Incline 9: Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar

I come to a stop in the evening light, looking about the fortifications below and the city on my left. I drop down, planting my armoured feet gently on the stone of the defensive walls. Moving ahead, I put a hand up on the crenelations. My body moves further, pushing me a slight distance ahead of the merlons. 

"Still... Even now. More are returning than leaving." I let out, unable to contain my repetitive sigh. I was never under any of Jaadagoren's illusions to begin with, but the Goddess of Illusions would be most welcome in a moment like this. Knowing someone like her is about would ease my spirit. It would probably ease the spirits of everyone.

Just that simple fact that we know this is all a dream...

My sighs come back and I lean away from the upgoing walls. I throw myself away, going into a walk as one of my free hands wanders aimlessly. It finds its way to my shoulder pads and my upper chest piece. A delicate grip rubs away at the scratches in my armour. They won't go away no matter how hard I rub.

Having shame in print is one thing when it's sealed away in the libraries and tombs. Having it all over your armour, the set you wear every cycle and are practically inseparable from, is something else entirely. Those who wish to sabotage me will always have a means now. It's no longer rumours and petty gossip. Now it carries on with what they can physically touch.

My hand curls up into a fist, stretching the leather and flexing the gauntlet plates. I throw the fist to my side, swishing the armour about. I arrive near the Valkinvar Gate just in time to watch three of my sisters come back from their battles. Well, skirmishes. Training exercises.

I frown in thought, focusing on the three Valkinvar I am unfamiliar with, as far as names are concerned. All I know about them is that it is an odd sight. Three men all together. Not one of them of the Ordoar Ammimpaurst, too.

Yet, despite it all, they find themselves to be in a somewhat merry mood. A slight smirk comes to my face and my thoughts are swift in their execution of it. I need to break the news to those of my wing, make it clear what has happened. Assuming they have not already learned of my shame, though, I'm willing to bet that with so many sisters and brothers finding themselves wrongfully shamed... It's chaotic, to think and say the least.

"Still." I let out, setting off into the sky once again with a defeated limpidness to my four limbs. The Parade Ground passes on by and I offer a gesture of greeting to my three brothers, just in case. The Grand Temple of the Four Winded Valkinvar draws ever near, its veritable fortifications of wind chimes and other appropriate décor twinkling in the late halolight. My speed picks up, popping and weaving me through the pillars of many pathways until I'm in the open again.

I float around, gathering my bearings as the colossal nature of my home continues to embarrass my sense of direction. An old song plays through my head, and while the lyrics escape me for tonight, the tune is as bright as ever. I follow along the instincts they set off, heading on down to an open field marked with paused duels and forgotten gear. Many trails have lined the graph with the language of the traveller and I look along them, finding a treasure for my nose.

"The Hall of Feasts." I let out, both excited at the prospect of a filling meal and hopefully finding anyone from my former wing. I land on the ground, joining the growing crowd as they make their way after the smells. It's a contradictory feeling, being here, among all my sisters and brothers. Silently walking or making small talk to pass the lengthy time as congestion builds.

It reminds me of simpler times, when I was still training to be a Valkinvar. When so many of us were still training to be one. While my earlier desires and sense of reason want this to not be the case right now, as there's a war we still need to win. My heart cannot agree at all. This is where I belong, among the Valkinvar as a whole.

A smile makes its way towards my lips, a proper one, perhaps my first proper one in a while. At least, the long while that this cycle has been. My time back at Thrurstradtur-Suhurlodst was by no means miserable as far as physical aspects are concerned. Outside of the resident royals and their associates, I had too many comforts to count. One of those royals might as well have been me. I still would have such luxuries if I never re-joined the war, remembered what I am and what that entails.

I suppose that's a good thing, knowing the wealth of decadence of Suhurlodst Academy of Arcane Learning and Understanding has no sway over me.

An amused huff breaks my smile open, giving it more depth than a mere lip curve could ever do. It's funny, really. My time in Thrurstradtur-Suhurlodst was so comfortable except for one thing. They couldn't supply meals that would properly satiate someone of my strength and needs. An odd irony, given its state as *the* school for magic, a world famous one at that. The act of eating became so passive-minded that it came as such a shock when I finally returned home and exerted myself so heavily in battle.

Nearly a decade of being away from home and for all that War involves himself in, the one realm he plays no part in holds my fondest feelings. The simple love all mortals and animals share, that of food. A love that is only getting stronger as my mind reassures me of my location. The smells keep getting more potent, clearer. The crowd breaks down, moving aside and revealing the lights of hundreds of lamps, thousands of candles and so many more ovens, stoves, pits and utensils.

All boiling with scented water, sauces and mixtures. Burning with meat as it chars and its fat bubbles. Fruits and vegetables slicing open and meeting butter on the hot iron pans. The ting of bells the buzz of mechanical clocks as two-manned trays of bread come out, their crust cracking in the cool air.

It's certainly hard to tell how much of this food is truly fresh, but it's rich in the magic we all need to preserve ourselves. I approach but one of many fruit trees gifted to us by the aelenvari garden-monts within what was once Waionr's lands. My magic defies the rules of the hall, bringing me up just high enough to snatch away a voluptuous string of berries. Some of my sisters giggle nearby as a more strict member of our kind throws a mocking threat my way.

I giggle under my breath and strip the berries off of their branch, flooding my mouth with flavour. Rich and tart and messily pinkish-red! The little branch finds itself bare, naked off all nutrition and flavour of note and I pass by another tree and its potted brethren. I stab the piece of plant into the soil, offering a silent prayer that it turns to clay in time.

I come to a stop in the opening of the Hall of Feasts, eyeing the crowds as my duties get my mind back on track. Though much effort has gone into making the Ordoars mingle when they can, old habits are hard to kill. Former classmates, the frequency of missions and campaigns with others. Mutual loss... Oddly, however, the only members of the Valkinvar not involved in this are the Ordoar Staguiffmani.

A frown settles on my face, but I deny it the ability to hide behind my helmet. The master-crafted steel settles in my curved up arm and my lips straighten. Whatever is going on, it's not hard to see that some kind of animosity is settling in. Whether it is old Ordoar rivalries or something more severe is hard to tell. My mind is so far from places like this to pay attention.

Though, I suppose they've been like this for a while, since the Cycle of Screaming Witches. Whatever pain they had to endure, it was unlike anything we of the other three Ordoars had to experience. Yet despite the events of that cycle, I know I've seen an odd emotion amongst their number. That of disappointment.

"... Never mind that, I suppose." I let out, forcing my gaze away and looking towards where my sisters and brothers of the Ordoar Imdvarce largely are. An expansive task, it is, however. With us being the most populous of the Valkinvar, even with the sourness of the war... We're certainly everywhere in the Hall of Feasts.

And it's no use calling out for my old wing, either, I need to trust my eyes and attention to detail.

Carrying on through the gaps between tables and firepits, I manage to spot at least one familiar face. I pick up the pace, coming out into another open space and barely avoiding a column of my sisters. I'm an odd sight right now. I know that for sure. Rushing about so eagerly, like a girl one hundredth of the age of even our youngest. 

"Am I still our youngest, actually...?" I ponder for barely a second as I finish approaching who I hope I am right about. She notices me, rising up with wide eyes, along with two others.

"Wing-Head Vapooliar!" Cetrepe goes, her peek-a-bang going aside to the dictation of her finger. It fights back, landing right back where it started with a slight sparkle. The shine of the mutually shared Breezing Star Emerald that most of our number share. Bar me with my Whisper Beryl glow. I guess that will come to haunt me at some point now, too. I'm now stripped of the rank that someone as weak as me doesn't deserve.

Ah, the old irony I've never been able to escape... Weakest of the Valkinvar.

I bring up a hand, an awkward huff to my tilting head, "I'm afraid it's just Sister or Valkinvar-Imdvarce now. We are equals again, at least in rank."

"Mm, so it is true... Then." Osses mutters, catching me off-guard as she gets uncomfortably nosy regarding the scratches on my armour. Unlike the other two, as well, she doesn't need to do much with her hair. I can't exactly delude myself into thinking she's not able to quite see the scratch marks when her hair is spiked up like a collection of mountains. Each point designed to show off how much her hair has changed in accordance to the influence of magic.

"Osses, step back. But, yes, we... Uh, we heard about the demotion. We've been talking about it since-" Bsess says, an overly zealous Cetrepe stepping ahead of her.

"-Since we heard about it! We tried to keep everyone around, but most of them went off to find new orders!" Cetrepe whines and I raise my hands, smiling at the camaraderie I've at least been able to forge with these three. It's certainly been a busy few grand-cycles since our first siege together back at the Long Battery Fort.

Bsess steps ahead, knocking Cetrepe back with a gentle rattle on the nose, "What I can't understand is, though... Is well, why have we been punished for it, too?"

"Punished!?" I repeat a little too squeakily, not even sure how this has come about. Osses flicks at my closest arm, catching my attention as a hand delicately goes across her hair spikes. Bsess emulates her, knocking her simply grown hair over her right ear.

"They came to us, sisters from the Ordoar Staguiffmani and-" Osses explains, Cetrepe once again launching ahead. Almost with enough force to accidentally trigger a sonic boom. I catch our sister, pushing her back as the other two pull her back with well-tempered patience.

"-And they went all on about how we're basically grounded! It's not just us, either. Any wing-head or wing-tip or wing-joint so much as accused or seen in the Chamber of Traitors Judgement has had their entire wing suspended!" Cetrepe finishes, still fighting back against the other two.

"Wh-What!? That's... That's ridiculous!" I let out, taking a step forward as my building sense of energy enforces my need to move at least somewhat. My arm goes sweeping, rattling some utensils and plates in the distance. Someone hollers their complaint and I refine my mood, not wanting to cause any needless issues for my former subordinates. 

"We're just as surprised as you are. If I didn't know any better, it's like they're trying to make sure everyone is here for another siege." Bsess huffs, her finger twirling a knot of hair for her to vent her stress against. She tugs at it as the mood settles down between us. An uncomfortable misery at a problem that seems like it has no right to exist.

"Well, I guess that is more for me to look into, then." I mutter, sighing away as my thoughts weigh my view down. Osses slips her hand to my chin, bringing it back up to their view and bright smiles. Smiles they keep up despite our circumstances. I share in their joy, put-on or otherwise.

"Regardless of what the rest of our former wing think, you're still Wing-Head Vapooliar to me," Osses says, her voice rather sweet compared to her usual quiet roughness. My smile grows and our hands meet their opposing one. Our armour claps against each other and we shake our wrists together, pulling in each other close. She pats away at my armour and the other two sneak in their little gestures with Cetrepe, notably giggling about it.

"She's right. Rules of the matter be damned. What did you even do...? Seems like they're punishing literally everyone these days." Bsess remarks, gesturing the other two back to their spots on but one of many lengthy tables. I follow after them, lingering at my seatless space at the end of it.

"You're telling me. Exalsonarden-Valkinvar Styadesx was utterly flabbergasted by how many sisters and brothers she suddenly found filling out the dungeons." I say, smiling my amusement even as their faces fall flat with little emotion.

"Who?" they all go, their voices all distinct even with the clashing and synchronicity between them. My head falls down into a hand and I laugh. My laughter grows until my head is back into view.

"Oh, this is going to be good to explain. Come on, scoot." I say, striking my bottom down onto the bench and shoving Bsess up further along so I can find some actual space for my backside. I lean ahead, gesturing the three closer so we can at least have some clarity to this without me having to constantly speak up.