Father Aegius's page

“Over the last dozen or so years since I’ve…”

“Fifteen,” Beleg corrected.

The elf had a way of sounding generous when he corrected you. Aegius smiled and thanked the senior wizard. “Yes, over the past fifteen years that I’ve been in this group, we’ve continued the work begun by Beleg and his circle of comrades. This last two days of events are the latest in what we call the Pattern.”

A brief look towards Beleg and Liberios seeking their okay to continue. They both nodded. It was time to expand the group, to replenish the ranks. In their youth, when he and Liberios were in Mendev, it was called feeding the meat grinder.

A look of concern drifted across the old priest’s face. He had grown so fond of Olivia, knowing her over the past year or so had moved his attitude towards his duty beyond the instructions of her father towards him feeling like a parent to her as well. Aegius sighed. Zandra and Karthan and Fir’umil…even Mal’undil…what did the future hold for them? He wanted to pray right then and there, but he continued instead. Prayer would come later.

“A few years ago, 47 children disappeared from a small village on the west coast of this island called Diobel. That was my first experience with the group. Some 8 years later, those same children reappeared near Magnimar in Varisia a thousand miles away, none of them had aged a day. None of them had any memory of what had happened.” They had received word a year after their reappearance when the first word of the Ageless Orphans had found them in Absalom.

“On another occasion, several witnesses reported seeing a giant flying object, like a balloon, hovering off the coast of Botosani in Rahadoum. It emitted a low frequency sound for several days before the tones rose to ear-splitting heights, blowing out windows and casements for miles. An hour later an earthquake shook the region followed by a Tsunami that wiped out the western coast of the island west of Botosani. Thousands were wiped from Golarion.”

“Not more than a year ago, a man in Almas awoke from a deep sleep, having been unresponsive for several years. As soon as he woke, he began writing down what appeared to be gibberish, scrawling over every page of vellum, over every surface he could find.” Aegius shook his head, still perplexed by the case since it was never solved. “A local loremaster was called to investigate. Only because this loremaster had been part of the crusades in the north did he recognize the parsed short-tongue of Crusader commanders. This man from Almas who’d never left the city his entire life, had been writing down troop movements and locations of military orders that existed at that time. It was later confirmed by myself and Lord Liberios here.”

“But more recently, things have been taking turn for the darker.” Aegius shook his head. He looked to the other two and wondered what to say next.

Aegius was feeling his age. The young folk resting upon the dais had been through more in their first encounter than others had experienced in several years. Such potency of evil, the residue was overwhelming. But Iomedae kept him strong for what it would take to see them through the worst of the Chaotic effects.

The first was the elven girl, Zandra. She was not the worst of the three, but she would prove to be the most important given enough time. He rested the medallion of Iomedae about her neck and chanted a deep Restoration. “Fair and just, my dear god, please look upon this elf maiden and shine your mercy and healing unto her…” Knees creaking, the joints popping as the old priest knelt down on the cold stone steps of leading to the dais. He clasped his hands together and prayed, allowing the comfort of his chapel and the warmth of his god to dwell in his heart. “Mercy, my god, mercy I ask of you.”

Wind…he felt wind caressing his weathered face. A gentle brush along his skin like the reassuring cotton of his mother’s dress when he was a child. Comfort, affirmation, the feeling of elevation, the butterfly twinges in the stomach when he first looked down from the tremendous heights of the Citadel. By the shining blade, how long had it been since his first visit there?

Soft and tiny hands grasped his, bringing him back to the present. He opened his eyes to see the elf maiden aware and for all intents and purposes, unharmed. The life in her eyes was an echo of his younger years. A time before he met the other men in the room. A time when he was a simple priest and all was the burning, blessed Sword of Iomedae.

"Thank you, Father." Then releasing his hands she turned and addressed the assembled group in earnest and serious manner.

"As you already know, but out of tradition and proper courteous, I am Zandra Dawnsetter, Druid and follower of the Green Way. I have been shown the serious nature of this threat we all face. I trust that we may share what we all know here as even the health of the natural world hangs in the balance. I confronted chaos and viewed into our enemy’s nature. Let me tell you know what I have seen and the places I walked to make it back here . . ."

The others beckoned, Fir’umil and Mal’undil. He would have to be deft and cautious in his ministrations over the elven wizard. For the latter, his concern elevated as Zandra recounted the wound he received from the glass dagger. Beleg had only just begun his account of what he’d uncovered regarding the dagger Fir’umil had provided earlier in the day when Olivia and the others had arrived. But the behavior of the dagger that had been in Mal’s chest, how it shattered… He would need assistance.

“Olivia, child I will need your eyes with Mal’undil.” He stood slowly, bones and muscles and joints nearly betraying him to the stone floor. The paladin moved quickly to his side, aiding him towards the dais and the half-elf’s body. “We will have need of you dagger.”

As he lay his hands upon Mal’undil’s shoulder and forehead, he sensed an ice cold wave rising in his skin, a bruise of blue coloring was beginning along his temples. “It is struggling…”

“What is, Father?” Olivia had drawn her dagger, handling it as though she would be passing it to Aegius at any moment.

“I had not sensed it before, but I believe a portion of the glass dagger this Lamech used may still be within the wound.” His gnarled and bony hands moved expertly along the front of Mal’undil’s tunic and unbuttoned it to the navel. Aegius’ hands retracted by instinct; the knife wound was blackening along the edges, spider webs of blue birthing outward. Then it began to smoke.

“Fell taint!” Liberios looked ready to draw a blade, his years of training sending his hand to the weapon he knew best.

The elf lord raised a warning tone, a finger held brooking no other answer. “Stay your hand, Paladin.”