SanguisVero

(WIP, incomplete lore)

Whispers were the first thing he ever knew.
Hisses in the darkness.
Barely there.
But practically deafening.
"His eyes, do you see them?"
"Bright... in a sickly way."
"He won't survive."
The words were meaningless at the time, but he knew.
He instinctively starts to reach out and whine, wanting.... something. He knew it was important. It would comfort him and make him feel better.
The whispers stopped.
The silence hurt.
His mind froze.

---

Later, he would hear about how he passed through many claws on the way to that first darkened room. Supposedly found in a war-like zone, smaller and lighter colored, unconscious at that time and given to another group when he wouldn't wake up. Apparently he woke up with them, but wouldn't eat anything that they had and went back to his sleep. So they sold him to the next group in desperation as their own supplies became lower and lower. That dragon couldn't get him to eat or stay awake either, so on and on he was passed until landing in the claws of somebody just starting out. They got food in him finally and then took him to the fighting rink to be evaluated. That's when he woke up in that room. To those voices weighing his worth.

However, he did more than just survive. He learned. He fought hard, no matter who directed him. He gained the moniker 'BloodWing' once he hit top 100. Passed through many claws until he hit the 50th place. He was tired of fighting long before that point, but with his placing, he was finally getting paid. He finally had a say in things, though he found actually talking difficult. It was pricey, but he spared the lives of his opponents where he could and saved the rest for his eventual freedom. He abstained from a comfier bed, more frequent food and water, free roaming, a companion, more armor, more weapons, nearly everything to keep paying for the lives of his opponents and to always add more to his 'bank'.
His 'keeper' of that time still gave him many of those things as treats for being a fighter that could play the crowd as well as still win or get a draw. One of the comparatively kind and highly successful 'keepers', they were willing to accept his want to stay in his low placing and to not kill opponents. He's rather thankful for that and decided to keep in touch with them after he left with his final placement of 46th place and who knows how many fights...

---

His first breath of fresh air was cold and sharp. It hurt, but he savored the feeling. The area outside the arena was barren, but he could still smell many things that he only ever got whiffs of. Bloodless ground, dry brush, even the cold had a smell he couldn't describe. He nearly turned to ask where he should go when he realized he could choose. He didn't have to tell anybody what he wanted, he could just do what he wanted. His chest heaved as a soft noise rattled out of his mouth, slowly at first and then growing rapidly in volume and speed until he throws his head back with a laugh. His voice kept catching and he kept having to pause to breathe, but he kept laughing until finally it tapers off. "Freedom. Finally, I know what it's like." He hopes it's the first of many laughs like that that he'll have in his new life. He had no clue where to go, so he just looked to the horizon and headed towards the nearest thing that sparked his curiosity. With nothing on him except a few bandages and his wing 'armor'. He's rather glad his ex-'keeper' decided to let him have it. He's rather fond of and used to using his wings as weapons. It was how he got his old moniker, after all.

---

The Scarred Wastelands were harsh, he could see that as he wandered past the border of it and through the Boneyard. He listened well to his instincts and kept just inside the outer edge of the territory and thankfully got few ambushes because of it. He was careful with what he ate and drank, watching other creatures for signs of sickness, and to see what ones were avoided. It was like a gentle easing into more normal dragon life and he's rather glad he went this way. It was harsh, but not everybody expected a fight or tried to harm him or exploit him. He even got directions from a few and headed towards where the Scarred Wastelands, the Windswept Plateau, and the Sea of a Thousand Currents met. There was the Reedcleft Ascent where the Wasteland and Windswept met, so he would have to swim a bit across the Leviathan Trench or get a boat to get back on land.

After a few trial runs and dragons looking at him like he's insane, he finally folded and silently asked to be taken to where he can get back on land. He probably should have realized sooner that him not knowing how to swim long distances would likely hamper his travel across the water. No matter though, there wasn't a rush and despite the vague horror of staring down into an endless nothing, it was still a new and glorious feeling. He almost related to the trench too, getting lost in staring at it's depths as much as he got lost in his own mind. He'd like to go back there for sure.

After that brief trouble was over, he wandered the Plateaus in earnest. Taking the time to even find a private area to drop his armor and spread his wings. He's flown before, of course. But it was always with stagnant air or a fight against it with Wind dragons. This was a new level of freedom for him, though he didn't spend too much time up there, feeling too light at times without his armor. But he'd rather not risk crashing into another dragon with them on. He knew all too well what will happen.

His call to wander not abated, he finally moved further on. To the Ashfall Waste. There was... a cloying smell. It reminded him of the Arena at times while he slept, causing nightmares that leave a chill in his bones. Even after he woke up.
He would often not sleep at all and continue travelling to avoid the terrors. But not knowing the stars or landmarks, he'd often get turned around, only noticing when the sun finally rises. Time blurred and he avoided all dragons that he could. He felt constantly in danger there, he knew he would lash out if not careful. Sometimes he could get a few hours of dreamless sleep and would use the following moments of clarity to seek out water, but he oftentimes was rarely able to find anything filling to eat in the same time. So on he numbly walked.

---

He was starving. Not at all an unfamiliar feeling to him, but he could actually do something about it now. Yet...
The creature he was staring at, was alone. Just big enough for a solid bite too. Enough to take the edge off of his hunger anyways.
He towered over it and his body blotted out the sun, casting the creature into murky shadows. It turned towards him with big eyes. He couldn't read them, and they just stared and stared until he eventually frowned and looked away.
It had been 'sneakily' following him for a few days now. He could have long killed it before now, but hadn't. He's not sure why. With a sigh, he lays down and motions towards his back with a raspy whisper, "get on."
The little imp lit up, literally, and eagerly clambered onto his back. It smelled different than the entirety of the Ashfall Waste.
It was... odd, he mused. He felt... warm. Calm. It had been a long time since he felt either of those. Maybe the hunger will be worth not killing this little creature.

---

He needed a new name. Something more... true to him.