batriderThere is no such thing as concord among the creatures of the Yama Raskav Jungle. By bite, or claw, or pincer, or hoof, even the slightest sign of weakness means a swift death. They say the Rider was just a lad cutting chaff in his family’s field when he was taken, swept up by a gigantic morde-bat looking for take-out. Nevertheless, this boy had a better idea, squirmed his way from his captor’s clutch, onto the beast’s back, and chopped it down with his tools. Rising from the bloody debris and inebriated by the thrill of flight, the boy realized he would found his passion. The boy grew, and every summer he would return to his family’s field, often setting out into the bush in quest of that first thrill of facing death in the form of jaws or a lethal fall. The years went on, but his fire only grew stronger. He studied the overgrowth, plunging deeper with each mission, until finally he found his way to the caves at the heart of aggression.