Second to last realm done and dusted, but it seems poor Elora might have more going on underneath that cute personality of hers than we realize. Not gonna lie, I am kinda torn on how shallow the dreamlike atmosphere of this realm really is. I know, PS1 limitations and all, but still.


And if you want to save digital shelf space....


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The sword slashed over Spyro’s horns, instead leaving a three-inch deep cut in the castle walls. It’s owner stabbed at the dragon once more, emerald eyes blazing in the shadow of her helm. When it spoke, it was with a clash of male and female tones, made ever more ethereal from the armor’s echo. “Hold still fire demon! Take thy death with honor!”
Upward slash, downward strike and flaming parries, the purple dragon dodged each one, making sure to retreat with each step. “Sure you’re not getting tired in there?” Spyro baited the knight as she thrust towards him. He had to keep her mind bouncing everywhere at once, lest she see what was happening around her.
“I am a knight charged with the protection of this castle! I will only stop when the blood in my veins does. Now strike me, you coward!”
Despite the insult, Spyro still hadn’t the heart to tell his attacker that the castle they were performing this little comedy in was no more than ruins, picked clean of anything useful by thieves long ago.
It didn’t matter anyways. Spyro pushed the thought out as, with feline agility, he leaped over a fallen column. In one stroke, the knight turned it to dust.
The combatants were in the courtyard now, only one of them aware of the audience now awaiting his cue. The faceless knight raised her sword to the sky, ready to stab her draconic foe.
Sparx caught his friend fluttering his eyes and gave a squeaking cry to the dragons hiding on the cracked roof. Wands and claws adorned in clouds and rings fired at the shining knight, suspending her in a bubble.
“Fiends!” The knight shouted as she struggled in her prison, “Cowards! I should have expected such treachery from you monsters!” The trick played and battle over, Spyro’s competitive glance turned cold at the sight, unable to either watch or look away.
“Elora, please calm down.”
A whisp of magic poked through the bubble, removing the ghostly helmet and revealing the face of Spyro’s friend, eyes still glowing with possessed rage. “That common name again?! I am Madame Elaine Faunia: Knight Errand of the Shadow Mages, and I swear on my armor and honor that none of you will see your spawn enter existence! And put my helmet back on! I refuse for my visage to be viewed by your vile eyes!”
Piece by piece, the DreamWeaver dragons tore the armor off Elora, much to her plateaued rage.
A squat dragon with rainbow scales and a pillow hat patted Spyro on the back and led him away from the cursing faun. “Do not worry Spyro, with the possessed armor off your friend, it will be no trouble to clear it’s spell from her mind.”
After a cursory glance back, Spyro nodded. He didn’t say anything though. Silas frowned, he hated to think of the savior of the Realms in such a dour state. He had been like that ever since he had come from the Beastmaker’s Realm, pulsing sack of wet clay and green sludge between his teeth. It had been easy to fix Elora in the Haunted Towers world, so of course one of the those blasted wizards wanted to play a joke and merge her with some haunted armor. “I mean it Spyro, she’ll be fine.”
“No…no Silas, she won’t be. Somethings wrong with her, all these transforming things are messing with her, I know it.”
“From your stories, it doesn’t sound like your fault.” Spyro’s shrug did not improve Silas’ mood. The two dragons continued in silence, down into the more structured parts of the castle as ruins turned to well-kept if not empty halls. “But…I suppose it also sounds like forces are working against your friend.” Spyro continued to sag, murmuring a soft agreement. That was it, Silas’ mind was made up. “Tell you what Spyro, after the others clear your friend, I could have her sit down for a Self-Mare session.”
“A what?”
“Well…it’s something we DreamWeavers can do if a dragon’s dreams are, in laymen’s terms, really bad. Something of a self-guided therapy session…”



“…so…you’re gonna put me to sleep, and my dreams will tell you what’s wrong?” Elora had spoken slowly, making sure she understood the long-winded explanation given. She was relieved when the gathering of dragons nodded at her translation.
“That’s the short of it dear. If there is something wrong, we should be able to analyze and isolate it.” The chubby Silas motioned to his aides, all set in some mystic pattern. “Are you ready to begin?”
A cold breeze ruffled Elora’s fur and forced her to look about the chamber once more. If it wasn’t for the dragons, she wouldn’t have called it friendly. In fact, with it’s bleak stone walls decorated only by chains and clasps and the iron pedestal she laid upon, it appeared to Elora like a dungeon. The faun didn’t realize that it was; a small recommendation by her purple friend against the open windows and rug doors of the actual chamber.
“I’d feel a lot more ready if Spyro were here.”
“I know dear, but this is a delicate process.” Silas tapped the faun's pedestal with his claws. “We’re going to be watching all the squishy grey matter you’ve got forming your problems and the last thing we want is to upset the vision.” It was exactly how he had phrased it to Spyro. Thankfully the faun agreed instead of arguing to the point of scratching the elder’s tail, leaving marks that were gonna hurt for days if this wasn’t cleared up soon.
To that effect, Silas snapped his claws, motioning the other dragons to light their incense. “Now Elora, just lie back and relax. All you’ll need to do is sleep, we’ll handle the rest.” A low chanting had begun, echoing off the walls and mingling with the smoke billowing from the burners.
The faun couldn’t hear anything else the elder had said as the fruity scent of the incense was already attacking her nerves. Her arms and legs had gone limp, and her eyelids were slipping down against her will. When she tried to say something, all that came out was a weak yawn. Amid the chanting, the smoke and the dark light of the dungeon, Elora drifted away in seconds.
The dragons were ready to observe the faun’s dreamscape.
There was only one problem: Because of the confined and windowless cell they had been forced into, the dragons had little room to protect themselves from the droning chants echoing from the walls or the incense that hung over the whole room like a fog. Try as they might against it, they all fell one-by-one into a deep sleep.
It was minutes later when life stirred in that dismal chamber. A pair of rather bored Fools, who had been using the blocks of castle wall to play Jenga, had begun taking blocks away from the dungeon. When the two magical nuisances eyed the circle of dragons, devious grins went across their pointed faces, circled round the back of their heads until the tops popped off and two more fools crawled out, their jester hats ringing with delight. They gibbered about in their nonsense language as they frisked the winged beasts, curious as to what they were doing here.
Then they found the faun.

Elora opened her eyes and found herself in an open glade. It appeared a solid surface unlike the floating islands of the DreamWeaver Realm and no sign of any dragon, purple or otherwise.
“Well…gotta say those elders know their magic. What I wouldn’t give to have some of that incense for home though.” The faun dusted off her grass skirt and pulled herself up, eying the complete lack of oddities. “So, this is my dream…and so somethings gonna happen. Right?”
The world around her gave no answer, save a slight breeze wafting through the flowers.
“Pretty boring dream so far.” She muttered before cupping her hands and shouting to the sky. “Hey Silas! Anything I should be doing?” Once again, there was only silence around the faun. After taking a moment to paw at the ground, Elora threw up her hands. “Well, I’m not just gonna stand around waiting for someone to tell me what to do.”
So the faun walked off the little hill, unaware of the quartet of watchers floating just a few feet above. The Fools snickered between one another as they watched their prey march on, making small gestures to each other about what to do with her. They had no fear of being spotted, their magic steps kept them out of sight from the ground.
One fool brought the ends of his cap together, bolts of electricity buzzing about. That idea was dismissed, this faun was important to the dragons, and though Fools were invincible, that did not mean they couldn’t feel pain. A pair in the corner began pulling their limbs apart and sticking them in different spots as a child would with a doll. Having done that to a cluster of pigeons yesterday, that idea was dismissed as well. It was the Fool at the front who had the perfect idea, having taken off his cap and pulled out a puppet controller from it’s depths. The others followed suit and held them over the edges of their hiding spot. Strings of gossamer slithered from the ends, floating aimlessly for a moment before reaching for the unaware faun.
“Mosquitos in my dreams.” Elora growled as she swatted at an itching sensation coming from her wrists. “Yeah, I’m so tortured.”
Despite her harsh mockery, Elora tried to think what it could mean. If this was her dream, then there had to be a reason. It had to be a good one, cause the itching had taken root in her legs and back. She rubbed her leg against a few tulips but found no release.
The faun leaned down to try and scratch it herself…but only got halfway. The itching sensation across her body had begun to morph into a tingling sensation like her whole body was asleep. She couldn’t shake it out either because her arms and legs had frozen up and no amount of struggling seemed to move them. When they finally did move, it was without her permission.
“Umm…hello?” Elora stood at attention to no one, nothing to answer her back. Still she struggled, and yet still it proved hopeless.
That was when the feeling in her body changed again, this time to a dull blankness. Her arms waved in front of her, fingers grasped their counterparts and Elora couldn’t feel any of it. It was like she was watching someone else’s arms. Likewise, it was only through seeing the world bobbing up and down that she realized she was dancing. “Oh if Spinner and the other fauns from Fracture Hills knew this, they’d tease me for days.” A small thought blazed through Elora’s mind that maybe that had something to do with this. She never had been great friends with that clique of fauns due to her brown fur against their blue. Was it resentment of them? Shame she never tried to give them a chance to like her in spite of the fur?
As if to punish her for that thought, Elora received a double slap and the dancing stopped.
Up above, the Fools were cackling at their fun and the dumb fool unaware of it. The four glanced to one another and nodded, it was time to let her know she wasn’t in control. On a silent count, all four heaved their controllers as high as they could.
If asked how she felt being lifted from the ground with no source and no control of her body, Elora would feel no remorse admitting she shrieked like a banshee. She couldn’t stretch her hooves down to try and keep herself grounded, couldn’t try to catch herself if she landed, she just had to deal with hanging in the air…
…like a puppet…
The thought cracked through Elora’s head. Was that what was going on?
The faun rolled her eyes as high as she could, finding no one around. But couldn’t deny it as her arms started scratching behind her ears: she was hanging like puppet, moving like a puppet, controlled like a puppet.
Whatever force held her had set her back down, leaving her to limp forward and her arms to dangle about. It also seemed to agree with her as it held her hands up so she could watch them turn into wooden blocks of her former self.
While her appendages were useless, skin and fur turning into wood and felt, her mind was jittering about, following this thread through her memories.
From her days growing up in Avalar to her self-appointed position as a guardian for the magical land, her life had rarely been her own. She was constantly barred by those blue fauns from enjoying herself, even now when they should be acting more mature than that. Her day job amounted to just listing and listening to everyone else’s problems while she never got a word in edgewise herself. A particularly angry flash came when Avalar had been put in danger, not by mere fate, but through the stupidity of her friend Hunter. Sure, she had Spyro to rely on, but he rarely ever seemed to show up since he saved the land. It was the whole reason she wanted to come to the Dragon Realms and see him herself.
Throughout this whole journey though, once again Elora was being strung by some force that just loved making a nuisance of itself and an annoyance to her. Especially as her transformation touched her skirt, turning it into a dull colored bolt of velvet with leaf designs hastily scribbled with marker.
As these thoughts tumbled and turned in Elora’s head, the Fools continued their ‘improvements’, chittering about what materials would look best on the faun. None of them paid any notice to the purple dot barreling towards them, as they were all arguing over whether or not their puppet needed lipstick.
The faun below squinted as a metallic sheen encased her hooves. Two lines of cutting ran across her mouth. When Elora opened up, she was not surprised to see she now spoke through an opening in a thin flap of wood.
It was humiliating. As she thought about it even more, she also knew it was nothing special.
“Well…I’m sick of it.” Her voice was weaker, both from her losing control in her chords and the clacking wood. “I’m tired of being everyone’s little puppet!”
Just like that, as if that was all the universe needed, feeling came back to Elora’s body. The faun wavered; balance upset from the sudden shifts in control. Her body still seemed to be made of wood, but at least she could move them again. Unaware of the fiery brutality taking place above her, Elora was surprised to see a puppet controller fall at her hooves. She picked it up and examined it with interest.
“Elora! Thank elders I found you!”
The puppet-faun turned to see her purple friend, fearful and quivering for a split second before a thick gossamer strand struck him in the head. Several others followed suit. Elora watched in a mix of fear and awe as Spyro went through his own puppet transformation. In seconds, his body held a glossy rubber sheen while his wings stretched out with a series of latex squeaks.
There was little time for Elora to process what was happening before Spyro fell to the ground, just another puppet, lifeless with a dull look in his eyes.
“Wow…” Elora’s voice had regained it’s strength, though still had to contend with her puppet mouth. “I guess this affects dragons differently.” The faun paused as she looked at the controller in her hand.
Still believing herself in a dream, Elora took a step to the dragon and raised the controller. The purple puppet slowly rose to it’s feet, silent.
“You…you feel this way too. I know you do Spyro.” Elora reached her free hand and stroked the dragon’s maw. “You told me all about your troubles.” Though she would never say it out loud, Elora knew this was her view on her friend.
With a thumb hooking the mouth lever, Elora gave her best impersonation of her friend. “It’s not like that Elora, I just…gotta be the hero sometimes.”
“I know, but you run yourself ragged for everyone else. We both do.”
“That’s what happens when you do what’s right.”
Elora didn’t have an answer to her statement. She did have a suggestion, but it was unthinkable. Though, as she watched her puppet dangle and move about at her command, the thought did seem very pleasing.


The fleet of DreamWeavers watched the scene play out from the clouds, unsure what to do. Spyro had hastily bolted when he saw what the Fools were doing and now look where he was.
“Let’s just hope she thinks she’s dreaming.”
“I think that’s even worse.” Silas muttered as he watched the faun play. “See how she’s enjoying it.”
“Don’t worry brother. A small matter of putting them to sleep, changing them back and saying everything’s fine.”
Silas grimaced at the thought. His eyes were locked on the faun, who was now making her puppet bow before her. “I don’t like it. But perhaps…as long as she never knows this is real.