"Well, I'd say that's enough of all these boring old trinkets." Sister Pymonsia lies so sweetly, her attention going wayward for any signs of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar. She's nowhere to be seen, heard or sensed, so it all comes back to me. Then, down an appropriately sacred hallway.
"Onto our mutual favourite." I say, smiling as her giddiness flashes and grows with each bouncing step. Our armour rattles in synch, carrying us closer and closer to the hidden artefact. The craftsmanship of a god.
"You know, for all its history. Being what it is and all. I find myself more interested in how artefacts like this one have changed the Valkinvar." Sister Pymonsia remarks, my hand coming up to rest on the tunnel's entranceway. I grip the redstone art tight, looking down the candle-lit hallway and towards the divinely lit helmet. A laurel of scrolls.
"How so?" I ask, daring to take the first step down the path as Sister Pymonsia gathers up her extensive curtain of silky hair. She braids its entire length, from head to toe-reaching tip. Simply, but beautifully enough to catch one's eyes. Such an undemanding task and yet, she's done already, and to such high quality...! It's enough to make me jealous despite my preferences to keep my hair short and to standard.
"I'm sure you recall that the Valkinvar used to be based in what used to be Suhurlodst alone?" she asks and I nod, my time in and around the ancient ringed city coming to mind quite clearly. A few millennia has certainly changed that mountain top, but the worn down legacy of our Valkinvar ancestors is still there.
"Yes, I... Yes, I spent time there, doing other things." I say, almost choking on what is public knowledge now, anyway. I guess I must feel guilty about admitting it to one of the Points of the Compass...? Talking about how I was not fighting the war that so many of our sisters and brothers have been dying in for all that time...
She puts a gentle hand on me, squeezing me full of reassurance and platonic love, "It must've been quite a sight, to see Suhurlodst for what it was. Ours."
My smile grows, budding under the glossy light of hers, "It is certainly an interesting place to be. The history, forgotten history, is all around. It's just a shame all the name-stealer's libraries aren't quite all that packed with information about it."
"Suhurlodst Academy of Arcane Learning and Understanding has changed what Suhurlodst is quite a bit," she points out, the extensive name of the honoured school clinging to her emphasising tongue like the stickiest of oils.
"So you were saying about how the artefact before us changed the Valkinvar?" I ask, pointing out our initial topic in the event she has forgotten.
"Ah, yes, my apologies. We wandered a little, didn't we?" she asks me back, giggling away with me as another candle hides behind her head. Popping out right behind her again as our walk carries on for what seems like forever. The weight of holy significance is certainly an important one.
"I know the Valkinvar of our ancient past moved this way due to a moment of importance. I can only assume through circumstance what said importance is?" I ask her, coming to a stop at the end of the tunnel, on the final line before we step into the chamber. She waits at my side, the moment almost eager to be shared. Our attention remains on each other, though, and the artefact is more than patient enough. It's not going anywhere.
"Indeed, Sister Vapooliar. We found the proof of Waionr's influence in the world. We built the foundations of the Grand Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar around all four bits of it."
"Coincidence and not intentional...?" I ask, cocking my brow at her specifics. I know there are four winds in the world, well, four main directions of the wind. But, it could also just be that, coincidence.
"Coincidence, not by design. Though, it certainly fits the fantastical rumours some like to cling to." she says, smiling and giggling softly, passing it on to me, in turn.
"I can see why!" I say, growing ecstatic at the thought, but staying in control of myself, otherwise.
"Shall we, then, Sister Vapooliar?" Sister Pymonsia asks, almost taking my hand as she turns away. Towards the resting place of the Crown of Conceptual War. I huff in amusement, taking her up on the offer and stepping in with her.
I blink and suddenly feel alone, a cold wind blowing against me and a shadow over my eyes. Eyelids throw themselves open and the crisp flick of wet grass under a clear, starry...? I blink again, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. Never mind the fact the night sky is populated with colours and millions of twinkling lights like it has never done so in mortal lifespans...
Why am I...?
"I'm naked." I remark, less so concerned about that than I am for the fact I am not where I should be. This is not Thurn's Forge in the slightest, grey rock and night-drowned forestry be damned. I am, however, not out of Jherikra... At least, not in a place that is so alien as to not look like my home continent.
I walk around aimlessly, carrying on as my body adjusts to the lukewarm night. There's no real chill, though it's not exactly warm, either. I keep ongoing, taking in the sight as my magic denies itself to me. It refuses to answer my call, at least, in the sense of gifting me a spell to cast or the power of flight to take me away.
All I have are my legs and the power bequeathed to them by my age and maturity. The wind carries on whistling, not really telling me much of anything. Its only parting message is to back up an assumption I can make on my own. I'm on a plateau, a far off one in unfamiliar land, one with quite a tremendous degree of width.
The edge comes sooner than I think and I stop at it, looking down into the pitch black. It starts to sparkle away with emeralds of all shades. From the Whisper Beryls trying to eek their way into the pride of the others. To the finest Trues, Dragons and all, between and before.
I twist around and find the plateau a scene of gory decadence. Bodies, vague and shadowed but marked by a simple sign. Staves, each body is near a staff. Broken or fixed, it matters not.
The dark of the night parts away, a full moon shining down on me and the bodies, revealing nothing about them either way. A Mighty Moon. I flinch under the light, squinting at the sparkle of light coming from its core. The visage of a hand keeps on coming for me, rocketing away for All-That-Remains, ruining the sky. The starry sky dies, vanishing in but another blink and the hand crashes onto the plateau.
Tears inexplicitly fill my eyes and I find myself dressed again, though not in my armour as I should. My body is not even my own anymore, either. This is the gear of a... Valkinvar-Staguiffmani.
The tearful woman looks away from her weapon, her bloodied hands and wounded body. Away from shattered steel and towards... A sickly figure, one shrouded in some of the finest emerald power I have ever seen before. Heir Emerald.
"Prince Jhrartur..." I manage to speak, though the mouth is not mine. The sickly man continues to approach, his body emanating with the very definition of power even as his body dares him to fall and fail. The woman's body continues to shiver and shake, whimpering away as her eyes water endlessly.
"I live... I live to serve you!" I- We... We whimper up at the Prince-to-Ascend.
My eyes close and open, and I throw myself back. The bang of steel knocks sense into me and I panic about, finding redstone architecture all around. My eyes meet Sister Pymonsia's confusion, and match her concern. We almost drown in it, were it not for the hand she offers me...
I take it, stepping back upright as I turn towards the Crown of Conceptual War. This happened last time I was here. The vision, or whatever that was, didn't, but something happened that made me appear elsewhere. In a place that should be beyond where I actually am.
"Wh-What happened?" Sister Pymonsia is so blatantly scared to ask, our position so close to where we entered from. 'Shall we, then, Sister Vapooliar?,' there's been no time at all since she said it. At least, not for her... I... I cannot say or tell what is...
"A vision." I blurt out quickly, stiffening up as I linger my gaze intensely on the divinely worked bronze. I head towards the sacred artefact. Sister Pymonsia's hand pulls me back in both an act of care for me and the sanctity of the artefact...
"A vision?" she asks, her thoughts no clearer than they were a moment ago.
"Yes... I was on a plateau. It was nighttime. There was... Were...? Bodies, bodies all around. All of them were covered in shadow but had familiar trappings about them. For a moment, it was peaceful. The sky even had stars like the stories say about the dead god, Ihtuntar and his realm. Before All-That-Remains ever gained its current name..." I say, not sure how to get the details out and already fumbling the order.
"And...?" the Eurultus-Valkinvar asks, her simple, laconic question ringing quite true. There is much more to say and I must-
"I blinked in my journey across the plateau and found myself in a body not my own. It looked like a Valkinvar-Staguiffmani's. She was kneeling and swearing servitude to Prince Jhrartur, the leader of the invading heretics and their airships." I explain, not too sure if I should bother referencing all the stuff to do with the Mighty Moon. The idea of heretical imagery kind of just... Blends around such a prominent heretic as that. Though, one thing is for certain, it was not responsible for his power.
My life has taught me that quite clearly. Prince Jhrartur is one of the greatest witches in all of the world. No doubt going beyond the power of the Six Elemental Emperors and their draconic pride. He is a man beset by his power, weakened by its overwhelming force as much as he benefits from its grandeur.
"Mmm." Sister Pymonsia goes, walking away and almost leaning into the thought.
"Did... Did you not have a vision?" I ask, hoping she would have at least some explanation about this. She looks my way, her eyes wide and white, black-cored with an ever-expanding iris.
"No... No one else has ever had a vision of any kind when coming to see this relic. In all my centuries, I've never heard of a Valkinvar ever having visions. Visions are things for stories... The realm of sleeping... Not stepping before such holiness...?" she struggles to think over, the implications perhaps too dangerous for me to know.
"This is not my first vision." I mutter, not sure what to think of it.
"It happened here, too?" she asks, her posture stiff and her expression severe. Frightfully so.
"Yes." I gulp, nodding and backing up, though I am at the centre of no ire.
"I will need to make records of this, unfortunately, Sister Vapooliar. The implications are... Startling to hear about. I'm sure others will want to look into this. The Zaphadren-Valkinvar, too, no doubt. Gods and goddesses above... I wanted to come up to her with anger and bluster to address her prior overreach and now I need to address something... Ahhh!" Sister Pymonsia growls so uncharacteristically, leaving me ashamed through circumstance.
I look away again, turning to the holy artefact as it otherwise sits on its pedestal. Not doing much of anything beyond what it has simply always done. At least, according to the Eurultus-Valkinvar, my senior of many centuries. It's just sitting there, like always.
At least I can find solace in that its meaning is escaping me and her...?
But, in the safety of my mind... What does it mean at all? A Valkinvar-Staguiffmani swearing herself over to Prince Jhrartur on a plateau covered in the dead and dying? Perhaps... Like that Valkinvar bodyguard looking over the youngest heretic prince, there was one who betrayed the Valkinvar on that night, too?
I cannot really say.
"Do... Do you need me on hand...?" I ask, suddenly recollecting a thought that has been lingering on my mind for some time now.
"Ideally, why?" she asks, her eyes widening again as I take off.
"I WILL BE IN THE NEAREST LIBRARY!" I roar back, shooting off down who-knows-where as I desperately look for records of the Valkinvar.