Nero had a dream that completely killed him inside. There was a city he cherished awashed with flames, the family he nurtured into one of the strongest Firekin households completely torn to shreds and thrown about the warring streets. Noxious fumes - a combination of gore and bodily waste - culminated into a miasma of death that sought to wrench the lungs from his hyperventilating chest. With the fire came the shadows; whispering tendrils that split screaming Kin in half and threw the remains into darkened sections around the city.

This was Azrah. This meant something.

But he could not tell if it was nary a vision or dream, for as the darkness closed in around his form in the middle of the street, he could only see one truth among all the bedlam. There, at the furthest point he could see past the encroaching shadow tendrils, was the Palace with a torn Flamear standard... and his love's head, stringed up to hang next to the other prolific faces of the Stewart's offspring.

To be honest.... he's glad he woke up screaming. Living is far less worse than the horrors he sees after the sun's gone down.

*Yahto tossed in his sleep, mumbling quietly to himself. As he slept a nightmare of his past with a very cruel Wilderkin Master played over in his head*
"Im s-sorry s-sir .."
*Before he could get another word out, Yahto was hit across the face, the back of a large mighty hand struck him and knocked him to the ground. He had tripped on some fractured concrete on the floor and spilt a mug of wine on his Master and his beautiful Highborn guest. Yahto rubbed his face a moment then jumped at the shout*
"Off with you, worthless child! Clean this mess up!"
*Yahto scurried off and was back with a rag in lightening speed to wipe up the mess and hand a clean one to each of them with no words or eye contact*
"Perhaps I should be on my way, You have your hands full with this one..."
*The highborn female spoke with a slightly sneered and annoyed tone, looking down at Yahto before tossing the used rag down at him kneeled on the floor mopping up his mess. As the female left, his Master shut and locked the kitchen exit to turn and look at Yahto knelt on the floor. Before Yahto could blink, the male had kicked him in the face and knocked him back against the counter. A small whimper left him as he heard the sharp scrape of metal, his eyes lifting long enough to see the male had grabbed a large pan off the stove top*
"Best I give you a reason to trip and fall, Boy!"
*As Yahto lifted his hands, he wakes, gasping and panting from a dead sleep. His heart racing, sweat beading on his fur, tail curled protectively around him as he propped himself up on his elbows. Taking a deep breath in through his nose and looked about the little shack he was living in from his pile of straw and torn blanket on the floor. As he shook his head, he stood to start his day, though it was dark and cold out, much earlier than his norm. But he could not return to his slumber*

A shiver ran down Zara’s spine as she slept, even with the lingering heat that night. She gripped her sheets tightly, desperate
for the confining comfort as her frame shook by a fevered dreamed.

Once again she found herself standing on the stained sands of her old Master’s ludus. Wooden sword clutched tightly in her
trembling fist, too heavy to wield properly by such a small kin. Across from her the Master’s prized student smirked, his stance
wide and ready for the command. He charged, eyes fixed upon his target, practice sword raised high, showing perfect form as
he swung it down upon her shoulder. A resound crack sounded through the trainign ground as the wooden blade splintered and
her shoulder slumped, dislocated and leaving her completely vulnerable. Her opponent pressed his ground. Tackling her to the
ground. His weight pressing the air from her lungs as she cried for mercy, only to be silence by his fist slamming into her jaw.
Zara choked, spitting up blood. Tears rolled down her cheeks, joining those that had been spilled along with blood by the other
lower recruits. The only reprieve, her master’s voice booming out over the courtyard, commanding his prized pupil not kill his
most expensive investment.

Vision swimming in a haze, Zara lay on her back amidst the dust and sand, trying to remember her parent’s faces, the warmth
of their embrace, aching for the comfort of her old home, but it all faded to inky blackness. Stripped and peeled from her mind
beneath the harsh sting of the whip, replaced with the constant berating of the firekin who had stolen her from the Western Isles
and sold her to the life of slavery at this the churned out blood and bone for the amusement of the masses.

The ground gave way, and soon she was falling. Wind swept passed her face and her body tumbling head over heels as she
plummeted through the darkness. Images of those she’d met throughout her life whirling around her, each always having seen
to use her to further their own cause. Non she could consider a friend, or confidant. None that had ever wanted to be a part of her
life more than they needed to fulfill their desires. Her chest hurt, as if being torn open from the inside. A void that ripped and
shook her to the core, accompanied with a shrill and mocking voice that taunted her, “No one can be trusted,” followed
by a shrieking laugh, “Poor little lost kin, for ever alone and with not an ally or friend to save her.”

Her body landed with a thud sending her bolt upright in her bed. The scared voice of a child ringing out in the silence of the
night, “No!” as tears poured from her eyes. She clutched her her chest deep heavy breaths escaping her as she looked
around, terrified to hear that chilling voice. The empty bed beside her and the hollow feeling in her chest a constant reminder
of her cowardice to open up and let anyone in.

Amaranth rolled back and forth under her silken sheets, her brows furrowing as her usually nascent slumber began to turn to a rare nightmare. She was standing amongst rubble and ruins, still smoldering and smashed beyond any comprehension. Ragged tatters of her clothing clung to her as she moved, her long, beautiful hair singed and tattered, soot and blood covering her delicate fur, not all of it her own. She coughed on the haze of smoke and fog as she climbed over a pile of rubble blocking her path, and when she reached the top of it she gasps, eyes wide in horror as she saw Azrah spread out before her, only it was all ruins, every last building and stone brought to rubble, only recognizable by the shape of the city districts, the walls crumbled almost entirely. A creaking of strained rope sounded from behind her, and as she turned to see the source, the city rushed past her until she was kneeling in front of the ruined palace, the bodies of her family hanging from the tree in the center of the royal courtyard, strung up by their necks, bodies mutilated...but this did not phase her...until she looked upon the body of Tasmina, mutilated and bloody, but her hair unmistakable, her eyes wide in death, obviously in torment and terror as she died. Amaranth screams out, but it's cut off as a rope loops around her neck suddenly, no one holding it as it ties tight and starts to drag her across the ground, to the roots of the dead tree, and rises...rises...her feet leaving the ground as she struggles in vain....

She awakens, screaming as her fangs glow in her panic, sweeping her left hand out as an arc of blue flames sets her bed curtains alight around her. Her eyes are wide and wild, and she brings her hands to her neck, feeling it over and over again as she slowly tries to calm herself, her breathing rapid in panic.

'Just a dream...by Malith it must be just a dream...'

Crim the... No before that... Malius Pyrrhos Aurelius...

"You are Nothing..."

He looked about the flame-wreathed room, opulent and imperial, the painted wood peeled into cinders as he pressed forward through the flames. He shouldered his heavy bronze shield as he crashed through the burning door of the room into the the hallway, his muscles tensed as he steadied himself. Dark Figures stood in his path, they lashed out at him like demons with nothing but the pure intent to kill. He rushed forward and skid on his knee's reflecting with his shield and cut their legs from under them. With a growl he finished them and advanced down the hallway like some kind of beast stalking prey. Utter rage filled his eyes as his pearl softly glowed, the air around him shimmering from the heat. His heart pounded, he was frantic as he called and moved from room, bringing death and flame.

"You Failed in your Duty..."

He ascended the stairs at the end of the hallway and looked upward toward the tower to which they lead, then he raced up the stairs with purpose. Kicking his way into the room at the top of the tower through the flaked burning door he panted and looked about. His sword clattered to the ground as he rushed forward to protect the most important piece of his world. The creak of the wood and those venomous words behind him was all he heard above the din of the flames.

"Know your Place and Die Mongrel...”

He turned too late to raise his shield, blackness lanced out at him and tore his sight from him, his world became a spray of crimson. “Ptang” the distinct sound of metal pinging off metal, he spun, his mane like a whirling firestorm. In that moment he touched his hand to his ruined eye, and though blinded, saw only his duty and lunged at his foe nothing but claws, fangs, and rage.

“I will not Fail...”

Crim shook awake roaring like an animal, his razor sharp claws of a warrior-caste slashing through the air uselessly as he came to consciousness. He shook with rage, his eyes wide and burning like fire-opals. He exhaled extinguishing licks of flame upon his fangs, then looked about, resting his hand on his eye-patch. Sun streamed in from the window, the sound of the city in the morning could be heard outside. He collapsed backward into his bed again, then pounded his fist on the frame.

Focalor
He never really knew when they would strike. No matter how much drink he imbued, ash he dirtied his nose with or pretty kin he filled his bed with, they came eventually and without warning. That moment when everything came crashing down. Oh the nightmare was different each time, the kin involved changing, the location and circumstances wildly different but in the end it was the same. All his flowery words ignored, backroom deals dragged out into the light, hired muscle bought out from under him until he stood alone. Focalor knew, knew it as surely as the north wind and in the core of his pearl that he wasn’t strong enough, and every nightmare ended with him ground beneath the clawed foot of a kin that simply overpowered him and proved that the only real strength in the world was personal. A strength he would never really have.
Then, like every night that the fits came to him, Focalor went for the bottle at his bedside and shouted with a hoarse voice to wake a servant. It wouldn’t banish the fear and sense of wounded pride, but buying some commonborn warriorkin that couldn’t say no for the night would help him lie to himself about just who was stronger, for a time.

Amon
Jolted awake from his rest before the sun could rouse him, Amon’s hand found the blade beneath his pillow and eyes flicked in their practiced pattern around his room. A heartbeat later as he confirmed he was still alone while his ears strained to catch any stray sound and nose flared to take in the scents of the small room, the firekin relaxed slowly and slid out of bed. Rather sure now of why he was awake, Amon wouldn’t let that get in the way of being ready. He could always be wrong and so he checked around the room, peered out the windows, and spent a few long minutes just taking in everything his senses could tell him before settling back down on the bed with slow, deep breaths to calm his heart and body. I am ready he told himself, not even giving a whisper of breath to the thought as he repeated it and slid the blade back beneath his pillow. I am prepared and ready, and I won’t be caught without a solution or way out. Amon repeated as he lay back down and stared at the ceiling, because a nightmare of being caught in a moment with his tail low and claws dull had to be the only thing that would wake him like that. It had to be.

Valefor
Yellow eyes in a violet face. Eyes that should be warm and full of adoration, are instead hard and narrow with hate and blame written across them. He should have been there, but instead was too involved in his studies, and she suffered for it. He should have a solution, but time and again he looked down at the blood on his hands and shards of lifeless, broken pearls with nothing to show for his work but failure. The worst of it all was that he could hear her, a voice that all memory said was kind and sweet now full of venom and hate as it spit curses at him for his shortcomings. Valefor didn’t even consider the nightmares to be nightmares really, not anymore. They were history and premonition both, something he had to atone for and prevent all wrapped up in one neat little package of self-recrimination.

The hallways were darkened and she could hear the screams echoing all the way down to her small room where she sat huddled in fear. What could make her mother scream that way when all her life she’d only seen her calm and composed? She slipped out of bed cautiously ensuring as best as she could to be quiet though she feared her heart was pounding loud enough for all to hear. All her life she’d been kept apart from the rest of her family, she knew she was different, wrong somehow, but she still cared for them and those screams made her think of bedtime tales of the terrible slayings of the Royal Heartkin. As she made her way up the stairs no one noticed her, the servants rushed past with steaming pitchers and fine linens. The closer she moved to her mothers chambers the tighter she pressed against the opulently painted walls and the fine linens being carried away were no longer pristine white but crimson. Suddenly her mothers screams died off and the terrible silence pressed down on her freezing her feet from the doorway.
When the terrible cry came it wrenched at her heart and the sound of her mothers sobs brought tears to her eyes and gave her courage to see what was wrong and how she might console the kin she looked up to. She stepped into the room and made it a few feet because everyone was gathered around the great bed their heads bent as they gazed at something small her mother and a servant held nestled. Her heart lifted for a brief moment, was this her sibling then? Yet there were no smiles, no happiness and for a moment she believed this scene was what her own birth had been like with everyone sobbing and lamenting over her hideousness. She was excited though, because no matter how ugly her new sibling was she would still love them and treat them better than her big brother treated her. Eager to see the kinling who shared her blood she rushed in closer only to be grabbed roughly by her twisted horn and yanked aside by her brother. His face was hard with anger and the sudden motion drew her mother’s tearful gaze towards her, but the tears suddenly stopped and the cold rage she was more familiar with lit in those sapphire eyes.
“Malith mocks me! She is as beautiful as the winds of Sola, but she is still and gone and I am left with only YOU!”
Suddenly the world was spinning and twisting as her mother fell from the bed onto her beating against her with furious strikes and claws while her brother held her in place preventing escape. She was so confused, so confused and she begged for her mother to stop, and then terror filled her as the blows suddenly ceased and servants were pulling her mother up off her. Her brother was yanking her away and down the dark hallways her own sobs in her ears muffling his angry voice.

The darkness, the swallowing darkness, she gasped and sat up with the sheets tangled and shredded around her chest aching with the memory of the nightmare that was more memory than dream. She clutched at her tail and curled into a tight ball as the sweat dried and left her chilled and shaking. Before the first blush of dawn could kiss the sky she was out of bed and bathing before carefully binding her chest and donning her armor, only the strain of combat training would help clear her mind of her past, only in Azrah could she forget she was Uli the Ugly and Unwanted.

It wasn't a fluid nightmare. Images flashing through his mind, bits and pieces of a fractured, twisted tale.
FLASH
A woman shouting as she's thrown to the ground, small dust clouds coming up as her small frame makes contact.
FLASH
Loud growling as tufts of fur fall to the ground.
FLASH
That same ground finding itself met with splashes of crimson liquid, the growling drowned out by a crowd's uproar.
FLASH
All sounds fading as that same woman hit the ground again, all fight gone from her eyes. All... Life... gone from her eyes.
FLASH
A tiny blue-grey paw reaching out for the woman's face, soft whimpers and sniffles all that could be heard.
FLASH
That same tiny paw being torn away, the crying becoming more intense the further away she ends up. Before she completely fades from view, two simple syllables being screamed, clearly from a child.

"MAMA!!!"

Kalydae sits up with a start, his chest heaving. He takes a moment to regain his surroundings, rubbing his face as he looks down at his pale yellow sheets. With a quick shake of his head, the airkin gets up and begins to get ready for the day. Before the sun even rises his scrolls are packed and he's out the door, pausing to look back at the house for only a moment before continuing the journey to the Grand Bazaar. Today was going to be a long day.