Spyro the Dragon

Spyro the Dragon

Spyro 2: Ripto's Rage

Spyro: Year of the Dragon

Genre: Dragon

Lands Scorched: Multitudinous

Lives Forsook: Innumerable

The night was calm, with slight, shifting breezes cooling the otherwise humid air. The quiet mood of fantastical lands was marked by the docile snores of fainted dragons, and in this quiescent setting a disaster occurred. Suddenly, without warning, the dragons were statues. Myriad scaled forms instantly petrified, all except the littlest dragon. He arose, amidst the doomed forms of his comrades, and I took control.

You must be this tall to be a statue

In a matter of seconds, everything was on fire. There were things with weapons, and I torched them.  There were scampering sheep, soon to be alighted by the boiling fires of Spyro's belly. Littered about the starting area were the statues of the dragons I was now meant to save, as soon as I finished up breathing fire on them. And an adventure began, full of harrowing environments and chaotic settings, each in turn to be traversed by me to save my fallen family.

An example of a harrowing environment and/or chaotic setting

And save them I did, though it seemed of no real consequence whether I did so or not, since not a single dragon managed to help me even after I released them from eternal torment. This most likely resulted from the bubbling jealously they harbored within, the pure abject scorn felt towards me for being their savior even with my obvious inferiority.

I will save you, though I do not want to.

Each dragon set me off with advice that had long past been useful, an obvious an attempt to mock my efforts thus far. But never did my spirit wane, and every captured dragon had soon been freed by the gimped little dragon they had once pitied. I had surpassed them, and it is no surprise that the next game begins with Spryo “taking a break,” no doubt from the intrepid derision of his fellow dragons.

They hate me because I am beautiful.

Alas, it seemed as if Spyro was cursed. During a simple attempt at relaxation, Spyro is kidnapped by some zealous scientist, hellbent on violating space and time, reaching for knowledge no man was meant to have. Through either rigorous science or arcane magic, though I suspect a foul combination of both, I was whisked through a portal that had no business being where it was.

A theory is proposed

I ended up in a dreary, forsaken land, with the method of my capture, and my only hope of returning, malfunctioning upon my arrival. I was thereby forced into servitude to collect the power source for said portal contraption, with the scientist and his assistants reminding me often how without them I could never return home, as if it was a place I wanted to return to. And yet, I had no where else.

Each world, just another prison, and yet preferable to what I left behind.

And it was on this adventure that I began to notice foul aspects of Spyro's adventure. In the last game, I burned everything in my way. I left no survivors, since everything I could kill was expressly there to try and kill me. And yet in this adventure, each and every world I visited had feuding factions, wherein one would ask for, no, require my assistance, implying I would never find what I was looking for unless I acquiesced. So in each world I fought amongst the very citizens that lived there, while they took advantage of the free labor of a monstrous weapon, who only wanted to go relax.

Not ONCE did relaxing ever involve this

There was a specific turning point in this second game, for me, wherein my entire view of Spyro blackened. The denizens of a particular world needed help rebelling against some blubbery brown slug beings, and I was quick to comply. I burned each one I came across, hearing their flesh burn and their innards melt, when I wasn't too busy goring them with the horns I had come to rely on so fervently. I slayed every so called enemy, for no other reason than I was told to by the first being I saw when I entered the world.

Yeah sure he fights fires, but some dudes I saw said he was bad.

And as I left and found another world, I was confronted by a being of the same species as the ones I just unleashed my homicidal fury on. And as I walked up to him, he pleaded for my help. It seems that his race, in turn, was being oppressed by some birds (just regular birds), and he wanted some support for his suffering allies.  It was obvious he had heard nothing of the unspeakably violent onslaught I had not so long ago unleashed on what might have possibly been his family.

Uh, yeah sure.  Quick question: Was your brother a fireman?

It was at this point I had begun to question myself, to question Spyro, to question every reason I had for doing what I was doing. In every world I had agreed to help the first thing I saw, without question, fearful of losing the prospect of returning home. And when I took this wisdom into a new world, though I tried to be more reasonable and unbiased, I could not help but still agree.

Frogs and butterflies are evil you say? KILL THEM ALL.

Was I choosing to do this, or was Spyro choosing to do this? Or was it neither of us? In each world we were given supposed carte blanche at helping or not helping these creatures, and yet I found myself uncontrollably attacking some force or army that had no impact on me or my goals. I was passing down absolute judgment upon the residents of every world, choosing which side lives and which side dies. I was a puppet master, controlling the very fate of each world, one on his own set of strings.

I got over it soon, and as I conquered each world in the name of one or another species, I collected enough power to beat Ripto, who had apparently been tormenting the place as I was there, though I didn't particularly notice. I also had enough power to take a vacation, since I guess that was also a reason I was doing this.

Spyro vacationing with his new sweetie, a ferocious tiger cub.

In the third and last of the PlayStation Spyro games, a disaster occurs, one very reminiscent of the first disaster Spyro went through. Every dragon egg is stolen, very quickly and abruptly, and Spyro is chosen to save them, since only he, with his numerous victories and valuable experience, can fit down the hole the thief went through.

Pictured: Proper use of a Spyro Filter

An eccentric cast of characters appears where once before there never really was. In the first game, each dragon you saved from an eternity of torturous solitude has a name and a voice, but they quickly leave, and Spyro is left tragically alone. In the next game, amidst the forgettable residents of the world who employ you as a mercenary, more prominent characters appear, namely the people who kidnap you: a satyr, a cheetah, and a scientist of unknown biological origin, who reappear periodically to congratulate you on being almost good enough to return home, but not quite.

They reappear in the third game, to continue their taunting and mockery, as well as numerous others, namely the sorceress who steals the eggs, the dragon sorceress she works for, and other, playable characters: an Australian kangeroo, a militant penguin, a learned though temperamental yeti, and a space monkey, each with their own quirks and each as viciously homicidal as Spyro. However, unlike before, you are pitted against a coherent enemy force, a single race that you can focus your aggression on, much like real life.

All Rhynocs are diverse and unique but also exactly the same

Each game plays similarly, almost exactly the same, with a succinct sort of consistency that both I and Spyro appreciated. In the first game, Spyro had nothing to kill with but his sharpened horns and flaming breath, and needed nothing more. This is true throughout his entire set of adventures, and every problem could be solved with the appropriate application of horns or fire, or both.

I learned a few extra tricks midway through, such as head-bashing and climbing, but neither of these were particularly effective at genocide, so were deemed unimportant. But he takes these skills into the next game, and instead of then learning new tricks, Spyro settles for an obscene amount of trivial jobs and events, which would be called minigames if Spyro was a video game character.

I do this for the unborn dragon children

But every world that spans each of these three games is remarkably memorable and vivid in their own ways, even ignoring the species that populate it. And as his adventure crept on, more and more collectables were to be had, though collection was entertaining and never overwhelming.

Both Spyro and I enjoyed all three adventures, though the second stands out more than the third, which stands out more than the first. As such,

Spyro the Dragon gets 0 Sarcastic Gratitudes from Envious Dragons out of 1
Spyro 2: Ripto's Rage gets 1 They Died and I Did Nothing (Except Kill Them) out of 1
Spyro: Year of the Dragon gets 1 CROIKEY MATE out of 1