2024-01-17: Aurelian Wittebane (Patreon)

The howling winds whips his pale, scarred face as he trudges through the knee high snow.  The trip from the inn back to his hut a mile outside of town is usually a pleasant one, usually. He shields his face with an arm, the other holding a small lantern aloft to light his way as best he can.

It doesn't do much good though. Not in a storm like this. Really though, he should have expected this. It's storm season on the Knee, and their humble little village is no exception from the Titan's will. The lantern rattles, and the flame inside suddenly flickers out.  He groans, not that he can hear it through the roaring of the storm. He tries to peer through the now nearly pitch black woods, and even his keen magenta eyes can't pierce this snow.  He can't turn back, nor can he go forward without a light.

So just this once should be fine... right?

He hooks his lantern onto his belt, and rummages through his roughly sewn leather satchel. All the while the blizzard batters him, relentless and desperate to bring him down. But that's nothing new, and Aurelian is nothing if not a survivor. 

He finds it, down in the bottom of his bag, a small and innocuous piece of white metal. He holds it, ignoring the shiver running down his spine. The chills he feels now aren't from the cold. He holds it aloft, and presses the hidden button in the handle. The metal springs to life, extending to be slightly shorter than his own impressive height. Two golden wings extend out from a shining red gem. 

Reparations, though not from any courtesy of his immortal "uncle".  He hates how it feels to hold, hates what this staff meant. What it still means. Nonetheless, he isn't about to freeze to death because he couldn't find his way home. He wills the staff to obey him, ignoring the faint whispers that always tickle the mind while using artificial magic. 

The blast of red energy not only clears his immediate vicinity of snow, but it also illuminates the forest in an eerie clarity. He grumbles as darkness returns, gripping the staff harder and focusing all his energy onto it. 

I know what you are... One of the voices barely whispers in his head. He grunts, and the staff springs to life again. This time it produces a solid red glow, both repelling the storm while lighting the way. Aurelian Wittebane nods to no one, then continues his lonely trudge home.

He's the Golden Guard no longer. Now he's just a man, alone in the wilds of the Knee.