Authors note: Alright, first things first, I don't own any characters from the Spyro the dragon or legend of Spyro series, and I don't claim to. The only characters I own are the ones I have made myself, and the same is true of the characters in the Dragon's only Role play.

Now that that's over with, I would like to state that, when I come to the parts from the actual Role play, I may change something's simply for theatrics, and I will be adding a few new scenes. I do not claim in any way that these would have happened had the story gone on, after all this is fan fiction first and foremost, so those parts should be treated like the majority of fan fiction, the authors interpretation.

The vast majority of this story will be events outside of the aforementioned RPG, so if you simply looking for a summary of that RPG, then look elsewhere.

Finally, if you see a symbol like (1), it means refer to the footnotes for further information. Now, without further adieu, let the story commence.

end authors note.

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Along time ago, the world that we know now did not exist. Instead, there were some loosely connected countries that had no names. Scattered throughout these countries were a variety of tribes of dragons separated based on color. It was simply the way of things back then. Among these many races of dragons, two stood out from the others, two tribes that everyone knew. Those were the purple dragons and the black dragons.

The purple dragons were perhaps the smallest tribe out there. They were an elitist bunch, who believed that they could trace their lineage all the way back to the dragon that created the universe itself. Whether or not it was true, one thing was for sure, and that was that they were stronger than anybody else was. They were the ones who started the separation of the tribes in fact, to preserve their bloodlines and split themselves from the rest of us, whom they considered impure. They were a proud tribe, filled with only the strongest and smartest.

The black dragons, on the other hand, were quite the opposite. They were as gentle as the dragons come. They were the thinkers of the dragons, always calm, always caring, and always willing to help the other tribes if necessary. They made many allies this way and entered a long prosperous golden age, creating some of the best music, most beautiful paintings, and gripping stories ever created. (1)

The golden age didn't last them long though. As they began to become more and more powerful, the purple dragons became increasingly jealous. They brought their greatest strategists together, and devised a plan.

It started simply, as most plans do. The purple dragons began spreading an antagonistic image of the black dragons, sending in disguised soldiers to steal from the other tribes. The soldiers always made sure there were witnesses, and so slowly dislike began to build. The talk in all of the tribes now was that the blacks were abusing their power, that they were even worse than the purples. (2)

When the purple dragons rallied for war, many of the tribes were more than happy to join them. The blacks, on the other hand, weren't ready at all. They rallied quickly however, and their focus on the arts soon turned to focus on war. As much as they hated it, they had to fight or be replaced. And so they fought. They managed to turn some of the tribes who they had helped more than others to their side, and the war that the purple dragons had started so deviously turned into a long bloody stalemate.

However some dragons didn't go along with all the nationalism that had been created by jealousy and greed. One of them, a large purple by the name of Elnir Sorc, was my father. He had joined the war, feeling it was necessary to bring things back to normal, and he had garnered many awards on the battlefield. Eventually, however, he had gotten sick of it. He left the purple dragons all together. On the way through black dragon territory he was attacked, and badly wounded. One of the Black dragons, a former writer who had turned to a weapons smith to help the war effort, took pity on him. Her name was Annara Saikov, and she was my mother.

She took him in and treated his wounds, and in turn he told her his stories; of the fights he had been in, of his displeasure with the society that he was a part of, and of what the purples had gone through to start this war. With each story she fell for him more, and by the time he was healed enough to travel, she had decided to go with him.

He had had his reservations about this at first, but eventually he realized that he wanted her with him anyway. So they both set out and traveled deep into the lands that the dragons had not explored, known to most as the dark lands. It was a harsh area; the only foods available were various rodents, and the occasional small game. Traveling around the area were all kinds of hostile beings, most notably the long forgotten tribe of the silver dragons, vicious killers who simply journeyed around killing anything they saw. But the two dragons survived.

One day, they finally decided to do what they had been wanting to for ages. They made love, and three weeks later my mother bore an egg into the world. In another four weeks, I was born. I was a strange looking dragon, different from any of the others. While most of the other dragons I met (We had occasional visitors from the dragon realms) had scales that formed together into one large layer. My scales, instead, stuck out, much like a porcupine's quills. To make things even stranger, my scales were oddly colored, each separate scale started purple at the base, where they connected to my skin, but slowly darkened as it came towards the tip, where they were the purest black. This strange mutation wasn't necessarily a bad thing though. It gave me a very strong outer layer of protection, and I've personally always liked the look of it.

Living in the Darklands wasn't the most fun life for a child, I constantly had to work; I was as much a member of the family as the others, and I had little to do in my free time except read the poems and books that my mother wrote. She was quite a gifted writer, and I grew up with an intense love of the arts.

I don't really remember too much of my early childhood years. They went by quite quickly. The first memorable event I can remember came on the equivalent of my fifth human birthday (3). I was working as hard as I ever had, and all of a sudden, my parents said that they had a surprise for me. My mom got up from where she had been sitting, and revealed that under her was an egg of pure silver. I was as excited as any big brother would have been. On the day he was supposed to hatch, my mother and I both waited anxiously. The tell tale cracking sounds started, and as my mom began to move off of it, it shattered into tiny shards. My mother, standing over the egg as it broke, was killed instantly as the pieces shot through her soft underbelly.

I picked the kid (4) up, ready to slit his throat for killing my mother, but before I could, I heard my dad's voice:

"Darian, No!" Begrudgingly I stopped. "He has just as much right to live as you do Darian. It was an accident."

As much as I hated it, I knew my dad was right. I let him live. I gave him another chance.

He was truly just as odd looking as I was. He was a silver dragon, which seemed near impossible, considering the colors of his parents. As if that weren't strange enough, he didn't even seem to have scales. Instead he had a strange, fleshy layer not unlike the skin of humans. He had sharp, long claws that were the same bright silver as the rest of his body. His head was slightly larger than a normal dragon, and he was incredibly fast, perhaps due to his lack of scales. Looking at him always gave me a slight chill… (5)

Life pretty much went back to normal for the next few years. We worked harder than ever before, now that we had another mouth to feed. The silver dragons had finally settled down, in fact after the child was born, the tribes seemed to disappear all together (6). I was charged with taking care of the child, whom I later came to call the puppeteer. Despite years of being a mercenary, I would probably say it was my worst job to date. From the day he learned to talk, he was constantly saying the strangest things; he was always taking about whether Beings were inherently good or inherently evil, or what our true purpose was.

I tried to answer his questions, but often times I found myself stumbling over my own words in our conversations. Even at a young age he was a skilful debater, and he seemed to know much more about the world than he should have.

It was right around the time that I was turning the equivalent of ten human years old that I was walking slowly in the forest, looking for food. I spied what appeared to be a dead dear lying in the grass. I walked up to it, excited. After all, it wasn't often that one would find free food, let alone dear. As I walked up to the carcass, I noticed that all the skin had been sliced off quite cleanly. Sliced into the meat of it was the word, "kill" and a crudely drawn picture of my father was sketched next to it. I bolted back to the camp as quickly as I could. My father was lying in a pool of dark red blood. On top of his body was my brother.

"Hello, Darian," he said. I stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend what was going on. "Lackeys, kill him!" I heard the puppeteer say.

I ran. I bolted away as quickly as I could. I glanced behind myself, and saw I was being followed by a pair of rabid animals, a dear, and a moose. I tried my best to lose them, but they were tracking me close, and I was tiring. Then all of a sudden I was falling. The smell of shit hit me like a brick, and I realized I was at the bottom of our family latrine. I threw up, as one might expect. The smells were unbearable, and on top of that, it seemed I had landed on a flies nest.

I waited down there, with that terrible stench, those damn annoying flies, and the fear of being discovered for what must have been an hour before I finally had the courage to fly up to ground level again. As I landed on the outside, I couldn't see the puppeteer anywhere. I was glad, for a moment, perhaps, then I realized I was covered in shit, piss, and bug bites. On top of all that, I had nearly been killed by my little brother, and I was completely and utterly parentless.

I sighed. As much as I wanted to just give up, I knew that that would be a silly thing to do. My brother had wanted me dead, so I needed to keep on living. It was simple common sense. I went and cleaned myself off in the nearest river, working as hard as I could to get the stench out of my scales. Every bone in my body was aching from trying to get away from those beasts. Once I was finally clean, I headed back towards my camp. It was mostly intact, though our food supplies had been emptied. If I had had any strength left in me that night, I probably would have gone out hunting, but instead I decided not too. By which I mean I collapsed out of exhaustion the moment I was safe within our tent.

Many things had changed in such a short amount of time. I now had to fend for myself, though that wasn't that big of a deal. I may have only been a ten year old, I had learned to live in this harsh climate, and while I would have to do all the work now, I would only have to take care of myself. My parents were now both gone and I would never see either of them again. That was truly a bitter pill to swallow. I had loved them both more than they could've known. Perhaps the worst part of all of this was the fear. The puppeteer had left, yes, but what if he came back? I doubted that I could face him, but it was a hurdle I would leap when I was ready for it. For now, I slept peacefully, and dreamed of my mother and those pretty poems she wrote.

(1): Dragons have some of the most powerful magic in existence at their command, and this allowed them to become semi-human like for short periods. This allowed them to paint and write in the same way humans did.

(2): This is actually where the general prejudice against black dragons came from; ironically the purples who started it have taken on a role as protector of the universe.

(3): Dragons age differently than humans do. Dragons go through the changes a human would in one year over about five years, during childhood. As they mature, however, this becomes even longer. Once dragons are the equivalent of fifteen in human years, the difference becomes closer to twenty years. Dragons have drastically longer life spans than humans do. From here on out, I will be referring to my age in terms of human years. My true age can be found through multiplication.

(4): He had a name, at some point, but it has been lost to the ages. Even he refers to himself as the puppeteer, these days.

(5): It is highly likely that our strange physical appearances were due to this being the first or at least first known, case of a black dragon and a purple dragon mating. Historical records from after the wars ended would suggest that other cases of interracial breeding produced similar results.

(6): This was most likely the puppeteer's fault, in fact. His mind was extremely powerful from the beginning. It's quite possible he either killed all of the silvers, or converted them with his mental abilities.