After's dragon Vinethorn

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

16.03 m

Wingspan

14.76 m

Weight

6852.59 kg

Genetics

Crimson
Bar

Blood
Trail

Red
Veined

Hatchday

Apr 09, 2014
(10 years)

Breed

Adult
Ridgeback

Eye Type

Wind
Common

Level 10 Ridgeback

EXP: 266 / 27676

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

none

Biography

Seraph -> Trail 3/6/2024, 13:13 FRT
Basic -> Veined 3/6/2024, 13:14 FRT
Tiger -> Bar 4/7/2024, 16:48 FRT

The Brawler

Originally a Spiral. Later ~~stole~~ got his claws on a Ridgeback scroll. Despite the breed change, he still retains his meat diet, his spade tail, and lack of aversion to water. The spikes on his tail are also much smaller than those of an ordinary Ridgeback.

Never knew his mother. Father sold him to an underground fighting ring when he was young. Grew up fighting. Spent some time aboard a pirate ship at some point where he either died or was near death before magically finding himself in the middle of a desert. Saw Byzmara on the horizon and made his way there, like all new arrivals. Lives in a run-down shack and keeps up his brawling activities from his younger days, out of a lack of both other ideas and ability to do anything else. He finds his position in life frustrating and disheartening, as he has no other skills and can't break away from the only thing he knows.

---

He and his brother Belial grew up in the woods with their father, Sadon, never knowing their mother nor anything about her. Once they had lived a few seasons, Sadon brought them to a crossroads within their little stretch of forest and sold them both to a group of strange travelers. Belial and Vinethorn were immediately collared and caged, and despite their pleas, Sadon never once shifted his gaze back to them from where he was greedily counting his coin. Fearful, the two brothers could do nothing but hold each other close as their father's silhouette steadily disappeared.

The travelers' caravan dragged them across Sornieth and into underground brawling rings. From within their cramped cell, they watched as dragons were tossed into a pit and told to fight each other, with consequences if they did not. Other times different dragons - smaller, weaker, injured - were thrown to a pack of starving beasts to see how long they could struggle, guttural howls and ugly laughter echoing through the arena as the gathered spectators witnessed the gruesome scenes. And sometimes, very rarely, a dragon who had proven itself in the ring long enough would be sold to dragons elsewhere as guards and hired muscle. Belial and Vinethorn watched it all, knowing their time would soon come to either fight or die.

Vinethorn was not a fighter. As a hatchling, he was terrified. He hid in Belial's shadow constantly, squealing whenever the slavers prodded him with a claw. They said he was a mistake; they had paid too much for something too useless. He could hear them from his cell, heard them discussing how best to get rid of him and recoup their funds at the same time. Unskilled, no one would want him for anything related to combat, and he wasn't strong and sturdy enough for hard labor. The best use for him would likely be as some sort of servant.

Or dinner, one of the slavers had said, eyeing him speculatively through the bars of his cage. Belial had hissed at the other dragon and moved in front of Vinethorn, protectively sheltering him from view.

The next day, when Vinethorn awoke, Belial was gone.

They never saw each other again.

“Vinethorn, look.”

The stink of blood and fear was strong even in the nightmare. Vinethorn reluctantly turned his head. He watched the brawling dragons tear out each other’s wings and scales—and it still wasn’t the worst part.

“Instead of rolling away from his opponent when he fell, he rolled towards ‘em! Tripped ‘em right up. Just because he was knocked down, it didn’t mean he was powerless.” His brother crouched beside him, his face grave.

“We gotta keep watching, Vines. It’s the only way we’ll learn how to fight.”

Then Vinethorn awoke. He looked around the cage, saw he was still alone. That was always the worst part.

~ ~ ~

For days after Belial’s disappearance, Vinethorn wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry, but he couldn’t. He kept remembering those words....

“Just because he was knocked down, it didn’t mean he was powerless.”

He forced himself to continue watching the fights in the underground ring. He took careful note of how dragons tried to outmatch their opponents—or angle for quicker deaths. As a Spiral, Vinethorn was used largely for menial labor around the camp. But he knew that sooner or later, his owners would tire of him. They’d chuck him into the fighting ring, and the carnage would begin.

Eventually, that day arrived. Nobody expected Vinethorn to last long. But he had picked up tricks from the brawls he’d observed, many of which had also involved Spirals. Though his first opponent was fast, Vinethorn was quicker and more agile. He managed to tear out her throat with his jaws.

Vinethorn threw up quite a bit afterwards, but that did not deter his owners. They heard only the cheers of the audience, saw the gold coins being thrown down. From then on, he made regular appearances in the fighting pit. He did not always win. But he remained a favorite for his agility and surprising maneuvers. This didn’t mean his situation improved—he was sick before and after most fights and often sustained terrible injuries. Worse yet, he’d heard his owners discussing selling him off. He’d be consigned to a life of battles, probably as bait for monsters.

So Vinethorn remained perpetually on the lookout for escape. He memorized the arena’s layout... He would need supplies if he was to travel for any distance. Perhaps he could pretend to be sick and sneak into the storeroom... or he could appeal to one of the spectators...

He got his chance one day. The ringleaders had captured a Fire Guardian. Driven mad by the loss of his Charge, the Guardian was now a mindless beast intent on burning everything in his path. Vinethorn and four other dragons were thrown into the ring, told to extinguish the Guardian—or die.

The Guardian thundered towards them, a colossus of fire and destruction, flames licking across his scales. Thrown weapons bounced off his hide; magic was swallowed up by the flames. Vinethorn found himself knocked down by the heat alone.

Knocked down...

“But not powerless!” he reminded himself fiercely. He reared up, rolled towards the Guardian’s legs. The heat nearly made him faint, but he managed to coil around one leg, drag it backwards. The Guardian stumbled.

A small motion with huge effects: the Guardian skidded across the arena and slammed into the stands. The sheer physical weight and fierce heat combined broke the barriers that kept the combatants in the pit. As the stands began collapsing, dragons fled in terror. The ringleaders and their underlings were left to battle the blaze. Vinethorn, meanwhile, was very badly burned—if he didn’t escape now, he would be turned into fodder for the next match.

The storeroom had already been pilfered when he reached it. He was close to passing out and didn’t waste time: he grabbed a bag, blindly gathered whatever he could carry. Outside, the smoke was rising higher, and he rode the warm air away from the hateful arena, free at last.

~ ~ ~

The next few days were a blur for Vinethorn. He had crashed among the reeds of a delta, and though there was food and water, his burns were beginning to fester. He stumbled along in delirium, dragging his bag behind him.

“Down...” He thought blearily. “Need to... lie down.” He felt his chin touch the soil...

“You’re knocked down!” Belial bellowed. His shark-toothed maw snapped inches from Vinethorn’s nose. “That doesn’t mean you’re powerless. Look, Vinethorn. Look!”

Vinethorn awoke with a gasp. It was the most vivid dream he’d had in months; Belial’s words seemed to ring in his ears. But he instinctively obeyed, and he looked around....His bag lay next to him. Some of the contents had spilled out. He reached out, plucked a piece of parchment from the mess.

A scroll. Tattered and smudged, but its magical seal still unbroken. Vinethorn stared at it in shock.

Breed change: Ridgeback, it read. And below that, a portrait of an anonymous Ridgeback, drawn in red ink. It looked... like Belial... His brother.

Vinethorn broke the seal as tears filled his eyes. Magic coursed through him, transforming him. His weak Spiral shape dissolved, replaced by a Ridgeback’s towering form. Razor-sharp spines. A shark-like maw. The transformation also erased his injuries, rebuilding him from the ground up.

But the tears remained as he sat holding what he wanted to believe was his brother’s gift for him. The scroll began dissolving into dust. Eventually, only the crimson Ridgeback was left, staring despondently at his new reflection.

The worst was over—wasn’t it? Vinethorn wearily raised his head. There was no telling what lay on the horizon... Or maybe there was. A ship...

Should he run? Probably better if he escaped this foul land as soon as possible. He knew how to fight; perhaps he could muscle his way through life.

He gathered his things again. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the shore.

--- Written by @Disillusionist
All edits by other users

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