There is no such thing as harmony 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 massive morde-bat looking for take-out.
But this boy had a better idea, and wriggled his way from his captor's grip, onto the beast's back, and hacked it down with his tools. Emerging from the bloody wreckage and intoxicated by the thrill of flight, the boy realized he'd found his calling.
The boy grew, and every summer he'd return to his family's field, often setting out into the bush seeking to reclaim that first thrill of facing death in the form of jaws or a fatal fall.
The years went on, but his fire only grew stronger. He studied the overgrowth, plunging deeper with each expedition, until finally he found his way to the caves at the heart of hostility.
They say the Rider, on the eve of a scorching summer night, had nothing but a rope, a bottle of liquid courage and a burning determination to feel the skies once more, when he plunged inside...
