"Barzũl" spat Nimtolien (Nim-tol-ee-en) throwing the bow to the floor. "I cannot do this!" all afternoon he'd be trying to hit the target at the end of the field, he'd followed all the instructions his teacher had given and still got no closer to hitting the target. Now he had finally lost his patience with the exercise. "What's the point of doing this anyway? I can just kill with magic instead of learning this" Voronwë (Vore-on-way) sighed and bending over picked the bow up off the ground "Indeed you could but the bow teaches patience and control. It is much less energy consuming to kill with an arrow than with magic. Many battles have been won by archers" Nimtolien shrugged and walked off of the training fields "And many have been won by magicians. Anyway it's not like there are any battles any more anyway, Galbatorix is dead and the Urgals are our allies. All we do is practice for the day when we may have to break up a dispute between some farmers"
Voronwë sighed it was a common problem among the students on the island. While the prospect of being a rider under the command of the great Eragon was enough to spur them through their training many saw the lack of any potent enemy as a huge problem. Nimtolien was one of the students who expressed this the most. He'd been born in Du Weldenvarden but as soon as he was old enough to travel unaccompanied he'd left the safety of the forest. He'd lived among the dwarves for awhile but soon grown restless and taken to wandering the land again. On his travels he'd learnt to master his control of magic and had been instructed in swordsmanship. When Galbatorix had overthrown the riders Nimtolien had been only thirty years of age. He'd kept himself to the outskirts of the Beor Mountains and the Du Weldenvarden forest avoiding all the major skirmishes and eventually when Galbatorix and the forsworn remained victorious he had hidden himself in Ceunon. A town far away from Galbatorix and the Forsworn.
Nimtolien was an exception to the rule. The island they were on was where Eragon had started his school for dragon riders. Everyone here was either a teacher or a youthful dragon rider eager to earn his place in the world. Nimtolien was neither. He had no dragon and did not teach classes to the riders. Instead he trained with the riders and occasionally would provide them with an informal history lesson in the form of a story. He had been brought to the island by an eccentric herbalist and her Werecat companion. She'd told him he would be of use and finally have a home, something Nimtolien had often longed for as he spent nights under the stars. However now he'd been here for a number of years he found himself getting restless again. The young ones grew more and more on his nerves and the patronising of the teachers some half his age was particularly irksome. He was not some old hermit that didn't know how to swing a sword. He'd wrestled with Urgals and survived more battles than many of the inhabitants had heard of. Sighing and shaking his head he opened the door of his room and flung his cloak on the footstool at the end of the bed.
As he walked out of his room he sighed and walked in the direction of the dining hall. "Good morning Nim" came a shout from behind him turning on his heel Nimtolien smiled "Good morning young Boriden, how are you this morning?" Boriden was a young dwarf one of the first to be chosen as a rider he had found it hard adjusting to life on the island and Nimtolien had kind of taken him under his wing " Not too bad cheers Nim, me and Celestine flew yesterday it was amazing!" he ran to catch up with Nimtolien "but we're still the slowest in our class" Nimtolien nodded thoughfully
"I wouldn't worry about that little fella Celestine just needs some time to grow" Boriden nodded
"will you tell us a story this morning Nim?" Boriden looked up expectantly. Nimtolien chuckled "yes i'm sure i can think of one to tell you of"
"Awesome" Replied the little dwarf running down the corridor "See you at breakfast Nim"
chuckling to himself Nimtolien made his way into the dining hall and helping himself to some bread and cheese sat on a table by himself. Within a few minutes Boliden and a group of his friends had sat themselves at the table around Nimtolien patiently waiting for him to finish his breakfast. As he finished his last mouthful the group of young riders leaned forward a couple of inches. Smiling to himself Nimtolien sat back on his chair "So, what story do you guys want to hear this morning" as one the riders started asking different demands about different battles and different races. Nimtolien raised a hand and they instantly quietened. "Boliden what would you like a story about?"
"Do you have any stories about dwarves?" The little dwarf asked. All the other riders groaned but their interest did not wane. Nimtolien nodded "Okay" he said and sat back on his chair "A good thousand or so years before any of you were born, in a time where dragons still flew over the Beor mountains a young elf was out gathering roots in the outskirts of Del Weldenvarden...