The dustrider’s mother was mantis-blooded, and for this reason, he never knew his father. He never felt comfortable using swords in combat, for they always felt like a severed limb, something missing from his person. He had long scars along his forearms from where a surgeon had removed razor-like protrusions from his wrists as a child, the only outward signs of his heritage. His reflexes could not be carved out, however, and proved to be without match.
All tagged dustriders
Many years ago, dustrider oracles began receiving messages from flowers deep within the Earth. They bloomed in places much deeper than sunlight or rainwater could reach, where their fronds and perfumes would never be experienced by living things. Their roots grew in all directions, as did their petals, forming explosions of color unseen. Because of their peculiar habitat, their pollen had no air through which to propagate; as such, they evolved a method of broadcasting it as a form of organic radiation.
A careful look at the dustrider’s rifle reveals that it was once the body of a dragonfly. Its tail has been hollowed into a long barrel, and its mandibles are now the trigger of a complex firing mechanism. Discs have been carved from its transparent wings and arranged in parallel to serve a scope’s function. As it slides off his shoulder, the thick knots of its former exoskeleton are firm in his hands.