Death doesn’t discriminate, and no one understands death and dying the way you do. A psychopomp is not a killer, but they weigh, measure, and judge those who have passed beyond. You’ve been consumed with thoughts of the dead for as long as you can remember, either as a morbid fascination, or a lust for life that fuels relentless revelry. Whether they fear you or not, death comes for everyone in the end.
While you are dead, your shade in the mortal world is able to phase between corporeal and incorporeal states. You cannot use any of your moves or gifts, but you are physically present with your Weave and cannot leave their presence. You must remain with one of them at all times.
Harbinger: You are become Death, immortal chooser of the slain. For a brief moment you are impervious to harm. Wade through any mayhem and raise fallen allies rise to live again. This party isn’t over until you say it’s over.