eyes. She looks away, a slight jitter to her person. My eyes narrow over the details, picking up taints of purple and sickly brown. 

"That is fine." I answer, setting aside the worrisome thoughts. I have my frustrations and my thinly stretched patience, but we're all on the same side, regardless. A civil war is hardly what we as a people can afford right now. We must galvanise to the deepest degree and never shatter or bend.

"We saw on the way up here, you have already made a point of clearing the fortress?" the lead investigator asks, checking over his tablet and all the menial tasks no doubt listed on the clay face.

"Of course. Word has it you're being quite tight on maintaining our advance." I say, unable to hold back my bitterness. Some of them flinch, a reaction the lead investigator manages to hide under his heavy cloak and styling.

"Orders are orders, are they not, Valkinvar-Imdvarce?" he asks back, his voice cold and blank for a reason beyond professionalism. I grit my teeth and nod, knowing full well the pain of having to keep in line with such stupidity. Messengers are often the ones to die horrible deaths, even when they're not the ones speaking.

"Indeed." I answer, going silent and turning away to the fortress. I return my attention to the logistics people, watching them go about their duties as awkwardly as possible. Any soldier is given a wide berth, and it's almost like I'm watching a pack of girls gossip. Pointing, muttering, jotting down.

A behaviour I am oddly baffled by since I've left Thrurstradtur-Suhurlodst. While the school held its students to a high standard, there are cracks in all systems. Slipways and deceptions. The Valkinvar are perhaps the only place I know of where there is no tolerance for anything other than the willingness to die for each other.

Even people like Uala and those who doubt me because of the state I returned to Thurn's Forge in will do so. Bleed and give their lives for me and I will do the same. It is simply the maturity we as soldiers and more must face. Though when our sole purpose cannot be achieved, the ones so easily targeted and blamed will face punishment. 

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce!" the ironcoat officer calls out, rushing back with his reports and the other tablets of note. He passes them onto me and I let my magic float them on to the logistics lot. A heavy sigh blows against the inside of my faceplate and I gesture for them to follow again. This time with the reassurance of my magic all around them.

Some dare to trust me and we head inside, the eyes of all the ironcoats hidden by red glass and mail face drapes. Their tricorns shadowing the rest of the details that might slip through. An unending wall of rivets and hidden faces. Nothing for these lot to be concerned about.

"Your report here says there were no deaths or injuries?" asks the lead investigator and I turn to him with a nod.

"Yes, I ensured not one bullet or cannon shot made it into my men. We took back the fortress without-" I begin to explain, the lead investigator's caught attention interrupting me.

"And what of this?" he asks, gesturing towards a small group of men on the walls, applying some temporary bandages.

"There was an incident with the rubble, nothing more," the ironcoat officer answers, a rattle and straightening of boom-pikes echoing throughout the suddenly silent mountaintop. Not even the winds dare to interrupt us with their whistle. The lead investigator pulls out a dangerously marked tool, and he stamps it down onto the tablet. He twists, leaving.

"You have got to be..." I can't even finish as my frustrations get the better of me. Silencing me better than any armed man for a thousand grand-halfmans ever could!