Lorebook I — The Violet Spire
Lorebooks are in-universe stories exploring the world of Aion Rising.
The rain drummed relentlessly against the limestone walls of the tower, creating rhythmic reverberations that echoed through the inner sanctum. The Storm had intensified, its furious symphony only heightening the tension inside the Spire.
Within, the congregation of mages was on the verge of reaching quorum. A palpable sense of impatience and anxiety lingered in the air, heavy and disquieting, prompting the more restless figures to repeatedly survey the room in search of the latecomers yet to arrive.
Elder Magus Maeron stood alone at the portal of a large window opening, content to let the rain pelt his face as he stared unblinking out over the crimson blanket of the Scarlet Wood. The purple, blue and green auras had not dimmed since the Storm began. Maeron could feel a strange but forceful field of energy bearing down on the entire tower, pulling him in all directions at once; a subtle but not insignificant effort was constantly needed in order to stay unmoved on his feet. Maeron knew the others could feel it too, yet for the time being none made any sign of it.
The inner sanctum of the Violet Spire had not seen this many of its Order in more than a century. The Violet Mages were numerous, and spread across every corner of the continent. Many of them returned to the Tower only when absolutely necessary; some were Violet-in-Secret and as a rule never appeared in person. Only two things could precipitate this turnout. The first is a war of enormous consequence, and the second is something that few in the crowded Tower could scarcely fathom; a Great Alignment.
The middle chamber of the tower, seemingly larger than its external facade suggested, was adorned with polished marble floors etched with ancient runes. Pillars stretched skyward, culminating in a ceiling that displayed a moving replica of the night sky. The Seven Spheres floated in perfect alignment, while a vibrant green comet blazed near the wall, its burning tail giving the illusion of movement.
Down below, anxious murmurs betrayed the otherwise commanding appearance of the tower’s inhabitants. Amidst the nervous movement, Remarius the Middleseeker cut a statue-like figure. Unmoving, he stood poised yet relaxed, his eyes focusing on the back of the room where Magus Maeron stood, ignoring the bustle and incessant conversations all around him. His face remained characteristically stoic, but in his mind, Remarius was smiling.
All these long years, we mocked him as a soothsayer and an old fool, banishing him to the periphery of our Order, seeking ever more inventive ways to keep him out of our affairs and hoping he would soon die. But still we witness Old Maeron on his own two feet, not even a staff to lean on, while the mighty Violet finds itself wobbling, fearful that perhaps something is rising that their arcane talents cannot hope to control.
Archmage Thyrondus stood near the dais, conferring with Monarrian and Elbain, his two most trusted advisors. A flash of purple light at the summoning circle signalled the arrival of the final group; two middle-aged sorceresses and a younger man stepped out of the small chamber and towards the centre of the room, becoming quickly aware by the stares that they were the last to arrive. In unison, the room fell silent and all eyes then turned to the Archmage.
“It is a great danger for us all to be congregated in the confines of this place, so we will be brief. As you are all aware, 2 days ago a green comet appeared in the northern sky, accompanied by a magical impulse of unknown origin. We all felt it immediately, and surmised it could be related to the comet. A signal was sent for every Loremaster to attend for an emergency convocation. Soon after, the Storm began, and by all accounts it has reached every province in Cambria, as far in every direction as we have outposts capable of communication.”
“Davenhold has been reduced to a pile of smouldering rock! At least ten thousand dead, and ten times that number now making a mass exodus towards the riverlands!” exclaimed a voice from the middle of the crowd.
“The lakelands north of Crest Hill have all but evaporated!” continued another voice, graver than the last. “Rivers have in some areas flooded, and in other areas dried to a trickle. Streams have disappeared. Crops have dried out overnight. And are we going to ignore that in this very room, we are all of us straining under the weight of an immensely powerful aura?”
Voices began to rise in response but with a raised hand Thyrondus commanded silence. “All of this is true, but it is only the tip of the spear. Darrow too has been hit hard by this Storm — very hard; our emissaries have yet to return from there. Emperor Vaserian has halted his advances in the south, and reports are that travel by sea remains impossible. When the scale of destruction became evident, we called for an immediate Arcane Quorum to determine our next steps”. Thyrondus took a breath, surveying the room, before resting his gaze at Maeron who chose to remain near the back of the room.
“Our most distinguished loremasters were unable to tell us anything about this Storm, or this energy field that has accompanied it, until this evening when Elder Maeron arrived, with this in hand” he continued, as he retrieved a scroll from the folds of his robe. At the sound of his name, Maeron looked up, and found the room had turned towards him, eying him disdainfully.
Remarius smiled on the outside this time. A sharp, clear voice broke the silence.
“The Prophecy of the Dawn, originating from the Warlocks of Old Nygard five millennia ago, speaks of a burning comet that heralds a cataclysmic storm. It warns that the comet is the first phase of a Great Alignment of the Seven Spheres. Starmaster Alethan confirms that while the Seven Spheres align every millennium, a perfect alignment has never been recorded… until two nights ago.” said Maeron, now walking towards the Archmage.
The room fell silent, disbelief and unease spreading through the crowd like a shadow. “Unfortunately, this scroll is incomplete; we have only the first part of the Prophecy.” Maeron continued, extending his hand to accept the scroll from Thyrondus. “It speaks of a celestial alignment, a great storm, and…” he trailed off, looking deep into the old parchment.
“A great magical upheaval — a ‘rising in time’, which will bind the 4 corners of the world, and unleash the World-Essence to bring about the final unity”
“More doomsayer nonsense — is that supposed to mean something, Elder Maeron?” quipped an old wizard standing near the dais.
“It means, Magus Doltan, that the hour is late and there is much work to be done.”
