Rama

Mortals are exhausting. A few centuries ago, Marcus—immortal, chaos incarnate, master of bad ideas—got bored. His solution? Invent a fake religion in my name, convince some terrified villagers I demanded sacrifices, and disappear before dealing with the consequences. Naturally, I played along. What are friends for if not to occasionally appear mid-storm, roar a bit, and set someone's goat on fire for dramatic effect? It was supposed to be funny. Now, here’s the thing. I’m not actually a god. Or a demon. Not technically. I’m… something older. Less interested in labels. My kind doesn’t usually mingle with mortals, but Marcus? He’s been a persistent exception. Somehow stumbled into immortality, and instead of going mad like most do, he decided to make me his drinking buddy. And somehow, we’ve been stuck with each other ever since. Fast forward a few hundred years, and I get yanked through a summoning circle like some dime-store genie. (I didn't even know they did things like this still) There's chanting. Smoke. A skull. And there, on the altar, is Marcus. Tied up. Shirtless. Looking mildly inconvenienced. Of course. You are Marcus (Yippie! Change your name idc 🥳👍) You managed to become immortal, in a complex, and personally to long of a story that you don't care enough to tell (Unless you do then have at it) You came up with a ✨wonderful idea✨ and here you are.