Memorial Remedy
Chapter 2
Authors note: It's out! This chapter is a special one and focuses more on character than plot. I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to leave a review once you're done, I love reading them, it helps me understand what you guys expect from this story. That's not to say I'll change it all purely for you guys but you do have a voice, please use it.
Enjoy!
The oblivion of time erases all memory, leaving none to remember the unkindled tombs deep within the Cather mountains.
Spiders crept along cavern walls, the squeaks of rats echoed through empty corridors. Bones lay strewn about in uncovered graves, the smell of rot and dew filled the air. Stone caskets lay broken, deformed by ages of water erosion. Faint wails reverberated off the cold mountain stone as wind whipped past the mouth of the crypt.
This was not the place of remembrance it used to be.
Moldy candles sat broken and cold among the caskets, wilted flowers hung limply in vases posted around their coffins; this used to be a place of love and sacrifice. Now, it was left to be forgotten, abandoned by all except those that lay among the rats and cobwebs. The halls of this crypt used to radiate candle light, house bouquets of elegant flowers, and shelter families of dragons congregated to celebrate their loved ones; Golden harps once coveted now sat untouched the strings bent and out of tune, incapable of playing happy Melodies.
This place was nothing more than a lost memory, all that rested here was cursed; even the rats didn't disturb the dead.
Silence was heavy, choking out any sound that disturbed the tomb. Suddenly, it was shattered, the heaving and grinding of stone loud in the emptiness. Rats scurried across the ground as the lid of a sarcophagus crashed against the floor, shattering. A dragoness gasped awake,cold wind brushing across her scales. She shivered slightly, muscles tensing in the brisk air. Slowly her eyes opened, eyelids fluttering. She then squinted, the images of her surroundings slowly becoming visible. Stiffly, she rose from her stone bed, the candles within the tomb suddenly lighting. Orange light cascaded across her dull, blood red scales, the decorative swirling patterns ran across her like grey and black rivers in an ocean of maroon.
A loud sigh escaped her, the sound of scales rubbing against one another like armor. Her hand came to rest on the edge of the casket, slowly pulling herself from the sarcophagus. Talons scraped against stone as she stood, faint and shallow breaths filling her breast. She brought her left paw to cover her heart, the warmth within it faint and slowly fading. She stood tall, her head almost touching the roof of the crypt. Her stumbling footsteps echoed in the darkness, the sound of dry palms against loose stone and rock. She stood at the entrance, snow whipping past her face in the cold wind, the roar of a thunder head ripped through the hum of the wind; a blizzard.
The fire in her breast grew before flickering, the flame threatening to fade and die.
Music, footsteps, and a cacophony of voices all speaking at once rang in Cynders ears. Her head seemed to spin with all of the excitement, the bodies of moles, panthers, cheetahs, and dragons all moving around. She watched as the smaller citizens took the sidewalk and the dragons took the street, every one of them wearing a smile on their face. She smiled, a small laugh escaping her.
Banisters hung on buildings and wires strung across the street. Festive music filled the gaps of conversation and sound in the the ambiance. The beat of drums pumped rhythm into the sound of footsteps, the gentle strumming of a lute put song into the lyrics of conversation. She spun around, the sound of tapping feet in symmetry to the hymns. A beautiful pantheress swayed her skirt to and fro as her legs stretched and swung in a magnificent pattern, a smile and a laugh grew on her expression. Warfang never seemed so beautiful. A voice rung out in the chaos of the streets, small, high pitched and slightly slurred. She slowly strode over to it, her head tilted and eyes wandering.
"Fear not the aberrations of chaos and fear! Hold onto your loved ones not in terror but in hope of new life and joy; new hope!"
A mole stood atop a box labeled 'plaster', pudgy and small. A small sign stood beside him, the promise of, 'Tales and preachings' inscribed on it. She turned around, a chuckle escaping her in amusement. This city was much more than when she left it.
She wandered the streets, small stand up shops and pop up stores clogged the side streets and turn off points, a variety of knick-knacks arranged on their tables. Cynder meandered her way to each stall, admiring the collections of each one. One sold homemade jewelry, beautiful arrangements of gems, silver and gold strung together. The silver caught her attention the most; gold seemed to clash with her color and complexion. The stall across it sold jewelry boxes, very convenient for eachother. She pushed past a group of other dragons moving to get through to keep window shopping. A few of them smiled and wished her well, others gave a confused look.
"Did you see her scale color?!"
"Yeah… I remember my mom telling me about a black scaled dragoness once…"
"Do you think…"
It was obvious they were talking about her. Their words weren't inherently harmful but they didn't exactly come off as welcoming.
She gave a sigh. Whether it was in content, disappointment, or gratefulness, she didn't know. Pushing on, the muscles of her tail twitched with each passerby that gave an incredulous stare. The voices of happiness faded until she became aware of the scraping of her talons against the road with each step. She didn't want this, she wanted to move on, forget the past. Could she have made a mistake coming here?
She looked up to find herself in front of another stall, this one sold ornate and decorated vases. Each vase depicted a beautifully crafted image on it.
"They're a set, gotta buy all of 'em." Spoke a hoarse voice.
Glancing upwards greeted her with the unfamiliar face of a cheetah, withered with age and experience. He wore semi circular glasses and carried a cane that looked to be made from the root of a tree.
"They depict the age of the dragon." The cheetah continued, the scraping of wood on stone sounded as he moved closer, picking up a vase and holding it up for her to see.
"This was the day the guardian temple was raided for the purple egg." He said, pointing to the image.
She admired the picture of a room lit by firelight filled with eggs, a guardian watching over them. Ignitus? The art almost seemed to move, flickers of flames and the breathing of the guardian; it seemed so alive. Suddenly he spun the vase around until it came to the image again except this time it was changed. Egg shells scattered the floor of the room, the guardian now gone. She admired the remaining vases all depicting the past, a past she shared...
"I've no room for enchanted pottery anymore." He interrupted.
Cynder looked at him in amazement.
"Funny, how this whole event is dedicated to rememberance when nobody quite wants to remember the time it's dedicated to."
The cheetah spoke wisely, nodding his head as if recalling memories. Cynder looked up to the sky, clouds painted purple in the final rays of the sun. She watched as it all faded into black, the night finally taking over the city.
Cynder stared down at where the old cheetah should be, darkness having enveloped him. There was a soft flick followed by a flourish of light as a match was lit; the orange glow danced over the cheetahs face. She watched as it moved through the dark, lighting a set of candles that sat on the table in front of him before illuminating a set of lanterns that hung above him and in front of her. She turned around to see dragons lighting braziers and dangling lanterns hung over the road, the cascade of light traveling down the road as more were lit like a stream flowing with ember light.
She turned turned to her left, the cheetah standing alongside her, a smile growing as he watched. She smiled with him.
"I appreciate you taking the vases off my hands, I don't know who else would have them." He looked up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Her head turned to look back at the vases, only to find them missing. She turned back to the cheetah, her mouth agape and eyes opened wide. He laughed.
"You've been away a long time, you may have forgotten what it means to be looked up to. They should do well to remind you, both of you." He spoke evenly.
His very words struck a chord, causing her feet to shuffle and her throat to go dry. Who was he? Why did he care so much?
For the first time in this entire night, she spoke.
"Where are they, the vases?"
He hummed, his smile broadening.
"You ask good questions. You care about the past, yes? No. I implore you... hold onto the past, never let go. History is just as important as the future." The scatterbrained words and sentences were cryptic, their meaning hidden from plain view.
A satisfied huff signaled the end of his thoughts. However, Cynder held her tongue waiting for more.
"You will find them in a place of importance."
He finally answered, his voice cracking as if it were under strain.
She gave a huff, shaking her head at the idea, not appreciating the vague blanket statement. The dragoness turned away in frustration, internally scoffing at the insanity of the evening. She turned back to the cheetah to see him gone along with his stall; His words rang in her head.
Did she want to hold onto the past? Why couldn't she just let it all fade from her mind? Why did this have to be difficult? Was she making it difficult?
A loud explosion behind her interrupted her thoughts, the cries of other dragons sent her head spiraling, her talons digging into the cobblestone and her muscles tightening as her head hung low and her tail raised above her, ready to strike. Her lips drew back in a snarl.
Still on guard, she looked up to see streams of purple, gold, red and pink fall through the sky, the image of a glowing flower spread across the darkness. Other loud eruptions fills her ears as more glowing flowers exploded in the sky before fading. She looked up, her eyes reflecting every color and picture. Her mouth hung open, a smile tugging at the corners. 'Oooohs and ahhhhs' erupted from the crowd of onlookers as they too watched the glorious display. Green, purple, orange, gold and blue reflected off the scales of every dragon that watched, making them shimmer like a mystic stone in a cascading river. A loud barrage of explosions filled the air all at once as a climax of colors, roars and joyful screams filled the city of Warfang.
Slowly, the smoke settled and the crowd grew quiet, a gentle strumming of instruments resonated through the streets of warfang, drawing the city to the source of the jovial music,dragons, moles, cheetahs, wolves, and panthers hummed the melody. Bodies poured through streets and alleyways, the cacophonous sound of footsteps and humming filled her ears as the crowd seemed to pull her with them. Her talons scraped against stone as she tried to push against the current of bodies. She was just considering using her shadow to escape when she suddenly found herself in an opening, a large plaza surrounded by trees and covered in grass.
In front of her was a stage with a large semicircular dome behind it; an Amphitheater. Moles cheetahs, panthers and wolves played lutes, assorted drums, violas, violins, and cellos. She looked to see a dragon amidst the middle of it all; her heart stopped.
"Spyro…"
Spyro circled the spires and towers of Warfang, admiring the city life below. Dragons, moles, wolves, panthers and cheetahs flowed through the streets like a river, talking, dancing, singing, and playing; the city roared with life. A smile grew on his face, the mirth of it all warmed his heart. He looked up, other dragons twirled and darted in the orange and yellow sky. He looked left, to the great towers, the soul of Warfang; The Temple. He looked to the gardens that surrounded the cathedral, where great trees and elegant flowers grew freely, unregulated, untouched; these gardens were revered for their memory, and peace.
He would land there.
The chirping of birds sounded through the leaves of trees and shrubbery, filling the garden with wonderful song. He could hear the gentle plucks of a harp as it's wonderful melodies ran through him and his surroundings. He admired the privacy and tranquility, the leaves swayed in the breeze and the soft trickle of water down an elegant fountain in heart of it all. He paced the garden, quiet footfalls on crisp grass as he made his way around the center. The petals of blooms drifted down from the trees like angel feathers.
He couldn't help but wander as he surveyed his surroundings. His eyes glanced over statues, each sat in a circle at the edge of the foliage, like guardians watching over a sacred altar. Maybe that's what they were, each dragon depicted a different guardian, carved proudly into stone and set to rest on a marble pedestal. One caught his eye, a slim dragoness that wore her horns like he'd never seen. Two horns rested close to her neck, another two branched off and rose proudly like the spires of a demon. He looked down to see a plaque resting on the foot of the pedestal. 'Pentriona', he read. Her name perhaps. The inscription below it was indecipherable.
A twig snapped startling him from his inspection, forcing him to turn away from the statue. Before him stood an aged pantheress, a short wooden cane in hand to help her stand. She stood facing the fountain, her hand held under a stream of water that ran from a spout. Spyro's eyes squinted, his lips pursed as he watched her play with the water.
"Not planning to perform this evening? Dear oh dear, what a shame… I do so love to hear you sing. As I'm sure most of the city does." Her words were strikingly non-malevolent. Instead they seemed to warm the air like a flourishing spring breeze.
Who was she? Spyro's paws moved automatically, slowly drawing closer to the stranger.
"You need not fear an old wolf." She joked, a laugh escaping her.
Spyro's face contorted, analyzing the strange statement in his mind before chalking the misstep as a side effect to the pantheress's age.
"You've given up, haven't you? Even now you're telling yourself 'She won't be back." A mischievous smile cracked her maw. "Shame…"
He was struck silent, the words in his throat lost as his face twisted, giving a small huff. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the frail figure as he pondered an answer.
"Today's a day of celebration, a day of remembrance and love. Yet you choose to wallow here, running." Sad words hung in the air as she turned to him.
"The city will need you more than ever on this night. Share yourself and perhaps you will be thoroughly surprised." She added, a glimmer in her eyes.
She looked up, the final rays of sunlight touching the sky until they faded to be replaced by the starry night sky. Suddenly the sky exploded with color, swirls of every shade imaginable erupting in explosions that filled his vision with extravagant sparkling circles.
"Remind them of the Dawn of the Dragon…" The loud tap of a cane echoed in his mind.
The grass suddenly began to swirl, spinning and morphing beneath his feet to the familiar touch of wood paneling. Looking up, Spyro blinked rapidly, raising a paw to rub at his eyes. Trees warped, their trunks merging together to form the rafters and supports of a wooden construct; a stage. Flowers and stems spiraled into the air, formulating an extravagantly colored curtain.
A team of moles walked on stage, each one casting muddled stares at the sudden appearance of the purple drake. Behind them, a cheetah barked orders, making sure everything moved smoothly.
"Alright everyone, get to your places! Looks like we're starting this performance by ourselves this- OH!" Her stream of commands suddenly ended, eyes resting on Spyro. Quickly regaining her composure, the feline speed walked towards him, brushing off flower petals and leaves stuck to his scales. "Better late than never. Just start when you're ready and the band will try to pick up the rhythm, okay? Great!"
Before Spyro could get a word out the cheetah was walking away throwing a signal to the stage hand. The sound of curtains climbing upwards drew his attention, quickly forcing his mouth shut.
He looked forward to see an orange glow emanating from the streets of warfang, the flicker of braziers danced across countless bodies of dragons, moles, panthers, cheetahs and wolves. They stared up at him, smiles plastered across their faces.
He looked across the ocean of curious and bewildered eyes, bodies shuffling in the quietness of the night. He turned his head around, the patient stare of the musicians waiting… His mind raced with the memories of the city, of his friends and family; He was lost. What was he to do?
Spyro froze, soft violet irises staring into deep sea green. He swam in them, mind drifting as he focused on HER eyes and her eyes alone. Everything else dimmed around him and his mind thought back to the pantheress's ords.
'Share yourself and perhaps you will be thoroughly surprised…'
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing and his chest heaving. His feet shuffled on the wood of the stage, his talons etching marks into the boards. Words, images and memories of his friends filled his mind, pulling his mind away from the stage and the audience. The melody of a hymn tugged at his heart, the lyrics tugging at his lips.
He sang. The audience cheered.
Author's note: [Redacted]
No more song lyrics.
Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Edited. 7-29-18
~Dox