Every once and a while, a hero must stand. An individual of talent, skill, wisdom and cunning must arise to help defend the innocent and protect the helpless. A certain someone born of prophecy and signs must heed to the call to ensure the stability and order threatened by forces that wish to disrupt all that is good.
Tyrants would rise. Kings would fall. Armies would subdue defenseless people, innocents would suffer, and some would even die. Gluttons of wealth and prestige would live on in prosperity through betrayal. The few that displayed bravery in the face of evil would succumb to the greater numbers of mindless drones that squashed any forms of resistance. Famine, starvation, disease, infection, poverty, anger and corruption, all these would reign over the hopelessness of the scenario that was enforced upon the subjugated.
The horrors of war, genocide and prejudice came with many faces and forms. Some were committed in the name of glory, others for revenge. It could be a dark force of an ancient evil that wished to bring about Armageddon. It could be an egotistical maniac hell bent on exterminating a entire race of people just for sheer convenience. Maybe it could be a mastermind determined to enslave the world to build about his vision of a dystopian future.
For many kingdoms that could not protect themselves from such evils, it might as well be the end of the world. It was a struggle for life and death, the ultimate climax of their history that determined the fate of their existence.
For a certain small purple dragon, it was just another Tuesday.
A very, rainy Tuesday.
The Dragon Realms was still recovering ever since that incident with Gnasty Gnorc just a month ago. The attacks committed by the gnarly unlikable beast had wrecked havoc across realms. The last dragon had been freed from his crystal prison the past week and the scattered treasures that were the dragon's pride and joy were still being found in hidden away vaults and stashes.
Of course, everything could have turned out for the worse if it wasn't for the actions of one little hero.
Yet with the imprisonment of Gnorc and the heightened security around the Gnexus to ensure that he would never build another army to threaten dragon kind ever again, things weren't easy returning to normal.
Gnasty's spell had transformed most of the gems into smaller little gnorcs, and any that the little hero didn't track down was still running around making trouble wherever they were hid away.
Gems ran the monetary system in the Dragon Realms. With half the treasure once transformed into sentient beasts of brainless dolts now scattered across the worlds, it was difficult to rebuild the economy when that money was running on legs and resisting transformation into their original form.
Plus, there was the health problems. Despite the hero's best efforts, dragons had gone for weeks trapped in cold crystal, frozen, hungry, unmoving and frail. When the last dragons were finally freed, most were too weak to move from hunger. Hub worlds were overrun with sick and weak victims while the portal realms were empty and unguarded. The elders even had to call the red fairies for aid to deal with the epidemic that had crippled nearly half their population.
Then there was the damage. The gnorcs were restless and unruly wherever they could be found. When Gnasty Gnorc has his short and vengeful reign, his armies were grabbing, smashing, uprooting and destroying property and landmarks at every chance they could have. The Artisan worlds were relatively safe from harm, and the Peace Keeper realms were badlands to begin with. But the overuse of magical abuse and distortions in the Magic Crafters, Beast Makers and Dream Weaver's worlds had been so heavily shredded that estimated restoration was looking to be somewhere in the next few years.
The arcanums were busy at work, reshaping the twisted landscape that the magician gnorcs had warped throughout the Magic Crafter realms. Some portals had become completely inaccessible, locked away by mixed up and improperly used spells due to the magician gnorcs' negligence with the power they wielded. While the red fairies answered to the aid of the dragons, most of them refused to help until the problems concerning their home realm were solved first. The metal spiders in the High Caves were a nuisance they could not face alone.
With the Beast Makers, everything was a mess. The swamplands were never easy to tame in the first place, and it required true masters who knew the layout of the marshes of the harsh creatures that resided in them to subdue the merciless animals. Now that most of the tamers were stuck in triage, the beasts were running wild, further destroying and tearing apart the fragile order that kept the realms in check. The ecosystem was being thrown out of whack with each passing day.
Then there was the absolute disaster state that the Dream Weavers were in. The hub world was relatively intact; the hero had made sure to clear the realm from the eldritch gnorcs that turned the dangerous properties of high magic into their playthings. It was the sub realms that suffered worst. Due to the unstable and complex state of high magics that only the master arcanums could perform, the careless use of the spells by the gnorcs had effectively brought the worlds to ruin. Since most of those said master arcanums were recovering from their frozen torment of their crystal cells, there were very few dragons up and about fixing the devastation.
All in all, it was safe to say that the state of infrastructure in the Dragon Realms had effectively smacked dead into a wall.
Some would had believed that due to his heroics, the little hero would be in the center of the recovery effort, standing alongside his elders in fixing the utter chaos and destruction that had left a heavy dent in the pride of dragons. After all, he was the hero who freed the dragons, returned the treasure to their rightful place in the treasury, and brought an end to Gnasty Gnorcs insidious reign.
They couldn't be farther from the truth.
In fact, the little hero couldn't care less what was going on.
All he knew was that it was Tuesday.
And it was raining.
Spyro ran across the muddy grass fields outside the walls of Artisan City, caught in the heavy downpour in the vast pastures of green. He thought he could escape the works of labor from the elders by playing out in the meadows beyond the walls. A buzz from his friend warned him of the dark storm clouds coming in from over the horizons, but he brushed off the sign, telling himself that the clouds would pass quickly.
Boy, was he ever wrong. No sooner was Spyro past the city gates did it begin hailing water drops that pelted with the force of a hurricane.
It was said that rain made dragons melancholy. Spyro wasn't just feeling sad, he was also feeling annoyed, peeved that such a perfectly good afternoon was ruined the way it was.
That, and his past experiences with water could put a real damper on his moods.
Quickly finding shade under a tree, he rushed to the spot, only to find that the soil was already moist and the leaves did nothing to block out the heavy torrent. Sitting down on his haunch and shaking himself as dry as he could, he glanced across the horizon only to see more black clouds rolling in.
Groaning in frustration, he turned his gaze towards Artisan City. His thoughts drifted back to the events that played out a few weeks ago. Fire rising from rooftops, gnorcs running crazy like hooligans across the lawns, and crystal statues of frozen dragons shaking in their pedestals trying desperately to break free.
Spyro shook his head. That was a month ago, and by his efforts alone he had stopped all that from continuing. After all, he was the only dragon out of everyone in the Realms that wasn't trapped in crystal, what else was he going to do?
Many elders had approached him after the fall of Gnasty Gnorc, some asking, some even begging for him to join their clan and accept titles of prestige.
The Artisans expressed great joy that the hero was born to their world and wished to see him grow up to be a wise and intelligent leader like those who lived in the dragon's capital.
The Peace Keepers wanted to make him into a fine warrior and knight; promising Spyro to train him to be the greatest soldier the Realms would ever have in their history. Now that was something that sounded relevant to his interests.
The Magic Crafters offered to make him an arcanum, a warrior not of strength, but of cunning and arcane power. He asked if they could teach him the spell the gnorcs had used to change the landscape to their will, and he wasn't quite sure he liked the reluctant pause they gave before answering.
The Beast Makers said that they could train him in the ways and arts of the tamers, to have complete control over mindless brutes that would serve under his command. The ability to make those annoying poison toads and rampaging boars his personal pets? Sounded like an offer he couldn't refuse.
Then of course, were the Dream Weavers. They offered him the wisdoms and teaching of how to become a master arcanum, teach him the ways of high magic, give him the ability to control time, light and matter. Spyro was never a fan of high magics, and the complexity and life long dedication to master the works was something he saw as way beyond his league.
In the end, he chose to stay in the Artisans world. It was home after all, and he wanted to see something familiar after weeks of nonstop fighting and rescuing. He tried to make it perfectly clear with the elders at home that he wasn't interested in taking classes and receiving tutors, he was still only a child for goodness sake! It was fun, going around, toasting gnorcs and butting those nasty minions, but it was also tiring. What he needed was a vacation.
Still, that didn't stop the older dragons from giving him constant lectures of how proud they were of him and how they could just see the bright potential he held in bringing about a new age for dragon kind. Normally, he would take praise like that with jubilation and bragging, but after hearing it every single time he passed someone down the street, it was beginning to get tiring.
Then there was the reconstruction. Spyro didn't know a single thing about medical healing, or how to read the depressing numbers and statistics that showed the cost of rebuilding their once docile yet great society. To him, that was adult work. He was still a young adolescent, and there was fodder to be chasing and playing with.
Speaking of fodder, his eyes drifted away from the towers and walls of the city before spotting two meek sheep grazing on the wet grass atop the crest of a little hill. Sensing an opportunity, Spyro lifted himself back on all four and snorted, smoke puffing out from his nostrils as he readied himself for the startup. A smile slowly formed on his mouth.
Lighting cracked, thunder boomed, and the small purple dragon was off, charging across the expanse between the tree and the hill.
He loved the feeling of running, the quick accelerated beating of the heart in his chest as the fast pattering sound of his feet that accompanied his action gave him rhythm and beat. The thrill of having his head lowered down, only knowing that he would stop if he came crashing into his intended target blind or hitting a wall. Not knowing if he would receive a bruise on the skull or the satisfying thump of him smashing his horns against an object. The feeling he got from hearing the comedic shriek of his helpless foes as they were lifted and thrown about by the impact.
Sometimes, he missed the action while Gnasty was around.
The passive sheep barely knew he was upon them until he was a mere meter away. A frightened baw cried from one of the fodder before bouncing away while its companion had no time to respond, looking at the oncoming dragon, grass half chewed in its mouth, eyes staring like a gnorc at a oncoming supercharge.
At the last second, Spyro pulled away, pulling a quick sidestep to the left and making a sharp detour around the sheep, laughing under his breath as he could only imagine the poor animal's life flashing before its eyes.
Brushing past its fleece, Spyro continued to charge away, hearing the sheep snap to its senses behind him and bouncing away in terror. Skidding to a halt, he panted in a few quick breaths to level his breathing, relishing in the fright he just provided and the thrill he received.
The next second it was gone, and he was slumped down again, sitting on his haunches, drenched in the hard pouring rain.
Scaring sheep and fighting gnorcs were two completely different things. And while scaring the ever living daylights out of the critters was fun, it matched nothing to the excitement of life and death peril that was faced against the ugly green army of fat squat gnorcs.
The familiar sound of a buzz brought Spyro head up as a golden yellow dragonfly hovered above his head. He gave his friend a weak smile, happy to know that at least one thing didn't change, his companionship, the very best buddy he could ever have in the Dragon Realms.
"Is this rain ever going to stop? I forgot what the sun looks like."
Spyro sighed those words out, exaggerating a bit on the rain. The storm was only around for the better half of the day, and while it was still daylight considering the bright yellow sun colored skies far off where the clouds had not yet covered the high canvas, there was very little to do in this weather.
A buzz from his dragonfly friend, Sparx, gave him an affirmation of the same feeling.
"We should go somewhere warm," Spyro piped up. "Somewhere sunny."
Something caught his attention at the edge of his eyes, a shimmer of daylight glaring in the midmorning darkness. It was a familiar sight, the only gateway standing outside the walls of the city. He couldn't believe he missed it the first few hours he was running about in the rain.
A portal gateway to a little place called paradise.
"Dragon Shores!" The small dragon exclaimed in excitement, memories of the amusement land washing up on his memories. "We haven't been there since we kicked Gnasty Gnorc's butt."
Sparx gave a short string of buzzes to note his approval. A holiday was something both of them needed.
"How bout it, Sparx? You up for a vacation at the beach?"
The yellow dragonfly simply responded not with a buzz, but by zipping off to a head start, making a straight beeline across the wet plains. Spyro laughed as he ran to catch up with his friend, quickly passing him by before shouting out an immature and playful challenge.
"Last one there's a gnorc!"
Those were the last words the young hero said before he and his companion disappeared into the shimmering gateway…
Going anywhere but to Dragon Shores…