Eragon, Saphira and all characters found in the Inheritence series are from the imagination of C. Piolini.
CHAPTER ONE
His gritty hands convulsed violently as he grasped the steel blade in his sweaty hand. The steel flashed with his movements as he slashed with reckless abandon, striking out in time with his retching sobs.
The knife came down again. And again. And again.
And the man named Laster cried.
Moonlight shone off the glistening teartracks on his grimy face while his yellowed teeth remained clenched, revealed by a perpetual snarl on a broken face. His muscles ached and his throat had gone hoarse hours ago yet he felt nothing. Nothing but a spreading numbness overlaying deep agony.
"B-Bram," he croaked in a low whimper. "Bram, why did you go? Why did you go?" He was overtaken again by an overflow of panic-like despair and he lashed out again. Faster this time. Wood splinters flew in all directions as he hacked and chipped. Faster. If he moved faster and harder the pain would go away. Faster!
And then he was empty. His shaking hand fell limply at his side and he breathed the chilly night air, noticing for the first time that his throat was clogged with phlemb. He coughed and spit as he collapsed on the sharp dead grass and took in his work.
It was carved into an old oak tree. Crudely done and maniacally mishapen but deep and clear enough. There were two words. 'Bram' was the first, and it's presence filled Laster with a sharp, longing pain everytime he looked at it. The second word was much harder to read because it had been attacked with a vengeful fury and terrifying hate. The slashes through it held murderous thoughts and evil intentions.
The word was 'Eragon'.
"Eragon," Laster muttered. "I know why you're not here, Bram. I know why I can't see you anymore." His bloodless lips moved slowly though no sound came from them. They said, 'Eragon'.
Laster shivered there in the forest for many hours, his pale, lanky body stiffening with the cold. He never came to this part of the woods. No one ever came to this part of the woods. The noises kept people away if the terrible stench didn't. No one knew what caused the strange noises in the night or the horrible, reaking smell that crept through these woods, and no one was brave enough to find out.
At that moment, however, Laster didn't care about the woods, the smell or the noises or anything for that matter. All he could think about was Eragon. Mighty Eragon. Dragon Rider Eragon. Shadeslayer Eragon. Peopleslayer Eragon. Bramslayer Eragon...
It was almost too much for Laster to comprehend. Bram was a good man; a beloved brother, serving faithfully in the service of their master, Galbatorix. There was plentiful food and peace over the land. All was quiet; all was good.
And then there was Eragon. Eragon and his blue monster. Evil creatures, not deserving of life. "I don't know how..." Laster whispered. And he really did not know how. But it did not matter, because there was one thing he did know: He would slay Eragon, and his blue monster. "Laster," he muttered. "Laster Dragonslayer," He rolle the title around on his tongue and savored its taste. "Laster Riderslayer," That one tasted even better, and he giggled.
Slowly he stood up on trembling legs and for the first time took in his surroundings. He was in the strange part of the woods. Why was he in the strange part of the woods? No one ever came to this part of the woods. There were unexplained noises and a hateful stench and persons who had disappeared in this part of the woods.
Laster stumbled on in the direction of the town. It was this way, he was sure. It had to be. He walked on, expecting the lamplights of the town to appear at any moment in the distance through the black trees. He was sure he was going the right way. The lamplights would appear at any moment.
His breath fogged in front of him and turned silver in the moonlight. He imagined it was dragon breath and the thought amused him. Cold dragon breath. What a concept! He certainly felt cold alright. Where were those blasted lamplights?
The moon was suddenly shrouded by a thick drifting cloud and a blanket of darkness fell over his world. He cursed in the blackness and breathed in the stench. It was getting thicker. More pronounced. That horrible smell. Like decaying flesh mixed with feces. Where were those blasted lamplights?
There was the sound of twigs snapping in front of him and something wet and slimey writhing across the ground. In the blackness Laster felt it wrap around his ankles and tighten. He was pulled off his feet and dragged throught mud and mildew while his screams echoed off the swaying trees. A hole opened up beneath him and he felt himself being pulled down through the burrow in what he knew could only be the descent into the Netherworld of Hell.
Still screaming, he clawed frantically at the walls of the burrow but the slimey tentacle held firm and the soft clay fell apart at his touch.
Be still!
Laster stopped struggling. His muscles froze in place and he dared not even breath. A few feet above him a felt the opening of the burrow, and just behind him something was breathing. He had heard a voice. A voice that spoke not in his ears, but in his head. Such things were not possible. He would not hear of it.
That is better, morsel.
He heard it again! He was sure this time. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Laster slowly craned around his neck and saw.
But he did not quite know what he was seeing. It's skin was smooth and slimey as though greased with spit. It's face was flat with only the hint of a snout that framed two gaping nostrils and several rows of razor sharp teeth. It's girth was much larger than a horse; it's long nails were ebony black and the powerful tail now wrapped around his ankles held what could only be a curved, wicked stinger.
Laster's unshaven jaw shook and stammered. "Are- are- are y-you a...d-dragon?"
All at once, his head was filled with images and emotions. Anger. Indignation. Hate.
Not a cursed Winged One! the voice screamed. Not a cursed Fire Throat!
Laster nodded. "Then what are you?"
I am me, the voice answered simply. We are us.
"And what am I?"
You are 'morsel'.
Laster inhaled sharply and clenched his eyes shut against the image of the ugly creature. "Well, what are you waiting for, then?" he demanded. "Go on! Get it over with!"
His head was filled with amusement he knew was not his own. Not for me, the voice crooned. Not for me,
Laster opened his eyes and saw the black claws softly caressing a smooth grey orb. He knew he should be terrified but a strange calm had fallen over him. He felta kinship between himself and the creature. "I don't like dragons, too." he said.
In his head he felt the creature nod. We have hunted Winged Ones for thousands of thousands of cycles. And the Winged Ones have hunted us. Soon there will be no hunting.
"You are almost gone?" The very idea seemed to cause him pain.
We are almost gone. The creature affirmed. I am almost gone.
Laster felt the creature shudder and at once knew that the thing was dying. How old was it? Had it really seen thousands of years of struggles with the dragons? Was this how it ended? His eyes fell upon the orb and he felt a protectiveness form in his head. Was that the creature he was feeling? Was it?
The grey orb bobbed and jumped. It shook furiously and a sharp crack resouded around the burrow.
Ahhh, the delight in the voice was evident even as it grew fainter. You will make it a wonderful morsel...
And Laster knew that the thing was gone. Another crack sounded from the orb and Laster threw his hands at the tentacle that held him, but even in death the creature's grip was firm.
The orb split open and the most horrible stench filled the hole. Laster gagged and pulled out his blade. His hands shook uncontrolably as the slimey little thing unfurled itself. A flat face with rows of razor teeth and a curved sting. It opened it's eyes and held him in a red glare. It's jaw stretched wide and it's high squeak anounced it's hunger. It took a wobbly step in his direction.
Laster clenched his blade tighter.
Morsel,
The thing was close now and the smell was almost tangible. It gave a roar of exultation and Laster's blade lashed out. It sank into warm, slimey flesh and hacked rapidly.
Within moments the flesh of the dead creature was placed before the delighted infant. It squeaked with pleasure as it gorged itself and Laster looked on mistily.
"That's it," he crooned. "That's it, go on and eat. My little...Bram."
So this is my first real attempt at writting something in this style. I've never written something that wasn't meant to be funny so if you laugh while reading it, the humor is purely accidental. (Unless you think its completely hillarious in which case I did it on purpose.)
Anyways, feedback would be very much appreciated. Thanks.