Incline 39: Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar

"So let me understand this right... Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar. You experienced a vision within the chamber housing the Crown of Conceptual War. One that involved the Prince-to-Ascend Jhrartur? On top of that, there were allusions to the events of the Divine Betrayal by Jhrarda against Ihtuntar?" the Zaphadren-Valkinvar asks, striding about as she keeps pursing her lips over the tablet.

"Yes, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli. That is correct." I answer, nodding slightly as an uneasy tension continues to fill out the chamber. Not only from her own overbearing magic, but because of my awarenesses, too. I know the trouble she and Sister Pymonsia are going through. Why the latter is here, even.

Perhaps to the arrogant dismissal of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar...?

"It's all nonsense." she scoffs, throwing my eyes wide open along with the eyes of the other three Points of the Compass.

"Nonsense...?" Sister Pymonsia mutters, her voice so blatantly venomous with disgust. The Zaphadren-Valkinvar's magic flares up, a silent message that roars with two words. Shut up!

"Are you sure this is wise, Sister Gemorli?" Sister Aimaboryim dares to ask and first among equals glares at her supposed lesser. Superficial or actual reality, keeping her back straight and prideful.

"Visions are already dismissible. A Valkinvar-Imdvarce having one is no different. But useless daydreaming to cover up her embarrassment." the Zaphadren-Valkinvar dismisses, pricking my skin with that accusation of hers. No, no... No, I was not daydreaming.

I felt the night air. I walked the empty, corpse-covered plateau. I saw with my very eyes the night sky as it was before Jhrarda killed his brother god. I saw and experienced, I lived through a flash of creation before All-That-Remains earned its despairing name...

"No..." I speak, my voice so very close to quaking even as my eyes continue to avert their gaze. My power is nothing compared to the Zaphadren-Valkinvar's, and it hurts to even speak. Being in the presence of the Valkinvar's finest and strongest as they work to piss each other off is only making it worse. I am but a chamber pot for all the pain in this vast, vast room. 

"No? Speak up!" the Zaphadren-Valkinvar snaps, her staff smacking along the unbreakable, redstone floor with force that would level any other land. She stops right in front of me, glaring down at me as my eyes warp and shift. My vision holding no perspective in the slightest.

"No... You *have* to be wrong! You have to be. No records exist anywhere of visions for Valkinvar. Most certainly none regarding such holy artifices. The events I saw in that vision match too closely with what has actually happened!" I get out, unwaveringly.

"How?" she demands to know, a slight quake to her voice as her eyes widen with one clear emotion. Fury.

"The plateau was under the night sky. Dead bodies all around. Ordoar *Staguiffmani* dead! A great power beyond compare who does not die in that battle. It was the event that saw the death of your predecessor, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Lanaeven! And so many more of your Ordoar..."

"Sister Lanaeven." the Zaphadren-Valkinvar corrects, her voice so close to becoming a sneer. My gaze snaps her way, firmer than ever. Sister Pymonsia steps up. Her eyes settled on a goal that speaks only for death. Death to the annoyance, the arrogant and the dismissive.

"She was your teacher! Your Point of the Compass! Your leader, superior! She was a Zaphadren-Valkinvar of Waionr!" Sister Pymonsia roars with such contradictory control. Not for a moment does she lose control of her graceful tact, but it's there. That raw, bubbling anger and hatred. At best... What is so deceptively similar to them.

"I am the Zaphadren-Valkinvar. Best remember that." she sneers back, her teeth baring as her four segments of hair shimmer their respective colours. Heat waves away from the ruby strands. A chilly breeze fogs the sapphire locks. Static burns its way into halolight view, rising with each bit of mane.

"Remember your place, Sister Gemorli." Sister Aimaboryim warns, coming around to Sister Pymonsia to pull her back. Brother Baalaeun continues to watch in silence, his arms returning to their crossed over, stress testing tension.

"I will not waste my time dealing with the assumptions of someone daydreaming. Visions are a fool's tale, even the actual legends of our world, our homeland. They do not speak of visions, only direct contact with the divine." Sister Gemorli scoffs as I frown, thinking over the ramifications of it.

"... And what's to say that this isn't that?" Brother Baalaeun speaks, his voice low and forceful despite how little his mouth just moved.

"How so, Bordeaon-Valkinvar Baalaeun?" Sister Gemorli asks, keeping her distance as her posture refines itself to something more agreeable. Steel tussles and turns, Sister Pymonsia's body flinching against the Noustoster-Valkinvar's grip.

"The gods retreated from our world long ago. The Divine Betrayal saw them all barred from ever touching mortal hands again. Only through their works of art did they continue to influence us. Men and heroes of old, like Thunder. Like the champion of the red-scaled beast. Like the very rider who once wore the gear of Waionr and rode in his name... Though she never called herself as such, she is, for all purposes, the First Valkinvar." Brother Baalaeun explains, his knowledge instantly refreshing my mind with the details.

A woman of a long gone time, long before even the Time of Liquid Mountains. A woman of a name we don't quite understand, Elsliness. Her name or that of the family she was from, as was generally the tradition of those ancient times. The legends say she rode a beast, so close in image to Par'tryont himself, the companion of the God of War. Wore his gear, fought in the war against the armies of the Singular God.

All without ever coming to the mortal world, All-That-Remains. Waionr rallied a heroine to his name, to bear his gear and to fight in his name. Thurnmourer, too. For Thunder is the one hero we all know of when it comes to the legends. The Age of Heroes. 

"He's right, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli. The gods and goddesses had no way to speak to us in those times. They needed to act through us, and I believe that might be what is happening now." I point out and the Zaphadren-Valkinvar looks fit to burst out into laughter.

"Act through Valkinvar-Imdvarce? The newest of the Valkinvar by a wide margin?" Sister Gemorli snorts, and I'm not sure what to focus on. Her insult towards my home Ordoar? Or that I am still the newest of all Valkinvar? The last ever Valkinvar since I became one... Decades ago!? 

Valkinvar don't train initiates in groups determined by grand-cycles, sure. It's a very intimate, closely handled issue. But for there to have not been anymore in the decades since I became a Valkinvar proper!? What in the name of the gods and goddesses...?

"Face it, Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar. Though you have your moments since Giant's Victory and your failures there... You are no Valkinvar any more. You don't even have the right..." she goes, her voice dripping with contempt. Fire hot contempt.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Sister Pymonsia roars, snapping up into the Zaphadren-Valkinvar's face. Dominant arm right on her sword handle, ready to draw it.

"I wouldn't," the Zaphadren-Valkinvar warns, her magic quicker on the draw around her staff. The other two steadily draw their weapons, somehow not making the moment worse. A grand war hammer comes between the pair, its slimmest width cutting between the two. Brother Baalaeun twists it, sending both sliding across the ground like butter-bottomed statues.

The Bordeaon-Valkinvar faces the Zaphadren-Valkinvar. Sister Pymonsia relinquishes her weapon, staring down Sister Aimaboryim instead. Snorts signal the end of open hostilities, but the distance is maintained. I look between them, barely noticing the quivers rattling my armour.

If the Points of the Compass are like this, then there is no hope for the war effort... Our leaders are consumed with rage and pettiness. Stepping on each other's toes with determined intent. Malicious, cruel and vile intent. 

"If... If I am worthy of the vision does not matter. I had it. I had it in a holy place, as holy as it gets... I do not know why it had what it did, if it's an omen or a striking coincidence. But I had the vision. The vision happened. None of us can deny that fact. Say what you want, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli, but you clearly understand the weight of what is written down on that tablet...!" I point out, staggering between moments of lost breath and confidence.

Sister Gemorli's expression lightens, a slight, oddly gentle smile coming to it. She nods, a strong sigh parting her nostrils wide. She looks away then towards me, beckoning me closer with a kind wave of the hand. I approach, not sure if I should dare to test her already hot temper.

"You're right, Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar. You are right. A moment like this is something to be considered carefully. Now, we will attend to it. But... I suppose you're all gathered here for a different reason?" she goes, so close to tossing me aside, were it not for me being a person. She steps ahead, going towards the central podium more properly and the other three follow suit. Leaving me alone on the lower, plainer ground.

"I speak only for myself. And that is to do with your blatant overreach as a Point of the Compass." Sister Pymonsia points out, the topic of my vision seemingly set to rest for the moment.

"And what of it?" the Zaphadren-Valkinvar asks, apathy cleaning her face plain. I watch Sister Pymonsia's fists curl, the sound not quite the same as what I might make. Most certainly nothing alike what Brother Baalaeun is capable of with his impossible, arcane-founded strength. She lacks the armour to grind to make a sound... Though a raw, bare hand is just as expressive with its anger.

"Your actions practically led to civil war on the very Great Bridge itself. What seemed like the entirety of the Ordoar Staguiffmani had gathered to stop a single Valkinvar-Wiswipide from expressing her or his desires to help. Our duties are not just to the fortresses, the castles and temples. But the peoples of our homeland, our fallen empire! Those who are safe with us within Thurn's Forge's walls and those lost behind the occupying lines!" Sister Pymonsia's dramatically, but honestly points out.

The other two nod in agreement, turning two annoyed eyes into six. An isolated moment in a time of cooler heads might've led to a different outcome. But for an Ordoar to march out against another to stop... Charity is something else. Even Brother Baalaeun, who was openly against it before... Even he sees the trouble with sending out one's Valkinvar out like that.

"We have almost reached agreement on how to go about the war. And you wish to allow your Valkinvar to waste their efforts feeding away their magic to those will not fight?" the Zaphadren-Valkinvar dares to ask, her voice so close to another provocative snort.

"An agreement...?" Sister Aimaboryim lets out, her words echoing through the other two in different ways. Grumble, mutters, it matters not.

"Yes, a mutually equal in its goals plans. One I insist we act on, as soon as possible," the Zaphadren-Valkinvar insists, her lips curling up into a creepy and unpleasant smile. Though it is no different from any other physically, something feels off about it. There's a tone I can't quite describe is bad, but I can feel it in my heart. There's a cruelty to her words.

"The point remains. You do not have the authority to order my Valkinvar-Wiswipide about. Much less bind them away from duties they've always been free to enjoy." Sister Pymonsia warns the Zaphadren-Valkinvar, and she gives a quiet nod, its angle keeping even her closed eyes away.

"We shall see," she answers, turning away to the song of grinding teeth and tested patience. My eyes shift from the departing Zaphadren-Valkinvar and towards my friend Sister Pymonsia. I watch her frustration burn her face red, then I watch it simmer down. Cooling away the heat with exasperated, tired depression. 

Though it is not my place, I step up onto the podium meant only for the Points of the Compass. I approach my friend and offer my hand, watching her expression melt away with so much she never wants anyone to see. She turns around, hiding her face as her arms come together. A whimper escapes her, and I watch the outline of her hand reach for her face.

My frown deepens as my heart weeps, but my hand finds its place on her. Reassuring in its movements and firm in its touch. She is my friend, I owe her this much. Whatever it is that is keeping the Valkinvar so restrained and tested... We shall make it through it. Maybe the vision is something optimistic for us. 

I'm certain we're all of that opinion, even the Zaphadren-Valkinvar, for all her prickliness...