Josiah Craft (Josiah Craft (Witch/Reaper))

Josiah is a kindly soul, mellowed out with the years and he's only getting started. He goes through life as he sees fit, nudged by the currents of time and rocked by the people he meets. One boat among a sea of stars and other souls.

He's fiercely loyal and protective of his friends, looking to make everyone's life ever richer with shenanigans and lively conversations, along with helping them overcome hardships and sadness by being their rock in tempestuous waters.

The man has seen Death itself, and only hopes he is able to lead people into understanding that the end will come regardless of what you do, but there's a strange comfort in it all.

Death is not the end. It never was.

At first, it was just another baby was found at the orphanage's doorsteps. Nothing they haven't seen before, just some mumbling about how this child is only going to be another mouth to feed. No matter, it's nothing they haven't handled before. Maybe this one would be adopted early.

But young Josiah didn't get adopted. The adults murmur that death seems to follow and linger on him. They say that he's probably seen more death than most of the children his age, maybe even more than most people living in this strange town.

His forest green eyes seem to shine when he stares off into the air some times. Like he's seeing something that isn't there. Was it a ghost? Or something more sinister? No one could stop the young lad from wandering off some days, often finding him hours later when one of the groundskeepers who worked in the nearby graveyard carried him back.
Much to their infinite dismay.

No one wanted a boy who can see the dead.

And that was fine for the being Death.

---

It almost wasn't surprising that when Josiah came of age, he left the orphanage with teary goodbyes for his caretakers and joined the coven of witches in this strange town.

Of course, they've heard of him. The boy who sees the dead. And why not? The boy wanted answers and he certainly worked for them tirelessly. Diligent in his studies and fierce in a fight, near monstrous with a blade in hand with spells at seem to come to him with frightening ease.

He was easily one of the top candidates of that year. They listed that he had kindness and patience, and he was fiercely loyal and protective of his friends and other fellow witches. He was slow to anger, but that anger held a destructive spark. (They said his eyes had a strangely sick glint when it happened, like something else more sinister is looking back at them.)

It really didn't take long before he was officially promoted into their ranks and out on his first missions, slowly gaining more praises for his unwavering efforts and deeds.

---

Josiah taken a blow from a beast, shoving a teammate out of the way of the pouncing water creature instead. It latched its sharp fangs into his shoulder, digging deep and deadly, his bones underneath creaking from the pressure. He had cried out in pain, the agony of the bite and its claws still tearing into his arms and body.

Then there was a loss of balance and a splash, the waters threatening to drown him. The creature itself only fought the boy, trying to snap at his vulnerable neck while dragging him deeper into the waters below. Fumbling blindly, Josiah managed to strike with a dagger he had on him, but the creature was still latched on tight and bleeding him out in the murky waters.

Then suddenly, it was wrenched away; torn from his body and its gurgles abruptly silenced. Amidst the pain and bloodied water, Josiah caught the ghostly glimpse of himself in the deep, expression hauntingly blank as he(?) dragged the beast down into darkness. As strong arms pulled his tired body towards the surface, he hears a whisper in his mind.

"I'll see you soon, my son. Rest well."

Josiah jerked awake at some point, coughing out water and gasping for air, his body in agony from all the injuries sustained. He hears his teammates saying things, but he's not really listening to their words. He slurred and told them that he's good. ("For now." sighs one of them, their next string of words disappear from his mind.)

Between the lapses in his awareness, he eventually finds himself laying on a cot in the coven's manor, cleaned and feeling a lot less disgusting as before. The healing witches urged him to rest and sleep in the meantime.

And he did...

Or so he thought.

---

The boy opens his eyes to see the endless starry skies above, the gentle swaying of flowers at the edges of his vision, and hearing the soft rush of wind blowing over foliage. A beam of light passes overhead, like the way the lighthouse light on the distant cliff does every night. At some point, he realizes something is dangerously wrong when he hears the faint whispers all around him.

Sitting up, he finds himself in the middle of a massive field of white flowers, going as far as his eyes can see, even into the strangely comforting darkness that just sits at the edge. He turns to look at the source of the seam of light: a tall lighthouse some distance away, colors muted but still recognizable.

But he definitely didn't miss the massive shape of a black wolf that stood by the lighthouse, looking directly at him.

He should be afraid. But the whispers all mutter one sentence: Death is waiting.

Is he dead?

He's certainly not getting answers just sitting here in a field of flowers, so he gets up and gingerly walks the path provided, the flowers parting before him as he makes his way towards the lighthouse. Along the way, the curious boy looks around. Like before, the fields go well beyond his vision. On frequent intervals, a small mote of light floats from the ground towards the sky, slowly joining the strange stars that seem to glimmer and sparkle above him. With him looking around so much, he hadn't noticed the wolf had disappeared into the lighthouse.

And yet he follows anyway, the open door an invitation. He calls out at first, his greeting bouncing off the walls and traveling higher, and he hears the echoing footsteps above him that are decidedly more like boots on wood. And so he simply climbs the winding staircase.

At the top, the strange lighthouse no longer shined, but he spots a darkened figure seated on a bench at the end of a... pier? The echoes of sea waves lapping at wooden posts and the call of seagulls filter in his mind. Steeling himself, he approaches the figure.

"A lighthouse?" He asks, unsure on what to really ask.

(Something about this figure seemed so familiar... And yet, so strange.)

"In case someone is lost, I suppose." Came the reply.

The boy didn't expect the answer to be in his voice.

The figure simply hums and gestures him to sit, heedless of the growing dread he feels.

---

Patiently, the being only sits there, content with watching the wind rolling over the endless fields of white flowers and the motes of light ascend into the sky, strangely undisturbed by the wind. Eventually Josiah asks his questions, this infinitely patient being who seems to know why he's here.

Where is he? A realm where souls lay to rest, healing and recovering to be ready for rebirth. A peaceful reprieve for the moment. The faint but droning whispers he hears (still hears) are comforting words from the other souls. And the souls are all the flowers in this endless field.

Who were they? Simply put, Death itself. The bodyless concept somehow given some sort of form: an idea given life. But if they are a bodyless... thing..., why do they look like him right now? They only shrugged and said that they needed some form to speak to him. Easier to take the form of a human than invisible air, just because people were less likely to run. (At least, until they looked at those black holes for eyes.)

At a chance, what are they? A Death's purpose is to end life. Destroy souls that are long past their due, to devour the flicker and snuff out the light. No longer will they see these fields, no longer destined for a chance of rebirth. Something in Josiah's heart twinges at that. Death murmurs that it's only the humanity that is making him feel such sorrow among the unwielding truth.

Him on the other hand... Josiah has been chosen to be a reaper, to bring souls here to this sanctuary to rest. He would be one of many with this 'simple' task. A death is a death, but souls do not remember the way here. Reapers are molded, birthed, or employed into this life-long task of guiding them 'home'. It's thankless, hard, and tiring. But it's better than allowing others to corrupt or defile these fragile lights, better than Death itself having a taste for that snuff.

But why him? At that question, the figure chuckles like a joke had been told.

Death simply tells him that they are his father, in the loosest term.

Josiah Craft is the Son of Death, given life from molded river clay and water.

Oh boy, is this a lot to take in...

---

Josiah didn't have long to ponder before he was rudely woken. A moment to himself had caused Death to hum in some amusement and make a comment about how some people were being 'very concerned'. Before he could ask what they meant, Death had simply shoved him off the pier, falling off into the fields below with a scream in his throat.

He woke with a jolt and a gasp, then with a hiss and groan from the pain he remembered he had. Two witches were looking him over, tutting about him waking up so violently and possibly reopening wounds. But something about them hovering suspected that something might have happened to him.

It took weeks before Death visited again. During late night walk home from a light patrol, something he would be assigned to do until he's less likely to throw himself in front of other creatures again. The hulking wolf, darker than the night itself and faintly decorated with stars, approached with careful steps. And Josiah only chose to follow his strange wordless teacher.

He was led to the edge of the woods, somewhere he knows where a recent group of witches had been set to investigate. Whatever the task was, it didn't really concern him. But he knows that one of their ranks had died.

Wait.

Oh.

Sure enough, there was remmants of leftover tape, the kind they used to keep the public away. And a few steps past the line led him towards the center of that aftermath. And there she was: a ghostly figure of a young witch, hunched over and silently sobbing.

Death whispers that he only need to bring her to the field, before fading out of existence, as if they were never there in the first place. If he were to ask how, there would be no answer. Somehow he was going to have to figure this out.

With nothing else, Josiah began by sitting next to them and talking to her.

---

Over the years, Josiah's fully committed his efforts to the coven, rising to the unique rank of Arch Witch. Partially due to the eventual reveal to his superiors about his so-called 'side job'. (Sheepishly, he only managed a shrug and a strange glint in his eyes.)

And throughout his long career, he may have been on the end of some unfortunate situations. On the plus side, Death just might have something to do with that. So far, the tally is that he's just plain unkillable. But damn, it doesn't stop him from remembering how the pain felt or how his body sounded when something broke.

And on the quieter nights, he wanders the strange town he grew up in, sometimes with an entourage of starlit wolves, wordlessly seeking new ghosts to usher into the fields. Always carefully ushering and coaxing the dead into that path of rebirth. After all, the longer ghosts linger, the more susceptible it was for them to be turned into something worse.

And as the years drag on, in the strange path of life, he learns to live every minute to its fullest.