Dirty 20

Caeric Solmaris

& Pyrravex

• Play with Caeric

Caeric's Crucible
-The Ember Chain-

Pyrravex gifted Caeric an anchor of will—he can extend a tether of fiery magic to his Pyre, briefly linking him to the other riders. They share their senses, pain, and stamina. It’s a dangerous gift—Caeric literally carries the weight of others, sometimes to the edge of death—but it lets him hold them together when everything else breaks.Passive Trait: He does not burn. Not emotionally. Not magically. Not even when he's the only one still standing in flame.

Commander of Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
Orange female, PyrravexCrucible - Empathetic Chain

Vex's Claim

Pyrravex never had a rider.Every Claiming, every year, she stood on the obsidian cliffs of Ashvael, wings folded in judgment, flame ever smoldering at the base of her throat. She had watched cadet after cadet step forward—some bold, some reverent, all hoping to be the one. They brought gifts. Boasts. Bloodline claims.She turned from every single one.They called her unbondable.
Too old. Too proud. Too dangerous. Some whispered she had simply grown beyond the need for a rider at all.And then Caeric strolled forward, hands laced behind his head. And he knelt.No flourish. No plea. Just stillness. The kind of stillness that matched hers.He offered nothing.Demanded nothing.He simply waited—unshaken, unafraid, like someone who understood that fire was not owed… it was earned.Pyrravex moved, slow and massive. The ground trembled beneath her coiled weight. When she stopped before him, she lowered her head—not to inspect him, but to judge him. One ember-gold eye met his.“Why do you kneel?”His voice was low as he answered her simple question. Steady. “Because I came to soar, not to leash. I want to hold the sky.” There was silence.And then—heat. A breath hot enough to blacken stone rolled over his skin, licked at his bones. He did not flinch and when her flame struck him, it did not consume. It marked. Branded something into his soul—weighty, eternal, and recognized.She chose him.Not loudly. Not violently. But with the kind of finality that turns mountains to glass and makes war wait.

Wynn Rylan

& Valest

• Play with Wynn

Wynn's Crucible
-Clarity-

Wynn can enter a hyper-focused, trance-like state where time slows, not in reality, but in perception. In this state, he can:Read opponents’ body language before they strike.
Predict battlefield flow with frightening accuracy
React faster than instinct should allowIt’s not enhanced speed—it’s perfect clarity. Wynn doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t startle. He moves like he already saw this happen.

Lieutenant of Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
White male, ValestCrucible - Clarity

Valest's Claim

The skies above Ashvael were clear that day.
No omens. No thunder. Just the cold wind threading through the peaks, and Wynn standing on the high ridge with the kind of posture that dared the world to look away first. He hadn’t told the others he was going. Didn’t wait for or want their permission.He simply followed the pull behind his sternum to where the air felt thinner, where the silence felt honest.And Valest found him there.Not in a dramatic descent, but already waiting—as though Wynn was the one who had arrived late. The great white dragon stood on a wind-swept outcropping, his scales glinting like frostbitten silver beneath the sun. His wings were tucked tight. His breath slow. His gaze impossible to read.They stood side by side for a long time. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The only sound between them, the sound of wind carving through stone as two sets of eyes measured each other.Finally, Valest spoke—not aloud, but directly into Wynn’s mind, his voice like distant hail against glass.“You’ve come to be chosen.”“No,” Wynn said calmly. “I’ve come to see if you were worth it.”"Same."The silence after that was heavy. Sharp. But Wynn didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flinch.Valest exhaled, and the breath coiled like steam—but no fire followed. Only wind. Cold and immediate, slamming across the cliff with a force that should have knocked Wynn back.But he held.He held like a cliff holds snow,
like a blade holds an edge. And in that moment, Valest moved—one step forward, just enough for the wind to die down.“Then kneel, Anchor.”“No.”“Then rise.”Wynn stepped forward instead, until his forehead met Valest’s, until the air between them grew still.And that was enough.The bond didn’t crash into Wynn. It didn’t flare. It settled. Like cold air in tired lungs. Like the moment a storm decides not to strike.
When Wynn walked back down into camp, Valest’s shadow passed overhead and no other dragons dared to even look at him.

Alden Morley

& Zarvyn

• Play with Alden

Alden's Crucible
-Storm Herald-

Alden is wind-wrapped and lightning-marked. He can command wind currents around him in battle, accelerating his speed, redirecting projectiles, and turning dives into deadly strikes. His body crackles with static before battle—a warning sign. Sometimes he doesn't even know he's summoning it.Alden can access temporary bursts of aerokinetic control—he can manipulate wind pressure, momentum, and gravitational force in short, explosive arcs. He becomes a living lightning strike, able to launch himself mid-combat like a missile—forward, upward, or sideways, redirect mid-air, changing trajectory like a bird caught in a gale, and slam down with shockwave impact, wind and lightning bursting from his boots or fists on contact.He can infuse his attacks with charged air—every hit has that thunderous, bone-deep impactIt’s not finesse. It’s force, aimed. And sometimes barely controlled.Zarvyn didn’t give him wings.
He gave him permission to defy gravity—and Alden never gave it back.

Rider for Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
Blue male, ZarvynCrucible - Storm Herald

Fearless, daring, unparalleled.

Zarvyn's Claim

It was supposed to be ceremonial. Dignified. Alden Morley had done everything right—perfect posture, flawless command scores, the kind of jawline and pedigree that made instructors nod with approval. He was set to be paired with a noble-blooded bronze or maybe a stern, ancestral silver. Something proper.Instead, the skies tore open.The claiming grounds were halfway through the Rite of Flame when the thunder hit—violent, unnatural, splitting the clouds with a crack that knocked people off their feet. No dragon was in sight.Until he was.Zarvyn didn’t descend.He crashed.A spiraling bolt of cobalt lightning and wings, laughing—laughing—as he landed hard enough to crater stone. His scales shimmered like electric mirrors, his eyes glowing wild and bright, and his voice rolled out like a dare:“You. The stiff one. You’re mine.”The crowd was silent. A bronze fled. A gold recoiled. Alden? Alden stood his ground, fists clenched and jaw tight.“You’ve made a mistake.”Zarvyn grinned, sharp teeth flashing.“Hope so.”That was day one. By day two, they were already in the infirmary after attempting their first unsanctioned flight. By week one, they'd been banned from three training fields and given a private instructor. By month three, they broke a sky record that had stood for two centuries—because Zarvyn dared Alden to go faster, and Alden refused to lose.They don’t always agree. They don’t always land clean. But they are unstoppable.“You don’t ride me, Alden,” Zarvyn once said with that feral grin. “We fall together and pray the storm catches us.”Now? No one dares separate them. Because for all his recklessness, Zarvyn has never let Alden fall. And Alden—disciplined, steely Alden—has never once asked him to stop being wild.They don’t just fly. They tear holes in the sky and laugh through the lightning.

Ayren Gravewake

& Nocthyrra

• Play with Ayren

Ayren's Crucible
-Battle Echo-

Ayren is capable of creating a tactical decoy, a flickering duplicate of himself in the heat of battle—a real, physical echo that acts just out of phase with him.This echo can: Strike, block, or mirror his movements in delayed sync, confuse enemies mid-duel by appearing just off his shoulder, or shield an ally from a fatal blow by intercepting it with spectral mass.It’s not illusion, it’s essence made motion—a splinter of Nocthyrra’s shadow, given form.The Echo is brief—mere seconds. Any longer, and Ayren risks losing the distinction between self and echo. Yet every time he uses it, there’s a pull. A temptation to stay split. That way, he never has to face the battlefield alone.Nocthyrra doesn’t like when he overuses it. She can feel him drifting.“You are not made to be more than one,” she once said. “But you were not made to be only one either.”

Rider for Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
Black female, NocthyrraCrucible - Battle Echo

Nocthyrra's Claim

Nocthyrra didn’t land.
She descended from darkness spite and midnight made flesh. One moment the cliffs were empty. The next… she was there, coiled in shadow, wings folded like blades, eyes glowing red with cold fury.Ayren grinned.The other cadets ran. Some screamed. Ayren simply stood at the edge of the lake and whispered. “Took you long enough.”She watched him in silence for a long time. Long enough to be unsettling. “You’re broken,” she said, her voice deeper than night.“And you’re late,” he answered.A low, purring growl. Amused. Almost approving. “You smell like death,” she said.“So do you.”And then Nocthyrra stepped into Ayren's shadow. Merged with it.
And when she emerged on the other side, her soul was laced into his like a second heartbeat.“Then let us haunt the skies together.”

Zypher Crost

& Raleth

• Play with Zypher

Zypher's Crucible
-Blood Lash-

Blood Lash allows Zypher to manipulate the blood of any wounded target within his range—once someone is bleeding, they belong to him.He can: Magnetize and whip the blood into short-range tendrils, lashing or slashing enemies from a distance
Control their pain—heightening it, spreading it, anchoring them with it
Track them through scent and heat—even through walls or in the darkThe more wounded his enemies become, the more power he gains.

Rider for Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
Red male, RalethCrucible -
Blood Lash

Raleth's Claim

No one expected a red to pick Zypher.Too reckless. Too loud. Too... much. He flirted with death like he wanted to buy it a drink. He challenged instructors. Laughed at protocol. Fucked his way through his fellow Kindled with reckless abandon. He wasn’t polished. He wasn’t disciplined.He was fun. He was chaos.And the dragons? They hated him.Until the sky cracked. Not with thunder. Not with light. But with heat. The kind of heat that boiled the mist from the mountains and made the air taste like blood and cinder. They all looked up.Raleth didn’t descend.He exploded out of the sky like a comet with teeth, wings outstretched, flame trailing from his claws, tail slicing the air in crimson arcs. War incarnate. He landed on the claiming grounds—hard. Shattering stone. Scattering hopefuls. And then?He laughed.It wasn’t a sound. It was a feeling—telepathic, dripping with arrogance and pleasure and molten promise.Zypher didn’t run. He stepped forward. “That seat taken?” he asked, cocky grin in place, flame already curling along the edge of his coat.Raleth’s golden eyes narrowed. “You’ll burn.”“I always do.”And then Raleth lunged.
No ceremony. No ritual. No permission.He struck—not to kill, but to test. To brand. To claim.Zypher raised his arm too late to block the searing flash of flame that wrapped around him like a serpent. His coat caught. His breath hitched. But he didn’t fall. He stood in it. Through it. Smiling.And then—only then—did Raleth lower his massive head until his maw hovered just inches from Zypher’s face.“You will ruin everything you touch,” Raleth said, voice coiled like smoke. “But you will do it with beauty.”The dragon’s brand seared across Zypher’s shoulder—not gently—and the bond snapped into place like a forged chain between two egos too big to break.Zypher didn’t bow. Raleth didn’t ask.And when they turned together toward the stunned crowd of onlookers, their combined presence hurt to look at."What the fuck was that?" one instructor asked.“A mistake,” whispered another.Zypher just grinned, half his collar still smoldering. “Fuck you guys. That? That was a meet-cute.”

Fiskin Birley

& Seradrix

• Play with Fiskin

Fiskin's Crucible
-Poisoned Mind-

The Poison Mind allows Fiskin to inject doubt, distraction, or confusion into the minds of enemies within line of sight. It’s not mind control—it’s corruption. A subtle, creeping fog that twists perception.He can cause an opponent to hesitate, just long enough for someone else to strike, make them misjudge distance, direction, or intent, turn loyalty brittle, crack strategy like glass.It’s silent. Invisible. No showy flames or illusions—just the quiet unraveling of certainty.With prolonged eye contact, Fiskin can extract a surface-level thought or emotion—an echo of intent.
This makes him devastating in interrogations… or battles where one misstep means death.He doesn’t use it often. But when he does...“He already knows where to cut.”

Rider for Vult Pyre

Dragon Bond-
Green female, SeradrixCrucible -
Poison Mind

Seradrix's Claim

Fiskin didn't look for dragons. He didn't want to be Ashborn. In fact he spent most of his twentith year hiden away. But you can't hide from dragons.Seradrix found him in the alchemist’s greenhouse on the eastern edge of Ashvael—long after hours, alone among deadly plants and half-finished toxins. The dragon did not descend with fire. She uncoiled from the earth, a rustling of leaves and quiet pressure, like something ancient and venomous waking.Fiskin didn’t flinch.He turned to find her behind him, scales like jade-pierced obsidian, eyes unblinking. Watching. “You know the language of a slow death,” she said.Fiskin didn’t respond immediately. He wiped his hands clean, careful and methodical. “Quick ones don’t teach you much.”That made her smile—if dragons could smile. A curl of her lip. A gleam of approval.“We will teach them all.”She moved forward, slow and deliberate, until her snout was inches from his chest. He could feel her breath—cool, not hot. Like the hiss before venom hits the blood.She did not roar. She did not brand. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes locking into his mind like a hook into flesh and in that moment, something slid into place.
Not fire. Not light.Poison.
Elegant. Precise. Unyielding. Their bond wasn’t an eruption. It was a venom drip—deliberate, permanent, unforgiving.