Aijalon (Eye-ja-lon)
Aijalon
Though the impact of the Bael Star indeed annihilated the Acheronian and Hadean civilizations, there were survivors.
Aijalon was one of the few Hadeans lucky/unlucky enough to not be imminently sent to meet the Riverman as the corrupt world burned in cleansing fire.
Deep underground she and a hand full of others allowed themselves to undergo a magikinetic process of deep suspended animation, with the intention they would be awakened in a few decades to rebuild the world.
Abandoned, forgotten, Aijalon is unsure, all she knows is when she finally awoke, she was alone and instead of decades, time had advanced five millennia.
This new world she emerged in is alien to her. scorching deserts where there were once forests and plains. Ruins and monsters where great cities once stould. Strange people with strange customs; and yet the blasphemies they commit against the River of Souls is all too familiar.
Even in this distant future, the stinch of Acheron yet lingers...
Among the many slain that night, both Aijalon’s father and mother died holding the riders at bay long enough for the survivors to flee to the safety of the barrier.
Aijalon had always been taught of the evils of the Soul Murderers, now she had witnessed it first hand, and it scarred her deeply.
Aijalon was not a tall or strong person, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in fury.
She vowed to become a great warrior to avenge her family and her people, and at her end to greet the Riverman with the heads of ten thousand Acheronians.
And then one night, a red twinkle was observed in the night sky…
Each evening it grew, the Acheronians became fearful, panicked. “As they should”, Aijalon was told. “The gods have seen their wickedness and have give us a sign their judgement is nigh”
It turned out the god's judgement did not discriminate…
Forfax’s modest magikinetic barrier was the only thing that had kept the nine of them from being flung into oblivion. The rest of the unit was gone, vanished with the trees.
Aijalon and her unit had been waiting in ambush in the trees of the deep upland forests south of the Leodoran plains, expecting to catch an Acheronian transport unawares, when they suddenly found they had balcony seats to the end of the world. "None of the rest of you are allowed to greet the Riverman yet!" Forfax bellowed over the howling wind. He was their leader, a grizzled veteran of many battles, and a devout follower of the faith. Even in the sudden face of Armageddon he showed no fear. "The prophecy demands survivors of this tribulation!" "The fire is getting closer!" Hecca shouted back, her voice trembling. "The caves! We head for the caves! As deep as we can reach!" Forfax ordered, pointing to the cave system they had been using as a makeshift base. They had stored some food and supplies there, and hoped that it would shield them from the firestorm. They grabbed their weapons and gear, and ran for the caves. As they ran, they saw massive burning rocks raining from the sky, some of them crashing mere feet away, sending sparks and debris flying. Aijalon ran as fast as her legs could carry her, Hecca was right beside her, until she felt a great push of wind, heat, and a loud smash. A flaming boulder punctured the earth where Hecca had just been. Aijalon gasped, tears stinging her eyes. Hecca was the closest thing to a friend Aijalon had, her sister-in-arms. And now she too was gone like the others, just like that. No time to think, no time to mourn, only run. The now eight reached the cave entrance, Forfax hurrying them in. "Elim, the entrance!" He shouted to Elim, whose ability to manipulate earth and stone, had helped them create the cave base. Elim quickly spun around, clapping his hands together and focusing on the stone arch. It began to vibrate, and shudder, then finally the rock collapsed, sealing them in. What was left of the unit gathered whatever food and supplies they could carry and headed as deep into the cavern system as they could go. They went deep, deep enough to see small streams of soul essence winding their way to the great river of souls. The soul essence was a faint blue glow that emanated from the cracks in the rocks, Aijalon had always wondered what it felt like to touch it, but she never dared to try. And even down here they could feel the heat of the firestorm raging on the surface above. It was like being in a furnace, a suffocating and oppressive heat; they had to drink water constantly to avoid dehydration, but they knew their supplies would not last forever. After a few days, they realized their rations were running low, and there would be no plenty waiting for them on the surface. It was decided among the eight, to survive they would initiate a magikinetic ritual to suspend their bodies in timeless bubbles. They would awaken in about 30 years. Plenty of time they thought for nature to reclaim the land, then they could set about the great work of finding other surviving Hadeans who had thought to do the same, and build a new kingdom in a world with no Acheron.
Each, one at a time, entered the dreamless sleep, to await the coming of their glorious future.
Or at least that is what it felt like. The caves felt different, the light glow of the small soul stream was gone, the supplies were missing, but most importantly she was alone.
Conjuring a small flame in her palm using her magikinetic focus of fire, she was able to light her way back, but the path was different, wider than she remembered.
There were several partial cave-ins that she was fortunately small enough to crawl through, and wide enough to get her war scythe past.
At last she made it to the entrance, which had already been cleared away. It appeared to be night time. When she stepped beyond the threshold she was not greeted by forests or plains, or any kind of promised land.
Sand. An ocean of sand bathed in the light of the full moon sprawled out before her.
Aijalon's mind raced, this was not right, this is not how Forfax said it would be.
A horrible thought creeped into her mind. “Did the red star scour the land of life entirely?
Did nothing survive?”
“Wait, waves?” She had suddenly noticed the unmistakable sound of water lapping against a shoreline, over the dune to her left. With a little difficulty, never having climbed up sand before, Aijalon crested the dune and saw…the sea?
“That can’t be right.” she thought.
The coastline was over ten miles from where she should be, but before she could puzzle any further, she caught a sign of movement. A black blur lunged at her, and a lifetime of training instantly kicked in. Instinctively, she rolled to the side, feeling the wind of its attack as it missed her by inches. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her war scythe, and faced the creature.
It was unlike anything she had ever seen, A black viscous mass on four ice pick-like legs, with one oddly bent humanoid arm, tipped with razor blades, jutting out where a head should be. And the eyes; glowing, swirling, red and blue eyes, randomly placed all over its body. Even in the low light Aijalon could tell this thing was…wrong. She had no time to think; fight, or die. The creature lunged at her again, faster than she expected. She dodged to the right, and fired a shot from her war scythe at its flank. The slug tore a hole through its flesh, but it didn't seem to feel any pain. It swung its misshapen arm at her, trying to slash her with its fingers. She raised her war scythe and blocked the blow, but the force of it made her stagger briefly on the loose sand. the creature advanced, the hand taking another swing. Aijalon quickly pointed the gun barrel of her weapon at it and fired another shot, The hand exploded into smoke an instant before it would have connected with her, but the creature didn't stop. didn't even react to the loss of the limb. It kept coming at her, stabbing and slashing with its legs, relentless and furious. She parried and evaded, looking for an opening. She fired her last two loaded rounds into the mass. one slug struck an eye, a plume of light motes leaking out of it dancing then dissipating into the air like embers from a camp fire.
She scrambled up the dune, trying to get some space to bait it into making another charge. tapping the end of her war scythe on the sand, the blade sprang into position, gleaming in the light of the full moon. as it gave chase, she suddenly changed direction, jumping onto her knees and slid down the dune, back toward the creature, scythe blade readied, she slid right between it's long bladed legs, swinging the curved blade in an upward arc, right into it's underbelly, slicing it open from end to end as she passed under it. jumping back to her feet She expected blood and guts to be spilling out, but there was nothing. The creature was hollow, empty. To her horror, even being nearly split in half, the thing still kept coming; noticeably wobbling unstably but otherwise unconcerned with having just been flayed open.
Not even giving this sin against creation the chance to make another attack, Aijalon now went on the offensive, dashing forward plundging the scythe into it, again and again, hacking off it's legs; knocking it to the ground, slashing the thing apart, until suddenly in a bright burst it just popped like a balloon; a shower of bright aqua and red lights, that slowly faded into the night. The marking in the sand made from the struggle the only proof it had ever even been there at all. Aijalon gasped for air, her chest heaving and her heart pounding. She had never fought anything like that before. Never even heard of anything like that before. She looked around to make sure there were no more of those things nearby, when she suddenly noticed something else. Several miles in the distance, further down the coast, she could just see it. Lighting up the night sky. She began walking towards it.
"Where am I?"
History
Born in the town of Charon, Aijalon grew up only knowing conflict. In the face of the ever growing heresy of neighboring Acheron, the Hade culture progressively became more militant.
The war had entered it’s 100th year by Aijalon’s 3rd Namingday. Her mother and father were warriors both and they too spent their entire lives knowing nothing of peace. She rarely got to be with them.
Hade schooling had become a barely veiled military training program. All Hadean children were taught the art of wielding their peoples signature weapon, the combination of a fire arm and polearm known as the War Scythe. All Hadean children were taught to never fear the inevitable call of the Riverman. Most importantly All Hadean children were taught to hate Acheron, the nation of Soul Murderers.
The war had entered it’s 100th year by Aijalon’s 3rd Namingday. Her mother and father were warriors both and they too spent their entire lives knowing nothing of peace. She rarely got to be with them.
Hade schooling had become a barely veiled military training program. All Hadean children were taught the art of wielding their peoples signature weapon, the combination of a fire arm and polearm known as the War Scythe. All Hadean children were taught to never fear the inevitable call of the Riverman. Most importantly All Hadean children were taught to hate Acheron, the nation of Soul Murderers.
One night when Aijalon was just seven years old, Charon was suddenly rocked by a barrage of missles. The Grand Convocation’s magikinetic barrier no longer strong enough to reach distant Charon from the holy capital of Styx, after the Acheronians had successfully assassinated three of the thirteen High Magi, keeping the barriers in place.
Then the Riders of Acheron came.
the roar of the engines in their two wheeled steeds announcing their arrival.
Clad in profane armor and weapons forged of damned souls, they swarmed like monstrous cockroaches.
Then the Riders of Acheron came.
the roar of the engines in their two wheeled steeds announcing their arrival.
Clad in profane armor and weapons forged of damned souls, they swarmed like monstrous cockroaches.
She vowed to become a great warrior to avenge her family and her people, and at her end to greet the Riverman with the heads of ten thousand Acheronians.
At 15 she participated in the sacred rite of Soul Binding.
By age 16 she was already being deployed on scouting missions.
17, actual combat.
By 20 Aijalon had taken part in many raids and battles, even burning an entire town to the ground; picking off any survivors that tried to flee, just as they had done to her.
But no matter how many Acheronians she killed, it was never enough to sate her hatred. Nor was it enough to push the war definitively in the Hadean’s favor. The Acheronians ever more twisted technologies, all powered by processing and burning soul essence, ripped directly out of the river of souls, ever gave them an edge over the Hadeans spell craft and magitek.
By age 16 she was already being deployed on scouting missions.
17, actual combat.
By 20 Aijalon had taken part in many raids and battles, even burning an entire town to the ground; picking off any survivors that tried to flee, just as they had done to her.
But no matter how many Acheronians she killed, it was never enough to sate her hatred. Nor was it enough to push the war definitively in the Hadean’s favor. The Acheronians ever more twisted technologies, all powered by processing and burning soul essence, ripped directly out of the river of souls, ever gave them an edge over the Hadeans spell craft and magitek.
Each evening it grew, the Acheronians became fearful, panicked. “As they should”, Aijalon was told. “The gods have seen their wickedness and have give us a sign their judgement is nigh”
It turned out the god's judgement did not discriminate…
12 minutes after impact…
The shockwave had blown the entire forest away like cut grass in a strong breeze. The ground quaked and cracked; the sky burned. Just as had been prophesied in the book of Araqiel, the Cleansing Hand had come to sweep the board of the corrupt and the wicked, and it came in fire.Forfax’s modest magikinetic barrier was the only thing that had kept the nine of them from being flung into oblivion. The rest of the unit was gone, vanished with the trees.
Aijalon and her unit had been waiting in ambush in the trees of the deep upland forests south of the Leodoran plains, expecting to catch an Acheronian transport unawares, when they suddenly found they had balcony seats to the end of the world. "None of the rest of you are allowed to greet the Riverman yet!" Forfax bellowed over the howling wind. He was their leader, a grizzled veteran of many battles, and a devout follower of the faith. Even in the sudden face of Armageddon he showed no fear. "The prophecy demands survivors of this tribulation!" "The fire is getting closer!" Hecca shouted back, her voice trembling. "The caves! We head for the caves! As deep as we can reach!" Forfax ordered, pointing to the cave system they had been using as a makeshift base. They had stored some food and supplies there, and hoped that it would shield them from the firestorm. They grabbed their weapons and gear, and ran for the caves. As they ran, they saw massive burning rocks raining from the sky, some of them crashing mere feet away, sending sparks and debris flying. Aijalon ran as fast as her legs could carry her, Hecca was right beside her, until she felt a great push of wind, heat, and a loud smash. A flaming boulder punctured the earth where Hecca had just been. Aijalon gasped, tears stinging her eyes. Hecca was the closest thing to a friend Aijalon had, her sister-in-arms. And now she too was gone like the others, just like that. No time to think, no time to mourn, only run. The now eight reached the cave entrance, Forfax hurrying them in. "Elim, the entrance!" He shouted to Elim, whose ability to manipulate earth and stone, had helped them create the cave base. Elim quickly spun around, clapping his hands together and focusing on the stone arch. It began to vibrate, and shudder, then finally the rock collapsed, sealing them in. What was left of the unit gathered whatever food and supplies they could carry and headed as deep into the cavern system as they could go. They went deep, deep enough to see small streams of soul essence winding their way to the great river of souls. The soul essence was a faint blue glow that emanated from the cracks in the rocks, Aijalon had always wondered what it felt like to touch it, but she never dared to try. And even down here they could feel the heat of the firestorm raging on the surface above. It was like being in a furnace, a suffocating and oppressive heat; they had to drink water constantly to avoid dehydration, but they knew their supplies would not last forever. After a few days, they realized their rations were running low, and there would be no plenty waiting for them on the surface. It was decided among the eight, to survive they would initiate a magikinetic ritual to suspend their bodies in timeless bubbles. They would awaken in about 30 years. Plenty of time they thought for nature to reclaim the land, then they could set about the great work of finding other surviving Hadeans who had thought to do the same, and build a new kingdom in a world with no Acheron.
Each, one at a time, entered the dreamless sleep, to await the coming of their glorious future.
In the blink of an eye…
Aijalon’s eyes snapped open seemingly as soon as she had closed them.Or at least that is what it felt like. The caves felt different, the light glow of the small soul stream was gone, the supplies were missing, but most importantly she was alone.
Conjuring a small flame in her palm using her magikinetic focus of fire, she was able to light her way back, but the path was different, wider than she remembered.
There were several partial cave-ins that she was fortunately small enough to crawl through, and wide enough to get her war scythe past.
At last she made it to the entrance, which had already been cleared away. It appeared to be night time. When she stepped beyond the threshold she was not greeted by forests or plains, or any kind of promised land.
Sand. An ocean of sand bathed in the light of the full moon sprawled out before her.
Aijalon's mind raced, this was not right, this is not how Forfax said it would be.
A horrible thought creeped into her mind. “Did the red star scour the land of life entirely?
Did nothing survive?”
“Wait, waves?” She had suddenly noticed the unmistakable sound of water lapping against a shoreline, over the dune to her left. With a little difficulty, never having climbed up sand before, Aijalon crested the dune and saw…the sea?
“That can’t be right.” she thought.
The coastline was over ten miles from where she should be, but before she could puzzle any further, she caught a sign of movement. A black blur lunged at her, and a lifetime of training instantly kicked in. Instinctively, she rolled to the side, feeling the wind of its attack as it missed her by inches. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her war scythe, and faced the creature.
It was unlike anything she had ever seen, A black viscous mass on four ice pick-like legs, with one oddly bent humanoid arm, tipped with razor blades, jutting out where a head should be. And the eyes; glowing, swirling, red and blue eyes, randomly placed all over its body. Even in the low light Aijalon could tell this thing was…wrong. She had no time to think; fight, or die. The creature lunged at her again, faster than she expected. She dodged to the right, and fired a shot from her war scythe at its flank. The slug tore a hole through its flesh, but it didn't seem to feel any pain. It swung its misshapen arm at her, trying to slash her with its fingers. She raised her war scythe and blocked the blow, but the force of it made her stagger briefly on the loose sand. the creature advanced, the hand taking another swing. Aijalon quickly pointed the gun barrel of her weapon at it and fired another shot, The hand exploded into smoke an instant before it would have connected with her, but the creature didn't stop. didn't even react to the loss of the limb. It kept coming at her, stabbing and slashing with its legs, relentless and furious. She parried and evaded, looking for an opening. She fired her last two loaded rounds into the mass. one slug struck an eye, a plume of light motes leaking out of it dancing then dissipating into the air like embers from a camp fire.
She scrambled up the dune, trying to get some space to bait it into making another charge. tapping the end of her war scythe on the sand, the blade sprang into position, gleaming in the light of the full moon. as it gave chase, she suddenly changed direction, jumping onto her knees and slid down the dune, back toward the creature, scythe blade readied, she slid right between it's long bladed legs, swinging the curved blade in an upward arc, right into it's underbelly, slicing it open from end to end as she passed under it. jumping back to her feet She expected blood and guts to be spilling out, but there was nothing. The creature was hollow, empty. To her horror, even being nearly split in half, the thing still kept coming; noticeably wobbling unstably but otherwise unconcerned with having just been flayed open.
Not even giving this sin against creation the chance to make another attack, Aijalon now went on the offensive, dashing forward plundging the scythe into it, again and again, hacking off it's legs; knocking it to the ground, slashing the thing apart, until suddenly in a bright burst it just popped like a balloon; a shower of bright aqua and red lights, that slowly faded into the night. The marking in the sand made from the struggle the only proof it had ever even been there at all. Aijalon gasped for air, her chest heaving and her heart pounding. She had never fought anything like that before. Never even heard of anything like that before. She looked around to make sure there were no more of those things nearby, when she suddenly noticed something else. Several miles in the distance, further down the coast, she could just see it. Lighting up the night sky. She began walking towards it.
A short very pale young warrior with piercing orange eyes and platinum blond hair, from a long dead civilization.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Lawful Neutral
Current Status
Seek and kill the Rider of Acheron
Current Location
Age
Biologically 22 years old
Date of Birth
Sometime around negative 43 CR, unsure what month on modern calendar.
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Orange
Hair
Platnum blond
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale
Height
4 ft 8 in
Weight
97 lbs
Belief/Deity
The Riverman (Hadean Orthodoxy)
The Binder needed absolute mastery of the art of Soul Tapping, for if they siphoned too little, the binding would fail. If too much, the warrior could become deathly ill, or even expire on the spot.
The tattoos would often represent the warriors magikinetic Focus, an element or aspect the warrior’s soul was naturally drawn to. In the case of Aijalon, Flames.
Dude what, Soul Binding is awesome. Also, I love the way that this world is technological, but definitely has what we would typically consider magical undertones if they weren't classified in such a neat way. Big fan. I also appreciate the Greek mythology-inspired names.