Profile
It is well-known among the Ensouled Folk that the spirits of the atrauéti, alone among the First-Awoken species, may escape the maw of ravenous oblivion—death personified as a malevolent god—and dwell among the tianhunren as fellow warriors for some time. When they do so, they attain physical forms reminiscent of the bestial antecedents of the atrauéti, living once more.
In the mortal realm, he was a mighty warrior who led fleets and armies against the unstoppable might of Midgard of the Four Hegemons, sacrificing his life for the sake of the men and women he commanded. He still remembers clearly the moments preceding his death: the stench of chemical smoke and splattered viscera on the bridge of his warship, pain from legs and arms hacked to pieces drowned out by the adrenaline screaming through his body, the inhuman, brilliant gaze of the tall, pale godling in his resplendent silk robes as he prepared to run his wicked blade through the heart of his mortally wounded quarry.
As a reborn spirit, he has taken up the mantle of defender once again. Rather than fight the heiyao across the countless domains of light within the Lower Heavens, he has instead returned to the atrauéti in the physical realm, appearing in times of grave danger to advise mortal heroes and princes, and to slay eldritch monstrosities himself if need be. He is not the strongest among his ilk, but his strategic acumen, martial experience, and command of lishu make him an exceptional warrior. (He is not weak either, and can fight with claw or fang if need be.)
The trauma of death shatters the memories of most atrauéti spirits, but he remembers just enough to pique his curiosity. When not consumed by the duties of his station he travels across the atrauéti empire visiting the worlds of his previous life, hoping to piece together a truer understanding of who he really was—one free of the adulation and mythmaking of the official chronicles, or the distortions and omissions that invariably happen as the years pass by. A familiar place, a treasured heirloom, a conversation recalling some bit of noble-family lore: small things, each, yet any of them may have the power to summon long-forgotten reminiscences of the past.
In this guise as a common traveler he wears a plain, sturdy cloak, and a hood that supernaturally keeps his face hidden amidst deep shadow. More than once he has been mistaken as a silent harbinger of death by those prone to folklore and superstition, or else an angel of mercy, appearing from the darkness to rescue travelers beset by foul creatures.
