Spyro's Broadening Horizon: Part 1

Alright, to start off with our two-part stories, Spyro finally settles down as an Artisan- and it seems the culinary arts are having a particularly heavy pull on him! Check out in September for part 2, and thanks for your support!

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Spyro leapt out of the hot air balloon, landing on the stone walls of the Artisan Dragons’ sprawling castle. He had left for the first time as a young drake to become one of the biggest heroes in dragon history, and now, after countless adventures, he had returned, fully grown and ready for whatever life threw at him next.

As a fully adult dragon, Spyro stood tall and broad-shouldered. His golden wings and horns had grown larger, and his purple scales had darkened. He stood eye-level with all the elders he had saved, and grinned tightly as they waved and shouted their greetings at him. The adventurous dragon strode into the center of the Artistans’ castle, a high-vaulted great hall filled with books, blueprints, and half-finished projects scattered across heavy oaken tables. While some dragons were milling about, at the center was Nestor, the Artisans’ leader, looking as if he were holding court as he talked with a few others. A master builder and craftsman, Nestor was an impressive specimen, still taller than Spyro, and boasting an impressively muscular physique. His gold-green scales shone in the noon-day sunlight pouring in from high windows, and his bright eyes brightened as he spotted the young dragon.

“Spyro! Goodness, come over here,” the older dragon boomed. He clapped his hands on Spyro’s shoulders as the adventurer came near and chuckled. “You’ve shot up like a weed! Good to see you, lad. How’ve you been?”

Still grinning, Spyro bowed his head respectfully. “Oh, Dragon Shores is the same as always, but it’s good to be home at least, Nestor.”

“You’ve got excellent timing,” Nestor commented. “Some of the Elders and I were just thinking about you.”

“Oh? I’m not in trouble, am I?”

The older dragon chuckled. “Far from it, Spyro, far from it! No, we’re all grateful for all the times you’ve saved the dragon eggs, and pulled our chestnuts out of the fire. But you are still, at the end of the day, an Artisan Dragon.”

Spyro quirked his brow. “Meaning?”

“Well, you’ve got to have a trade as an Artisan. You’ve spent all your days travelling and defeating great enemies, but we’ve never had the time to focus on your artisan education.” Nestor explained. “Now that everything is settled, we were starting to wonder if you might like to complete your training.”

Spyro’s grin grew crooked as he rubbed the back of the frill running down the center of his head. “I’m guessing roasting sheep doesn’t really count?”

It was Nestor’s turn to smirk. “Well, it could be the start of something- though you’d have to ask Alvar about where setting things on fire ends and cooking them begins.”

The purple dragon sighed. “I just don’t know, Nestor- I’ve never really had the time to sit down and think if I really want a trade… I’ve just been out fighting baddies and saving eggs, I never really stopped to think about, like, setting up a shop or anything.”

“We know. But, think of it this way,” Nestor draped his arm over Spyro’s shoulders in a fatherly fashion. “You’re a talented hero, and a great adventurer, but your roots are here, with the Artisans- we build things, add to the world instead of just knocking out the bad stuff. We’d like to see you become a fully fledged Artisan, if nothing else because you never got the chance to go through our Rites. It’s an offer to take some time and focus on the things you like.”

“Well, yeah, but I like fighting and exploring,” Spyro countered.

Nestor shrugged, taking his arm off the younger dragon. “It’s merely an offer, Spyro. You’re welcome here always, no matter what you decide. But if you want to broaden your horizons a bit and go after something besides smiting evil, we’re here to help you get caught up.”

“Right,” Spyro muttered, frowning softly. “Thanks, Nestor.”

Later that day, once Spyro had dropped off his things in his old room and settled in again, he drifted down to Gavin’s cafe. Gavin was arguably the most impressive specimen the Artisans had on hand, a hugely muscular blue dragon with tattoos adorning his thickly roped arms and a full mustache and sideburns matching the horns and ridges adorning his face. Despite his great size and presence, Gavin was friendly to a fault and content to just putter in his small kitchen, making frappucinos and lattes, trying out new recipes when he found them.

“Welcome back, big guy!” Gavin grinned broadly, sliding the younger dragon a tall glass that was cool to the touch. “I made something in your honor- the Globetrotter Frappe. Served frozen- got the ice from Alpine Ridge, a dash of spice and cinnamon from Cliff Town, and nice, smooth caramel from the Tree Tops. It’s, heh, definitely not my healthiest creation, but hey, it’s a nice treat for every now and then.”

Spyro’s brow bounced as he looked over the drink. “Wow, thanks Gavin,” he grinned as he took a taste; it was almost overwhelmingly sweet. “It’s great!”

“Hey!” Trundling down the stairs was a heavy-set dragon, his round scaled gut bouncing with each step. Devlin was nearly as large as Gavin, but far softer- his limbs were thick, his hips were wide, and his middle round and full. Clutched in his claws was a massive, two-tiered cake, adorned with light purple and yellow frosting. “We agreed we were giving Spyro’s Welcome-Back Treats together!”

“Dev!” Spyro chuckled nervously, eyes going wide as he looked over the cake. “You really didn’t have to,” he said, as he stood up to help the baker dragon settle the massive pastry on a table.

“Au contraire,” another dragon spoke, following Devlin. “We have to treat the Artisans’ most famous dragon. Apparently.” Behind the baker was a lean, red dragon with a severe look in his eye. Alvar carried a plate with a large flank of mutton, expertly cooked.

Spyro’s eyes widened further at the other dragons’ offerings. “Guys… this is a lot of food, I don’t know if I can finish it all in one sitting!”

“Well, when I saw what Devlin was planning, I certainly wasn’t going to be shown up,” Alvar muttered.

“Besides, we’re happy to share it,” Devlin said, already cutting a hefty slice of cake for himself- and then an even larger one for Spyro. “You’re still young! And a bit lean- you could afford to put a bit more meat on your bones, hah,” the baker chuckled, patting his own overfed middle.

“So, Nestor gave you your marching orders, I imagine,” Alvar said, sliding the best cut of meat over to the adventurer.

“Oh, well, he said it was my choice…” Spyro said, sampling the mutton and cake, trying to nod and grin to show how good it was. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’m not exactly the type to just sit down in one place for too long.”

“You could always help me out in the bakery,” Devlin offered. “Always something to do there!”

Spyro tried not to look skeptical. “Thanks… but I don’t know if baking cookies is really my speed. Er, no offense.”

“Mm, don’t knock it until you try it,” Gavin said, spreading out a few drinks. “The culinary arts are a trial all their own. All three of us used to be explorers like you.”

Spyro sat a little straighter hearing that. “Wait, really?”

“Oh, sure!” Gavin chuckled, flexing his arm, his bicep rising to the challenge. “You don’t think I just snap my fingers, and all my ingredients are just here, do you? No, I have to go out and haul ‘em over here myself! Took me years to travel all around and find the right ingredients for my drinks.”

Devlin nodded sagely, resting a hand on the crest of his belly. “Mhm, mhm. Every region and culture has their own unique recipes- we all had to go out and find them for ourselves.”

“And it’s hard work keeping people fed,” Alvar said, arms crossed. “Sure, we’ve got farmers and shepherds, but it takes people like us- chefs, bakers, and whatever Gavin is- to take all those crops and livestock to turn it into stuff people want to actually eat. And it’s a lot harder than just setting sheep on fire!”

Spyro stroked his chin. “Well, I admit, I never thought of it that way. I guess I could try it out- I gotta start somewhere. Do any of you need help?”

The three culinarians exchanged looks. “You just got home, Spyro- we don’t want to throw work at you right away.”

“Please! Nestor wants me to try different crafts out, I want to avoid getting bored.”

“Well..” Gavin shrugged. “If you’re sure. I could always use a hand with the morning rush. Everyone needs their morning coffee.”

“Lunch rush is my busy time,” Alvar added.

“And no one wants to go without dessert, so they usually visit me towards the end of the day,” Devlin said.

“Alright, perfect!” Spyro said, finishing off Gavin’s drink and already gathering up the leftover mutton and cake. “I’ll be able to help all three of you out- I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Gavin!”

Spyro was a dragon of his word- even if he forgot he was not a morning person. The dragon pulled himself out of bed before it was fully light, shoulders slumped. Sparx hovered nearby, helping light the way to Gavin’s shop in the early morning gloom. He was feeling particularly sluggish; he had always had a weakness for Delvin’s sweets, and was still digesting the cake- he had managed to polish off the leftover slices before passing out last night. His stomach rumbled softly, still in a strange space between being full, and already hungry for breakfast.

“Ah! Spyro, there you are!” Gavin grinned, two massive bags of coffee beans thrown over his broad shoulders. “I’ll admit, I didn’t know if you were serious last night, but I’m glad to have you.”

“Oh, y-yeah, Gavin- I wouldn’t let you down,” Spyro said, stretching his arms as he fought off a yawn.

“Glad to hear it!” Gavin tossed Spyro one of the bags, the smaller dragon grunting as he caught it. “We got to haul some of the supplies down, then I’ll show you a few tricks about how to get a nice latte going.”

It was hard to focus; Gavin was already full of energy, and Spyro was still shaking sleep from his head. To keep up, he had to slip in espresso, latte, black coffee- anything to wake himself up. Gavin only had time to show him how to brew a pot before other dragons began streaming in, hundreds of different projects they needed energy for. And when word got out Spyro was serving, it seemed like every Artisan had to come and shake Spyro’s hand to welcome him back. They were making a bigger fuss than when he arrived yesterday, and only a constant stream of sugar and caffeine kept Spyro energized, if starving by the end of it.

By the time the crowd died down, it was late in the morning. Everything was a bit of a haze for Spyro; he had drunk enough coffee and espressos to drown a lesser dragon, but he was desperately hungry for something solid to eat. Gavin sent him on his way with a firm slap on the back and a thumbs up, and Spyro rushed to Alvar’s barbecue pit.

Alvar was a harsh taskmaster; he kept the dragon busy lighting the fires, seasoning meat, and carving fine cuts. The smell of spices and herbs, mixed with the sound of sizzling meats, left Spyro salivating, but he didn’t dare try to sneak any bites, not with Alvar’s temper. The purple dragon kept up his willpower until lunch died down, still turning a spit with a massive hog roasting over it, until he felt Alvar behind him. The red dragon was keeping a steady eye on Spyro, arms folded. He stared Spyro down for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“You did well, Spyro. Go ahead- I’ve got it from here. I saved some choice cuts and ribs for you. You must be starving by now.”

Spyro, clutching a stomach now roaring in protest, grinned. “Oh! Uh- thanks, Alvar.” He dashed for his lunch as quickly as he could, wolfing down the generous portions of mutton, pork, and beef Alvar had left for him. By the time he moved to Delvin’s bakery, he looked full. His middle was feeling taut, and had begun to bend out in a curve over his lean frame. Spyro tried not to notice it, even as Sparx hovered near it, occasionally poking him to make sure it was real.

“Sparx, quit it! That’s… sensitive right now,” Spyro muttered, waving the dragonfly off.

Even though he was slightly bloated, around Delvin, Spyro felt positively skinny. The fat baker grinned wide as he ushered Spyro into his kitchen. For the next few hours, he was mixing dough, setting up trays of cookies and pastries, and cleaning dishes- like Gavin and Alvar, there was a long list of things to do to keep the bakery clean, to keep orders moving, and to keep ovens lit. By the time the sun had set and the crowd had died down, Spyro was leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He had faced down hordes of gnorcs and vengeful sorcerors, explored faraway lands and taken down monsters, but it seemed he had finally met his match in the food service industry.

Devlin, spotting Spyro as he caught his breath, chuckled low, patting Spyro on the shoulder. “Come on, just one job left.”

“Oh!” Spyro forced a bracing smile. “Great.”

Devlin lumbered towards the back end of the bakery, where several trays of cookies and pastries were lined up. “Have to get rid of the mistakes and leftovers- most of this won’t be good by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Spyro grit his teeth. “So, do I just throw this all away, or?”

“What? Spyro!” Devlin slapped the smaller dragon on the back. “We don’t waste food like that! We eat our mistakes here!” He slapped his round gut for emphasis, making it bounce. “Go on, they may not look pretty, but I’d bet a clutch of eggs they still taste good.”

Spyro arched his brow, then glanced over the trays. He picked up an oblong eclair, a little over-filled with cream, and took an experimental bite. The dragon’s eyes lit up- it was probably the best thing he had tasted in a long while.

Devlin wore a knowing smirk, and laughed loud. “There, you see? I’m not called the best baker dragon for nothing! Go ahead, Spyro, treat yourself- you earned it.”

“Thanks, Dev,” Spyro said, already grabbing up a second pastry and a handful of cookies. “I’ll see you, same time tomorrow?”

“Hah! I’ll be glad to have you.”

The next few weeks were a rush for Spyro. He kept meaning to try different disciplines, such as carpentry or sculpture, but it always got pushed back to “tomorrow.” The dragon was getting comfortable in his new routine, even if it was hard work, but Gavin and Delvin were good company, and even if Alvar was grumpier than most Artisan dragons, he was a good teacher. Spyro was picking up a hundred different small lessons about preparing food and making meals, be it for a nice dinner or rations for another journey. It was useful, Spyro told himself, but also, if he had taken up carpentry, he was pretty certain he couldn’t eat his mistakes.

Gavin was too nice to mention it, Alvar didn’t care so long as Spyro worked hard, and Devlin, being so large and round himself, hardly noticed, but their young protege was, like the roast pigs he helped Alvar prepare, stuffed. Spending weeks around food, able to sample every dish and treat on hand, was having a profound effect on the adventurer. His sleek scales were beginning to strain from the extra weight, his yellow underbelly swelling rounder and rounder from the huge portions the dragon now had access to. His belly grew rounder and rounder, his hips augmented wider and wider. Strong limbs once accustomed to punching out gnorcs were already strong and solid, but now they grew thicker, padded by his excess weight. The dragon’s naturally agile gait became slower and more ponderous, as his legs had grown thicker, and were carrying more weight than they were used to.

After another busy night at the bakery, Devlin was watching Spyro devour an entire tray of leftover cookies, the purple dragon popping one after another into his mouth. Gavin had come around with some late-night drinks to help the two keep their energy up, but now both dragons were starting to wonder about the younger dragon.

Gavin’s eye wandered down to Spyro’s jiggling belly, his hands working quickly to stuff more pastries into his mouth. “He’s, uh. Certainly taken to the culinary arts with vigor,” the hulking barista said.

“He has, hasn’t he?” Devlin said brightly. “It’s been wonderful having a helping hand around here.”

“Still… don’t you think it’s time we stepped things up a bit?” Gavin asked. “I’m worried he might be, uh.” He paused, as Spyro let out a loud belch. “...Getting a little too comfortable.”

“Mm, well, if you think so, we can challenge him,” Devlin mused. “Spyro! Tomorrow, bring a clean apron- you’re going to bake your first cake!”

Spyro’s head shot up, a cookie halfway into his mouth. “Oh! Mmph-” he swallowed down his latest treat. “Great, Dev! I’m looking forward to it.”

The following day, Spyro came to the bakery hungry and eager to try his hand at baking. He had been listening to all the tips and tricks the three Artisan dragons had been passing down from their culinary arts, and he was ready to show off. He tried to ignore that he had to get extra string- twice- for Sparx to successfully tie his apron around a waist that had billowed out to three times its original width, and he also, less successfully, tried to ignore how much his stomach was growling. He peered over the kitchen; flour, sugar, yeast, butter, eggs, frosting, and dozens of different ingredients and spices were laid out. At the other end was Devlin, his arms crossed over his thick chest, and grinning at Spyro.

“Alright!” Devlin clapped his hands together. “The kitchen is all yours, Spyro.”

Spyro smiled bracingly. “Great- I figured since you welcomed me back with that awesome cake, I owe you- I’m going to make the best cake this bakery’s seen, just watch.”

Devlin chuckled, his belly bouncing. “Well! I’ll just get out of your way, then.”

Spyro nodded once and turned to his work, leaning over the counter even as his belly pressed into the side. “Okay, Sparx, I’m going to need some milk to start…”

Hours later, Devlin wandered back into his kitchen. “Alright Spyro, not to rush you, but I do need to get a few orders of pastries done myself, so how’s it…” the rotund dragon trailed off as he spotted the state of his kitchen, “...going?”

The bakery was in a state; broken egg shells, dustings of flour, spilled milk and a few broken plates were scattered across the floor, splatters of dough on the walls, and a few spots on the oven showed tell-tale signs of being singed by dragon fire. In the center of it all was Spyro; the overfed dragon was offering a crooked smile wide enough for his chin to dip against his double chin. He was struggling as he held up a massively tall cake, made of seven increasingly precarious tiers. As his hands wobbled, the cake shook ominously, leaning to one side.

Delvin approached cautiously. “That’s, uh- that’s quite an ambitious project you got there, Spyro.”

“It’s- double- chocolate- devil’s food- cake!” Spyro grunted. He finally lost his balance, and the tubby dragon fell over backwards- thankfully, his fall was broken by Devlin’s soft, round, padded belly- the cake, however, tumbled off the tray. Devlin’s reflexes were shockingly fast- he caught two of the cake’s tiers on a separate plate, even if they landed with a splat. Two hit the floor, but more than half the cake was salvaged. Spyro was left looking down at the mess, rubbing his forehead as he set the tray down. “Sorry, I think I overdid things again…” He knelt down, reaching for a broom.

“No, no, it’s alright-” Devlin chuckled, snatching the broom away from Spyro. “I’ll take care of that. I appreciate your ambition, Spyro! I can’t tell you how many cakes I’ve burned in this kitchen. You’ve done enough.”

“Well, I should help you clean up-”

“And you will.” Devlin hefted up the tray with the remaining tiers of cake, sloppily stacked on top of one another. He shoved it into Spyro’s gut. “You know how we do things here- eat your mistakes, and learn from ‘em. We’ll try again tomorrow.” Devlin took one finger, stealing a taste of the frosting. “If anything, it still tastes good.”