Incline 4: Wing-Head Vapooliar

I glance up from my ryphurgok, two kinds of irony holding my thoughts down in the moment. The use of such animals as something beyond cattle came from our enemy. There's also this impatience that is itching every single joint in my body. The want to fly far and fast...

Riding back from that fortress to within sight of the Line Before. I could already be halfway across Thunlanann by now if I was actually allowed to use my magic. Once again, another stupid order in place these days. The ironcoats can't even fly or do anything with arcane superhumanity, and they're still complaining, too!

A sigh carries my glance ahead and I eye the rubble of one of the seven fortresses of the Line Before. So much of its ornate grandiosity is now gone, not even so much as replaceable. Those strange guns the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra brought with them on their airships. The way they destroy things... Only magic shields can possibly stand up to them.

"I guess it's a good thing I have the fortress name committed to memory, then. Nemoilous." I let out, breaking the silence of the marching and the heaving of equipment and loot. My fingers flex, shifting my hand and fingerplates about. The reins stretch and strain, the head of my animal moving ever so slightly to the pressure my body can exert. I ease up on the behaviour and let my arms flop.

It's almost like someone wants me to feel defeated with these sluggish orders. I should be out there, in the furthest countryside, attacking the enemy. Not riding a trotting beast along a distance, one I can leap in a single bound. The work to restore the local defences isn't even all that engaged, and I know full well we have the supplies.

Thurn's Forge has always had a steady mining operation going down into the canyon, adding more layers to the under-city. Both sides of it, even. It's not just the city half called Thurnmourer-Thunlanann, but Thurnmourer-Jherikra, too. The quarries have no reason to slow down. The defence of the city needs more nigh-unbreakable rock, not less.

The fortresses need them, not just the seven of the Line Before, but all the fortresses and castles down the Seven Ways of Thunder. As far as the Seventh Line and all that lies between them. Towns, villages, even simple wells. Anything we can use to set up a gun position or ambush.

It's not just me, either. Returning ironcoats and the odd Valkinvar from other battles pack the road. Ahead and at my sides. A lazy highway with no energy to it, no sense in the slightest.

I look ahead, crossing my eyes over the endless peaks of steel and oak. I turn around, doing much the same. Only, behind, I can see an end to the soldiers and baggage trains. Ahead, back to the city is overflowing. All of these troops should be going the other way. I should be soaring.

"Dammit... Oh, to an evil god's betrayal with it." I mutter, hoisting my way up to my feet. I hop off of the animal, leaving it all the lighter and freer to speed off. Responsibility shackles me again and I keep the animal still. A lucky man I don't and never will know the name of takes up my old seating and I fly off.

Gossip chases after me, clinging to my ears and sliding off. It's all worthless noise, anyhow. The Fortress of Nemoilous comes close and I land within walking distance. The looks it shows from a distance do not even do justice to the damage it has received. Our great enemy didn't even have the decency to keep their battlements in place.

What few people are here aren't even workers. I blink away my wide eyes and steady my shaky breath. I march on, going through the shattered gates to find not one man working away. Someone rises, a tablet in hand.

"Valkinvar...?" he questions, not even sure how to address me.

"Imdvarce." I answer for him, and he returns his attention to the tablet.

"Pardon my rudeness... But, where are the supplies we need?" the man asks, and I blink.

"What do you mean?" I ask back, approaching him as he spins the tablet around. I snatch it up, staring down at the unfulfilled promises covering it from top to bottom. My head comes away, going across the ruins to find plenty of shattered statues, mosaics and pieces of art. But none of it is fresh stone to work with. Let alone armaments and even a proper garrison.

"We don't understand what the problem is. We're hoping you might have an answer if you came up here," the man asks, his timidity getting the better of him as my sword comes into view. Not even out, just that. In view.

My helmet hides my arched brow and I head on through the fortress, not sure how to even answer his question.

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce?" he asks, arguments breaking out all across the ruins. Spreading on and on, words slandering the Valkinvar and anything else they can get their verbal hands on. All the way from the entrance and to the battlements. It's not even hard to find my way around the fortress, like it should be. There's so much damage to the walls that new paths have opened up.

The dead have barely been given enough respect to have their blood cleaned up...

"What is going on, indeed?" I say to myself, stepping out onto a circular platform with railings and broken piping all about it. A gun position that is quite explicitly missing half of its namesake. My hands come ahead, landing on the crumbling battlements and I can't help but squeeze tight. The magic rich stone holds against my power and I look out across the vast plains once occupied by our enemy.

So many hundreds of thousands of troops at the barest of minimums are here and it's nowhere near even that number. All these men that should be marching out to reclaim what they can of their homes. Our homeland. And nearly all of them, all of us Valkinvar... We're all headed to Thurn's Forge which doesn't even have the self-respect to man the walls like they're expecting an attack.

What happened to this country in my time since my defeat near Giant's Victory? Is the collapse of our most basic of wartime senses an old problem, as ancient as us, or are they fresh? I can't comprehend it at all. I just can't.

"No use in it now. I'm already in enough trouble." I groan, not even able to say the word in any way one can call mature or professional.