Taran’s teeth vibrated before his ears registered sound, an unnatural hum traveling through his bones. Looking back into the dark haze of the storm, Taran saw enormous petrified hands scraping into the earth, leaving the telltale gouges of the Ash Plains in its wake. He began to panic as the silence of the Ash Plains was replaced with the cacophonous roar of distorted gongs. Glancing upward in an attempt to make any sense of the chaos approaching him, Taran nearly froze as he saw smaller petrified hands holding enormous shattered temple bells that clanged out their tortured melodies.
Then the rain started.
Taran had heard tales of the rains in the Thousand-Hand Storm, always believing them to be exaggerations told to children to keep them safely away from the plains. Taran now knew them to be no exaggeration. Thousands of miniature versions of the huge hands in the sky rained down to the earth, great clouds of ash blooming in the wake of their descent. Desperately flinging himself forward, Taran thought he could almost see the gates of the village ahead, but that was impossible, the storms had never come so close to Akshaya before. It didn’t matter now. Taran was no fool, he knew deep in his wheel-broken soul that it was over. Raising his head to the sky with tears of pain for his sister whom he knew was now lost, but mostly tears he was ashamed to realize were more self-pity from the unfairness of it all. He cried out one last defiant shout before he was swallowed by the devastating mayhem of the storm.
“ROT-DAMN YOU!!”
—
Silence again. He had hated that silence. After the physical and spiritual desolation wrought upon him in the storm, he welcomed it, never again would he take it for granted, recognizing that at least it meant the absence of the storm. Opening his eyes and trying to shake out the ash caking his hair, horror melted through his body as the wracking pain caught up to his lagging brain. As he looked down at himself, he saw his body had become a pincushion of stone hands. Even his primal scream was taken from him, swallowed by the Ash Plains. Blood pooled everywhere, he had never seen so much blood, he had no idea how he was still alive, however briefly that may now be.
Pain. For what felt like hours, pain and suffering was all he knew. No longer did the silence leave room for his thoughts, just the endless pain. He opened his eyes one last time in order to see the darkened sky left in the wake of the storm that had taken his life. As he did so, he saw what looked to be a beggar child standing over him, staring down, smiling. A sick laugh of disbelief sprayed from his bloody lips.
“Three lives for three seals. Let me unbreak your Wheel,” the child spoke in a voice that was much too refined, a voice that hinted at too much knowledge for a child of his age.
“Wh…what? Who…are you?” Taran managed to sputter.
“Some know me as Mara, some know me as Namuci. Most will never know me outside of the suffering they experience but never fully understand,” the child’s preternatural smile remained plastered to his face as he sat down next to Taran.
“What do…you want with me?”
The child stared at the glowing Karmic Seals on Taran’s battered and bloody chest, “I think in this moment it’s more of what I can offer to you.”
Taran coughed blood as he laughed, “Mara… I see you Mara… I don’t want your deals, leave me to die.” Taran turned his head away and closed his eyes, fear mixed with some relief that the suffering was nearly over.
The child’s smile faded slightly as he stared through Taran with his black eyes that swam with the pinpricks of galaxies of stars, “Anya’s next breaths will cost her seventeen Rot Leaves, and you have none.”
It was a simple fact after all, but an effective one at that. Taran opened his eyes and turned his shattered head back to face Mara, “I would… I would save her, please. Help me relieve her suffering… and I will do what you ask.
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The perverse smile returned to the not-child’s face, “That is what I offer. That is what I do. I ease suffering.”
Time itself froze, as around him the petrified hands crumbled into dust, adding ever more Ash to the plains. Taran watched in shock as his blood began pulling itself back into his body, his wounds began to close. The pain retreated.
Mara stood up, a child in vision but the mirage scattered into countless shadows stretching tens of feet straight into the air.
Countless dark divine voices surrounded him, “choose your path, mortal, but know our deal needs resolution, and fast. Three souls for three Seals. And then you can save her yourself.”
The fading shadows were replaced by another vision. A purple lotus flower bloomed before him, golden Sanskrit lettering on each petal gradually revealing itself as it unfolded. Each petal contained a section of text, which translated itself as he read it.
- Taran Sandhin
- Rūpa (Form / Corporeal Mastery)
- Bala (Strength) - 11
- Laghuta (Agility) - 9
- Tanu (Vitality) - 10
- Vedanā (Sensation / Sensory Mastery)
- Sanaham (Resistance) - 9
- Sthira (Endurance) - 12
- Drsti (Perception) - 8
- Sa?skāra (Mental / Karmic Mastery)
- Cittavrtti (Willpower) - 11
- Buddhi (Intelligence) - 9
- Anumana (Insight) - 3
- Vij?āna (Consciousness / Luminous Mind)
- Prajna (Wisdom) - 7
- Alaya (Energy) - 7
- Pasada (Clarity) - 3
“What in the Naraka-hells is going on,” he whispered to himself. Snapping out of his stupor, he yelled out, “Hey, wait! Mara! What is all this?” Predictably, there was no response.
Focusing once again, Taran couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The beautiful, intricate text weaved its way across his vision as the world stood still around him. It seemed to be some sort of numerical representation of his mind and body, broken down into detailed sub-stats covering every aspect of his being. Even though he was still grappling with the traumatic near-death experience he had recently endured, a thrill cut through his agony-- the hope that this nightmare could still be bargained with.
At the base of the purple lotus in front of him stood a simple wooden prayer wheel. Feeling drawn to it, he gently spun it and the scene in front of him scattered and reformed as the same lettering drawn on an enormous piece of faded parchment in front of him.
Taran Sandhin
Choose Your Path
- [Asura Bloodlord]
- A rot fueled berserker. Shed the blood of your enemies, or anyone in your path, and weaponize your Naraka Corruption. Welcome back, General...
- Lotus increase: +7 Corporeal, +5 Sensory, +3 Karmic, +1 Mind
- Clay Petal [F] Ability
- Blood Price: Sacrifice your life to coat your weapons in Naraka Hellfire
- [Wheelmender]
- Mend your friend’s spiritual and physical ailments, unmend your foes
- Lotus increase: +1 Corporeal, +3 Sensory, +5 Karmic, +7 Mind
- Clay Lotus [F] Ability
- Golden Prayer: Summon a stationary prayer wheel that distracts and taunts enemies
- [Lightweaver]
- The darkest plains birth the brightest flames—but light casts long shadows
- Lotus increase: +5 Corporeal, +7 Sensory, +1 Karmic, +3 Mind
- Clay Petal [F] Ability
- Dawnstrand: Weave sunlight into razor-thin wires that entangle and slow your enemies
- [Chainbreaker]
- Shatter your chains, let the storm hear your roar
- Lotus increase: +5 Corporeal, +1 Sensory, +7 Karmic, +3 Mind
- Clay Petal [F] Ability
- Unbound Step: Teleport short distances, leaving behind an Ash clone
- [Corrupter]
- Why fight the Rot when you can weaponize it?
- Lotus increase: +1 Corporeal, +3 Sensory, +7 Karmic, +5 Mind
- Clay Petal [F] Ability
Naraka’s Gift: infect your foes with Cultivated Rot, accelerated Rot damage over time
Taran stared at the page in front of him, not fully understanding what he was seeing. He guessed he was supposed to choose one of these “Paths,” but which one? [Corrupter] was out, he hated the Rot, hit too close to home with his sister’s current suffering. As he hovered over[Asura Bloodlord], he felt a surge of savagery come over him as a brief vision of his hands covered with blood rushed over him. Too violent, it felt much too violent, and it scared him. But something about it called to him, simultaneously attracting and repulsing him. What does “Welcome back, General” mean? Too many unknowns and he didn’t like the idea of sacrificing his own life, whatever that meant. [Wheelmender] sounded interesting to him, but he wasn’t sure how much a taunting ability would help him, nor what exactly abilities were but he guessed he didn’t have a lot of choice at this point except just see what happened after he chose his path. That left [Chainbreaker] and [Lightweaver]. [Chainbreaker]’s teleportation sounded incredible, he’d heard about some people having the ability to teleport but he figured it was an exaggerated rumor. [Lightweaver] felt like it called to him more, however. The ability sounded very useful in the short term, his current focus in just getting the Naraka-hell out of the Ash Plains and away from that terrible storm. He had no idea what a Lotus Increase was or really what these stats would do for him, but focusing on his senses and his body seemed like a good choice to start.
Hesitantly, he reached out and placed his palm on the handprint next to [Lightweaver] and everything around him changed. The lights disappeared and he found himself floating in an endless bright white space, when the golden lettering returned it simply read
“Bardo State activated.”
and faded away. Time felt meaningless in this space, and he had no idea how long he floated there, some panic mixed with relief settled inside him, and he just…floated. and waited.