Rylarth

Rylarth started out fighting for everything he had, from the day his egg shell cracked.

A clutch of three, Rylarth was the only one to come out without any special gene or trait, and as such his parents did not show him much attention. The entire lair, for that matter, did not show him much attention. He was left to forage for his own food, and as such the poor dragon became a loner.

As he grew into his adult stage, he became more and more bullied. With the adults now turning a completely blind eye to him, this lead to some rather intense brawling. At first, Rylarth would find himself at odds, outnumbered three to one in most cases. With no other option, he would fight and lose a lot of his battles. Every lose should have demoralized him, but only caused the fire in which he was born in to ignite further.

On his last day, Rylarth stood up to the clan he was born to and told them off. Told them that they were completely ignorant to his cries for help because of the skin he was born with, and that he hoped the Flamecaller would not only shun them but cast her fury down on them for said ignorance. With that, he set off on his own to find a lair to start a clan of his own.

It was not long before a predator in the night came to hunt the younger dragon. Eyes glowing as bright as the Lightning clan themselves, followed the young dragon until such a time to strike. Being fatigued from his nonstop traveling, Rylarth was unaware to the potentially dangerous and deadly hunter at his back. It was a few days prior that he found himself in the area known as the Emberglow Hearth, and from a peak a day past he saw what would be an excellent lair for him to settle down on.

Rylarth began to curl around himself, using the night as camoflage from airbourne predators, when the larger dragon pounced. Rylarth only had enough time to dodge a fatal strike, taking a nasty gash to his thigh. The pain awoken him, and the fury of his childhood began to boil. The pain in his leg a constant reminder to how he always had to fight, and this was just another test to the Flamecaller. With a deep breath, he charged.

There was another female, probably frightened into being there, watching the fight from a crag. She was pink, and bred to the Faes, and watched with fearful sadness. She had seen this many times before, and this would surely be no different.

As the minutes ticked by, Rylarth took more and more damage. His fury allowed him to ignore the gashes for the time being. There was the same amount of damage on the other as well, blood dripping from the neck as underbelly. Though his pain was ignored, the amount of blood could not be. This lead to a sluggish movement speed and eventually a timed strike to remove part of his tail.

The amount of pain from losing a part of himself sent Rylarth into a blood rage, and lunged at the larger predator neck. He clamped down and started to drag. This lead to a lot of pain and now a lot of blood loss, and caused him to react to get the lethal strike released.

This would not be the case, as in a few moments the large predator fell dead. Rylarth stood over the dead dragon's body, blood and saliva dripping from his maw. As the rage started to subside, everything took effect and eventually turned black.

Many days later, Rylarth awoke in a cave, with two little hatchings next to him. His tail was quite sore, but whole once again with a glance. A strange metal contraption rest there to keep it in place, and most of his wounds were raw. It felt as if the ones on his arms and neck would always bleed, but the one on his thigh healed nicely. A scar of the epic battle that proved his might.

Slowly, the wounded dragon walked out of the lair to see it was the very one he had set his eyes on, and nodded in acceptance that his was indeed the first boon of the Flamecaller for his efforts and triumph in battle. He let out a roar to let all the dragons in the area know he was around, and went back towards the lair and his hatchlings. He had never met the dragoness that bore his children, and could not bear to have them around as reminder.

Once they were close to maturity, Rylarth took them to the podium to which dragons were given life near thair matron. "Please take care of this brave woman's hatchlings. I never met her, but I assume she was the one who nursed me back to health."

As the babies flew into the distance with their matron, Rylarth smiled and limped back towards his lair. "Now, it's time to work."