Father Solin Argus's page

All Together Now

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Karl ♜♬ Drogan
Nosatrub ☦☀ Beckett
Phedron ♞♆ Lavios

Argus listens intently to Karl's unfolding of events. From the business with Linkah's key to the captured villagers of Southridge to the uncovering of a mysterious cult with Danton Foeward at its center. The words flow, others in the party adding portions when the moment calls for it. Other names emerge, like the odd human who'd been at the head the actors heading for Absalom, Horatio.

Eventually the story closes with the group set on Demgazi to learn the origins of the cult they'd uncovered in Cassomir.

"An esteemed undertaking, that is for certain," Argus says at the end. "One worthy of recounting." He takes a look at the map Marcum had provided what seems like months ago, eyeing a few spots and even adding two others. "Demgazi is small by most standards, it doesn't have representation of the church, but does boast a temple to Shelyn. If it's too be believed, that particular temple is bereft of the normal fanfare of colors notable to the faith. 'Disrepair' is the word used by some travelers in the area."

Argus rests a finger on the book icon signifying the academy. "St. Antoinette's Academy, remote but prestigious. There's even been a resurgence in enrollment over the last few years." He smiles slightly and taps the map once. "I only know this because my wife and I had a disagreement on whether to send our oldest there next year. She thinks it too far." He sighs and shakes his head. "After the past few days, I can't disagree anymore. But if you're going there as part of the journey to Demgazi, I can send a letter of introduction to the headmistress, Anthea Davies. A severe woman, but our correspondence was cordial."

"You'll be to be...mindful of how you represent yourselves in the town. There is an undercurrent of distrust bergen them and the school. Demgazi was founded as a serfdom to the nobility in the academy. Although that relationship no longer exists, the...friction still remains." Argus traces a finger to the depiction of a single battlement. "If you find staying in town difficult, Fort Luxtavian is accommodating to travelers."

A Little Faith (Phedron): Argus will agree to allow Phedron access to their library. Anything in particular you're looking for?

"Questions are like women," Agidor pipes in, letting his fingers pluck an abstract and vibrant tune. "...they can be asked but sometimes you don't like the answer." He let's the music drift between short quips of brightness and then to dramatic melancholy and back again.

But it's Father Argus who provides and answer. "A man of Abadar's, a priest from Molthune named Aaron. It had been his duty to support the paladins tasked to recover the relics originally. The relics that make up the Soul Anchor." Argus sips at some tea that smells faintly of flowers. The glass dagger is the mechanism, the ring is the trap. Father Aaron's soul is the one we seek to free. The paladins killed the ritualist behind the horrific act and retrieved the ring."[/b] Another sip of tea and Argus shudders. "Thanks to your efforts, not only is my family safe, but a good priest's soul can be laid to rest."

Argus frowns for a moment and stirs his tea with a small spoon. "I've been told you depart soon from Ridonport. Is it true you are destined for Demgazi in the south? May I be of assistance before you leave?"

Liberios grim face turned fully to Karthan. He stepped towards the elf, boots crunching the dirt into the cobblestones of the courtyard. Gauntleted hands went to his sword belt as his hard blue eyes took in the ranger.

"No secret I wasn't too keen having you on board our little mission, Dawnsetter. You and your sister are too young, not enough experience. Even told the mighty Beleg he was a fool right to his face when he said you'd arrived in Absalom."

The Chaplain Lord folded his arms across his chest. There was fresh blood on his armor and clothing, a cut across his neck appeared to have been hastily healed. "Your too much like your father. Your mentor in Greengold new it. Your also too much like your wizard cousin here for my liking."

His hands came forward and grasped Karthan firmly by the shoulders. In a brief instant, the elven ranger could hear the sounds of battles in the paladin's past echo across memory. The chiseled plains of the man's face gave way to a grin so feint that had the elf not been face to face with Liberios, he would have missed it. "Hmph, maybe bring like them isn't such a bad thing, eh? But if you continue coming up with wisdom like what you just said, Dawnsetter, I may just change my mind!"
He clapped him in the shoulder painfully and motioned for Sacerdos and Fir'umil to step closer. "Before this mess started, I'd received word that a group from the Harbor Master's office was being sent here for a meeting later today." He stabbed a finger at Sacerdos. "They were clear that you should be there. I'm assuming the ship with your clerics will be here sooner than expected."

Sacerdos' hand went subconsciously to the pouch at his side.
Liberios continued, pointing to Karthan, Zandra and Fir'umil in turn. "You three should take the Inquisitor over to the Arcanamarium." He glanced knowingly at Fir'umil. "Get him his audience, Fir. Then all of you get back here by this afternoon to meet with these harbor men."

The flash of a grin came and went again as he looked upon Karthan. He clapped the ranger on the shoulder again and turned on his heels to stalk back towards the temple proper, barking orders as he went.

"Shadow Wolves and werewolves in our hallowed halls!" The Chaplain Lord spat upon the ground near the Dhampir's dead form. He pointed at the Rook, "Remove that creature's head, Dawnsetter. Your weapons are still bared and hungry. There's no telling how much of his undead nature is at work!"

Liberios cursed. "This is a lesson from Iomedae that justice should be absolute. To have even considered an attempt to pair our justice with that of the city caused us to halt our blades from the killing blows earlier this morning. I take responsibility for this travesty!"

Over to you.

She was advancing down the path towards her future at the quick-step. The elder paladin rested his own hand upon the table, a thump against the wood, as a signal he was going to move to the next topic.

“I’d like to offer a commendation to Karthan for the materials he gathered from the scene of the fight.” He sifted through a few sheets, hand lingering over the cosmology book where it was opened to the Ferryman constellation. “This material will go a long way towards uncovering from where those daggers originated.”

“I will continue the research myself…” Beleg began.

“No.”

The elf’s right brow steepled, eyes focusing on Liberios. “Excuse me, Lord Chaplain?”

Liberios waved off the burning gaze of the archmage and continued. “I vote to let them continue the investigation. Research what they’ve found to its conclusion. I won’t cast unseasoned troops at the front line and hope some of them won’t land on the point of a lance.”

Liberios pushed the page of music he’d been reading away from him and picked up where the priest had left off. “These events taken at face value are strange, in some cases horrific.” He reached into a satchel at his hip and withdrew his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco. “But these events form a pattern, as though someone were coordinating an attack…or as one of our esteemed colleagues insinuated, conducting experiments using the world as their workshop.”

A smoke stick was produced from his opposite pocket and he puffed the pipe to life. The smell of cherrywood and tobacco began to fill the room. “The things you saw today, yesterday, it’s only the beginning. If you’ve got the stomach, we’re inviting you to join our group.”

Too much filth… the Lord Chaplain-Protector thought to himself. He didn’t attempt to hide the curling of his lip as Fir’umil passed into the meeting hall. Osseus had come too close too many times to the agents of Chaos and Evil to not have the stench of it on his soul. On the few occasions he had contact with the younger wizard, Liberios had strained at his will to not see him in chains and sent north for ritual cleansing.

But as Beleg so often put it, the closer the proximity to the dangers they faced, the higher the risk. In Fir’umil’s case he seemed to rush headlong into the thick of it. He would never admit it out loud, but his bullheadedness reminded Liberios of himself, fresh out of the training yards. Inside six months he was in Mendev, competing for his place at the front.

He ground his teeth and headed into the room. The other elf, Fir’umil’s cousin, was placing the gathered pieces of evidence on the table. Admirably, he exercised a methodical caution to their placement, ensuring that both Liberios and Olivia were closer to the items than the others. As he gathered his seat, the Lord Paladin began reviewing the materials.

“Well done, archer.” It was all he said, offering a hard stare and incline of respect.

The others were gathering at the table, even the half-elf. It would have been better to not include him, Mal’undil had been a thief and a leg-breaker in his younger years. There was no need for that kind of history at the table. But grudgingly, Liberios allowed for the situation since the rogue had faced down what sounded like a mad cleric being lead along like a puppet by some denizen of the Tapestry.

Moreover, the female elf had also survived. He grunted to himself as he looked towards her and then back to the materials. Iomedae provided hope in the least likely of places. The seasoned veteran of the Crusades had seen his share of hopes fulfilled and dashed against the rocks. He silently prayed that this was the former.

“If everyone will take a seat,” Beleg swept into the room last, the half-elf’s satchel floating along as though held by an unseen servant.

Liberios resisted the urge to scratch at his neck. Magic blessed by his holy god was one thing, but to use it so casually annoyed him. Hadn’t Karthan mentioned the box was warded? He ground his teeth and returned surveying the evidence.

A book on astronomy…no cosmology. Hmm, intuitive little pointy-eared bastard knew enough to collect this little item. His respect for the elven ranger notched upwards. One of the pages was marked with a strip of cloth, the Ferryman constellation.

There was sheet music too, written by a hand who’d learned his letters late in life if Liberios was right in his estimate. He turned them over and saw the assorted drawings…foul and indecent…and begging to be cast into the fire pit at the center of the table.

“The constellations on Lamech’s cloak matched those on the medallion there. The Ferryman constellation.” The archer pointed towards a cloth-wrapped object Olivia added to the pile of items. “Be warned, the symbols on that item caused a good deal of trouble.” At the Lord Chaplain-Protector’s urging, Karthan continued his description of the items found.

“Perhaps this was the place two which Lamech sought to send his stolen essence?” Father Aegius found a seat on the opposite side of Liberios.

“And if this Lamech was called, if he was an oracle, then he most likely was given these implements.” Beleg set the box containing the glass daggers on the table in front of him next to a long, rectangular case of finely carved wood, then turned for a moment to Mal’undil. “Would this Lamech have had such skills in his history? Carving glass, runeology, forging medallions and the like?”

The half-elf was still getting his bearings. The thick silence after Beleg’s question brought his attention around and he replied. “No, he was about as handy as a Minotaur in a seamstress shop.”

The Lord Chaplain grunted at the attempted joke, smirking briefly. But time was wasting. He gestured impatiently for Beleg to get on with it. Liberios was eager to have the materials pacified.

“I assume the source of their malaise lay amongst this gear?” A new voice inquired. A figure stepped from the shadows behind the dais, an oaken door reinforced with iron bands opened on silent hinges behind him. Aegius’ private study.

Heavy boots, the sound of armor and the hushed language of cloth dragging along the flagstone. Out of the shadows came Liberios, head of the Chaplain-Protectors in Absalom. Olivia stepped forward, a hand to her heart that then swept outward to signify her open soul before Iomedae. “Yes, Master Liberios.” She nodded to the box peaking out of Mal’undil’s satchel. “It contains weapons tainted by Chaos.”

Liberios grunted once. He was older, but a definitive age was hard to come by when viewing his broad shoulders beneath the meticulously maintained full plate he wore. Grey hair festooned his temples like the wings of an eagle, but his crown was nearly white and receding. A narrow face with hard eyes of darkest blue. He rested a hand upon the hilt of a longsword.