"And that is how we came into possession of these artefacts here." Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli tells me, her arm swaying over the collection of intricate, downright mechanical-like pottery pieces. Each of them painted and varnished to a fresh shine without any of the usual habits one might associate with 'old' pottery. So much of the stuff here is more than a thousand years old and the Valkinvar have cared for it like a mother with a newborn.
A slight smile comes to my face and Sister Gemorli's Unondsburic Emerald magic power keeps her flowing robes off of the displays. Her efforts to do so as much a show of her talents as much as they are an act of clumsiness. Either way, she makes certain I am able to get a good view of what she is showing off. Even if we have lost track of why, we're actually up here.
However...
"So... Sister Gemorli, what are your preferred artefacts?" I ask, her energy and enthusiasm waxing and waning notably as she pulls me through the collection. She looks my way, a slight uptick at the edge of her lips. A smirk that one can outright call cocky, yet I'm not sure what would call for such a tone of smile. Regardless of my thoughts, she beckons me closer with the flick of varnished nails and slender, soft, silk-gloved fingers.
I follow her, her heels and my heavy steel plate echoing about this private collection. I look left and right abruptly in changing intervals and at arbitrary junctions. There's too much for her to go on about in one trip, or maybe even three. But it's worth the effort to at least have a look at everything.
Suits of armour, treasures of fallen kingdoms and weapons sharpened to a deadly edge despite their permanent sheathes. Torn up banners, barely given the love they need to look as they did before the fires of conquest ate them up. A lot of stuff is like that, here. As much a tale of our empire's founding and expansion as it is a mark of what will never return.
Though, there's also a lot here that is but the child of a genius mind and talented hands from across Jherikra. Gifts from the Eusorochii colonies on the south, the pelts of slain dragons and the gifts of broken horns and scales. Tribute from the small nations, kept on display as a mark of friendship and the treaties we extracted through overwhelming warfare. Regardless of how brutal or loss-filled the war was, its sealing treaty can be found here. Along a path I feel almost obliged to call 'the Walk of War's End' or something like that.
"Here we are, my favourite piece in our entire collection." Sister Gemorli says, her fingers offering little respect to the spotless shine of the armour's polish. Armour of the Lunar Royalty of the Mighty Moon, the piece we started this tour at. Armour belonging to a member of the great enemy's royal family. A surprisingly slim suit of steel with notably feminine traits, now that I look at it closely...
"I swear I read somewhere that we had the armour of one of the heretic's princes." I say, my confusion keeping my tone flat with puzzlement. Sister Gemorli smiles slightly, shaking her head in much the same way. She clicks her tongue.
"You've likely misremembered, Sister Valkinvar." she tells me and I nod along, not seeing much reason to contest her claim. It has indeed been a lot of time since I've read up on much of anything. And, since Giant's Victory, only one member of royalty has really been on my mind. That sickly man with power beyond any of us here. Prince Jhrartur, I believe. The heir.
"So... What can you tell me about the battle we came to possess it in?" I ask, stepping closer to try and get a better view of any battle damage. So much else here has kept its battle damage as a show of history and continuity, yet, oddly... I cannot find anything to show off this armour's weak points. No signs of anything that really shows off just how powerful the victorious Valkinvar must've been that cycle.
How odd, how very, very odd.
"Damage has been repaired." I mutter, the Zaphadren-Valkinvar no doubt catching my words with how powerful she is.
"This suit of armour was looted from the body of Princess Awleena. About three-hundred grand-cycles ago." Sister Gemorli explains and I nod along at the information, taking in the details about how close it was to the start of the war. Perhaps even before, though I cannot be sure. Unlike some here and even across the Great Bridge, I am not older than this conflict.
"The starting incident of the war?" I question, my thoughts clinging to the timescale as Sister Gemorli seems to find her thoughts going elsewhere as well. Her head shakes silently, and she walks around it, inspecting it with surprising depth and familiarity. She tests the armour pieces, teases the straps and even offers a quick polish to the gilded signs of royalty and faith. A heretical faith at that.
Were it any other place or person, one would have to question her actions. Though, one can hardly fault a Valkinvar of her years and position having this artefact in some regard. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a piece won by her specifically. If I do recall my Ordoar history, she was part of a great battle involving the Ordoar Staguiffmani some time ago. The date is escaping me, however. I suppose I can look it up by intent or accident while I conduct my investigation.
"No... No, it wasn't. One of the great battles in its early history, where the Valkinvar tested their might against the rising power of the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra." she explains and a noise catches in my mouth.
"Forgive my assumption, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli. I mean no disrespect. But, weren't the heretics already an established empire by then? We are nearly at the fourth millennium of the Emerald Awakening and the first year of our era is believed to be the nation's founding. Though they're not older than the Valkinvar, they are older than our empire." I say, the facts of history a mess in my mind for more reasons than the strange happenings that have been happening as of late. The war as it is now is quite the attention seeker and I think I can more readily recall details of guns than details of philosophy and learning.
"They are ancient, yes, but not so much as that. As the Valkinvar once called what is now Thrurstradtur-Suhurlodst their home, the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra was also like that. Though, compared to us, they still call their nest their home rather than simply holding memories of it," she explains, an 'ah' filling out my mouth.
"I see, that makes sense." I say, not wanting her to believe I am growing distant at the idea of being corrected. Wouldn't be much of an adult were I bothered by such things. Let alone a Valkinvar when our profession hinges so much on being corrected for the sake of our lives. Ironic as surviving is for the Valkinvar.
"You know, it's almost disappointing, Sister Valkinvar-Imdvarce." she tells me, that strange way of courtesy coming back to her lips. I could've sworn she knew my name and remembered my face. Though, perhaps it is just a Point of the Compass thing. They have so many names to remember it becomes easier to focus on the traits of our Ordoars. Imdvarce, in my case.
"How so, Sister Gemorli?" I ask, striking some apprehension across her face.
"Zaphadren-Valkinvar." she corrects, and I bow my head in apology.
"My apologies, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli. How so, with your disappointment?" I apologise vocally, carrying on with my question without much anchoring thought about it. I might be familiar with her, but she's not entirely familiar with me. And bearing a medallion of authority from Sister Pymonsia does not inherently make me the equal of such a high-ranked Valkinvar. Much as it gives me the entitlement to act grander than I am in actuality.
"Such a curious mind would be welcome in the Ordoar Staguiffmani. But you are already sworn to the Ordoar Imdvarce." she says, her smile huffing open with amusement. I try to copy her smile, not entirely sure what has put her thoughts on such a track.
"I do not believe I would've been able to qualify, regardless." I say, my esteem exposing itself for vicious belittlement as I show off my Whisper Beryl power. Her smile, however, does not waver for a moment. At least externally.
"It certainly is an odd thing, isn't it? Being considered little among those who are great. Go anywhere else and you would be seen as a prodigy without compare. Generations would pass before someone like you came about again," she tells me, her words a confusing mixture of hidden meaning and projected feelings. I can't quite tell if she's musing about the irony I'm all too aware of or if she's... No. It serves no purpose for a Valkinvar to target another in such a way.
"I... I s-suppose it is." I say, not all too sure what else I really can. I'm not sure how visible it is, but I can certainly feel a shake striking across my body. A dangerous wobble that only needs the wrong kind of knock to make me fall and shatter.
"Anyway, the armour. Yes, it was certainly an impressive prize. The royal family of the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra are powerful, very much so. More powerful than I could possibly describe," the Zaphadren-Valkinvar says, forcing my thoughts away from what is eating away at me.
"I'm... I'm familiar with such power." I say, barely speaking more than a whisper as she tries to get her thoughts together. My words, however, only disrupt the process.
"Oh?" she goes, her eyes lighting up with delight in a way that is odd to see in a Valkinvar. It's the kind of expression I saw a fair amount back when I was on my wayward path. Not wanting to be a Valkinvar anymore, hiding out in Thrurstradtur-Suhurlodst. A look that's so common in students of all ages living so close to each other, in such a competitive and showy environment.
No, I must be imagining things. I must be too unuse to seeing eyes glow with such vibrant power as the Zaphadren-Valkinvar's do. There's no way she could be 'googly eyes' over the enemy. Maybe a mutual respect of one spellcaster to another, but nothing more than that. Odd, what an odd instinct to have strike my thoughts right now.
Still... "During the siege of the city, Zaphadren-Valkinvar. There was an impossible amount of magical power beyond the city's shield. It was kind of hard to miss and the implications are natural."
My lips straight out and a small twig of saliva makes its way down my throat. A painful, sluggish gulp that is practically cutting my neck open with its delayed descent. This is not the truth, but I feel the need to make it the truth in the loosest sense. The truth is, I couldn't sense beyond the city's shield, and even if I could, I couldn't discern anything with all the airships present.
I only know because of what happened at Giant's Victory... My army was slain by the first ever airship used in battle against us. I carried on, fighting with all I have and going straight for that esoteric sight. I reached the deck and... There he was, Prince Jhrartur.
My dominant hand goes to my gut, clenching the scar he impaled me with, "If he's anything of note... Then my imagination is quite open to how this Princess Awleena was."
"Oh, I doubt that very much." she says, her voice sounding so similar to pride and heartfelt admiration. Though I suppose she is right. If such a power existed back then during the life of this Princess Awleena, then our empire would've been in a different state prior to the airships. Prince Jhrartur would've not needed to break into our empire as he did. His aunt would've long done it for him. His uncles and more long before his time yet...
That's just the thing, even abandoned as it is, this armour does not have that distinct... Stink to it. The left over magic a witch leaves in their gear that makes it carry on their legacy long after the face. They say a witch's tools grow with her or him, armour as master crafted as this more so. Princess Awleena would've never gone without it if she could help it. Especially if she was so inclined to war.
Yet, my memories of Prince Jhrartur are so clear, and he is a monster without compare.