Cubhood:
The female who bore them left with little effort. She would not miss her sons. Her duty to the Angel who had visited her, the Lord of Sleep, was done. She had born the litter, all was done.
Born first of the three, Incorrin was the only one with no obvious gift. From the time their sire set eyes on them and their mother left them to him, Incorrin was the Shield, the ungifted.
The middle cub was a DreamWeaver from his first breath, Talcorin would one day be DreamKing. Rincor -the Lord of Sleep- knew this as he lay eyes on the black kit. He had the talent for it now, and surely it was his right by birth, but training would be needed before he could take the throne.
The youngest, Ancorath, raged with a single-minded fury the likes of which Heaven had never seen. To think he had been born an Angel was laughable, he, the rightful King of Nightmares. With a perverse delight Rincor would practically taste, Ancorath launched a volly of Nightmares upon his two elder brothers.
Talcorin retaliated with wave after wave of dreams, to fend off the nightmarish hoard that marched against the mind of his brother and himself.
Caught between the two tides, Incorrin twitched as he was battered to and fro, like seaweed caught in the tide or plains grass in a rough wind. Neither sibling would tire, and so the mind of their brother was their battlefield, and the shield ruptured.
What happens, to those dreams that are broken on the rocks of sleep? To the nightmares crushed by the hooves of a pure dreamer's wishes? What happens to the broken ones, the battered and shattered ones?
Thus came the Lord of Broken Dreams.
And Incorrin opened apparently blind eyes, seeing in shades of grey and burning white and shattered black.
Marked with tattered wings and shattered crown, so lives the Lord of the Wasteland.
