Legends of Runeterra

Firewood was a precious commodity in the desert, but the soot-black ruins of Vekaura provided ample charcoal for the bonfires. When the sand-pulling gangs passed through the broken walls of the city, the city lay in ruins, its streets deserted and empty.

None dared to say who had razed the place, but the captives they had taken along the Marrow Seal Merchant Road told tales of the Old Gods, whose wrath had reduced the city to ash and glaze.

Raz Bloodbeard didn't believe those words, he just listened casually.

In Shurima, stories can buy goods at an oasis, buy shelter by a campfire—stories are living, growing things, transformed and distorted with every telling. No story is immune to embellishment as it passes from mouth to mouth, for a tale, with a slight exaggeration, becomes the storyteller's own creation.

There are no gods walking on the yellow sand, only humans and monsters.

The Sand Chui Gang is a bit like a human and a bit like a monster.

They are a band of bloodthirsty warriors, riding giant sand tiger lizards to kill and plunder. The sandy roads of Halise are where they roam and make money, and hunting the Shakar bandits of the Song Valley is their pastime. Now that the temperature has begun to drop in the south, their lead hunter, Susase, has led the bandits to the warmer north. Their prey is the caravans heading into the heart of the desert in search of the new capital.

Such caravans were brimming with wealth, merchants, priests, desperadoes, and the deceived, waiting to be slaughtered. They were all fools who would rather believe that an ancient emperor had risen from his coffin to reclaim his lost homeland than admit that it was just an earthquake that had brought a buried city to light.

Fat meat delivered to your door.

The Sand Pullers are predators skilled in ambush, swooping in from the cover of sandstorms to plunder amidst the gnashing teeth and stabbing spears. Anyone who resists will be torn to pieces, while those who surrender will be fed to their hungry mounts.

Raz grinned, looking toward the farthest reaches of the firelight. Tethered sand tigers smacked their lips and growled. These massive reptiles had mouths filled with long, sharp teeth, their sides covered in tough, sun-beaten scales. Their bellies, bulging almost to the ground, were eroded by wind and sand, and their tails whipped back and forth, stirring up the dust that had accumulated in this cursed city.

Ghosts lurked everywhere in the ruins, and the echoes of the dying drifted across the scattered rubble on the cold wind, and the outlines imprinted on the wall were like shadows painted on it.

Something had happened in this place, and it wasn't good.

Susase tossed a roof beam into the main bonfire. A cloud of sparks shot up into the night sky, swirling like a swarm of fireflies before the bandit leader. Raz was a strong man, but even he had trouble lifting the beam. But the skull-masked vastaya tossed it like a twig, its immense weight a mere trifle for his inhuman frame.

Raz looked at the ball of fire, which flickered for a moment and then disappeared into the darkness. It seemed as if there was a sense of oppression hanging not far away.

"What are you looking at the sky?" Anuta followed his gaze.

She was clad in heavy scale armor that scraped with every step. Her hair was atop a tuft of crimson hair, her temples shaved clean, beads of sweat visible. The tattoos on her face reflected the light of bones in the flickering bonfire.

"The dancing sparks," he said, "burned so brightly and then disappeared in the blink of an eye."

"and then?"

He shrugged. "No. I just thought it was kind of spectacular. Like it was inspiring."

"Have you become a sage? Like Ngozi?"

"No," Raz said. "I can't compare to him. It's just that you see these sparks, they come alive, burn, and then disappear. Just like us, just like life. We are the sparks."

Anuta laughed heartily, her ivory earrings swaying like drunken moons. "You really can't compare to Ngozi. He's truly brilliant. You're just a dumb, talkative fool."

Anger flushed Raz's face, while Anuta's expression showed she knew she had said the wrong thing. She lowered her head, knelt on one knee, and crossed her hands over her chest, her thumbs pressed against her palms.

"Please forgive me, Raz Bloodbeard." She knew that as Susase's second-in-command, Raz could have thrown her into the sand tigers and let her face their fangs and huge mouths.

Or worse, feed it alone to Makara, the exclusive leader mount of Susase.

The sand tiger was a colossus, forty feet long, its entire body covered in sharp-edged scales from its three heads to its tail. Its massive skull, long snout, and mouth full of hooked fangs could swallow a horse in one gulp.

"We're hunting tomorrow," Raz said. "So tonight, just a few dead walking corpses will suffice. Don't make me break this custom."

Anuka nodded, stood up, and turned to the remains of a barn where their latest captives huddled. They had all been captured along the sand dune road leading north to Kenesor. They were a mix of men, women, and children, all on a pilgrimage south to meet the new emperor. Four of them had already been devoured by the sand tigers, leaving the remaining five emaciated, barely enough to fill the teeth of the larger predators. To be more precise, four of them were emaciated, while the fifth, an old man with smooth skin and white teeth, looked like a city dweller. His waistline showed that he had never missed a meal.

"That one over there," he said, and Anuta lifted the old man to his feet. His face was pale, and Raz saw that the other prisoners didn't seem to mind that he was being picked off.

"Have mercy, don't kill me." The man spoke with a northern coastal accent, not at all tough. "I have money. I can help you get a lot of money. Please, God, don't feed me to the sand tigers!"

"You've gained so much weight, you're definitely not on a pilgrimage," Raz said, poking his round belly.

"Pilgrimage? No, no, I... I am..."

Anuta put the tip of the gun to his back and said, "What do you do? Tell me!"

"I am Odan Stileva, the High Patriarch of the Temple of the Singing Eagle in Beljuin," the man said between heavy gasps. "I can give you anything you want. Please spare my life, don't kill me."

"Priest, huh?" Raz said, leaning in close to inhale the fear emanating from the man. "I've heard that priests are servants of God. Very noble. But you, Odan Stilleva, don't look noble at all."

"Kill him," one of the prisoners said, "and make sure he dies slowly."

Raz shrugged, "It seems your companions don't like you either."