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Sorrowful Wind, Chosen of Endings

Sorrowful Wind was born and raised in the funeral city of Sijan, the son of a funerist. Since as long as he could remember, he was taught the importance of duty and responsibility for it was his lot in life to speed the journeys of the departed into the world beyond and to ensure their eternal peace. This was good, for it suited the quiet, contemplative boy immensely – the rituals of long dead cultures and the lessons of long dead men provided the opportunities to learn and reflect on the world around him.

It was in his 17th year that he was Chosen by Saturn. Night was falling in Sijan, and his father and uncles were out in the Plains of the Dead cutting back the weeds and brush that had slowly reclaimed the vast mausoleums that surrounded the city – but never returned.

Concerned, and bidden by an unknown need, Wind gathered his things and left to search. They were supposed to have worked the areas near the River of Tears today – that place where long forgotten monuments to ages past where claimed by the passage of time, the oldest having sunk into the soft ground and used as a foundation for newer tributes. Though a fair bit of that area was safe, forgotten ghosts still roamed some of the maze-like corridors of the older tombs, searching for someone to allay their pain with rituals long-passed remembering.

The boy was fearful, but on that day something burned in him that he could not explain; he pressed on regardless of his personal demons, determined to find those men in his family and to return them home safely. He ran, amidst the moonglow and werelights through the Plains and through the River, and yet he found no sign – finally, he stopped at the edge of the Black Chase, that forest and shadowland mother’s used to scare their children into silence. He had come as far as determination and good sense could take him, but as he heard the screams of the father issuing forth from its foreboding embrace, Sorrowful Wind went further still.

He’d found his uncles, beaten and bloodied, strewn across the clearing, in pain but thankfully still alive. In vain, he looked about for his father; it was only when he’d heard the man’s cries of warning that he found him – and came face to face with what did this. A vile shade, a mockery of the enlightened state of unlife he’d witnessed.

It spoke in riddles as it held his father, for it had been promised peace and service once by a man who promised his service in exchange for his life, but that promise was broken now; the man’s blood, his death, would have paid for his mistake and likely have been enough to barter the soul’s eternal rest but that man was long dead. Thus, it came that the sons of his sons would pay the price in his stead – and now, their sons as well.

Shaken, but seeing with a clarity that did not allow him to turn back, Wind volunteered to finish what had been promised. To provide an ending to its pain-filled twilight existence. There was no way the others could have escaped with the injuries they suffered – at least not in time for the shade to return – and so, the deal was struck, for the price of eternal peace outweighed even revenge, a truth only the dead are privy to. Content that the last scion bearing the blood of that first funerist had volunteered his death in exchange for the lives of his family, the spirit lead him back to wear the promise was first made, so that the blood pact could be renewed and completed.

But as it reached out its bony claws to do the deed, and as the boy welcomed this thing, this loss of life that he had so readily bartered away on the demand of some feeling he could not name, the forest was bathed in the light of Saturn as the Maiden of Endings bestowed her blessing on him. And thus did he fulfil his promise to the shade – to end its eternal suffering, but it was not bought with his death as the spirit had erroneously assumed, it was bought with his rebirth.

Sorrowful Wind enjoyed a certain pedigree, for he inherited his shard from a highly decorated demon-hunter who – unknown to him – was the master of his current Sifu. Assigning him to the tutelage of Soaring Sparrow was intended to help revive whatever latent talents and memories that might have remained with the shard, in the hopes of turning out a similarly dedicated and talented hunter for this troubled age.

The results appear to be effective at first glance: only eighteen years old when he is assigned to the special task force dealing with an overarching threat to Creation, he has accomplished many solo demon-hunting missions with exceptional results. Moreover, he recalls some of the skills and personal variant styles created by his previous incarnation, skills that even Soaring Sparrow might not be versed in. He is singular in his dedication to preserving Creation, and sometimes possesses startling maturity for his age, his experiences in the bureau and in missions notwithstanding.

At the same time, some unconscious memories of his past life flare up from time to time; visions of Malfeas he has no explanation for, unbidden headaches and other throwbacks.

The insistence of the elders in accelerating the training necessary for the relatively narrow scope of demon-hunting (and for trying to reawaken his past life’s memories) has cost him in other areas; while not (completely) socially inept outside of the ritual courtesy that those in Yu-Shan appreciate, Wind has yet to become comfortable with himself as a person – and not merely a cog in the great machine that is fate. He has precious few friends and finds it difficult to trust the people he knows, much less the people he meets, the proverbial Yin to Saifa’s Yang.

Thankfully, he is slowly growing out of his shell. The current mission has blossomed into a long-term assignment and instead of quick seek-and-destroy hunts, the young Sidereal has been forced to accept the give and take of building lasting relationships – not only between the entities that they have met on their journey, but with the eccentric comrades he now calls his Circle.