Short Note: Hello, this is my first fic so if there is any corrections you think I should make (Grammar, format, etc.) please write a review letting me know how to improve. Thank you so much for reading and allowing me to improve my writing, hope you enjoy!
Spyro: Ascension to Legend
Apparently before the existence of our barbaric, motley generation of dragons, we had been a powerful empire, one that ruled over from the shimmering seas past Dragon Shores to the desolate tundras of Dante's freezer. Apparently, we had a huge army numbering in the hundreds of thousands and lead by the great heroes who conquered territory after territory from the apes, wyverns, and other creatures who dare opposed us. Apparently, at our helm were the emperors chosen by the stars- the great purple dragons clad in elaborate armor expertly wielding the elements bestowed upon dragon kind by the creators of the world itself. "So if that's true. How the hell did it end up like this?" Spyro swore to himself as he strained to get up from the comfortable confines of his bed. Outside his dusty window, the sun was barely up, the light still dim and red against the sky. He was already used to this though and pulled himself from the covers. The wooden floorboards under his feet creaked as the young dragon groggily got up and traversed the narrow confines of his barren room. He stepped into a crudely build wooden stall just outside and stared at the mirror, grimacing at his haggled appearance before brushing out his sharp teeth and pulling a lever, shivering as a drizzle of cold water washed over his scales. Commodities like a working water system was rare in the city of Nova Lumina, the war having broken not just the people, but the homes and services as well. For now, having a cold shower would have to do, it did wonders towards waking him up and preparing his concentration for another day at the workshop.
"Plus, he reminded himself, it just makes that occasional hot shower feel so much better." He stepped out and dried himself, smiling slightly at himself in the mirror, "At least I can look apart from this hellhole.
In the room adjacent to his cramped bedroom lay the only other room in his dwelling: A simple kitchen and living room all in one. He opened his pantry, groaning in annoyance when he saw a few jugs of milk and some gruel leftover from the previous day. "Whatever." Spyro sighed and grabbed the bowl of gruel and poured himself some milk. Finishing the light breakfast quickly, he donned on a simple gray cape, grabbed his leather pouch, and exited his small dwelling, just one in a whole cluster of shambly built homes made by the refugees from the war and walked down through the dirty streets towards the center of the town, where the weapon smith was located. As he passed through the broken buildings, he saw dragons, mole, cheetahs, apes, and other races alike lining the streets idly, begging for work and money after having lost everything. He pitied these people but he knew that his own condition was hardly better. If it wasn't for the demand of weapons by the Legionnes and the various street gangs that formed, he would have probably ended up much like them.
Speaking of street gangs… He narrowed his eyes at a group of dragons ahead of him, clustered in the road. There was a good dozen of them, gruff looking with an assortment of scars contrasting against the assorted colors of their scales. A tattoo of a white hawk standing over a dead raven was imprinted on the necks of every one of them, signaling their allegiance to the Wings of Liberation, the supposed representative to the people and beacon of light in the sea of darkness that befell the city. In actuality, they were nothing more than a band of drunkards and criminals who abuse their own power to get their way. The only reason why people even put up with them was because they did in some occasions launch ambushes against the Legionnes patrols that were foolish enough to venture deep into the contested portions of the city. The fallacy that the Wings preached attracted a large following immediately after the war and subsequently, their ranks swelled when the army officially left. Now they numbered close to two thousand, dispersed throughout the city where they instituted their own laws "for the interests of the oppressed." Spyro shuddered when he remembered the story about how more than often young dragonesses were snatched out of the streets where they were rewarded "a stable income"- which to an extent was true when many a dragon would find themselves locking eyes with a familiar face or two in some underground brothel or tavern. In other cases, skilled workers would also be abducted- some even from their own homes- to serve in keeping together the commodities and arsenal that the Wings needed to upkeep their control over the areas that the Dark Master couldn't or didn't bother to stamp down with the fists of his Legionnes.
Spyro watched out of the corner of his eyes as a blue ice dragon with a long set of scars down his neck whisper something into the ear of a fire dragon, who in turn cast a quick glance at him. A moment later, the same fire dragon along with two comrades fell in step behind the purple drake. Spyro carefully followed their movements, wary of a confrontation.
The random pedestrians around him either dispersed or looked away, aware that any interference would likely cost them their heads. The smith shop was right around the corner and Spyro quickened the pace and subconsciously shifted his cape to easily access the pouch around his waist. He knew the blue dragon well- in fact, it had been he who gave him those scars a year ago when he lead a group of wings to capture him and put him in their labor force. What they had not counted on was the fact that Spyro- in his years working in the foundry- had learned how the fight in his free time and in the course of five minutes, two dragons laid knocked out in the streets and the blue dragon himself limped home with a new set of scar. Obviously, he had been promoted recently and subsequently sought revenge after the purple dragon. Spyro glanced behind him as he rounded the last corner.
"They're getting closer" he muttered before turning- only to get pommeled across the face by the iron base of a spear, throwing him sideways and against the stone wall of a house- or rather the remains of one. Spyro looked up to see a large dragon with silver lined black armor peering down at him through a decorated helm with a purple crest blooming over it. Behind him, a column of a score of dragons, cheetahs, apes, and even a griffon all blankly stared at the purple dragon who stared back with wide eyes. His purple eyes reflected off of two emerald ones for a split second as he spotted who appeared to be a new recruit with her visor raised. "Oi there he is, sick 'im boys!" The heads turned to the three dragons who rounded the corner, poised to leap onto their target. Their yells died in their throats as the gazes of twenty legionaries fell upon them. Swiftly, the commander made a hand gesture and immediately, the group surrounded the four dragons. Pedestrians, attracted to the commotion, ventured to watch the occurrence, eager for action. Spyro even caught glances as people traded bets and frankly, most weren't for his side.
"You want him? Get him." The dragon from before, whom Spyro presumed was the centurion, spoke. For some reason, his voice sounded too old and wise to be the leader of the brutal killing machine that was the Legionnes… Spyro almost got caught be the first swing of the fire dragon that had pursued him. Instinct had him quickly raise his arm to black against another wild swing. He backed up, attempting to regain his balance after being caught off guard. Another dragon was waiting for him and with a grunt, Spyro felt himself get socked into the ground. "Ugghh…" Spyro groaned as he felt a new bruise form on his shoulder and yelped when the third dragon attempted to stomp his head in. Spyro rolled out of the way and kicked with his front paws, knocking the dragon down onto the ground before rolling to his feet. This time, he was ready when the fire dragon swiped at him and ducked, spinning and knocking him off balance with his tail and kicking him hard against chest. An audible "oomph" was heard when he hit the ground, kicking up dust.
Out of the corner of his eye, another dragon swung at him and he barreled under the fist, colliding with the second dragon and gauging in a deep swipe against his stomach with his claws. The dragon howled with agony and clutched his wound, leaving his face open for a new set of claw marks before Spyro was roughly dragged into the ground by the dragon he had first knocked down. He struggled as his attacker attempted to hold him down and wildly stabbed with his tail, earning him a pained grunt as the dragon suddenly went limp as he was impaled in the back. Spyro threw the weight off him just in time to catch a blow to the face from the fire dragon. He dizzily ducked under another blow before throwing a claw of his own. The clumsily blow was easily parried and the dragon charged into his chest, nearly throwing him into the surrounding legionaries , who sidestepped to avoid getting rammed. The fire dragon stomped forcefully on his tail, causing Spyro to hiss with pain before he grabbed the dragon by his horns and rolled backwards, letting his own momentum and a powerful kick throw him over his shoulder and onto his back. The dragon grunted and scrambled to free himself, thrashing wildly before Spyro punched him on his exposed throat, making him shudder and fall limp.
Spyro scrambled up clumsily, still reeling against the blow to his head. In the gathered crowd, he could hear a chorus of dissatisfied groans and complaints as many lost a good sum of their day's wages. They quickly dispersed however when the legionaries lowered their spears and shields and soon the cobblestone street only sounded of the clacks of black steel.
"You fight well young dragon." The centurion approached him. Spyro opened his mouth to reply when the pommel of another spear wacked him across the face, knocking him sideways. "Kneel before the commander!" Another dragon snarled at him. "Leftenant Arryn apologize and help this dragon to his feet." The commander swiftly ordered. "But!" The Leftenant protested but was silenced when the commander lowered his spear to point between his eyes.
"Are you conducting insubordination?" "N-No Sir!" The dragon picked Spyro up by the arm and unceremoniously plopped him onto his feet, glaring as the purple dragon snidely stuck his tongue out at him. "And?" The Centurion continued. Leftenant Arryn gritted his teeth. "I-I apologize." He seethed. "Good, now return to your ranks. "Yes Commander Corryn." The dragon swiftly returned to his position, glaring hotly at the back of his commander's head.
"Now, recruit Cynder, treat him for his wounds. One of the two recruits following the squad stepped forward, it was the dragoness that Spyro had seen earlier. She carefully his bruise and pulled a vial of green paste from a satchel and applied it gently over it before doing the same on a wound on his forehead. Immediately Spyro felt the pain numb and he nodded his thanks to her. Cynder cast him a quick glance before returning to the ranks. "Who taught you how to fight?" Corryn peered down at him. "I taught myself." Spyro answered the question as concisely as possible. "Really? Then I must say you've done yourself an excellent job." He smiled, to Spyro's great surprise. The tales about how the Shadow Legionnes brutally slaughtered anyone in their way didn't seem to match the description of the dragon standing before him.
"Thank you sir." He replied, unsure what to make of this situation. A minute ago he was just thrust into a fight to the death by this dragon and now he was applauding him?
"And you know your manners too! Tell you what young dragon, how would like for a position within the ranks of the Legionnes?" The sudden proposition froze the purple dragon momentarily.
"I uh, I think it's a generous offer sir, but I've already devoted myself to a profession sir." Corryn narrowed his eyes momentarily,
"Of course, take your time to decide, I will expect an answer latter." Spyro quickly nodded and scrambled away, not giving the soldiers a second glance before he turned another corner and entered the Smith Shop from the back door out of view. He breathed heavily and retained his composure, stepping into the main room of the smith where the oak walls were lined with swords waiting to be repaired. "Eventful way to start the day no?" An old blue cheetah with a peg leg and arm hobbled through the doorway from a tiny office hidden amongst piles of stacked weapons. "I should chastise you for getting into trouble with the Wings, but I just netted an extra three dozen gold coins because of your efforts the old cheetah held up three bags full of coins and tossed one to Spyro. "A small reward for your actions lad." Spyro pocketed the money gratefully
"Thank you Hunter" and walked over to his tools of trade, looking up at his mentor surprised when he saw another stack of a dozen gold coins on his table.
"What is this for?" Spyro asked. Hunter looked back and spotted the gold. "Oh, that's your first payment of advanced salary for this season, haven't you forgotten? Today's the first day of the season of fire.
Spyro looked at him momentarily before it clicked in his mind. "Oh yeah! Thank you sir, but I'm afraid you've given me four coins too many." He looked down at the twelve coins splayed before him. The old cheetah just shook his head and turned to walk back into his office. "Bloody lad doesn't even have the brains to remember his own hatch day."
Spyro carefully inspected the blade of a sharp one sided short sword. One of the reasons why the Wings hadn't already decided to kill him already was definitely his eye for detail. After he had arrived at Nova Lumina five years ago after Warfang fell to the Dark Master, penniless and parentless, he was forced to roam the then bustling streets, scavenging a living for himself. His father had been a Captain in the Warfanian Iron Guard, an elite branch within the Royal Guard soldiers. Spyro was only just past his twelfth hatch day when they had heard the news. A horde of grublins, ogres and orcs had launched a mass attack on the city through the hidden catacombs, a task thought impossible due to the lack of knowledge possessed by the enemy. His father had been one of the soldiers tasked with the defense and managed to hold off the first wave of almost a thousand attackers with only thirty fighters. By the time the rest of the army had mobilized to launch a counter attack tough the buried ruins of old Warfang, the original thirty was cut down to ten. The remaining soldiers enclosed themselves into the remnants of the old temple within the catacombs, fighting tooth and claw through every hallway, one by one dying to save the lives of their brothers. When the army retook the catacombs, they found the gruesome sight of hundreds of dead grublins clogging the hallways of the old catacomb. As the rescue teams cleared away the bodies they uncovered one by one the corpses of eight dragons. At the very center of the temple, in the old hatchery and birthplace of Malefor, were the last two. According to the rescue team, his father had died taking the arrows meant for one of his fellow Iron Guard and had allowed for her to live. Out of the thirty dragons defending, she was the only survivor. Of course, when his mother heard of this, she broke.
A month later, when the Dark Master's forces were virtually overrunning the defenders on the wall, his mother secretly snuck out into the surrounding forest and left Warfang for Nova Lumina, one of the last free cities. She had almost made it. A week into the journey they had met up with a small band of refugees also escaping certain destruction. The band, lacking supplies, had tried their best to find food along the way but by the third week, half the dragons were already too weak to move. Clashes broke out over the remaining scraps of food and in their desperation, the survivors turned on one another. Spyro remembered vividly as former friends ripped each other's throats out, how two young drakes, a brother and sister, had managed to sneak out a few thin slices of dried meat only to be beset upon by their own older siblings. "Brothers Sisters! We have food, we can all eat!" Their cries of desperation turned into agony as they were shredded in a tangle of claws and blades. His mother had escaped with him in her arms. She flew for almost a day nonstop, without food and rarely water. The struggle took its toll on her wary body. Her wings were torn and her tail had a chunk missing so large that the end only dangled uselessly.
"Mommy, I got you water!" Spyro remembered vividly how his mother had stopped under the shade of a giant oak tree, the tallest in the forest and collapsed. Her wound became infected and over the course of a day, her mind, weighed down by the horrors of war and the death of her love, finally fell apart.
"You useless shit! Just go off and die already! You've killed me! You've killed me you insolent whelp!" She lunged at him, her razor sharp canines snapping shut a few centimeters away from his face. Spyro ran. He ran and ran until he could run no more. A scouting party from Nova Lumina had picked him up on the side of the road on their way back from Warfang and carried him to the city, where he was left by himself. He wandered the streets for nearly a month, picking up the leftovers left uncared for by the stall owners at the marketplace.
"Hey you! Get back here!" An ape stall owner chased the small dragon through the marketplace, cursing as the thief ducked into a narrow alleyway and rounded a corner out of sight.
Breathless, the Ape gave up and returned to his stall, howling when he realized in his absence that another loaf of bread had gone missing. Spyro leaned back and sighed. He was hidden in an abandoned shop, the unused counter having been caked with dust years ago. Spyro smacked his lips and got out the piece of bread before taking a hungry bite.
"Hey you gonna finish that?" A voice peeped from behind the remnants of a couch, causing Spyro to jolt awake.
Spyro held back a cry when he plunged a heavy broadsword into the furnace without gloves on, even his tough scales failing to blocked out the pain as a few smoldering sparks landed on his paw. He seethed at the searing pain but kept the sword in place, carefully draping a nearby cloth over his paw when he stamped on the blower, throwing another cloud of embers into the air before pulling the glowing blade back out and setting it down on a nearby anvil. "Young Spyro, I heard something, are you all right?" Hunter stepped out of the doorway of his office. "Yeah, just a slight burn." He replied back to the cheetah. Hunter nodded and turned before stopping. "You know, every time you get involved in a scuffle with the wings I normally get a visit by Rayze and his cronies." Spyro looked up from his hammering. "You mean they haven't shown up yet?" Spyro raised his eyebrow. "Nope, shame really, I've got a few welcoming biscuits and whiskey for them." His amused tone grew serious. "Still Spyro, what yourself out there. For now you are too valuable of an asset for them to burn but there are many other blacksmiths in the city. Your friend in can only do so much so if the Lightnings ever come asking for your head there's only so much I can do for you. I'm not as young nor am I as skilled a swordsman anymore." Spyro nodded. "Yes, I understand, don't worry about me Hunter, make sure you're safe first. No doubt if I become a wanted dragon they will come for you as well." The old cheetah nodded, satisfied. "Well at least you're capable of some decent thinking." He chuckled and turned again, suddenly whipping out a rapier and lunging at the purple dragon, who caught off guard, quickly grabbed a one sided dagger from the wall in time to parry the thrust. "We haven't had lessons in a while Spyro, show me how good you've become!"
"Chapter one and two! Form up and prepare to move out! Chapter Two is stranded in District Four, reported three casualties, one dead, reported forty Wings launching attacks from all sides with additional support from civilian populace." A Centurion gathered two chapters of a score of legionaries and took to the air, the formation of dragons and griffons armed with swords and shields took to the air from the imperial embassy in the middle of the city. In the distance a column of smoke rose up over the refugee district of the city. "Send a falcon, report that reinforcements will arrive within fifteen minutes!" Wordlessly d legionary pulled up a box he carried on his back, scribbled a message onto a paper, and attached it to the leg of a falcon in the box and letting it loose.
Spyro ducked under another lunge from Hunter and retaliated with two swift slashes at the cheetah's exposed stomach. Outside, the noise of wing beats permeated through the open windows of the forge, causing Spyro to look up. It was uncommon to hear incoming dragons from the city center other than the occasional Legionnes patrol and never do they show in force. The purple drake poked his head out of the window to catch the glimpse of forty dragons in glossy black steel armor zoom over the forge. He turned back only to have the point of the rapier press against his throat.
"Tsk tsk young dragon, distractions during battle kills." Hunter frowned at him. "There's two Legionnes chapters out there, they just flew over us and it looks like they're heading towards the refugee district. Spyro exclaimed. Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's quite uncommon, I wonder what's going on…" Three sharp rasps sounded against the front door and the cheetah shot Spyro a glance. "It looks like our friends from the Wings are finally here." He sheathed his rapier and whipped off the beads of sweat hanging on the tip of his fur. "Yes yes, coming!" He called out and pulled open the heavy oak door. "Ah yes, my old friends, how may I… oh? Akyla? What are you doing here?" At the mention of the name Spyro perked up and joined his mentor at the door. A dark yellow dragoness in chain armour stood at the doorway.
Akyla had once been a soldier for the Iron Guard, coincidentally the sole survivor of the defense of the catacombs and the sole remaining Iron Guard to make it out of Warfang. She had been part of the convoy who found Spyro and took him to the city to "pay back her debt to his father." Her skill and notoriety did not go unnoticed and she had been quickly taken into the ranks of the garrison. When Nova Lumina finally broke from the siege, she became one of the first commanders of the Wings of Liberation.
"Hello young Spyro, I haven't seen you for a while." Her normally serious expression softened at the face of the purple drake. "I wanted to talk to you so badly, watching you grow up is one of the happiest things in my life." Her serious expression returned. "However, now is not the time, we need some swords and lances… and any armour you've got. Hunter looked at her perplexed. "What? It's only been half a day, we've finished only two dozen swords, a dozen lances, and we're still refurbishing our fourth set of mail. Akyla thought for a moment. "Have you got any ready in the shop? The Wings gave me a blank check and there's quite enough to cover the cost." Hunter shrugged and gestured for her to come in. "Wait real quick, we've got plenty of swords and lances in the shop and a dozen set of mail and plates. Akyla nodded gratefully and waited as the dragon and cheetah went to fetch the finished weapons. Within minutes, they had procured some three dozen swords, twenty lances, a dozen sets of chain armor, and two plated armor. These Akyla gave to two officers waiting outside and gave them each a bag of weapons. They nodded to her and flew off. Akyla grabbed her own bag and was about to follow when Spyro tapped her on her shoulder. "Wait, Akyla, I've got something for you." Spyro gestured for her to follow. "It's important." He added when he caught her rushed expression. She nodded and turned. "Hurry young one, I've got an appointment that I can't be late for." Spyro nodded and lead her to the back room and blew fire on a torch hanging from the wall. Akyla's eyes widened when her eyes fell upon a set of white plate armor carefully polished and forged.
"Is that…" "Yeah, made it especially for you." Spyro gleamed at her surprised face. "Here, he tossed her the helmet, try it on." The dragoness undid the latches on her mail, letting the chains slide off her lean build before allowing Spyro to fit the other pieces onto her chest, waist, and tail. The armor clicked sharply as she flexed and stretched. "Very nice fit, what is it made off?" Spyro smirked. "Black Steel." Akyla's eyes widened. "You mean like the Legionnes' armour?" "Yep!" Spyro smiled and handed her the last piece of equipment, a two sided short sword made out of the same material. "Amazing, just like what I had in the Iron Guard." The dragoness smiled and wrapped the small drake tightly in a hug. "Oh my, you've grown so much, tell ya what, after my uh… appointment, I'll stop by again, I've missed out too much on your life. Spyro gasped in her tight grip, making her loosen and drop him. "Oops sorry." She apologized sheepishly and walked out, stopping in front of Hunter to drop a few bag of gold into his paws. "This should be enough, I'll pay you the cost for the repairs when I've brought back the damaged ones." The cheetah looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Just what exactly do you need all this for?" Akyla laughed and replied. "Oh just some advanced training with real weapons. We're getting larger and larger every day and it's time we showed our new recruits what wings of steel really means." She quoted the motto of her allegiance and exited, grabbing the bag and taking off. "Oh and remember, if you've got trouble with some of our lower members, just tell me!" Her tinkling laugh faded as she disappeared over the rooftops.
Spyro frowned, something was off about her today. He shrugged off the feeling of uncertainty and returned to the forge, grabbing another damaged sword and spun up the sharpening stone before suddenly stopping.
"What did she say she needed the weapons for?" Spyro turned to Hunter.
"Why training of course." The cheetah muttered and scratched his chin. "Yes, she flew towards the refugee district but the underground base is in the dust district…" He spoke under his breath, barely loud enough for Spyro to hear.
"Looks like someone isn't entirely truthful…" He looked at the purple dragon, who nodded. "Well whatever it is that the wings want, it is no affairs of ours, we simply work to make a living. He looked at the heavy bag on the counter. "And this will cover for more than a few months of nice living." Spyro went back to work, deciding to ask more on the topic when Akyla returned.