The Red-Wind Rag; Trappings of a Bloody Death; A Malevolent Sheet of Scarlet and Ichor.
Horng Poh-Buh is a vile creation, a ragamuffin reminder of the desperation of the dying. His home is the battlefield, and his whispered name is sweet release. He offers a quick end to the persistent sufferings of the mortal coil, a swift death, a brief moment of painful bliss. As the burning of a heated blade closes the wound, Horng Poh-Buh destroys the pain leaving a horrible scar in its place.
His form is that of a single black eye, visibly moist and dripping vile fluids, surrounded by a maelstrom of bloody rags, and fresh gore. At the apex of his twisting form lies the eerily-suspended Tou Dwu, a double-edged, serrated blade, stained black with the blood of what were once men.
Horng Poh-Buh ravages battlefields and places of great physical pain. He offers the passing peace of a quiet end in exchange for a far more devastating fate. He deems all he touches to the black abysses of needle-like fingers of their own personal Hell. His victims rise to a place high above and see the pain of their families, friends, and well-wishers grieving for the untimely loss of another loved one. It is said the stars are his victims, impaled upon the sky to watch the world forever. Bright with the flaming desire to live again, twinkling tears of sorrow for the ones left behind.
Why would one call upon the wrath of wretched Horng Poh-Buh? Sometimes the pain is too great, the flesh too soft, the will of hand just not quite willing enough. When you whisper his name, the murderous moniker of Horng Poh-Buh, he comes for you. Swiftly and unerring, he answers the prayers of the weak of mind, failing of body, and those otherwise unwilling or unable to continue.
His victims appear as those who have committed suicide, but there is a question that Horng Poh-Buh asks you to ask yourself... What man could have the steely hands and mental fortitude enough to slice his own arms open, or drive a blade through his own stomach, and allow himself to bleed-out in such an ungraceful manner? What man could do this?
Horng Poh-Buh says, "No man will take his own life as long as I exist, the scent of blood and tragedy on the wind are my livelihood and I am the house of the self-hating reaper. Do not fear the light on a starry night, it may be your grave one day."