Nightmare

Nightmare is gruff, aggressive, rude, and blunt. Letters and packages come in, Nightmare sleeps, then they go out again. Clan AXQU has lots of shipments to go out all over the world, and it's Nightmare's job to carry them. He was a drill instructor in his past life, training young soldiers up so that they had a remote hope of surviving the hellishly brutal warrior initiation rites of the typical Plague clan. Nightmare doesn't tolerate weakness. Not from his friends, not from his relatives, not from his clan, and especially not from himself. Warriors especially don't get much from Nightmare. Softness and gentleness are liabilities in Plague territory, and Nightmare knows that all too well. He's seen it all, done it all, and he knows what happens with one little slip.

On the other hand, Nightmare is also fiercely protective of classes of dragons he sees as vulnerable. Noncombatants, ex slaves, hatchlings, et cetera. He used to believe that vulnerability meant weakness, but after living here as long as he has, Nightmare has a very good idea of who to protect and who to let go. It's the concept of potential... someone weak now can grow stronger if invested in, and one thing Plaguelings abhor more than anything else is waste. Of course, he'll never admit that a lot of what he justifies as "not being wasteful" is a strong core of kindness and empathy that not even the Scarred Wasteland was able to kill.

He is most fiercely protective of Lothario, his husband, and dotes on the Imperial in his own special way. Nightmare is never without his sapphire wedding ring. When he comes home to roost after delivering packages all week, he is curled up with Lothario, grooming and polishing the Imperial's fine scales. He is a doting and relentlessly attentive mate, and woe unto anyone who dares lay a finger on Lothario without the imperial's express consent. The only bed Lothario has to warm is Nightmare's, and even then, only because Lothario freely chooses to.

---

"Come on, come on! Up an' at 'em, you lazy %@#$ers, get yer sorry hides up before I tear you a new cloaca!"

He was nice to women, or so they said, but none of his trainees had ever seen it. From the crack of dawn onward, Nightmare had earned every bit of his fearsome moniker. On the plus side, he churned out promising warrior candidates by the truckload when they went through his basic training course. On the other hand... fully half his trainees didn't end up surviving, sometimes up to three quarters.

In true Plagueling fashion, Nightmare just took it as a sign that it was working. Weeding out the weak, he said.

"Stop coughing, Jenkins. Disease in the blood will just make your body stronger. Now! Today will be your final flight test! We will be crossing the Twisting Crescendo! Avoid the eye at all costs! Any questions?!"

"Will we have a Wind mage to help us?"

"Good question. No. We will not. Reliance on magic to change the terrain around you breeds weakness, and you need to be able to survive in anything the world throws at you. Any other stupid questions? No? Good!"

"We have mirrors in the party, sir! They can't fly as far--"

"Don't tell me what you can't do, Jenkins! Do you want me to fail you? By Plaguebringer's festering cloaca, I will shred your wings and drop you in the Wyrmwound!"

There was an old Earth-flight saying about pride that would be relevant here, but Nightmare couldn't recall it offhand. There was an even more relevant saying from Wind flight-- any dragon can appear to be a master so long as he stays one step ahead of his students-- but Nightmare had never heard it. Nor did Nightmare know why the Twisting Crescendo was so much more violent today than it usually was. Nightmare forged on ahead, leading his pack of exhausted and battered misfits behind him.

"Sir! I think we're too close to the eye!"

"Shut UP, Jenkins! Get the lead out and beat those wings!"

"But sir! I think--"

"Gods DAMN IT ALL, Jenkins!" Nightmare turned on a dime and roared at his trainee with the force of a hurricane, claws out and teeth bared to strike the smaller dragon down. What Nightmare neglected to realize was that that whirl had taken his left wing right in the path of the more violent winds closer to the eye. Nightmare fanned his wings to slow his speed, and felt the immediate pop and wrench of dislocation. His battered wing acted like a sail-- forcibly yanking him into the maelstrom.

His students heard the sound of forgiveness-- screaming and then silence.

---

Pain. Nightmare was aware of... pain. And beeping. Pain and beeping weren't good things, right? Was he dead? He groaned and lifted his head, then immediately wished he hadn't. He felt a bucket shoved into his claws, which he immediately dry-heaved into.

"Good, you're awake. Your left wing was dislocated, and you broke most of your spines crashing into the cliff face," came a feminine voice from beside him. "Also, your skull. It's better for everyone that you don't try to get up right now."

"Ugh..." Nightmare groaned, heaving into the bucket again. "...two questions, if you don't mind. What about my nose horn?"

"We were able to repair it. Don't challenge any other bulls for a few weeks, but you should be fully operational once the crack in the bone heals."

"...thanks." Nightmare heaved again and finally decided just to lay his head down. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet. "Second question. Why did you save me?"

"You're a Plagueling, aren't you?" the female asked. "It's simple, really. We're a Lightning clan. We see a broken, discarded part on the ground, and if it looks useful to us, we invest the time and effort to repair it. You looked useful. It'd be a waste to leave you on the floor of the canyon."

Nightmare opened one eye, silently willing the other dragon to come into focus. She was a wildclaw, he could tell that much. "That's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," he told her sincerely. "I was supposed to die out there. I made a fatal mistake. You still think I'm worthy of life?"

The wildclaw snorted. "Yes. I'm a doctor. I wouldn't be a doctor if I thought lives on the brink of death weren't worth saving. What were you trying to do?"

"I was crossing the Crescendo and flew too close to the Eye," he told her bluntly. "With some new recruits I was trying to train."

The wildclaw sucked air in through her teeth. "Gods. With new recruits?"

"I have crossed it many times before. I can be useful to your clan; I am indebted to you, and will serve loyally. I can fight, I can train new recruits, I can train others in weapons..."

"We've already got dragons who can do all those things, but if you regularly flew the Crescendo, you're a better flier than you let on. We need a courier who can lift heavy loads and guard important packages from theft on the road."

"A courier? I never imagined mys--"

"I know you didn't, but that's what we need, and that's what you'd be good at." She thumped his side with one of her foreclaws. "Just give it some thought... what was your name?"

"Nightmare. Yours?"

"Millie."

"Thank you. I will, Millie."