[h3][color=8dc73f]Scott[/color] - The First Week[/h3]
The pixie didn't do much for the first days of his life. He had the near-overwhelming urge to cause trouble, to make mischief, to sing and laugh and dance. But most of him objected to it. He stayed in his little hollow in the wall, most of the time, sustaining himself from the crystals. They didn't fill his stomach, but they kept him alive. Eventually, though, the crystals near to his 'home' were drained, and he had to venture further afield. It took him some time to work up the courage.

In fact, he only emerged when he noticed that dusk was on its way. Instinct - or was it logic? - told him that most predators would be resting at this time. The goblins, most certainly. He'd seen them once or twice, and their grabbing hands - watched as they tortured a captured moth, twisting off her wings, one by one. He didn't watch them after that. But by the sunset, the pixie darted out and began a search for the soft-glowing crystals; or better yet, something to ease the ache in his belly. And he did. He spied a lizard carcass, some time dead, and gnawed at by what must have been rats. Cautiously, he ripped off a piece and bit down. It might have been raw and unpleasant, but nothing else appeared to happen. His head darting from side to side, he grabbed as much as he could carry in his arms and flew back to the hollow.

The next three days were spent in a similar fashion. At dawn, he'd fly up to the cave ceiling, and practice flying through the jagged stone teeth that hung from it, learning how and when to turn, how to dive, swoop, glide and dodge. There were a few mishaps, but a healing spell or two fixed them. Once the other cave dwellers began to move, he would fly back to his little burrow. And when they returned to their dens and their camps and such, he would fly back out, and search the cave floor for any forgotten meals or recently deceased. Mostly bugs.

And earlier today, just as he was waking, and stretching out, he remembered. All of it at once. Not in an orderly way, mind. It was jumbled and disordered, and nothing made sense. His morning routine forgotten, he sat down in the dust and began writing, remembering what he knew, trying to piece it together. Name. Species. Personality. Human childhood. Pixie 'childhood'. He could sketch and write. He can cast spells and... make enchantments. And... his death. The last was the one he spent the longest dwelling on. He had, quite literally, made a deal with the devil. What that meant for his soul or his past, he didn't know. But he knew that he needed to get to the Palace.

His decision made, he stood, brushing the dirt off of his leggings. That's about when he realised it was dusk. Well, a better time than never to start exploring. He'd need to gather some resources, maybe find something or someone to protect him in case he ran out of mana, things like that. Taking a deep breath, he stood on the threshold of his 'home'. He was leaving behind pretty much everything he knew, in both of his lives. Such was the task at hand. Taking a few steps forward, and a few flutters of his wings, he began the search. Food. Crystals. A weapon. And maybe, just maybe, he could find an ally.