You guys know the disclaimer deal by now...Let this be known as the dark ages of copy-protection on FFN preventing my laziness!
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: Fire(works) and Ice
Spyro and Sparx stayed low as they prowled through the gates of the Fireworks Factory, the full moon high in the midnight sky above to guide them through the lava-filled plains. According to the locals, the Fireworks Factory was enchanted long ago by a breed of Evening dragons (that sounded a bit like Magic Crafters and Peacekeepers, if such a blend could ever exist) to suspend the world in eternal night so they could practice their fire magic. Fireworks are exceptionally dull during the day. When the dragons left the Forgotten Realms, they took their ancient fireworks magic with them, so the Sorceress and her rhynocs moved in. They used the eternal veil of night to their advantage; the Fireworks Factory became a secret training base for her private army of ninjas.
The rhynocs weren't the only acrobatic shadows moving through the Factory, though. Moments within arriving at the elaborate draconic gates, they were confronted by a beastly rhynoc, plated in armor to protect him from any dragon attacks. And before Spyro even had to bother calculating a way around him, the rhynoc brute was grabbed and thrown, crashing into a glittery gem. "Hi, Spywo! Long time, no see!"
"Should've guessed I'd find you two in a place covered with ninjas," Spyro laughed, finding the pigtailed blonde responsible for the rhynoc's demise. "What are you doing all of the way out here?"
"We heard about the dwagon eggs getting captuwed, so we came to help," Greta answered. "Plus, the Sorcewess sent some rwynocs to steal some wocket plans of the Pwofessor's, so we gotta deal with that, too."
"Sorry, what was that about a rocket?"
Greta giggled with a toss of her hand. "Don' wowwy about it, Handel and I got it." (After their adventure in Scorch, Spyro knew better than to question Greta's capability.) "Speaking of my bwother, though, have you seen him? He was supposed to meet me here, and he hasn't showed up yet."
"Handel got captured AGAIN?"
"Yah, he's good at dat," Greta sighed frustratedly. "How 'bout we go wook fer him together? I'll keep my eyes peeled fer dwagon eggs if you keep yer eyes peeled fer Handel, 'kay?"
"Something tells me you're not going to need my help," Spyro couldn't help but laugh. "But sure, if I find him, I'll send him your way."
"Thanks, Spywo!" With that, the blonde ran off, flip-kicking a pair of surprise ninjas in the face before rushing through the gates.
"Seriously, how does she learn to do all of this without ever learning what the letter 'r' sounds like?" Sparx buzzed.
"You should talk. Come on, let's go catch up before she takes all the rhynocs for herself!"
oo00oo00oo
Perhaps not-so-luckily for Spyro, that didn't seem to be the case. The Fireworks Factory was CRAWLING with rhynocs; the ninjas that jumped out from around every corner were in no short supply, and even a mighty brawler like Spyro was starting to tire slightly from pushing through the endless waves.
After a few hundred fights, the Artisan finally started to notice something odd about the ninjas of the Factory. Most enemies in the Forgotten Realms collapsed into a gem when defeated. Like Gnasty Gnorc, the Sorceress was a practitioner of gemcrafting, the ability to channel the magical energies of dragon treasure into a small foot-soldier for battle. However, the ninjas didn't follow suit. They simply vanished into thin air.
It reminded Spyro vaguely of his trip through Avalar. Ripto's riptocs weren't based in gemcrafting, but a different brand of magic altogether, one that involved siphoning spirit particles from the Avalari magic to transfigure instead. But these enemies didn't drop spirit particles, either. So where did they come from?
"Spywo, look out!"
Just before Spyro found himself buried under a gang of ninjas, Greta swooped into the scene, drop-kicking the leader and stealing his quarterstaff before using it against his companions. "Whoa! Thanks for the save, I didn't even see those guys coming."
"A'course you didn't, they'we ninjas."
"Yeah, about the millionth ones I've seen. Seriously, where are they all coming from?"
"A box."
"Yeah, very funny, Greta."
"No, sewiously." Biting back a giggle at Spyro's cynical look of disbelief, she motioned up to the top of one of the watchtowers before effortlessly bounding to the top. "Come on, Spywo! Up hewe!"
After a bit of a trip that involved lots of winding through corridors and a trip through an old dragon-cannon, Spyro finally caught up to the super-secret agent. ("How'd you get up here so fast?" "Easy; I just fweed my mind.") She motioned for him to be quiet, then led as they quietly tip-toed their way around the corner to the grand staircase.
Sitting on either side of the steps were a pair of metal boxes, with ninja-faces and the word "Ninja!" sloppily painted on the outside. Indeed, as they sat and watched, ninjas poured out of the boxes, tumbling swiftly into the areas below, ready to strike en masse on anybody else who would dare to breech their sacred training grounds.
"I'm lucky you came awound when you did, Spywo," Greta whispered. "Those boxes are made of metal, so I can't smash 'em without Handel. I think yer howns could make pwetty quick work of it, though."
"You don't have to tell me twice." Rushing as quick as he could, trying not to alert the other ninjas, Spyro charged out and bashed into the set of boxes. As predicted, they crumpled under the weight of his horns, shattering into a pair of sparkling five-piece gems.
That would take care of their ninja problems, but Spyro couldn't help but gulp uneasily as he realized their newest problem: not only was the Sorceress a master gemcrafter, but she could gemcraft boxes that spewed out enemies nonstop. What other extreme crafting magic did she know?
oo00oo00oo
"Spywo! I found the wocket!"
The Sorceress had taken the Fireworks Palace for herself, and Spyro and Greta had to slog through crowds of box-produced ninjas to climb up the royal stairs and reach the moonlight balcony, which she had turned into her private launching pad.
"Keep 'em off my back!" Greta called out. "I'm gonna go destwoy the wocket!"
"Got it!" Spyro called back, just before whipping his flame in a circle to push back the mobs and make headway towards the boxes.
With Spyro managing the crowds out front, Greta made her move. She charged down the ninja guarding the door before jumping into the air, coming down hard as she drop-kicked the next ninja in line. The blonde tumbled out onto the balcony, then kicked the first ninja to attack before running up and over the wall, spooking his partner by dropping down behind him and kicking him in the back of the head.
With the ninjas defeated, at least for now, she turned to the control panel, cracking her fingers as she prepared for one of the most intensive hacking sessions of her young life.
It was only one button. That made things easier.
She pressed the flashing red trigger, then stumbled slightly as the balcony began to shake. The floor pulled out, revealing a large draconic fire-rocket with a glittering white package tied to its side. A hot and smoky spark lit the fuse, and with a roaring explosion, the rocket took off before anybody could do anything.
Luckily, rhynocs aren't known for much. Being disastrously incompetent is one of their defining features, though.
The rocket shredded to pieces before it even approached the atmosphere, exploding into a colorful fit of fireworks magic. The parcel it was carrying spiraled down to Earth, crash-landing on the balcony right at Greta's feet.
Spyro gave a whistle, clearing out the ninja-boxes just in time to watch the glorious destruction of the Sorceress' rocket. "Well, at least they put on a show."
"Good thing whynocs aren't good at building things."
"What did the Sorceress want with a rocket, anyway?"
Greta offered Spyro the package; upon closer inspection, it was yet another of the missing dragon eggs. "Something tells me they were twying to put this into orbit."
oo00oo00oo
Despite still missing Handel, ("Oh, he'll tuwn up."), Greta graciously offered to bring the Professor's rocket plans back to Evening Lake and begin construction on a rocket that would take them to the tip of Midnight Mountain, where the Sorceress' lair lie in hiding. Their whirligig simply wouldn't be able to handle the complications of the higher altitudes.
"Seriously, Spyro, she's the coolest. Why do we have Hunter for a sidekick and not her? We could've found the dragon eggs, like, yesterday."
"Look who's talking, sidekick. ...Where is Hunter, anyway?"
CLANK! "AAAAAUuuugghhh..."
"What was that?!" Rushing out, Spyro and Sparx quickly glanced over the Evening Lake. Despite the noises, there was nothing to be found.
"...That was weird."
"Yeah, seriously. But whatever it was, it's gone now. Come on, we can't waste time looking for it; we have dragon eggs to find."
oo00oo00oo
"Man, I thought we left all the cold in Icy Peak," Sparx buzzed, shaking the snow off of his wings.
"The place is called 'Frozen Altars'," Spyro pointed out with a laugh, trotting out into the aptly-named weather. Granted, he grew up between the sunny warmth of the Artisans and the brutal heat of the Peacekeepers, but when you get down to it, Spyro is, was, and always would be a fire dragon. No amount of cold could ever bother a creature that could conjure flame from his breath. (Besides, Spyro loved ice-skating too much.)
Before Spyro and his flame-breath could make quick work of the Frozen Altars, though, they were stopped by a strangely-familiar face: a fairy. He had passed by many families of fairies over his travels - Artisan fairies like Saffron were blonde while Dream Weaver fairies like Zoe were redheaded, for example - but this type was unfamiliar. Most fairies were colorful, but this one was entirely blue, from the dark cobalt of her dress to the frozen icy color on her skin.
"Hi, Spyro," she smiled, her voice quiet and airy, as if speaking through the wind. "My name is Gabrielle, and welcome to the Frozen Altars."
"Nice to meet you," Spyro greeted, clumsily trying to mimic a bow. Regardless of their color, he had yet to find a fairy that was an unfriendly face.
"Oh, we've just heard all about you and all you've done across the Forgotten Realms so far!" she giggled. "So on behalf of the ice fairies, I've come to give you a special gift! Enjoy it for as long as you spend time here in our world!"
Before the Artisan could question, she knelt down and put her frosted lips between his horns. Mwah! Fairy kisses are a powerful source of magic, no matter what part of the dragon worlds you're in. For Spyro, they were his first taste of a super-flame; it was the familiar heated fury that warmed his chest, but also came with a sort of enchanted confidence, like a lull that reminded him he could never be hurt so long as the fairies were watching over him. (Fairy magic was the only REAL explanation of how he could spend so many hours plummeting off cliffs in the High Caves to an otherwise-certain doom.)
This time, however, it was different. Spyro shuddered violently as his chest seized up, causing his muscles to tense and his scales to pale. He coughed and sputtered, desperate to breathe a lick of fire and warm the sudden crippling chill in his chest, but it refused to respond. Fumes of icy vapor shot out in its place, numbing his tongue and lips as the cold air sank under his scales, causing him to shake as his muscles adjusted to the violent temperature drop.
Finally, with a huge breath, Spyro reared back and spat, unleashing a mighty blast of ice in place of his typical fiery breath.
Seeing that she had done her part, Gabrielle disappeared, making sure she was out of earshot before magically tapping into one of the Sorceress' communication lines:
"Hi, Sorceress, it's Gabi. Don't worry, I took care of dragon-boy for ya. He's not setting fires in Frozen Altars anytime soon."
oo00oo00oo
It took a while, but Spyro eventually re-acclimated to the temperature and could continue his journey. He was an ice-dragon now, but if Gabrielle's words were true, the change in draconic element was only temporary. He would just have to bear the cold for a bit longer.
He'd also have a bit of research to do once he returned to the Artisans, as much as the idea of bookwork pained him. He could breathe underwater like a water dragon, and now a fairy enchanted his fire breath into its elemental opposite. What kind of fire dragon could stomach water and ice so well? If there were any more surprises that his mysterious background might have contributed, he figured life would be better the sooner he could figure them all out. Perhaps it would even lead to insight on who his parents were and where they came from. He could almost picture it; a mother, a water dragon, blue-scaled and raised on the artistic greens of Stone Hill; and a father, a brash red like Delbin and Magnus, a fire dragon hardened in the fiery deserts of the Peacekeepers. And their son, one of the far and few purple dragons, a perfect clash of worlds.
For now, though, he had dragon eggs to find, so it was time for a quiet walk through the Frozen-
"SPYRO, LOOK OUT, GIANT KILLER SNOWMAN!"
The purple dragon's brain grinded to a halt as it tried to process Sparx's warning, so muscle memory took over and forced him to roll out of the way. Indeed, what seemed like a relatively-quiet world was just as rhynoc-infested as the rest of the Forgotten Worlds. This one was taken over by towering snowmen.
"Oh, relax, Sparx," Spyro laughed, realizing what had happened and facing down the giant flailing snow-monster once more. "This guy doesn't look snow bad!" Rearing back, Spyro swallowed a crisp lungful of the icy Altars air, then unleashed his mighty breath to melt the monstrosity down to size.
...
Right. Ice breath.
Too slow to realize his mistake, the snowman took advantage of Spyro's misstep, retaliating by grabbing the dragon and hurling him across the courtyard. "I think that one was for the ice-pun," Sparx laughed, watching as his partner crashed into a snow-drift and struggled to dig himself out.
"You can't just run at those things, dragon," one of the locals, Alex, pointed out casually with a flip of his feathers. "You're not gonna beat a snowman by throwing snow at it, you dig?"
"Well, how else do I get through that thing?"
Alex stretched his flippers behind his head before casually nodding to the building he leaned against. "You could give this a shot."
"What is it?"
"Laser defense system. Some fat bear came in and sold it to us, but we can't work it. Not flipper-friendly, you dig?"
Curious, Spyro stepped inside. It was a simple mechanism; a large control stick sat in the middle of the room, and a screen with a red line and several red dots decorated it. One end of the line was fixed, and moving the joystick forced the other end to move around. (How the locals' flippers prevented them from operating it, he had no idea.) Putting the pieces together, Spyro moved the red line until it overlapped with the largest of the dots on-screen. Immediately after, he heard a series of shrinking screams and yelps come from the snow-monster outside. The dot vanished, and sure enough, there was little more of the snow-beast than a puddle of warm water and a shiny ten-piece gem.
Yes, Moneybags' laser-defense system would actually work quite nicely.
oo00oo00oo
If you looked past the all-powerful ice fairies and the abominable snowmonsters, the Frozen Altars were a pleasant homeworld. The locals especially were fine creatures, incredibly laid back without a care in the world apart from maintaining their sports circuits. Which Spyro had full intention of exploring while he was in the area.
Boxing was the first thing to catch his eye. It wasn't a quadraped-friendly sport, so he had never tried it, but the Peacekeepers frequently threw wrestling and boxing matches between the full-growns. They were brutal sports, amazing spectacles of strength and tenacity to behold, even if this version wouldn't contain dragons.
But if you can't get a pair of dragons, yetis would do the trick. Especially since Spyro spotted a friendly face in the ring. "Hey, Bentley, what's up?"
Bentley, in the midst of strapping on a pair of boxing gloves, paused to give Spyro a gracious bow as the dragon approached. "Nice to see you again, Spyro! What a pleasant coincidence to cross paths with you on this lovely day in the Altars. How goes the search for the dragon eggs?"
"Well enough. What're you doing here?"
Bentley sighed, biting back a groan. "Assisting my little brother, Bartholomew. You see-"
"There's a big, dumb yeti here, and he stole my ball!" There was a much smaller yeti on Bentley's side of the ring; a scale model of Bentley with lighter, curlier fur and big, green eyes (and an accent noticeably coarser than the older's). "Bentley's gonna kick his butt and make him give it back! Right, big bro?"
Bentley made his best attempt at a non-embarrassed smile. "Spyro, this would be my younger sibling. He's having a bit of trouble with the local yetis, and I'm going to attempt to rectify the situation."
With his protective gear strapped on, Bentley jumped into the ring with a mighty thump, approaching Bartholomew's nemesis, an older yeti that spoke a bit truer to the yetis Spyro knew from the Colossus mountains. "Excuse me, good sir! According to my brother, I believe you two are in the midst of a bit of a kerfuffle! You are mistakenly in possession of his favorite ball, and must request that you return it to him posthaste."
The yeti roared, curling his claws into a pair of clunky fists before throwing a series of punches. Already prepared with a pair of gloves, Bentley deflected as many of the blows as he could. "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think this needs to turn to violence. I am merely here to reclaim my sibling's ball, not to-"
POW! Bentley stumbled as the yeti got in a lucky hit, cracking him in the nose. If Bentley weren't a yeti himself, it likely would've shattered under the pressure. Instead, though, he merely wiped off the attack, clenching his own fists. "Alright, sir, if I have to retake my brother's property by force, so be it."
With a mighty growl, Bentley threw back his fist, hitting the yeti with a mighty right hook. The yeti fell back, but only for a moment before rushing at him again, arms flailing in a mania of rabid punches. Bentley held his ground the best he could, holding his gloves to his face to protect against the onslaught. When the yeti fell back to catch his breath, Benthey stepped forward with another smashing hook, sending the yeti stumbling back to his corner.
He held out a glove. "Now then. The ball please, my good sir?"
The yeti grumbled and grunted, then hurled a sparkly white sphere at little Bartholomew, sending the baby yeti tumbling. "Oi! That's my little brother you're messing with! Watch what you're hurling!"
Spyro tended to Bartholomew. "You alright, little guy?"
Bartholomew righted himself quickly, but threw a screaming fit when he saw the "ball" in his lap. It wasn't his ball at all, but rather another of the elusive dragon eggs. "BRO! This isn't my bloody ball at all! It's just some stupid egg! Go in there and get my ball back!"
The yeti pressed against the boxing ropes, screaming and growling at the youngest of them, a mix between a threatening roar and a taunt. "Sir, you are testing my patience!" Bentley snapped. "This is the last time I will ask nicely! Please return my brother's ball before I have to take it back by force!"
The yeti stamped and screamed, then rushed in for Round Two of their fight. He went in for another mad assault, punching and scratching at everything he could get his paws on. Bentley held his gloves at the ready, sliding back on the slick ice ring as he staved off the attacks. When he saw his opening, Bentley dizzied the yeti with a mighty uppercut, then went to town. The yeti had no choice but to take the onslaught of jabs to the face and gut, and with a stunned groan and broken face, he fell to the ground.
"Yeah!" Bartholomew cheered. "That's my big brother! Man, Bentley, you really showed him! He was all, like, RAWR, and you were, like, wha-bam! Hook here, jab there, whammo!"
"Yes, yes, Bartholomew, it was quite a match," Bentley acknowledged with a roll of his eyes. Spyro laughed. He was brought back to his days dragonlet-sitting in the Artisans, and how the little ones would awe and gape at Spyro's young daredevil feats. (He himself sounded like Bartholomew once, drooling over the heroic feats of the full-growns and the legends of the dragon elders.)
The elder of the yeti brothers handed Spyro another shiny dragon egg; number 89, safe and sound. "I believe you're looking for these, Spyro? Seems like that troublesome yeti's been doing more than stealing toys."
"BENT~LEY!" Bartholomew whined. "Did you really let that dumb yeti send you back with ANOTHER stupid egg?! Go back in there and beat him until he gives me my ball!"
With a tired sigh, Bentley then produced a red bouncy-ball, tossing it to his sibling. "My apologies, Spyro. Bartholomew has a bit of a temper." (Bartholomew wasn't the one who shattered a yeti's face with a pair of boxing gloves, but Spyro wasn't about to point that out.) "Now that I've rectified the situation, I think SOMEBODY needs to go back to the outpost where he won't be causing any troubles."
"Aw, come on, Bentley!" the younger of the yeti brothers pouted. "I can help!"
"Help us find more of the "stupid" eggs you've been complaining about?" With a shake of his head as Bartholomew continued to whine and throw a fit, Bentley gave a gracious nod. "You can see why I had to decline your quest earlier. My little brother can be more of a menace than any number of rhynocs sometimes if he gets out of hand." ("Menace?! You watch your mouth, brother! By the gods, you'd be doomed without me! What, you were expecting to lecture all of those rhynocs out of the outpost? Bore them off the mountain with some old dragon poetry?")
"It's okay, Bentley, I know where you're coming from," Spyro laughed. When he was Bartholomew's age, he certainly pulled the same antics on Delbin time and time again.
"I will most certainly resume the search of the dragon eggs once my brother is back home in the outpost. If I don't fancy a walk through Bamboo Terrace to clear my head first, that is."
oo00oo00oo
Cat hockey. On the outside, it sounded like the most ridiculous concoction anyone could ever come up with. A game of hockey where you replace the sticks with ice-guns and the pucks with cats? It was madness. (And yet, Spyro could picture the ancient dragons playing this sport, provided the Frozen Altars were inhabited by olden Dream Weavers.)
Everything changed once the dragonlet hit the ice.
He was a natural pro at the game, thanks to his comfort and expertise on an ice rink. (He wasn't considered one of the best offenses in the Colossus line-up for nothing.) The ice-breath that was inhibiting him throughout the Altars finally became an asset (for something other than freezing Moneybags at the door to steal tickets and get in), since it allowed him to play without having to wield the specialized freezing-sticks to manipulate the cat-pucks.
It was also very simple. The rink filled with stray cats, and your job was to freeze them so they wouldn't squirm, then nudge them to your goal, where a heat-barrier would defrost them and lead them to a scratching pole of catnip, leaving them in your goal to be counted. The first player to five cats would win.
Errol "sprained his flipper" and had to step down, so Spyro volunteered to play a round in the tournament in his place. The local champion, as all of the other "local champs" before him, wasn't happy to see a dragon from the other side of the world show up to usurp his hard-earned crown.
Game on.
Within minutes, Spyro had already rounded up a pair of cats and shepherded them towards his goal. The local champ wasn't having as much luck. Cats weren't a fan of rhynocs, who knew? The squirmy creatures were a mess on the ice, sliding every which way as they struggled to get their balance and escape their burly pursuers.
As Spyro froze his third cat, ready to gently guide it back to his goal, the dragon was bashed out of the way by his opponent, who cracked the frozen cat across the rink, flying into his own goal. He scoffed before getting back to his feet. "When will you rhynocs learn to play fair?"
By the end of the match, Spyro's goal was filled with a flurry of kittens, all clawing over each other with a bunch of playful mewls, hungry to get a taste of the catnip that coated the scratching post. The other goal was empty, save for one glorious rhynoc ice-sculpture. Messing with a fire dragon came with its own serious repercussions. But ice dragons could take care of themselves well enough.
"We should come back later once we find Hunter. I'd love to throw down with him in the rink. Once he learns how to ice-skate, anyway."
"...Where is Hunter, anyway?"
"I dunno. Ah, I'm sure he'll turn up. Come on, we've goofed off enough. We've got eggs to find, let's go."
Week two of the unnecessarily-long chapters! Where will we explore next? And will anyone ever realize what actually happened to Hunter? Find out next week! Thanks for reading, guys; hope you enjoyed! :D
TM, still unable to copy-paste her sig from previous chapters, signing off!