Peril and Sand

[Ranora Hellgate]

It had been three days now, and Ranora still hadn't fully traversed this swaying ocean of silver grain known as the Ivory Planes. The wind here was careless and scything no matter the time or season. And the ivory planes only had two seasons. Blistering hot. Blistering cold. The unpredictable weather patterns made the Ivory practically impossible to dress for. Not that it mattered to her, Ranora wore traditional Q'aalyian attire regardless of the environment. Slung around her shoulders was a dark brown pelt gleaned from a kill Ranora no longer remembered. It was massive for her a woman her size, and drapped down her back like a cloak. It kept her warm enough from the midnight chill.

The blood and bone of many a traveler watered the obscene flora that sprouted out here. All around her towered purple vines taller than trees budding succulent, poisonous fruits that lured desert chapped lips to a most painful death. "M'uriahs" are what the Q'aaliya called them and their venomous sap made for excellent tools of warfare. Ranora was sure to harvest a few during her journey. She never noticed how endless the Ivory truly was. This was her first time braving its crucible on the ground. She had grown so terribly accustomed to flying wherever she needed to go. Ever since she was girl, she would tease herself about when and how she would pierce the cloudy stratosphere and peak her neck into the others worlds.

Ranora found nothing comparable to the thrill of flight. Well, other than thrill of the hunt of course.. And perhaps the killing, skinning and boiling of her prey. She enjoyed fucking too. Oh.. And eating, she enjoyed eating most of all.

Ranora was a carnal woman of indulgence and excess. But flying was certainly among her favorite things to do. To be godlike. Unbound. Untethered. Twas the essence of life for the Q'aalyia. She thought it a cruel joke of the fates that not all of them could fly. No matter how wise or powerful they became. No matter how studious or devout they were to the Red. The Seeers and Sages called it a "recessive trait". Not even her Chief and father, Rhaego was blessed with this coveted ability, but that didn't keep him from cultivating every single one of his daughter's gifts the second they made themselves known. She was born smart, so her father molded her mind until she only thought in tactical strategy. She conveyed an innate thrill for combat, so Rhaego hardened that thrill into a crazed obsession. The Qali's methods were rigorous and meticulous, but they were not without merit. Before long every skill and advantage she ever had was sharpened into a sleight of razors. Razors she used to slit more than a thousand throats. And she was on her way to slit some more.

"Ughh.."

If she could ever escape the Ivory, that is. These sands were TRULY endless, but she was a patient girl. The Q'aalyian Sages and Seeers were adament in their directions and never gave her a reason to doubt them. They told her the Astral City was hidden within a sea of trees and foliage, beyond the Ivory and hundreds of miles across foreign waters. They were sure to stock her cargo with enough provisions to sustain her for several weeks. So shook her complaints about the length of the trip. If her rations ran dry, she knew how to hunt for more. She sighed to herself and shielded her face from the sand in a scarf. At least she didn't have to walk.

Ranora trekked on the back of an Elkhorn, a large and powerful steed often employed by the Q'aalyia tribe for prolonged voyages. And because of their incredibly powerful muscles, they were excellent for carrying large hauls of materials. Ranora's cargo included a spear, a sword, a bow, some ale, some rations, and very little else. Lugging this shit around was the very reason she couldn't fly to wherever the hell the Astral was, but again.. She was a patient women. Soon enough, she'd arrive at this golden eden of milk and honey, and she'd be surrounded by a bounty of resources. She was promised this Kingdom would be unlike any realm she ever sacked with her sisters and brothers. And its allies were said to harbor close proximity. She found herself fantasizing about this glamorous promised land and how thoroughly she would sully its grooves. All she had to do was follow the stars. Another skill she was taught at a young age--

"!!!!!"

Then she heard it-- or really, felt it rather. The Elkhorn stirred in the already shifting sands, startled by this sudden, incisient rumbling. A rumbling that wouldn't cease. She reared her reigns on the raving beast, trying her beast to settle its nerves.. along with her own. But the rumbling wouldn't yield. Her provisions shook from her saddle and she felt her teeth start to chatter. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

[Ranora Hellgate]

"D'yma! D'yma!"

Ranora shouted through the undulating air, a word that the Elkhorn understood as heel or yield. But it didn't matter. The creature was besides itself of all reason beyond the want to survive. Ranora's grip about its reigns nearly crushed the Elkhorn's throat but the rumbling spiked its blood with fear. Ranora was an excellent rider, a master in her own right who had broken many a beast into submission. And even a half decent rider knew when to abandon its steed. Nothing would curb its buck now.

"!!!"

But just as she motioned to do so, the Ivory Planes were ripped open from beneath her by a sudden subterranean force. No doubt the source of the seismic quakes. Ranora and the Elkhorn were tossed weightlessly through the midnight sky and crashed in unison some hundred odd yards away. The thoroughly mangled steed landed haplessly on its rider, burying her in a silvery tuft of sand beneath three tons of torn muscle and bone. Ranora would have died from smashed organs if she was a lesser man.

"AGH!! GET. OFF!"

Still, it took a strenuous effort to shove the dying beast from her lower body. She was dampened crimson with its entrails and adequately disoriented from whatever struck her. Her eyes scoured the sands for her assailiant. They burned through the darkness like blue torches only to find her supplies scattered among the Ivory and very little else. At first glance, the sands were innocent, but a second look yielded her something else. Something hidden by the shadows and dustclouds. There was a burrow where she was attacked. A tunnel large enough to be a crater that traveled so deep into the planet's crust that Ranora could feel the heat wafting from the mantle below.

"..shit."

Just then, she felt her bowls turn to water. Ranora knew exactly what she was up against and the realization magnetized her gaze to the stars in a fright. Very little fauna were resilient enough to survive the deadly crucible of the Ivory. There was little to no water out here. Unforgiving abiotic conditions. No resources. No shelter. Tremor Spiders were among the only species, insect or animal, native to the sands. The deadly omnivores could withstand the heat from the planet's core due to their diamond like exoskeletons, and were big enough to shift tectonic plates as they burrowed around. And each of their eight legs were powerful locomotive tools they used to dig, stab, cull, walk..

Or jump..

!!!ThOOooooooOOM!!!

Ranora couldn't see it because the tremor spider had already leapt several hundred feet above her, into the midnight sky. Its central body was the size of a bus with long legs shielded in thick, purple scales and a gnashing set of mandible appendages. Fangs that reached like arms that clicked and clacked. The tremor spider descended towards the Ivory planes with its legs pointed at Ranora to pincer her into the sands. The collision shook the desert with otherworldly strength and sent concussive waves rippling across the sands for miles. Ranora only barely escaped. An expertly timed roll and dash saved her from becoming collateral. She even managed to secure herself a weapon before the concussive storm tossed everything that wasn't nailed down. Ranora faced her enemy now, she was covered in sand like a discsrded canteen. The Tremor Spider snarling and scittering less than fifty feet away from her. She tightened her grip around her spear but assumed no formal stance. She didn't look ready for battle. She licked her lips and smiled at the daunting horror. The hungry spider screeched a terrible screech in response. Ranora roared back before charging it head first.

[Ranora Hellgate]

Ranora was a creature of many habits. Terrible, objectively stupid habits that her father either ignored or instigated. Some of them were worse than others but she saw each of her vices as pivotal fragments to who she was. She liked to smoke, she liked to drink, hell she even picked her nose from time to time, and never in her life did she consider curbing any one of them. Not until tonight, anyhow. The habit in question? Playing with her food. And to make matters worse, it was a tremor spider she was sought to toy with. She'd never killed one of these monsters before. The deadly fuckers have feasted on enough of the Q'aaliya for their Sages to label them D'aiba; incredibly powerful and dangerous beasts not worth engaging alone. But that didn't keep her brothers and sisters from chasing glory. Many of them died. Those that didn't, came back different. Haunted by what they saw.

She heard millions of stories about the scaly arcahnids, but none of them made sense until now. She remembered hearing that Tremor Spiders had eight legs, but two of them were too small too see with the naked eye. And they weren't used for locomotion at all. Unlike their bigger and stronger siblings, the two front legs of a Tremor Spider were not legs at all. They functioned more like tendrils that could stretch, bend, and whip around at speeds that would draw a spark from wet bone. And during her mad dash toward the towering monster, she heard a screaming sound swim across the winds. The shriek of a blade through cold air was a familar whine to any warrior seasoned in death dealing. But this wasn't metal. It moved too quickly to be any conventional blade or weapon. Too quickly for her to track. She leapt into the air with thunderous impetus, fast enough to keep from getting sliced in half by this invisible sword but not enough to keep her unscathed. The pain was quick and sharp. She didn't wanna look down at the damages, but she had to see her foe. So she looked down.. and saw that her left foot was gone. Completely severed at the ankle. She winced at the pain but narrowed her fiery gaze at her target. The eyes were their weak spot.

With her spear in hand, cocked far behind her, Ranora loosed her weapon with the crazed fury of the god she worshipped. Her spear was barely a spear anymore. Naten and muscle molded her 7" rod of sharpened steel into a seamless vector of death. It slipped through the howling winds with no physical shape or form. So fast the spider didn't feel the steel pierce its skull before it whacked Ranora out of the sky with its other retractable tendril. With its final breath, it tore the flesh from her back and carried her rudely through the midnight sky. But a fount of its seafoam colored innards spilled from its head soon after, and it collapsed unto the Ivory Planes. Dead and lifeless.

Ranora lied in similar way, about a mile away from the dying spider. Her amputated limb spilling enough blood to muddy the sands into a murky sludge beneat her. Yet, that crazed smile on her face never wavered. Even now, as she slowly bled out, Ranora snickered at the stars above with sore cheeks scattered breaths. She was elated with glory, and slight disbelief that she killed a D'aiba on her own.

"..an offering.. for the Red."

She mumbled to herself, a creed repeated whenever a Q'aalyia vanquished their foe. You would think she forgot she lost an appendage in the battle, but she looked at it as a badge of glory. As her father would, as any Q'aaliya would. Oh, how she would boast to her father upon her return, and shame the Sages with her yarns of glory they warned her against. But she needed proof of the kill if she planned to regail her clan with her tale. No boast could be verified without a trophy. Then again.. Ranora was so terribly hungry, and the Tremor Spider was sure to destroy all of her rations before it died. Spiteful beast. She wouldn't eat the whole thing, but she was owed a leg at least.

"!!!!"

Then it happened. Just as she begun to lift herself up, she felt them again. The seismic rumblings. They returned thirty times as vicious as before. It felt like every mineral of sand in the Ivory was trembling in fear. Even Ranora felt her heart quiver against her bones. It had to be more than a dozen spiders clawing their way to the Mother's surface. Her fingers couldn't keep from trembling, so she filled her palms with sand to still them. This was why the Sages and Seeers advised against singular combat with these creatures; they carried a hive like mentality and never strayed far from their nests. Ranora would've been happy to know that she was reaching the edge of this endless desert, but she probably would have flown over their feeding grounds had she known they were here.

Slowly she hovered into the air as high as she could given the time crunch of their arrival. High enough that the rumbling no longer pierced her ears. But she knew she couldn't escape them in her condition. She didn't know where her spear was. And she was loosing blood with every passing moment. Her crazed smile was replaced with a steel line. She wasn't ready to die here. This was not a death fitting of a Qali. But the Tremor Spiders didn't care for tradition. They erupted from the silver grains like torpedos. Over a dozen soaring, eight legged machinations from hell. She charged them with equal fervor and intensity. Liquid filled shrieks soured the air. Ranora's the loudest of them all.

[Ranora Hellgate]

This desert storm waged on for hours. Ranora must have slaughtered a dozen spiders in her attempts to seize glory from the jaws of certain doom. At the beginning, her assault was ruthless and overwhelming. Savvy and unpredictable flight patterns made it easy to avoid the flailing swipes of her earthbound prey, and her naten powered fists shattered their impregnable shells like cheap glass. She was fortunate they underestimated her frail appearance, but how could they have known they dueled with a giant's daughter? How could they have known this tiny women was heir to the Mother's most fearsome consortium of hunters and serial killers? Ranora introduced herself with her bare hands and peeled them apart scale by scale.

But eventually this initial luck ran it's course. She he knew this was going to be an uphill battle. There were just so many of them.. A horde of the gnashing arachnids answered her every act of savergery. Whenever she slayed one, three others thrice as ferocious would take its place. They were as endless as the Ivory and wore down her onslaught through rabid attrition. And the blood loss from her severed foot only made matters worse. She never been so exhausted in her life. She'd been fighting and bleeding for so long, she slipped into a sort of fuege state where her survival instinct overrided the need to think. She was too tired to think. Her inner voice was just a jarbled mess of fear and exhaustion. A collection of injuries depleted her naten while fatigue gnawed at her her focus. That's when the battle took a stark turn for the worse.

Ranora severely underestimated the intelligence of the hive. She didn't know when it started, but at some juncture the tremor spiders began dissecting her sluggish movements and communicated her weaknesses among their unimind. Before long, her injuries became focal points. The hive leaned their methodical assault on her dismembered limb and pressed their attack until one of their lashing tendrils coiled through her defenses.

She remembered the sound of her unreasonably tough skin being sliced and torn like wet parchment. She hurled obscenties as she hit the dirt with her belly spilling into her quivering hands. She tried in vain to keep her intestines where they were supposed to be, but the gaping hole in her abdomen twarted those efforts. She remembered roaring through a muzzle of fluid, watching the hungry horde clamor over each other to get the first taste of her flesh. She could hear their collective bellies sing with joy as she writhed in pain. They knew a morsel her size would only sate one of them, but she made them earn their meal that day. The flavor of a worthy kill was the only covet amid the unimind.

To fall in battle, drowning in a gulf of your enemies was an ideal death to the Qaliiya. It was why they fought with such reckless disregard for anything short of the snapping of bones. The fear of death eluded them entirely. But Ranora didn't want to die like this; being diced, divied, and rationed among a pack of hungry predators. She was too afraid to appreciate the irony of it all, and far too tired to keep her face out of the sand. With the last of her strength, Ranora wanted to gnaw off her own tongue. She'd rather choke to death than suffer this fate.. But she fainted before she could finish the thought.

~~

Ranora couldn't remember much else about that night, but why would she? She was certain she was going be eaten alive, which is why when she woke up, she woke up screaming at the height of her lungs. But there was no one was around. And the sun was setting on a day she never seen.

Her senses returned to her slowly. At her feet laid the starved army of tremor spiders, dead, gouged, and ripped asunder by forces unknown. Most of their pieces looked the same aside from the unlucky husks with bite marks impressed upon them. Hours of sunlight baked the scent of gore and guts into an arid musk, but a disoriented study of her body found she'd somehow been healed of all injuries. Her stomach, her leg, her back, all of it mended whole. The confusion of it all trapped her in the middle of this graveyard in silence. Naked, breathless, and slathered in sun dried sinew. None of it hers..

She should be dead right now. Sure, she was elated to be alive, but the thought still haunted her.
As much as wished it, she had nothing to do with this. No recollection of what happened. No fleeting memories to cling to. And a thorough survey of the area yielded no clue to her savior. Nothing but crimson matted sand and spider carcass as far as the eye could see. Once the initial shock of surviving wore off, Ranora found herself questioning everything. Did someone save her? Some pretentious, valiant third party? There was no glory in being rescued.. Only shame. The Qaaliya left their weak and wounded to die in battle if they couldn't carry themselves to back to camp. Her father would have disowned her if she returned like this. A failure. She'd be turned away at their gates and flayed as she left. Her vicious cycle of thought wounded her all over again. But then it dawned on her.. This wasn't the first time this happened. She remembered a similar occurence on her tenth name day, when she was betrayed and ambushed by blood thirsty dozen of her brothers and sisters in the Garden of Bones. They sought her death. She was outnumbered. But when she awoke, they laid too laid at her feet in pieces. Flayed by some unknown force. Their bludgeoned fragments covered in teeth marks too large to be hers. But maybe they were hers.. To this day, she remembered their taste. She pined after it. Even now, its fleeting flavor fueled her path toward the Astral Chaos. Ranora found the strength to stand.

"..."

She grabbed a slab of spider tremor flesh from the ground and shook the sand from it before taking a healthy chomp. She moaned at their flavor. Warm, tender, and loaded with a tangy spice.

"A gift from the red."

She mumbled to herself before taking another bite and flying off into distance. Her stead was dead and her materials were gone, so there was nothing keeping her tied to the soil. In the air she could see the edges of the Ivory less than a few miles away. Beyond it, civilization polluted the night sky with all manner of industrialization. Buildings. Houses. Streets. Ranora would pillage this place of their resources before continuing on. Food would do her good, ale would do her better.

[Ranora Hellgate]

These bright lights belonged to the port city of Turai, a bustling traders province separated from the ravages of the Ivory Plaines by three thick walls of thirty, sixty, and eighty feet in height known as the Sunken Gate. Each of these barricades were composed of sunkissed stone which had been enchanted and engraved with portraits of animals, war, and fornication. On the opposing boarders of the city, Tu'rai boasted an enormous port leading Eastward into the Freshwater Sea, harboring hundreds of ships that sailed to-and-fro the Allied Territories.

The dwarfing buildings of Turai cast shadows like forest trees. They were all colorful in nature and were molded from the same magical brick as the gates. Jewels and gems were encrusted into the scarlet base. Diamonds and silver found their way on every casual garment and stitch of its people. Shiny trinkets glittered the eye in every direction. At the heart of the city was an arch of pure gold, welded in the likeness of two serpents mating that stretched high enough to see from outside the city limits. This served more or less as the symbol of Turai, conveyed from the various flags and banners waving the same sigil.

There were elaborate fountains found in every square of the city where dozens of merchants peddled their goods to civilians trekking about their business. They boasted an exhibit of various treasures; weapons of exotic origin, potions of whimsical promises, even maps to uncharted lands said to yield riches beyond imagination. But above all else, flesh was by far the highest valued commodity behind the Sunken Wall. Everyday a child was either stolen from their homes, or sold into new ones. The lives of men and women were wagered like cheap tokens, or traded like collectibles between their wealthy Masters. There were thousands of different races, not two of them alike. But all of them were bound, chained, or sealed in some fashion. This was Tu'rai, Slavers Cove.

Ranora descended upon this neon city still wet with the blood of her enemies. Her barefeet were shocked by the cold marble tiles linning the busy streets. Streets illuminated by azure torches held by muscle bound men in chains. There were hundreds of them, each burdened with strength from years of servitude. They wore little aside from their blood rusted shackles. Burlap cloth tarnished in grime covered their manly bits, but they were otherwise vulnersble to the elements. Ranora could see their muscle quivering from hours of fatigue as she happened by. Sweat pooeld around their bruised toes, but they dare not moan or falter. Their masters were never too far behind. Ranora was indifferent to these cruelties. They should count themselves lucky the Qalliya didn't find them first.

Beneath the azure glow was an active and nocturnal culture. Ranora didn't have a watch but she could read the constellations. It was how she explored without a map or compass, and judging from their cosmic patterns, she could tell it was at least midnight. Yet the city was bustling with activity. Creatures/people of all shapes and sizes were shuffling across the glistening tiles either selling something or buying something a She'd seen it all as they passed her by like she wasn't there; too caught up in their own lives to notice this strange woman, slathered in emerald innards and wreaking of death. Ranora clearly wasn't from here, but she raised no alarms. Not even a wary look. And no wonder. This was a land of sin, so of course she'd fit right in.

Unfortunately, Ranora was combative by nature. Her gaze was primed to dagger any set of eyes that challenged her as she gnawed on what remained of the tremor spiders leg. But no one did. They were an accepting people. Apathetic at the very least. Did they know a killer when they saw one? "Did they even care?", she thought as her eyes stumbled upon a group of men she discerned to be the city's garrison. A lack luster coalition of hired hands led by a muscular chap of auburn locs, gilded in a golden suit of armor that was far too clean to have ever seen battle. And a lance of pure gold strapped to his back.

His name was Elias. Or at least that's she heard him called. This muscular chap was surrounded by a harem of attentive and doe eyed concubines that fluffed his ego with every manner of flattery. Wandering hands, coy smiles, soft whispers. They were masters at their craft. Behind them stood their temple of debauchery. A brothel large enough to hide an entire congregation of sinners within its many chambers. But not so large that she couldn't hear the moans of worship echo inside.

Surely this wasn't the Astral City- The thought never even crossed her mind. But perhaps this place was not without value. She could conquer this city instead of the Astral. A cesspool of sex, death, and carnal desire would be a haven for her people. Shit, the resources alone would have made Tu'rai a powerful stranglehold for the Qaliya. If she seized this city tonight, her tribe would have their pick of from a thousand boats and unfettered access to the Allied Territories. But then she thought of her father, and how he would groan the way he always did in disapproval whenever his daughter took the easy route, before he razed this golden city to cinders. Sacrificing these apathetic, nameless faces to the Red God before leading his tribe to their next conquest. She sucked her teeth.

"Kava.."

She said with an acute disdain for what she saw. What he would see if he was here with her. "Swine." Filth. Inedible. Her cobalt glare burned like ice in the dark. This was a detour and nothing more.

She settled at one of the city's fountains and immediately began cleaning herself in its crystal pools. This garnered some attention of course, but again, no alarms were rung. She was just a beautiful naked woman bathing herself outside a brothel within a city fountain. A natural occurrence in Tu'rai. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still, it wasn't long before this mundane task acrewed a bevvy of pining spectators drawn to her unfamiliar face. Men and women with yawning pockets, hungry for a taste of her platinum tresses. Elias among them.

"And how much for a dance with you, love?"

His voice was bigger than him. A thundering drum of southern bass that suffocated the clink and clank of his armored steps. His smile was crest white and perfect. And he had hazel eyes that were used to getting what they want. Ranora peaked over her shoulder at the sifting crowd and immediately felt a compulsion to slay them all. It would be easy too. But Ranora was more than just a savage murderer. She was pretty cunning too.

--

The next morning, Elias woke to streams of sunlight peering through the brothel windows. He was both spent and satisfied in a bed that he barely did any sleeping in. Ranora however was nowhere to be found. And neither was his armor, his money, or any of his weapons. Volcanic fury erupted from his throat. He wanted the head of this platinum haired whore that robbed him, but she was long gone.

After bedding him, Ranora had sold every item he owned to a variety of different merchants in return for; some loose fitting clothes, two diamond edged daggers, a spear of crystal, a vitality potion, rations, an enchanted cloak that would shield her from the elements, a stead to carry her and her items, and a boat ticket that would ferry her to the Allied Territories. Naturally, she could have simply killed all of them; the merchants, the Knight, and steal her treasures and run. But deep down, she kinda wanted to come back. And murdering a highly touted soldier could potentially land her on some most wanted list. She had a pretty distinguishable features afterall. And besides, these merchants were far more useful to her alive than dead. No, when she returned it would be as a freshly cornated Queen.