Walking the temple grounds, I come upon a mirror of polished silver. An amusing irony surrounds it in that the edges and the decorations of it are made of glass. But the purpose of the mirror is the same. A clear view of the world, an idea of what I look like to others and more of them should they be here.
While it was busy earlier, there's not much, if any, activity from my fellow Valkinvar now. My hands come up to my helmet, unhooking it and removing all the finer bits. It lingers before me, staring back up at me, and I look away, staring at myself in the mirror. My shoulders square up and my feminine features rise on the edge of my smile.
I might have lost my command to an embarrassing moment of absurdity within the Chamber of Traitor's Judgement. But with this mark of respect from Eurultus-Valkinvar Pymonsia, it is hard to think back on such memories. Though my armour still bears the scratches and marks of disrespect, it now wears new ones. My cape is soaked in the blood of a Point of the Compass. Her oath stains its fabric as much as her crimson life.
She also gave me an ornate badge, and it's a right troubling time to not play and fiddle with it like a child. I got a mark from Sister Pymonsia herself and with it comes some degree of her authority. She's unable to tell me anything about why the war is developing as it is, but with this, I can look into things I normally cannot.
"I wish it would let me go out and fight, however..." I struggle not to snarl out as my hands clench around the pointed symbol. My leather gloves stroke the encrusted ruby gently, minding the heat emanating from such magic artifice. This is a badge of office that carries its weight in authority in the power of its magic. A small, little badge all decorative and pretty... And it's heavier than anything else on my person.
My hand moves away, and I return to looking at myself in the mirror. A finger comes up, brushing my simple hair aside until I at least catch sight of some atypical strands. Each line of Whisper Beryl is a sign of my accomplishments. The signs of my power as a person, though not as a Valkinvar. I have room to grow, even with so much about my life making it seem like it's stagnating.
"Mm. So there's some kind of indecision afflicting the highest echelons of the Valkinvar?" I ask myself once again, turning away with a flutter of my blood-caked cape. My eyes linger on the thin shadow, shades of crimson and scarlet flaking away as much as they stay clumped together.
The brother Valkinvar guarding the nearby doors salutes, a flat hand over his heart and another one imitating the salute of our sisters. I do the female salute, showing off the curve of my matrimonial scar to his imitation of a shield. He nods, his eyes flickering across the mark Sister Pymonsia gave me. The heavy, artistic bronze doors heave open. They themselves a test of strength even for a Valkinvar.
"Thank you." I make a point of saying, my hand lingering somewhat disrespectfully on the door's edge. The ceremonious guard huffs in amusement, his efforts to not let the door slam nowhere near as determined as his door-opening efforts. My frown returns and a detail flashes before me. Even his armour is marked with disgrace and for all I know, he's only here as punishment and not as an honour.
I walk across the half-walled hallway and place my hands across the barrier. An extensive garden lays out there for me to look at. One tended to by the touch of women and men as much as it is touched by magic and the wisps personifying it. Shimmers of emerald, all thirteen of the true kinds and the dozens of jades, greens and more beyond it.
Though the source of our power is emerald, True Emerald... Although so much of the Grand Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar is dedicated to that magic. The gardens are never green if it can be helped. All the colours they can find come here, though they're never as alive as they are out in Thurnmourer-Thunlanann.
The gardens of Thurnmourer-Jherikra are hardly their namesake, but more so stretches of paradise. Where each plant is less a product of their god, Pluuit, and more so a treasure worth its weight in gold. There are no romancing couples dancing about, eager to pull off a flower. No insects to make the garden feel natural.
This is an art collection, one made up of soil and leaves rather than paint and marble.
Heeled shoes tap away down the hallway, enough acoustics in the stonework to carry it on. I turn and see the outline of a Valkinvar-Staguiffmani, and a frown returns to me. All the ones I spent last night trying to talk to have certainly fouled my view of them. At least so much as it comes to talking to them. Though I guess it matters not, I have some of the answers I seek and I got them from Sister Pymonsia.
Sister Dannatili is hardly a concern, right-
"Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar? Why is your cape soaked in blood?" a familiar voice asks and I turn to find myself before a face that is more than lake to its welcome.
"Are you kidding me, right now!?" I almost shout, surprising the Valkinvar-Staguiffmani into a wide-eyed flinch.
"I beg your pardon!?" she asks right back, unable to grasp where I am coming from in the slightest. My expression calms down, a smile coming to it as I shake my head.
"Do not worry your thoughts over it, Sister Dannatili." I say as her eyes narrow and that endearing sense of strictness comes about her. She huffs, turning away slightly from looking too fully at my chest. She looks again, focusing on my new medallion.
"So... So they got you too, did they?" she asks, not bearing any signs of disrespect from a wrongful punishment. In fact, I don't think I've seen any Valkinvar-Staguiffmani suffering the same degree of punishment. I've never heard of any Ordoar being exempt from general rules and any other form of authority within the Valkinvar. But it's just as unlikely for an entire Ordoar to be perfectly behaved in these circumstances.
Then again, the Zaphadren-Valkinvar was heading the trials when I was being put through my ridicule. Perhaps there is a law that I am unaware of where the head of an Ordoar may not handle cases relating to them? A concern for biases? Eurultus-Valkinvar Pymonsia has certainly shown that the Points of a Compass are certainly capable of it.
Mere mortals or not, too much trust in authority figures can lead to corruption.
"Yes, yes, they got me, too." I answer quickly, getting out of my thoughts before I wear Sister Dannatili's patience thin and frayed. She runs a fingerless gloved hand near her bangs, sweeping them aside and hooking them on a slightly pale ear. Her steedtail carries on the bundle, keeping it simple and locked away from the ravages of war. And reckless spell-casting.
"Mmm." she lets out, clearly more to her thoughts than just that.
"Are you busy right now?" I ask, turning away from the garden to walk off aimlessly.
"No, not particularly. I am to carry a message to a superior, but I cannot say much more." she answers, her strictness coming back with a sharp glint in her eyes. It quickly disappears and I think little of it. Seems like all the time since the Long Battery Fort has done little to change her as it has done with me. She was always out of place there, in the brutality of a siege despite what we are.
There's a certain grace that comes with being a member of the Ordoar Staguiffmani. The Stuck-up Stick-Holders as Brother Lavauroas likes to tease them as. Their gear makes the point of it and their softer bodies do, too. They're spell-casters first and foremost, the greatest within all of the Valkinvar, and they have rightly earned their praise and fame.
"Have you perhaps seen much effort beyond the walls?" I ask, hoping for some indicator as to what the Ordoar Staguiffmani are up to. The Cycle of Screaming Witches was quite harsh on them, having the greatest connection to magic. It was an event named after them, after all. Counterattacks made sense not to include them while they recovered, but now I am not so sure.
"A few moments. We have been ordered to survey many of the monasteries within a certain amount of cycles' worth of travel." she answers, naturally expecting me to infer what I can in the absence of her allowance to speak of it. Her expression sullens and it passes onto me.
"You are hoping to find Valkinvar holdouts?" I ask, not sure what else they could be hoping to find in such places. We don't need copies of any scripture worth documenting. It's all here anyway. No forges or weapons of great power exist in the monasteries. Outside of their name, they're nothing more than glorified outposts and hostels for Valkinvar.
"We've found a few. But that far out, the enemy is moving again." she explains with a surprisingly flat tone of voice. My head shifts, my eyes wide slightly at the news. The Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra is on the move again? Is that why we're not moving out...? No, we've had time and still do.
"Good news and bad. I suppose that is what is to be expected." I say, my confidence wavering at how overwhelming the bad news is in comparison. Few of our forces remain beyond the walls of Thurn's Forge, let alone the Line Before. Valkinvar might be able to fight off armies of regular men and guns, but the scale of the heretics is beyond Feathers. Lone Valkinvar.
"I see mostly the good. There are important plans that involve many of the Valkinvar." Sister Dannatili explains, some information spilling out of her if she meant it or not.
"If not all?" I ask, almost hopeful to see a smile or smirk that carries that hope to new heights. We stop walking at Sister Dannatili's insistence, and she does just that. A smile grows across my face as a faded image appears in my head. Not one of reality, but one of the stories of old, where the Valkinvar flew out as one mighty army. A conquering force unlike the world had ever seen.
I was a Wing-Leader, a Beak in the older texts. I never commanded a full Wing like many others did, mostly clinging on to what remained of the Long Battery Fort survivors. But so many others here do, a full Wing of twenty-five sisters and brothers! Duets and Flocks holding more and more.
To Winds, Gales, Tornadoes and more!
Storms and Hurricanes. Armies. Actual armies of Valkinvar. Not Valkinvar in command of armies like I was a long time ago at Giant's Victory. Nor like at the Long Battery Fort where our fallen sister and friend, Wing-Head Allyoceer, made her last stand. An actual army of Valkinvar where the troops all swear their wedding vows to Waionr himself!
"We have lost much and the Valkinvar will be this land's salvation, Valkinvar-Imdvarce Vapooliar." Sister Dannatili says and I nod, smiling slightly at the thoughts. However, I find myself confused as my hand lingers near the medallion Sister Pymonsia gave me. She never spoke of anything like this. But what reason would Sister Dannatili have to lie about the war effort? All the usual reasons one might lie simply don't exist in we Valkinvar.
We are of one mind when it comes to this land and this empire. Waionr's Chosen Theocracy is our nation, our imperial might. We have no reason to spread rumours of grand efforts and all that unless... Unless she is simply trying to life my spirits and ward off the loss of morale?
"Hmm." I let out, my thoughts spilling out so quietly into the real world.
"I hope you may find yourself busy, Vapooliar." Sister Dannatili says, her sudden loss of formality catching my focus in its entirety. I blink, staring at her blank, almost depressed features.
"Th-Thank you?" I let out, chuckling at the awkwardness as she puts on a giggle to dismiss the situation.
"My apologies, my thoughts were elsewhere, like yours were for a moment," she says, smiling away as she reaches for the medallion.
"Sister Pymonsia gave it to me!" I answer ahead of any curiosity she might have. She cocks a brow, her lips forming an-
"Oh?" she goes, making my smile grow.