So, I'm guessing y'all thought I was gone forever. After much debating in my head I decided I missed this. As far as why I was away for so long has both weak and strong reasons. I stopped updating and writing initially because I got grounded for being up into the late hours of the night writing and reading on this site. That was followed up by my parents getting divorced. Between bouncing around my parents' homes and getting much more involved in school activities, I ran out of time and interest. Jazz, marching, and concert band, football, and theater leaves one short fore time and drained of energy. School progressed and eventually I graduated. I took a gap year to figure out what I wanted to do and worked some odd jobs. A little over a year and a half ago I got lost looking for a restroom and found myself in a recruiting office. Long story short, I'm on a U.S. warship. I returned to writing as a way to calm myself and ease some tension while on deployment.
As far as stories go, I'm rewriting both of my ongoing stories. Most of the rewrite is to work out some kinks. Some characters will be changed, others will cease to exist, both stories will have a darker tone. This story will be lighter than the other one, but it will be like how Attack on Titan is lighter than Berserk.
(insert generic disclaimer about CP) and with that said, I present to you, The Third Army.
It was oppressively dark as she ran. It had been three days since Saphira returned with Roran and Katrina and over a week since the azure rider left with his dragon and cousin. Frustration and anger and faint trace of emotions she was not quite familiar with coursed through her as she looked reflected upon Eragon's parting to help save his cousin's betrothed. She was frustrated at how whimsical and stubborn he acted, angry that he would so readily drop all his responsibilities on a whim, and jealous.
Yes, Arya was jealous of Eragon. To be able to so readily help an individual was something she was not often able to do, and she never did anything for herself. Becoming the ambassador of her people, taking up the Yawe, carrying Saphira's egg, training Eragon, and fighting in this forsaken war was all for the sake of her people. The only time she ever gave into anything for her own sake was when she accepted Faolin's advances. Her emotions and affections for the elf caused her to falter when he was slain during Durza's ambush. That was why she spurned Eragon's advances. The people of Alagasia could not afford to have Eragon falter if she was to fall on the battlefield, such a mistake could be costly.
Arya was so consumed in the mirth of her mind that she had little concern of being spotted moving at inhuman speed, it was too dark for any normal man to see and late enough that the dirt road was desolate. However, that was not the case. A large, hulking man clad in dark armor sat with his back to a tree that had three horses tied to it and a massive sword across his knees. He slowly rose to his feet and effortlessly moved the crude steel of his sword to its sheath on his back and wrapped an oversized traveling cloak around him to conceal the shape of the blade. After untying the horses and taking their reigns in his scarred and calloused hands and casually sauntered in the direction the beautifully elegant elf was heading.
The earth, though silent to most, can say a great many things to those who listen. That is how Arya knew that Eragon would eventually show himself in the rundown town she found herself at. She was on edge as she approached the gate of Eastcroft. The earth sang joyously of Eragon, but also screamed of a far darker and more menacing presence. The adulterous stares the guard gave her did nothing to ease her tension, the last thing she needed was attention from the townsfolk. She quietly wove her way through the throngs of people closing shops and stalls for the day. The people looked dirty and half starved. The children were small bloated and the adults were emaciated and looked like skeletons tattered pieces of cloth hung loosely on their bodies, few had any form of footwear. Soldiers, the innkeepers, and farmers seemed to be the only exceptions. The soldiers extorted enough money to line their pockets well, the Inn housed and served many of the soldiers, collecting much of their extra income. The farmers were far enough from the city to avoid the extortion the soldiers committed, but were still half starved. This was the common sight in most of the Empire. Galbatorix's greed and inaction brought extreme poverty, famine, and plagues to the land.
Reaching the inn without incident, Arya opened the door to the dark, smoky building and worked her way towards the innkeeper. The stout innkeeper seemed mildly surprised that such a young and beautiful woman was alone but did not question Arya as she gave her crowns for a room. All that was left to do was to wait for Eragon to show himself.
She moved to the back of the main space and found a seat against the far wall. The spot provided her with an opportune spot to observe the door and not let anyone come up behind her. She also thought that it was far enough out of the way that she would not get any attention. She was wrong. Sooner than she would have liked three large inebriated men cornered her. They were farmers by the looks of things. Their hands were calloused and thick bands of muscle wrapped around their forearms and neck. The pungent scent of sweat and dirt, a heavy smell of alcohol rolled from their mouths as the harassed her. She ignored them, hoping her unresponsiveness would discourage them to the pint of losing interest and leaving. Her lack of emotion and responses only seemed to anger the farmers and things started to escalate. One farmer hooked a meaty finger under the hood of her cloak and pulled. Arya responded quickly and grabbed the man's wrist. Her hood crumpled and fell formlessly around her neck as she heard the door to the inn close. His starling blue met her blazing emerald eyes before the crowd moved between them. A sudden yet familiar force brushed her mind and all but yelled inside her head. Arya? She replied with the affirmative as he quickly made his way towards her.
"Do you have a room?" inquired the azure rider after having run the farmers off under the guise of being her brother.
"Yes, it's upstairs at the end of the hall on the right side."
Both failed to notice the woman watching them as Arya gracefully found her feet. As the duo moved up the stairs, the woman moved out the door into the night.
In the small hours between midnight and sunrise, Arya jumped from the window to the ground below and was followed quickly by Eragon, it was time to leave Eastcroft. Everything was silent, the few guards that patrolled the streets were noisy enough to alert them and animals were easy to placate as they made their way to the decrepit wooden wall surrounding the town. Upon finding a section of wall that was simple to scale, Eragon gestured for Arya to go first.
Embarrassment flushed through her body as her delicate fingers played with the hem of the sleeves of her green dress.
"Eragon, I'm wearing a dress and it is rather windy tonight" said Arya as pink started to tinge her cheeks. Modesty has no place on the battlefield, she chastised herself, but this isn't a battle and its Eragon, not an enemy. Clanking of armor and a dancing pool of light from just beyond one of the houses shook her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw Eragon had reached the top of the wall and was perched on the top, waiting for her. She quickly reached the top and both Rider and elf jumped to the ground below as the guards walked past the spot they were perched.
"I beginning to think I was in the wrong spot."
The both of them quickly spun and readied their magic when they herd the soft, feminine voice. Before them stood a woman with dark hair that looked to be in her second decade, but a gleam in her gentle brown eyes belied a long life of experience. Her face was to fair to be that of a human, but too rough to be that of an elf. She was clad in dark, flexible leather armor and a dark brown traveling cloak clasped around her neck. The greaves of her armor had an odd shape to them and looked almost as if there was a hidden compartment in them. Her arms hung loosely at her sides and exuded an air of confidence and strength that made the duo tense. It was obvious she knew who they were and she was confident that she could handle herself in a fight.
"Reala?" a rumbling voice said from behind them.
The woman's eyes came to life with emotion and recognition as she ran with the speed could match any elf. She hurtled towards a large man with a monstrous sword on his back. Around his waist he had a belt of knives as large as an average man's hand and a second sword on his hip. Heavy metal muted with magic snugly fit to his body that was large enough to dwarf any Kull.
"Reala!" the beast of a man exclaimed as the woman launched herself at the man. Her thin arms wrapped around his thick neck as soft lips touched as a display of longing and affection danced across both faces. That is when Eragon and Arya saw it, there was a silver disk on the woman known as Reala's hand. It was unmistakable that she bore the Gedwaeignasia. Reala was, or at least had been, a Rider.
Perched on a hill well away from the Varden camp stood a pale man. Most would struggle to see the camp from such a distance, but he was not most. He watched as a band of urgals trudged towards the encampment. The cries and discourse clambered in his ears as their emissary entered the rebel camp. He heard the screams of murderer, monster, and beast fly from the mouths of the people. He watched as the Kull approached the command tent. After a short time, the urgal left and returned to his kin to set up camp and his contact relayed that the Varden had made a pact with the band of warriors. The man and his army had been shadowing the Varden days after Battle of the Burning Planes. Their scouting parties found the camp as Eragon left. They watched as Eragon's family returned and waited for their general and Lord. They waited because no one would accept their captain.
The captain was a tall, pale man with crimson hair and matching color eyes. He had all the hallmarks of a Shade, yet there was more to him. He was the one who insisted on shadowing and keeping their distance from the rebels because he did not know how such a force would react to his. Sloppy, he thought, unorganized, and untrusting. It is a wonder that they have survived so far, let alone march against the Empire. He had been standing there for hours that day observing the chaotic groupings of tents and the unorganized bustle of the people in the camp.
Watches changed as hours stretched on. Hours became days and days turned to weeks as they waited. On the fourth day of the second week, small tufts of dust trailed behind four horses. The pale man turned to a cloaked figure behind him.
"They're on their way, shall we join them?" said the pale man in a raspy, almost whispered voice.
"Yes, we shall." Said the cloaked man.
"Grab two horses," the captain said turning to a scout, "A father needs to be reunited with his daughter.
So, what did you guys think? I designed the guy off of Berserk's Guts and he will be the rewrite's version of Christos, but that's not his name. I'm trying to come up with a better name for him. I'm also going to open the floor for you guys to submit characters, I just ask that you guys message me about them if you do so I can talk about them with you.
The ports that we visited on deployment were Croatia, Dubai, Dubai, Dubai, Dubai, Bahrain, Dubai, and Greece (more specifically Crete). All ports were awesome.
Leave a review no matter what you thought.
Fair winds and following seas.