Incline 7: Prisoner Vapooliar

My fellow Valkinvar-Imdvarce drag me along, but two of many others who have been called to represent the shame of their Ordoar. Yet, despite the looks of such a grand display of justice, no one in sight seems all that concerned for it. The grips are my arms might as well be purely for the aesthetic of having a prisoner secure than for anything else. So at least I am not alone in thinking about how ridiculous this is. 

So many sisters and brothers are here doing nothing but escort prisoners of no crimes. For every so-called traitor to the Valkinvar, there are two guarding them and me. So many Valkinvar are wasting their time in this utter façade and mockery of our traditions, our history. Too many are in the city and not out in the countryside, taking back our home.

"What a waste of time..." I let out with a tiresome sigh, rolling my shoulders about. My sister Valkinvar secure their grip, reaffirming to what few onlookers there are that they have me under control. We step ahead, one small stride closer to the great doors separating me from this fool's court. Whoever is in charge of our justice system now has no right to be.

Does a Valkinvar even hold the seat or...?

My jaw tightens, grinding my teeth up and down against each other. Armour plates flex with my fingers and I shuffle about again. The doors open too quickly for the scale of what a Valkinvar being taken prisoner by their own kind is. My sisters drag me in as my feet linger and I take in the sights.

To think my first time in the Chamber of Traitor's Judgement would be as the judged. They only taught us so much about this place growing up within the Valkinvar. Need to know, as the saying often is. Enough to spur on the imagination, but not enough to make any of it seem truly real.

Though the Valkinvar are an order dedicated to our oaths to our future husband, the God of War, Lord Waionr himself. He is lacking in what this extensive chamber is decorated with. In fact, anything that so much as calls to him is smeared and lacking in detail. An intentional design to show how we have parted with the ways of our future husband.

My circumstances, however, that have truly parted me away from my future husband are not why I am here today...

The Valkinvar-Imdvarce at my side take me up the ornate steps, intentionally covered in fanciful stones of other kinds. Slate, granite, marble, anything to hide the redstone that proudly dominates most of the city's architecture and design. Anything and everything to distance the guilty from their former duty. Even the floors find themselves endlessly scripted with mantras of guilt and judgement.

The two leave me on a podium, and they draw their blades. Both tips go down, straight into the ceremonial locks. The arcane mechanisms beneath me push the podium up and magic from above forces me down. I don't resist at all, and collapse to my knees. The emptiness of the impossibly vast chamber carries the clang of steel on for too long. 

I do my best to glance around, barely able to find the strength to move my head and twist my neck. Those who are judging me and passing my sentence are of but one uniformity. The Ordoar Staguiffmani. Odd ones in that I have yet to see anyone of their number be trialled or held in the dungeons.

Regal as ever, they certainly do their best to fill up the space given to them. Flowing robes and silvery armour, some more like dresses I'd expect to see on aelenvari petals. Many of them bare tattoos of magical origins, only there so long as they will it. A display of power as much as it is of one's artistry and skill as a witch.

Unlike the architecture of the chamber, however, they're all distinctly lacking in their dedication to Waionr. A peculiar thing to see, seeing as I quite vividly recall the detail that they're supposed to be even more adorned than usual. So as to taunt the traitor Valkinvar with envy, as they still have Waionr's love. Though, I guess, in a way, fate is being kind to me where their actions cannot see.

I force my head towards the centre of the audience and find it empty. The throne that my judge should be sitting upon is certainly lacking its core details. It's but an empty chair, right now. Another off detail about this whole affair, given how quickly things should be moving along.

A sigh of annoyance and bother leaves me, my attention returning to the chamber. Focusing my magic, I battle against the oppressive force from above and sit up. My head has an easier time of looking about and I mind the five other divine who make their presence known to me here.

The twin-bodied god and goddess, Oramvaleood, Morality. The mask-blind God of Justice, Enorcoustice. Opposing the blind god is one blinded not by attire, but by anger and hate, Avanvenger, Vengeance. And finally, a strange choice if one is theologically ignorant... But, to those of us here, we know why Apahthein, God of Apathy, is really here. Dereliction is his name in such places as this.

All of the divine who so much have any connection to the idea of a traitor. Of which I am not. All of the divine who relate to the act of crime. Of which I have committed none of. 

A pair of doors swing open on a bright gull, though it is hard to see what shade of emerald it is precisely. Familiarity answers the question for me and the Valkinvar-Zaphadren once again makes herself known. A feeble Valkinvar-Staguiffmani following after her like a lost kitten. Her arms overburdened with tablets that glow no doubt with the names of the accused. Stupid as such lists are. 

The Zaphadren-Valkinvar takes her seat on the Judge's Throne, setting aside the quarter of her hair that is gold with lightning. Her servant passes her the first of the tablets and sets the rest down. Our sister Valkinvar visibly struggles and is more than happy to show her joy at the lost burden. My eyes narrow and the force above picks up, smashing my forehead against the stone.

"Valkinvar-Imdvarce... Wing-Head Vapooliar..." the Zaphadren-Valkinvar lets out, her voice catching on itself as she no doubt recalls who I am. I wince at her words, paranoid over what she might suddenly be full of questions about. She was the one who ordered me on that disastrous attack out of Giant's Victory nearly a decade ago. I can only hope her memory is fickle, or she is too preoccupied to say anything of note...

"You are hereby-" 

"Yes, I know!" Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli snaps at the simple helper.

"Hurry along already..." I sneer in contempt for the farce that is this waste of manpower.

"For the crime of violating your chosen orders, you are hereby stripped of your privileges as a Wing-Head. You are now broken down into your pettiest state, a mere Valkinvar-Imdvarce. Privileged only by her position within our great Four-Winded Valkinvar. Your penance shall be found in the streets of Thurn's Forge, of which you shall patrol diligently from here on out," the Zaphadren-Valkinvar orders, leaving my eyes wide with disbelief of all things.

I am being judged in the one place a Valkinvar should never want to find herself and... And I am being punished with patrol duty...? I'm being convicted of nonsense and getting punished in much the same way? What foul pest has set itself into the Valkinvar to eat away at its spirit and heart!?

The podium gives way, dropping to the ground with a crash. My sisters step in, grabbing my arms once again and hoisting me up. One hand comes to my helmet, lifting the visor and exposing my face fully to those watching. I meet the eyes of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar despite my daze, and she gives me such an odd look.

Her hand comes up, performing a silent sweep of the chamber. My two sister Valkinvar chop their hands over their matrimonial scars, and drag me off. They pull me away into a small chamber, one not really intended for anything other than storage. One kneels behind me and the other goes in front.

"Is it even worth it?" I dare to ask, not even sure why they're going through with what should've been done in the chamber before.

"With all due respect, Sister Vapooliar... I'd rather not go through the humiliation," the one in front of me says. The one behind lets out a hollow giggle, her fingers going through my armour straps and segments.

"Somehow, I feel more embarrassed being involved with this than being potentially on trial for something actually treacherous," the Valkinvar-Imdvarce behind me says and me and the other one murmur in agreement. I sigh again, feeling my body grow lighter with each movement of their dexterous fingers. Plates fall away, banging on the stone and ricocheting off of their armour and then to it. 

They reduce me to my barest, only short of being truly naked. The pair rise up and back away, half-hearted gestures coming from them. They both depart and I am left alone in this empty storeroom, nothing on mind or in hand. Another sigh riles me into action.

Forcing one leg up, I fight back against the shakiness induced by the podium's magic. I wobble myself stable and let my magic flow out to my armour. Picking up the pieces, my makeshift bag carries it all out with me. My marked palm opens wide and I call for my sword, retrieving it in no time at all. 

I take the quiet path and still come face-to-face with esteemed Temple Guards. They give me a look over, their eyes saddened by the utter mockery of what we are. One silently opens the door out and the other steps ahead. Her hand comes to my cloth-covered shoulder, squeezing tight.

"Hold your head high, Sister Valkinvar. This embarrassment will pass if you let it." she tries to comfort me with and I avoid her eyes and all the ceremonial decorations about her plate. I shake my shoulder out of her grip and walk on out, stopping only as words catch in my throat.

"I doubt anything will pass these days... Only the return of our enemy, defeat marching alongside them." I tell them and they go silent out of understanding, rather than anything else. They quietly close the door, leaving me out in the great outdoors of Thurnmourer-Jherikra. The Temple City. The Grand Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar.

A city in and of itself.

"So, I guess that is it, then. My impatience has chained me with shame. Inaction. And... I've spited the memory of Wing-Head Allyoceer by losing the very rank she leads to me gaining... Wonderful." I let out, stuttering only so much so as to prevent a tear coming to either of my eyes.

What has become of my home that it would debase itself in such an ungodly manner? What foul taint is spreading about the halls, building-up in the corners and shadows? War is coming and the Maidens of War are practically at peace. A shameful mockery is the only way to truly describe what we are now and I have no idea as to why or how we've ended up like this.

My grip reassures itself on the blade of my sword and a pitiful motivation fills my heart. I cannot fight the war right now. I can't, not without truly going rogue and against my duty. The best I can do right now is try to investigate what is going on. To the best of my reduced ability...

I hold up my shoulder plates, parting them from the collection of armour floating at my side. I didn't even notice my sisters strip me of the denotations of my rank. They've left quite the unsightly scar on the steel, a scratch that is so blatant and obvious that everyone knows what it is. My mouth straightens and I return the parts to my arcane baggage.

"First thing is first thing, then... Got to get myself dressed." I let out, a chill finding its way to my body as if even the world itself wants to point out my shame. Not even great shame, simply put... Belittling shame that has no right to so much as mark anything in my life.