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Not all of us remember when the Tower fell, but some do. We remember the chaos, the destruction, the fear—wondering if Aion had abandoned us to an uncertain fate. A few voices rose above the clamor of fear and confusion to offer guidance and hope, and among these was Camniel, who founded the mighty legion Aetherium and sought to bring order out of chaos and to set our feet upon a path of righteousness. He proclaimed we were Aion’s Chosen, and we followed him, heeded his wisdom, and slowly regained a sense of who we were, and who we wished to become.
The light of Aion shone down on us, bathing our land in radiant light, a visible reminder that God favored us still. Us, His chosen people. Under the warm light of the sun we reclaimed our rightful place and recreated some part of the greatness that was, and we existed in relative peace and prosperity.
Until the Darklings came.
They creep out of shadowed ruins, bringing death and destruction—a foul plague upon our blessed land. They covet the aether that Aion gifted us with, and they have attained a warped form of our own powers—a grotesque mockery of our beauty and grace. Not only must we contend with the Balaur, who’ve threatened us since before the Cataclysm, but we must now contend with these dark beasts, who would steal what is rightfully ours.
We are the Blessed of Aion, and we shall do what we must to maintain God’s grace. We shall fight those who threaten our world, and the screams of our fallen enemies shall rise like a hymn of praise to Aion.
Walk in the Light, brethren. Fight for the Light. |