darkSpyro

His bag was packed. Plenty of food and water, lockpicks he had learned to make, the tools needed to make more, his dear pocketwatch, two sacks of gold, and some mana crystal shards. That should be about all I need for now, he thought. If he needed more money, he could work for it, or maybe even steal. And mana crystals are not hard too find, and he would not be using that much magic anyway.

As for water, he would undoubtedly find some lakes and rivers to stop by, and for food, he could always hunt. Like his father taught him. His father used to bring him down to the forest, to hunt for rabbits, frogs and boars they could bring home for dinner. The boars were trouble for him, but his father always helped if things got messy. But father will never be able to step in again.

For money, he could always steal, or get some work, such as cloth making. Like he did with mother. Himself and his mother used to make all sorts of cloth designs and fill the house with them. They were really nice to take in whenever you walked inside the home. Too bad most of them got taken down. At least he still had the cloth designs mother made for him to wear. Cute robes, hoods, anklets, horn accesories. All sorts of things. Sadly though, he would never receive another gift from mother.

He took one last rummage through his bag. He had everything he needed. He took a look around him. In mere moments, the place he called home would be a random house in a desolate area, with no significance whatsoever. All the memories of this place would stay with him, though. Better not stick around much longer, so I can't start second guessing, he thought. He took the quill from his desk, and grabbed a nearby book. Upon opening it, the book was empty. He wrote a message to his parents, and other loved ones. He then tore out the page he wrote on, and placed it neatly in mother and father's bedroom, on their sleeping matress.

He jumped on top of the matress. This is so much comfier than mine, he thought to himself. Maybe he would get something like this in his new home, wherever that was. He lay his head down gently. He even started to get comfy, and his eyes started to shut, but then a bolt of lightning came down just outside the house, a mighty thunder along with it, too. It frightened the youngster.

“That's it”, he said to himself. “It's time to leave.”

He galloped towards the front door. However, on his way, he noticed the empty book, quill, and phial of ink. I do like to read and write, he recalled. These may serve to kill some time on occasion. He grabbed the equipment, and stuffed it into his bag.

Then, he ran to the door. When he opened it, it was still lashing rain outside, and it was very dark now. But it did not concern him. He pulled up his hood, and ran off into the darkness.

And so it begun. His pilgrimage into nothingness...