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It seemed as though the flames were everywhere.

Each step that Kirtok took was agonizing as he rushed through his home. The fields outside were alight with a wild fire, consuming the fruits of his and his father's hard labour. There was something amiss though as embers threatened to ignite the fur on his body. Where was his family?

They were all supposed to be prepared for such a disaster. Everyone in the household knew to clear the house and head for the barn to meet up before heading into town. No one was there, even though the barn had been spared from the blaze.

The floor creaked as his hooves scuffed the wooden boards beneath him. His sister's bedroom had already gone up in flames. The creak of something above him said the roof would give way any minute. Kirtok couldn't leave just yet though, not without first getting his family out of the house.

Throwing his weight against a wooden door, Kirtok burst into the master bedroom upstairs. He coughed as a plume of smoke caught him in the face, and dropped down to get to breathable air. He could smell the burning oak planks around him as the flames devoured his home. There was something amiss about the scent that Kirtok couldn't explain, but it filled him with a feeling of dread.

It was not unlike that of charred meat.

"Father!" Kirtok hacked as he navigated through the bedroom, his eyes watering. "Mother! Where are you?" He listened, but there was no response. He couldn't even hear the cries of his baby brother in his crib.

He made it to what was left of the bed, and inhaled a heavy dose of smoke as he gasped. There, lying in the smoldering ashes of the bedframe, were the bodies of two minotaur, their bodies contorted in agony. Kirtok couldn't bring himself to look at the crib, already knowing his brother's fate. His heart wrenched in his chest, and he could feel fresh tears filling his eyes.

It can't be. No! How could they not wake up?

The house groaned and the sound of a shattering window was heard nearby as a burst of flame devoured the side of the house. The howl of the late autumn winds rushed inwards, creating a swirling cloud of smoke in the room. The air was growing less breathable by the moment, and Kirtok could hardly see. The longer he remained, the more light-headed he felt. The minotaur dropped onto his hands and knees, coughing as smoke filled his lungs.

_I need to get out of here! I can grieve later!_he thought, pushing all images of his family's corpses out of his mind. If he didn't flee, he would soon join them. The Freehorn minotaur did not give up on life so easily.

Kirtok scrambled to get back out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest as panic overtook him and further deprived his body of oxygen. He dragged himself out into the hallway before collapsing, his muscles exhausted and his lungs screaming for air.

Slumping forward with his face against the warm floorboards, Kirtok lost all sense of himself as something heavy struck him... causing his eyes to shoot open in his bed.

The chill of the room whipped around him, and despite his thick fur, Kirtok shivered on the straw-stuffed mattress. He pulled his body in close to himself, trying to contain his body heat.

Every night it's the same Gods damned dream. Kirtok pulled the human-sized, tattered blanket over his body to cover his arms and chest, leaving the rest of his naked body exposed to the cold. Why must the Twins punish me for my failure?

There was some movement on the opposite side of the small space that Kirtok occupied. He gazed up at a knorian sleeping on a similar bed as his, though he fit much more comfortably on it than Kirtok did.

"Ya'll right there pal?" the knorian asked, sounding far more concerned than someone in prison should have. "Ya been tossing and turning for what feels like forever. You gonna be doing this your whole stay?"

Anger welled up inside Kirtok, but he clamped down on his emotions as best as he could. The man didn't sound like he was trying to be offensive, so there was no reason to bite his head off for it.

"P-probably," Kirtok stammered. He rubbed his arms under the blanket. Compared to the heat he felt in his dreams, the room was intensely cold even if under normal circumstances it would be comfortable.

"Shame," the knorian said. "Must be a doozy of a nightmare you've been having."

Kirtok nodded, but didn't indulge him in the details.

"What's ya name?"

"Kirtok," the minotaur replied. "Yours?"

"Doren. I'd shake ya hand but you're busy."

"Ain't my Gods damned fault this prison is so cold." Kirtok frowned.

"Cold?" Doren asked, sounding confused. "I'm sweating over here and I ain't got no fur."

"Do you think I'm faking it?" Kirtok snapped, his anger punctuated by the chattering of his teeth.

"No, I s'pose ya ain't."

Sighing out of frustration, Kirtok pulled the covers tighter against his arms and chest. There was no chance of him falling back asleep, not with how cold he felt and not with his dreams so fresh in his mind. The shaman who treated his burns had said that such nightmares were a sign of something significant, but Kirtok didn't pay it much heed. He was never one for faith. Though the rest of the Freehorn clan might be more inclined to clutch onto old superstitions and dream interpretation, it was not for Kirtok.

Instead of trying to fall asleep, Kirtok decided to try and make conversation with Doren. "Sorry, I've not had a good couple of months."

"It's fine," Doren said, shrugging.

"Mind if I ask why you're in here?"

"Got piss stinking drunk and started a brawl at the tavern," Doren said, his smile audible in his voice even if it couldn't be seen in the dark. "Guess this town ain't too fond of that sort of thing, huh?"

"No, they're pretty strict about disturbances like that," Kirtok affirmed. Already he was starting to feel a little better as he turned his attention to the knorian.

"What'd they get you with?"

"I caused a... scene at the Census and Excise Office," Kirtok said, his mind flashing back to the moments before the militia came in to take him away. His hands idly found the bandages wrapped on his forearms, and he rubbed the sore wound where one of their swords had gotten a little too close.

"Someone gone and pissed ya off huh?"

"Something like that," Kirtok replied. He never recalled ever being so furious with someone before, but hearing that his father's land belonged to the state after the fire and his subsequent convalescence drove him over the edge. "They took my land."

"Ah." Doren seemed to understand well what he meant. The knorians had lost most of their land to the Rogarian Empire centuries ago. They knew how painful it was to lose something that had been in the family for generations. Most still harboured a sense of loss and resentment towards the humans.

Kirtok was beginning to understand how they felt.

"Ya got anywhere to go after you're out?" Doren asked, filling the silence.

Kirtok was quiet, deciding whether to answer his question. After a moment, he replied, "Got no place to call home anymore."

And no one wants anything to with me any longer, Kirtok added as he scratched at a burnt scar on his cheek.

Doren chuckled, which surprised Kirtok. Did the man find something funny? Before his anger could spark once again, he spoke.

"Aye, I've been down that dusty trail before," Doren said sagely, his voice trailing a little as if remembering something from long ago. "Tell ya what, I got a place you can stay for a while. Ya hard working?"

Before Kirtok could respond, something clattered against the bars of their cell. The light of a hooded lantern flooded into the room, causing the minotaur to squint and shield his eyes. The silhouette of a guard stood on the other side of the door, holding a short metal baton that he rapped against the bars.

"Didn't I tell you lights out?" the guard fumed. Kirtok didn't bother to point out the fact that the warden had already taken the lantern and torches out of the cell before he'd even been thrown in. "Quit your yapping! I can hear you pissants from the other room."

Kirtok was hoping that if he stayed quiet, the guard would go away. No need to make things worse for himself. Getting angry like he was feeling inclined to do would probably end with him spending more than a night in jail.

Doren had other ideas.

"Oh ya? And what are ya gonna do if we don't do what you say?" The knorian stood up and closed the distance between him and the guard. "Are ya gonna hit us? Gotta open the door to do that. And in that time, I'm pretty sure I could take you down unarmed and naked before ya can even blink."

The guard swallowed audibly. Something about Doren's voice set Kirtok on edge. He felt as though the man could live up to his threats.

"Just keep it down," the guard said, though his words lacked conviction. He turned and left, the light once again fading down the hall until a metal door opened and slammed shut.

Doren started to laugh. "Really, these bumpkin militia think they got it all figured out. They're practically scared of their own shadows." He moved back to his cot and slumped back down, lazily tossing the covers to cover his nudity. "As I was saying, I got a place ya can stay."

"I have no problems with earning my keep," Kirtok rumbled in response. "I was a farmer, after all."

"Judging by your size, ya ain't lazy. By the way, couldn't help but notice the fancy scar on ya face. Did ya lose a bet and get branded or something?"

Kirtok was hoping that Doren wouldn't have noticed the flame-shaped scar on his cheek. He didn't understand where it had come from or why it was the only thing the tribe shaman couldn't fix with his medicine after he was pulled out of the blaze.

"It's not your business where it came from," Kirtok said louder than he intended to. He quickly changed topics before the knorian could follow up his inquiry. "Where's this place you're talking about?"

"My old man runs the Blackguard guild out of Swifthaven. Calls our chapter the Ebonwolves. We run it out of the basement of an inn my aunt runs, and we all get free room whenever we're in town." Again, Doren smiled. "Pretty great, ain't it?"

Kirtok cringed at his offer. "You're inviting me to join an adventurer's guild?"

"Merely offering. Why, is there a problem with adventurers?"

Kirtok slowed a moment, choosing his words carefully. "The Blackguard doesn't exactly have a sterling reputation," he remarked.

"Bah, nothing but gossip and hearsay. The Ebonwolves are good folks," Doren assured him. "We don't do a lot of that bounty hunting shit that the Blackguard is known for. We do good, honest work, at a reasonable rate of course. No reason ya couldn't join us. Ya could be part of the family, and they'd treat ya right."

I already had a family, Kirtok thought grimly, but then stopped himself before he could start feeling sorry for himself. Maybe this was an opportunity, a chance to start life anew. Sure, it still hurt to think that his entire family had been killed in the fire, but there was no reason to let his loss hold him back any longer. He was already homeless and destitute. What did he have to lose by going with Doren to join the Ebonwolves?

Instead of answering outright, Kirtok replied, "I'll give it some thought," Kirtok said as earnestly as he could. "You said that you're based in Swifthaven?"

"Biggest town in Kelmore, next to Marlton of course. Best place to set up without stepping on Lord Rohmer's front steps," Doren said. "The old codger ain't too fond of us since it makes his men look incompetent."

Kirtok nodded, laying his head back down on his pillow. He would be released from prison tomorrow morning. After that, he figured he might as well give Doren's words some thought over at the pub with a few of his friends.

Maybe they could help clue him in on the right path to take, if they would still talk to him.