Tales of Aion – The Despair of Innocence – Chapter One

August 17, 2009


Tales of
Aion – Five Part Fictional Story – # 1


Tales of
Aion is a five-part fictional story written by Michael Lafferty at GameZone. It traces the stories of two characters,
one Elyos and one Asmodian as they move through the world and into the
battlefield where the races collide – otherwise known as the Abyss. It is a
personal journey for each – Esala’ayni, the Elyos ranger, and Korasai, the
Asmodian spiritmaster – from their re-awakening in the world to their acceptance
of who they are and what their place is in the torn land.
 


The first
story centers on Esala’ayni as she begins to realize what and who she truly is,
with each step in the land of Poeta revealing more and more about her nature and
her place in the Elyos society.

 

The Despair
of Innocence

She stood
very still, the sun warming her upturned face, the smells of the forest strong
in the air about her. Even with her eyes closed, she could still see the fingers
of sunlight reaching down through the trees – soft golden shafts of light that
seemed to take the hurry from the world, bathing it in sun-blessed beauty, while
bringing a vibrancy to the forest’s colors.

She was
Esala’ayni, daughter of the clouds, a Daeva of the Elyos, a warrior born to
battle. There was no escaping that now, not even here, not even while the mental
wall between the innocence of rebirth into the land of Poeta and awareness of
her past slowly crumbled. Even now, in this perfectly still moment, the forest
about her – the woodland home of Lord Daminu, eldest among the Elim, the tree
folk – echoed the worries of the world, of Elysea. The creeping taint that was
blocked from her mind when she first awoke here was now evident, and the turn of
recent events made her only too aware of the role she was being called to play.
But if she tried really hard, shunned those thoughts from her mind, just for a
moment, she was like a child again, seeing the world for the first time.

But those
illusions had been shattered in her first meeting with Lord Daminu, when the
ancient tree had sensed something more within her than the mercenary she
appeared to be. It had asked her to touch its bark and in the flash of that
moment memories had been pulled from her clouded mind, memories that spoke of a
darker time, and a winged warrior confident upon the fields of battle. It was a
first taste, one that left her uncertain if she truly wanted to know more. There
was a type of comfort in not knowing; there was also despair for what, and who,
was left behind.

Here in
Poeta, she was a mercenary, running errands for local farmers, scrapping for a
living like the rest. Still … there was something more, she was something more,
and even the brief glimpse that Lord Daminu had given her – though it had both
frightened and thrilled her – called to her from the edges of her darkened
memories. The frightening part was the blind obedience she felt within herself,
although the war raging about her, on the broken sky-mounted plains of the
Abyss, was thrilling to behold.

It took
effort to shut out that brief glimpse into her past, so vivid in her mind with
the sounds of a battle remembered ringing about her as strong, white wings
guided her through the turmoil. She stilled her mind, content to return to the
non-memories for perhaps her final time, to be still and simply to listen to the
forest.

She heard
the song that the breeze carried along, trickling through the leaves on the
trees, tangling deep into her light blond hair, and, again, stirring at her
buried memories. There was sadness within the melody, an emotion she could feel
deep within her. She knew the world was shattered, a lesser creation than it
once was, but still there was profound beauty in Elysea, beauty that existed far
from the chaos above.

And yet …

Her crystal
blue eyes looked across the forest, seeing not only the present but turning to
the events of days past. Creatures once gentle were running wild, attacking
without cause. Farms were overrun and even the elders of the forest moaned with
pain in their deep slumber as long-time enemies advance and assaulted the woods.
The taint was everywhere, even to eyes innocent only hours before, but eyes
growing deeper in knowledge.

She closed
her eyes and listened to the song of the breeze …

So soft
the wind whispers the world’s deep pain
Caressing like the mist of a summer rain
Despair and hope entwined in this simple refrain
With innocence lost, the warrior will rise again

She knew the
word that was her essence – Daeva – and even as she let it off her lips in a
sigh, she felt the twitch of shoulder muscles. She remembered her wings; they
were not an aesthetic harness, but every bit a part of her as her arms – wide,
feathered, white, powerful. Her shoulders twitched again, as though willing the
wings to appear, to push her from the confines of the world and into the sky
above.

While that
would not happen, the feeling invoked something else – a dream-like memory
flooded over her waking mind. Another place in the abyss, not the ruins of
Karamatis, but another battlefield entered her mind. The battle was fully
engaged, red sunlight glinting off armor, the acrid smell of magic filling the
air, the screams of the triumphant and the dying intermingled.

The
Asmodians were pressing hard, the sky darkened by the mass of their black wings.
Esala’ayni stood there, watching the valiant Elyos force push back in both
the air and on the ground when a new wave of Asmodians landed in a flanking
maneuver and came at the legion – led by a huge, muscled Asmodian Archon. His
one-handed sword swept aside one member of the legion and he viciously set upon
another. The Elyos’ sword came up in defense, only to be hammered away. The
Asmodian was pummeling the Elyos to the ground, the defenses of the
latter getting weaker with each pounding blow.

Esala’ayni
knew what would follow. She had seen it before. The Asmodian’s shield was
strapped to its left forearm, leaving the left hand free to grip the hilt of the
sword to add two-handed power to a final devastating downward blow.

Her bow came
up, string taut as the arrow begged for release. She held her breath. The arms
were still moving upward when the arrow hissed away from her bow. Just as both
of the Archon’s arms reached their apex above his head, the arrow found its
berth, burying itself deep into the left armpit. He staggered back,
howling in pain, black-feathered wings flapping hard to retain balance. The red,
glowing eyes of the Asmodian looked in her direction; the Archon emitted another
roar and charged. She could have fitted another arrow and fired again, but she
wanted to see the look on his face up close as she finished him. The bow was
quickly tucked away and her matched swords – gifts from a brigadier general of
the legions – were pulled from their crossed resting places across her back. The
rasp of steel was loud, the swords clamoring for the taste of Asmodian blood. In
her left hand was the blue-tinged sword Saffire, her right held the reddish
Shyrrasol. A smiled curled her lips while her eyes flared with anticipation. She
met the charge of the Asmodian with one of her own.

The
Asmodian’s blade cut towards her, aided by the momentum of his
charge. Esala’ayni was ready for that and countered with both blades, turning
her body slightly to the left to meet the attack. The clash of steel on steel
cut across the battlefield like thunder. Shyrrasol took the momentum from
the Asmodian blade and then swung backward, slicing into the chest armor of the
Archon. Saffire followed, lower, across the belly even as Esala’ayni spun to her
right. The dance of her blades had begun.

She stopped
with her back to the Asmodian, then lunged backward, tips of blades leading,
driving them into the chest of the enemy. Saffire and Shyrrasol were yanked free
as Esala’ayni spun back to the left. Her head twisted so her eyes could mark the
course for each blade for her finishing attacks. Saffire bit down first,
sheering muscles in the sword arm of the Asmodian. Shyrrasol found the throat.

The Asmodian
stepped back, stood but a second longer, eyes wide, almost disbelieving, then
they glazed over and the Asmodian warrior toppled to the ground.

She heard
her voice raise up, screaming primal in victory. The sound was intended for her
fellow Elyos, to spur them on, to …

The memory
went black, leaving Esala’ayni blinking in the sunlight forest.

It was who
she was, she knew that. It was the path of her life, her devotion to the
Seraphim Lords, her duty to Aion. To deny it would be a lie. This forest, this
gentle and wonderful place, was not meant for her. Her duty was elsewhere, and
it was time to return to it.


 


***
These five
stories are based on the intellectual property that is Aion. While this story
uses that world as a backdrop, it is not meant to reflect either gameplay or
storylines within the massively multiplayer online world. Some of the images
used within this five-part story have been taken from the game and modified to
suit the illustrative purposes of this story. This story is intended for
entertainment purposes only.