Magnus was born to a minor family in the city of Restov, though when his father came in to see his second son he was shocked to see a full head of white hair met his eyes. Knowing his son was god touched he consulted a local priest of Erastil. The nameless priest directed the distressed father to an obscure part of town where he was met by a robed figure that told him of how the boy was touched by the god Ragathiel, the god of valor, and of justice. He told the Nobleman to give the boy to him, to raise him to greatness that would one day reveal itself to the boy. Fearful of reprisals Magnus' father gave in but not before giving the boy his own name as a way of tracking his family down if he should one day wish it so.
After he was given to the small church Magnus was raised no different than any other orphan waif. Although his birthmark separated from the other kids Magnus never felt truly apart. Friends came easily to him and he was always someone the younger kids came to for words of comfort. The orphans all grew up together Magnus never apart from the rambling group, doing their chores around the small church, or even serving as servants for the local guards, one of the many duties imposed on them as servants of Ragathiel church.
One day Magnus was scrubbing the floors of the barracks when he noticed an old soldier watching him, strangely the soldier had silver hair, like his own. Standing the soldier said to come with him. Magnus felt himself stand and hurry after the man dashing out the door looking for him. The man stood at the end of the practice hall holding a sword. Just some regular sword from the rack Magnus had polished countless times. But something the way this man held it seemed..different.
The man stood there until Magnus came closer, apprehension growing. Silence stretched until Magnus was tempted to speak but words died in his throat as the soldier extended the sword to him. Light seemed to break out behind the soldier but oddly the window did not seem to be the only source of that light, even more so the light refracted and splayed out behind the old soldier into almost six different points each golden hue in color. Then in a voice as old as the mountains but as hard as steel the stranger spoke. He told him of the duty of man, to seek out the light that has been dimmed and cherish it, to find the blade that was lost and recover it. Find the kingdom that will be and protect it. For his path was one of hardship and of many choices. One stood before him now. Take the sword and find himself or to turn and go to his father.
Magnus stood there speechless unable to move, the chance to meet his father, something every orphan dreamed of was at hand so the soldier spoke of. But what the stranger offered, felt right...in his soul he knew he could do this. Reaching out slowly he took the old sword and gripped it shakily, there was a flash of fire, ice, and bright light and Magnus knew no more, only in the barest glimpse of light did he see the old man smile as his vision faded. Afterwords they found Magnus in the floor of the chapel all the way across Restov and asked on how he got there without anyone knowing where he had gone. Having no answer Magnus looked down at the sword and offered up to his caretaker. Slwoly the old priest gripped the pommel and drew an inch of steel out. Nodding in understanding the old man slipped the sword back in its sheath before helping Magnus to his feet. He sent the other children away and turned to Magnus. The priest told him that he would be trained now, in the old ways. He would be called down a path his fellows could never tread down with him. He was to serve the gods and man hand in hand by justice and by the good of all people. The Paladins of Ragthiel were never called upon lightly but when they were chosen so marked a beginning of stories and tales the likes of which would change the face of Golarion.
So marks the beginning of Magnus Paladin of Gods and Man.
