Aurelion_Sol_The_Star_Forger_ENG

Aurelion Sol

Wonder imprisoned

Five cloaked men were traveling along one of the side slopes of Mount Targon. Their climb was not difficult as that which awaits those who venture out in search of wonder, on the cusp of the mountain. Not at all. The golden symbols on their crimson hoods testified they belonged to the tribe of the Solari. They lived in the majestic citadel on the eastern slopes of the sacred mountain, and knew the less tortuous roads to move on.

That night, the torches they carried emitted an absolutely redundant light. Never before the stars were so bright and luminous. The huge clouds that were traveling in the night sky had no hope of weakening the glare of the stars. The priests went on a wide, semi-circular terrace of smooth stone, decorated with runes carved everywhere into the rock. Two groups arranged themselves at the ends of the terrace; one man stood at the center, a few centimeters away from a dark abyss, which end could not be seen.

Raised his arms to heaven, the priest lifted his head upward. Under the large hood, hemmed with golden filaments, only his lips were visible, from which came prayers of invocation.

«Oh, greatest dragon! God of light and of all that it is lighted, come down on us with your mercy!»

He pleaded for a long time, more than he had done the night before, and all the previous ones. The stars were still shining, but remained mute.

The man sighed, disheartened. He had already given up hope when, suddenly, the veil of the night was rent by a gargantuan claw. The sinuous forms of a celestial creature was designed by continuously approaching constellations. When the divinity ended his descent, with his enormous size he had occupied entirely the boundless ravine of Mount Targon.

The four men at the sides of the terrace rejoiced, proud and honored of their success: the appearance of the god was the unexpected gift which everyone had hoped for.

The creature's eyes, blue as the flaming heart of the first stars, rested, haughty, on his worshipers. Around the body of the dragon, out of nowhere, three small stars appeared. The force of gravity generated removed the hoods, which still covered the faces of the humans, while the glowing light illuminated them.

The man at the center, whose face was half disfigured by horrible burns, bowed, begging forgiveness for their lack of respect. All the others did the same. Then the gravitational force of newborn stars faded, and those began to orbit the divinity.

The priest with the burned face began to speak. He said how long he had waited for that moment to arrive, in order to have the opportunity to pay homage to the god dragon with a gift worthy of his magnificence.

«A gift?» were the first words uttered by Aurelion Sol, «I already have everything I want. The galaxies I visited will die before you can imagine that they've ever existed. I have created what you venerate. You do not have any gift worthy of my interest.»

When the creature turned around, to go back in the infinite vastness of the cosmos, the priest with the burned face created a fireball that hurled against the divinity. The flames disappeared into the darkness of its serpentine body, not causing him any harm.

Aurelion Sol spun around, angrily. The orbit of the stars around him suddenly widened, and the stars burned the four priests at the far ends of the terrace. The last man alive knelt down again, bowing his head and turning his disfigured face to the stone floor.

«Four sacrifices, supreme God of all gods. Have mercy on me. Please, give us a little of your infinite time, and honor us by accepting our gift.»

The heavenly creature laughed inwardly. “The thing they do best, as always, is beg for mercy” he thought.

He agreed to follow the last priest left, who took him at the base of Mount Targon. The clearing was kissed by the bright light of the stars, which lit a multitude of altars, disposed irregularly. The man went up a circular staircase, to reach the top of the central altar, while Aurelion Sol showed disappointment.

While the priest with the burned face explained that those structures had been erected during the First Rune War, a large number of Solari went, quietly, to occupy the tops of other altars. When they were all in place, the first priest began to perform an ancient and complex ritual. Hidden runes, scattered throughout the area, were covered by a red pulsating light. Whoever had carved them, he had had such a great power that it survived, despite the passing of eons.

A sphere of arcane energy surrounded Aurelion Sol. Inside of it, enormous magical chains forced him to the ground. Among his clawed fingers, stiffen with rage, the dragon created two stars that hurled against the crimson prison, but could not break free. As he got up, around him enchanted walls appeared, decorated with runes older than time, which embraced him up, to sealing him completely.

«Free Me, miserable inferior beings!» boomed the god, «What have you done? I am the forger of the stars. I am life, fury and wonder! I am the one who talks as the galaxies obey!»

«Lend us your power, oh great and arrogant divinity» said the priest with the burned face.

Aurelion Sol pointed at him, his eyes fiery, moving closer to the man as much as possible.

«My power is nothing, far from the skies. Free me from these restrictions, and I will give you what you ask» he hissed.

The priest sneered.

«If you went back to the stars, oh divine, I do not think you'd be merciful as you say. No. The power you possess right now will be more than enough»

«For what purpose?» asked the dragon, forced to bow to that blackmail.

The sense of joy felt by the man, for the victory he conquered, was equal to the frustration and the anger that pervaded the heavenly creature. Both hid their emotions, appearing unperturbed.

«You will fight at the service of the summoners of Mount Targon. You will devastate the League of Legends, with your unstoppable rage. Thanks to you, the power of the Solari will be consolidated once and for all. Nobody, in Runeterra, will oppose us.»

The god was impassive, after witnessing the delirium of omnipotence of the priest. He reduced his glorious voice to a whisper, so that only the man with the burned face could hear him.

«When this will be over, instead of this ridiculous prison I will create a new sun, just like the one you worship. The fire of the stars will consume you all.»

Aurelion Sol once graced the vast emptiness of the cosmos with celestial wonders of his own devising. Now, he is forced to wield his awesome power at the behest of an empire that tricked him into servitude.

Desiring a return to his star-forging ways, Aurelion Sol will drag the very stars from the sky, if he must, in order to regain his freedom.

Aurelion_Sol_The_Star_Forger_ITA

Aurelion Sol

Meraviglia imprigionata

Cinque uomini ammantati percorrevano uno dei versanti laterali del Monte Targon. La loro scalata non era ardua come quella che attende coloro che si avventurano alla ricerca della meraviglia, sulla cuspide del monte. No, affatto. I simboli dorati sulle cappe cremisi testimoniavano l’appartenenza alla tribù dei Solari. Loro vivevano nella maestosa cittadella sui pendii orientali del monte, e conoscevano le vie meno tortuose per muoversi sulla montagna sacra.

Quella notte, le torce che portavano emettevano una luce assolutamente ridondante. Mai, prima di allora, le stelle erano state così splendenti e luminose. Le enormi nubi che viaggiavano nel cielo notturno non avevano speranza di affievolire il bagliore degli astri.

I sacerdoti si recarono su un’ampia terrazza semicircolare di pietra liscia, decorata da rune intagliate ovunque nella roccia. Due gruppi si disposero alle estremità della terrazza; un solo uomo rimase al centro, a pochi centimetri di distanza da un baratro oscuro, del quale non si poteva scorgere la fine.

Alzate le braccia al cielo, il sacerdote sollevò il capo verso l’alto. Sotto il largo cappuccio, bordato con filamenti dorati, erano visibili solo le sue labbra, dalle quali uscivano preghiere di invocazione.

«Oh, sommo drago! Dio della luce e di tutto ciò che da essa è illuminato, discendi su di noi con la tua misericordia!»

Supplicò a lungo, più di quanto avesse fatto la notte prima, e tutte quelle precedenti. Le stelle rimasero splendenti, ma mute.

L’uomo sospirò, sconfortato. Aveva ormai abbandonato ogni speranza quando, all’improvviso, il velo della notte fu squarciato da un artiglio gargantuesco. Le forme sinuose di una creatura celestiale erano disegnate da costellazioni in continuo avvicinamento. Quando la divinità terminò la sua discesa, con la sua enorme mole aveva occupato interamente lo sconfinato burrone del Monte Targon.

I quattro uomini ai lati della terrazza esultarono, fieri del loro successo e onorati: l’apparizione del dio era il dono insperato al quale tutti avevano auspicato.

Gli occhi della creatura, azzurri come il cuore infuocato delle prime stelle, si posarono, superbi, sui suoi adoratori. Attorno al corpo del drago, dal nulla, comparvero tre piccole stelle. La forza di gravità generata rimosse i cappucci, che ancora coprivano i volti degli umani, mentre la luce ardente li illuminava.

L’uomo al centro, il cui volto era per metà sfigurato da orribili ustioni, si inchinò, chiedendo perdono per la loro mancanza di rispetto. Tutti gli altri lo imitarono. Allora la forza gravitazionale delle stelle neonate si attenuò, e quelle cominciarono ad orbitare attorno alla divinità.

Il sacerdote dal volto ustionato iniziò a parlare. Disse quanto a lungo avesse atteso che quel momento arrivasse, per poter avere l’occasione di omaggiare il dio drago con un dono degno della sua magnificenza.

«Un dono?» furono le prime parole pronunciate da Aurelion Sol, «Io ho già tutto ciò che desidero. Le galassie che ho visitato moriranno prima che voi possiate immaginare che siano mai esistite. Io ho creato ciò che voi venerate. Non possedete alcun dono che sia di Mio interesse».

Quando la creatura si voltò, per ritornare nell’infinita vastità del cosmo, il sacerdote dal volto ustionato creò una sfera infuocata che scagliò contro la divinità. Le fiamme scomparvero nell’oscurità del suo corpo serpentino, senza arrecargli alcun danno.

Aurelion Sol si voltò di scatto, incollerito. L’orbita delle stelle attorno a lui si allargò improvvisamente, e gli astri bruciarono i quattro sacerdoti alle estremità della terrazza. L’ultimo uomo ancora in vita si inginocchiò nuovamente, chinando il capo e rivolgendo il volto sfigurato verso il pavimento di pietra.

«Quattro sacrifici, sommo Dio di tutti gli dei. Abbia pietà di me. La prego di concederci un poco del suo tempo infinito, e di onorarci accettando il nostro dono.»

La creatura celestiale rise, dentro di sé. “La cosa che fanno meglio, come sempre, è chiedere pietà” pensò.

Acconsentì a seguire l’ultimo sacerdote rimasto, che lo condusse alle radici del Monte Targon. La radura era baciata dalla luce chiara delle stelle, che illuminava una moltitudine di altari, disposti in modo irregolare. L’uomo salì una scalinata circolare, per raggiungere la sommità dell’altare centrale, mentre Aurelion Sol si rivelava deluso.

Mentre il sacerdote dal volto ustionato spiegava che quelle strutture erano state erette durante la Prima Guerra della Rune, un gran numero di Solari andavano, in silenzio, ad occupare le cime degli altri altari. Quando tutti furono in posizione, il primo sacerdote cominciò ad eseguire un antico e complesso rituale. Rune nascoste, disseminate lungo tutta l’area, furono percorse da una luce rossa pulsante. Chiunque le avesse incise, aveva avuto un potere tanto grande da essere sopravvissuto, nonostante il trascorrere degli eoni.

Una sfera di energia arcana circondò Aurelion Sol. Dentro di essa, enormi catene magiche lo costrinsero a terra. Tra le sue dita artigliate, irrigidite dalla collera, il drago creò due stelle che scagliò contro la prigione cremisi, senza però riuscire a liberarsi. Mentre si rialzava, attorno a lui apparvero mura incantate, decorate da rune più vecchie del tempo, che lo abbracciarono fino a sigillarlo completamente.

«LiberateMi, miserabili esseri inferiori!» tuonò il dio, «Cosa Mi avete fatto? Io sono il forgiatore delle stelle. Io sono la vita, la furia e la meraviglia! Sono colui che parla mentre le galassie obbediscono!»

«Prestaci il tuo potere, oh grande e arrogante divinità» disse il sacerdote dal volto ustionato.

Aurelion Sol puntò verso di lui i suoi occhi di fuoco, avvicinandosi all’uomo il più possibile.

«Il Mio potere è nulla, lontano dal cielo. LiberateMi da queste restrizioni, e vi darò ciò che chiedete» sibilò.

Il sacerdote ghignò.

«Se tu tornassi tra le stelle, oh divino, non credo che saresti clemente come dici. No. Il potere di cui disponi ora sarà più che sufficiente.»

«A quale scopo?» domandò il drago, costretto a piegarsi a quel ricatto.

Il senso di gioia che l’uomo provò, per la vittoria conquistata, era pari alla frustrazione e all’ira che pervadevano la creatura celestiale. Entrambi nascosero le loro emozioni, mostrandosi imperturbabili.

«Combatterai al servizio degli evocatori del Monte Targon. Devasterai la Lega delle Leggende con la tua furia incontenibile. Grazie a te, il potere dei Solari sarà consolidato una volta per tutte. Nessuno, a Runeterra, potrà opporsi a noi.»

Il dio rimase impassibile, dopo aver assistito al delirio di onnipotenza del sacerdote. Ridusse la sua voce maestosa ad un sussurro, così che solo l’uomo dal volto ustionato potesse udirlo.

«Quando questa storia sarà finita, al posto di questa ridicola prigione creerò un nuovo sole, proprio come quello che adorate. Il fuoco delle stelle vi consumerà tutti.»

Aurelion Sol una volta graziava il vasto vuoto del cosmo con meraviglie celesti di sua creazione. Ora è costretto a usare il suo potere impressionante per servire una civiltà che lo ha ingannato e indotto in servitù. Desiderando un ritorno alla sua via di forgiatore di stelle, Aurelion Sol trascinerà le stesse stelle dal cielo, se dovrà, al fine di riconquistare la sua libertà.

Baracco_ENG

Baracco

Chapter 1

The date of the discord

«What's up? Are you hungry?» asked Abudi to the young kid, who stood by his side.

Maleek nodded. With one hand, he was yanking the copper coat of the man, with the index finger of the other hand, was pointing to his mouth.

«You are right. It's very late.»

Abudi apologized to his son. He knelt down and leaned against the olive-coloured forehead of the youngster, stroking his curly head.

The sun was setting over the city of Bologna, while the Arab merchant was trying to remember what was the way home. His long robes of fine silk were dancing, guided by the wind. The hair, black coloured, like the short, pointed beard, were gathered in a turban. Three golden rings gleamed on his dark fingers.

Firmly tightening the tunic of the father, Maleek watched him shaking his head, right and left. He was looking for a restaurant that he remembered being there, somewhere.

«There it is!» exulted Abudi.

A wooden sign, recited: “Baracco, Bruno and Carlo’s”. The word “Baracco” was carved with great care. The names, however, were ruined by a multitude of scratches. They seemed to have been erased and then rewritten, more than once.

At that moment, Abudi took no notice. Opened the door, he entered.

A large number of tables, large and small, circular and rectangular, were arranged on two levels; one slightly higher than the other. The place was brightly lit by candles and torches on the wall, which spread their warm light, like silent stars.

The tables, adorned with tablecloths and red drapes, were populated by people of all kinds. Clergymen, lords, elegant ladies and armed soldiers, all sitting, eating their food. You could feel a sense of respect, almost sacred, toward what was in the plates.

«Good evening, my good lord. How can, the best chef of the city, serve you? May I prepare a table for you and the young boy?»

A tall man, with thick brown hair and a short beard grizzled, appeared in front of the merchant. He had perfect posture. The apron he wore, tied at the waist, immaculate long time before, was wounded by at least ten different varieties of sauces and spice powder.

«Yes» said Abudi, a little uncertain, still fascinated by the elegance of which was permeated the place.

«Very well. Follow me.»

Abudi and Maleek, were led through the maze of tables, chairs and benches. They passed through a large, circular empty space, at the centre of the lower level, until they reached a secluded spot, in a lonely corner.

Next to them, a small orchestra of only three members; a lute, a viola and a little crumhorn, gave birth delicate melodies.

«I see that you are foreigners. You will be fine here, in Bologna. I'm sure. As for dinner, I would ask for your trust. I will prepare something tasty, light and savoury.»

His confidence was contagious. After Abudi had accepted the proposal, the innkeeper gave a short bow and ran away.

«Yes, Maleek. You'll see that in a bit he will take us something to eat» said to his son, who continued to indicate he wanted to put something in his stomach.

A robust diner, very overweight, sitting nearby, interjected.

«It might take longer than you think.»

Amazed at those words, Abudi demanded an explanation.

«It's the first time you eat here, right? There it is, the reason. It's coming» said the man.

The merchant looked up. Another individual, dressed as the first tavern keeper, had come striding.

«Good evening, my good lord. I'm Bruno, chef of the greatest reputation!»

Abudi smiled, although the enthusiasm with which swelled every word seemed excessive. Bruno was small in stature, with short hair, perfectly ordered. The face, clean, without even a beard hair, made him look younger than he was in reality.

«What can I cook for you?»

Then, the first chef returned. He brought two soup plates, full of dark soup, surrounded by dried dates.

«Dates in broth with olive juice, parsley and a pinch of pepper. Everything, blended with a wine tear.»

Before Abudi could congratulate the innkeeper, for the creativity demonstrated, the shorter chef criticized him harshly.

«What have you cooked, Carlo? Damn. This is a great mappazzone! A mish-mash.»

Bruno apologized to his diners. Not for the outburst, but for the food, as he said, unpresentable. Hurriedly, he grabbed the dishes, then announced that he would’ve gone into the kitchen, to take his latest creation. He returned shortly after, and presented his masterpiece.

«Melted cheese, on blood mutton. To accompany, sliced dates, cooked on the fire. I know that your people loves this fruit. If I'm not mistaken, you call it balah.

Maleek, hungry, thanked him with a nod and began to eat. Abudi, however, was worried by the hostile gazes that the two cooks were throwing each other.

«I see that cooking is not the only thing in which you have some deficiencies, Bruno. The date, in Arabic, is called tamer.»

«Do not be ridiculous. It's called balah. I remember it perfectly. So called it, the Eastern adventurer who passed by here, last month.»

«Maybe you were distracted, listening while you were cooking. So you failed both.»

Shoving and insults followed, heavier as time passed, until the two chefs found themselves at the centre of the circular open space. When they began to take a fight, all the guests left the tables and surrounded the fighters, encouraging them excitedly.

Seeing that incredible scene, Abudi thought to the importance of appearances. We all show an image of ourselves and the first impression is often exact. We show ourselves for what we are. In the case of the two innkeepers, however, it was wrong.

«In Italy are crazy… They are all crazy…»