darkSpyro

These are my tired ramblings. It's about Spyro's and Cynder's start in life.
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Large, toil-roughened paws cradled the egg, curved claws tracing the purple mottled surface. To look at, one would expect those paws to be deliverers of brusque attacks, their ragged scales indicating a past of conflict, fighting, and vicious blows. They were warriors hands, roughened by war, yet they cradled this egg, this life, with the protectiveness of a mother.
Scrappy, pincer-fingers grappled at the dark surface of the egg, closing around it with a sense of ownership and dominance. Small claws scrabbled across the shell, scratches scarring it, and within several seconds it was stowed away, out of sight and mind, utterly clandestine. These scuttling, spider-like hands were not those of an honest warrior - they were those of a selfish creature, one who is known to slyly claim what is not his.
Cradled by these honest paws, which belonged to a large, vermilion dragon, the egg was held protectively, with a sense of purpose much bigger than the simple longing to save a life. The dragon listened tentatively, and, at the sound of those predicted, foreboding forces drawing nearer, he clasped the egg, strode through the mossy temple, and took to the air, looking desperately at the place he'd left to view the remaining eggs, the remaining lives, that he could not save.
His deft fingers interlocked as the creature - an ape, with shaggy fur and a low-hanging jaw - surveyed the area in which he stood. Lounging in the temple that the orange dragon had so recently left, he cast a glance over the unconscious dragons littering the floor, overrun by the chaos-inducing forces they had foisted upon the temple. Feeling the steady weight of the slim black egg in his pocket, a smirk twisted through his slack mouth, and he stood, watching the room descend into disrepute with relish. He did not move until his forces, bored due to their lack of opponent, had filtered out of the temple, catcalling and howling. After a last look around the grotto, at the shattered eggs layering the floor, he swept from the room with satisfaction.
The dragon, still gripping the egg as though his life depended on it, swooped lower through the forest, filtering in and out of rustling trees to land by the metallic strip of a tranquil river. Continuing the constant gentleness with which he'd been treating it, he placed the egg on a boat-like mound of fungi, giving it an encouraging push down the river and a look of utmost respect and reliance.
The ape, with the egg still stowed in his pocket, slung himself upon the ragged back of a battered dreadwing, commanding it to take to the air. After a timeless period of unbalanced flying, the dreadwing began to descend, drifting through grim clouds that gradually thinned and revealed the daunting silhouette of a fortress. When the ape reached the ground he leapt off, trudging through the snow surrounding the citadel and marching through the iron doors. After reaching the highest room, he removed the egg from his pocket and placed it in a marble stand which had quite evidently been made for it.
The egg drifted contently down the river, flickering in and out of shade and moonlight. It wasn't until sunrise that it came to rest, catching on the side of the bank and floating peacefully beside a forest clearing. Within several hours, the egg had attracted a small audience, one constructed of a pair of dragonflies who marvelled at the sight of its tinted surface. They viewed it for hours, their excitement heightening when the sound of scrabbling began to emit from beneath the shell.
The ape watched the dark egg with growing frustration, straining to hear the sounds of life begin to scratch their way through the surface. For hours, they remained absent, and the ape's anger reached a dangerous point. He was almost ready to accept the crushing failure of finding a lifeless egg when the sound began. Yes. It was very faint, very feeble, but nonetheless present - the sound of a small claw tracing the inside of the shell, of the dragon beginning their attempt to escape into a prison.
The dragonflies watched with wonder as the shards of the eggshell began to splinter, the points of horns, claws and teeth nudging their way through and jutting out into the world. They gasped at the sight of the newborn creature as it struggled its way out - a dragon, purple in hue, with large, forlorn eyes and a quizzical expression. Despite being humble dragonflies, ones that knew little of dragons and their species variants, they sensed that this whelpling was special.
The ape had not the patience nor respect to wait for the dragon to fight its own way from the shell, and he seized a sharp instrument the moment he heard the scratching, beginning to shatter the surface himself, with his hooked fingers poking through the shell to prise away large pieces. There was no wonder in his eyes as he watched the fragments fall away, only an uneasy form of hunger and greed. He glanced at the dark whelp, imprisoned between his long, deft fingers, and his gaze roved over her small figure; his fortune wrapped up in a sack of scales.
The dragonflies sought the help of a small forest creature to move the newborn dragon to the comfort of the forest, for he was too weak to haul himself and they were not strong enough to lift his bulk. They settled him in a tangle of soft bushes, with leaves and ferns wrapping around his figure like protective arms as he slept. The dragonflies observed him peacefully, both fully aware, despite lack of words, that he was, quite definitely, their son. From now on, he was theirs.
As the weary dragon lifted her head, the ape clasped her excitedly within his hands and stole out of the room, travelling rapidly down floors to the very base of the fortress - the dungeons. It was there he scuttled down slick, watery steps into a dark chamber bordered by iron grates, all rusted and long-forgotten. With haste, the ape walked to the centre of the room, grasping chains and cuffs and forcing them over the whelpling's legs. Dropping her to the floor, hearing her fragile bones splinter, he sauntered from the chamber, glancing back at the small dragon whimpering on the stone slabs with a sadistic look of relish.
With a smirk, he reached out and yanked a lever on the wall, watching and listening as darkness pumped its way into the dragon on the floor. He watched her writhe with her broken body, twisting and howling with a thick voice that could not be her own. For hours he stood there, seeing her transition, resetting her life before it had even begun, the ape creating the dragon that would end everything, free the master from his eternal prison.
These are their beginnings. But they do not determine their ends.

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Hope you liked it. Just felt like writing something.

Dammit, how do you move this? I meant to post it in the FanFiction section.

Wow! What a great story!!! You sound like a famous writer!

Oh, thank you so much!

Np! And happy Halloween! And question, if you like to right stuff like this, would you like to help with the script for the spyro fan movie? We would love the help!

Quote: TheReptileGirl

Np! And happy Halloween! And question, if you like to right stuff like this, would you like to help with the script for the spyro fan movie? We would love the help!

That sounds interesting. Tell me more.

You can check out all of our progress on the spyro fan made movies topic on the fan topic
Skijarama is our director and one of the script writers
Sywanderer is the enviroments designer, story boards artist, and a script writer as well
I am the concept artist ans storyboards artist!
Schneider is our character modeler
I can't name them all, but we are one of the main people who are working on the fan movie. You can check us out on deviantart at Project Frixion!

uh let me fix it so that people can see it

right now it's in the admin area

EDIT:

added it as a journal entry just scroll down the page it's on the left column

http://projectfrixion.deviantart.com/

Epic choice of wording; great fanfic!

Thank you.