Lies of Truth
There was a story that the elves whispered about. To the younger generation, this tale felt like it was as old as the trees that swayed in the wind, mysterious and the foundations hidden below.
The children tittered about it while the adults who truly knew hushed them, saying that they will explain it when they are older and can understand. This was because The Myth tied into the war of the races and the gone dragons, of evil that had not been seen before or since. It touched on how the world had been torn and burned, and yet a hope had shown and had been sung in the dawn of new days.
A few rebellious elven had ventured to where this man clouded in mystery apparently lived and breathed in the thicket of their trees, but they always returned confused. That, or they refused to talk about their journey, as if they had shunned it from their memories. They shook their pointy-eared heads before going back to their life, an odd sort of wisdom making them cautious in how they talked or moved around the subject. Most believed those who went to explore were too proud to admit to their foolishness, to believe that there was an everlasting human in their presence who had become a hermit of his own accord.
For The Myth was that the Savior Rider's twisted brother was in the woods, in a cave where he sat and played with fire. He was unable to communicate with the outside world from his actions that he was forced into, when he was young and powerless to the Rider of the Black Dragon that the elven had dubbed Sunkiller. Quite a few were still alive from the war and sometimes they said the overlord's true name, but it was a word that had been banished from text and, when those individuals eventually become a true part of the forest, would fade into oblivion.
Eragon Shadeslayer or Eragon Worldsaver had sailed off with his Brightscales dragon Saphira, never to be seen or truly heard of again. Some had been fearful even of this great savior, wondering what he would do with his almost endless life created from his bond with the glorious creature. They wondered if he will ever sail back onto the banks of their world, corrupted by whatever was past the horizon.
But most speculate on his brother that had been left behind. There is a seed of truth in The Myth, but most of it was exaggeration brought on by unknowing among the younger, post-war generation. For, you see, The Myth of the rider of Crimsonfire living in the woods was not fiction.
It was reality.
And that man in the true story, who still looked so youthful despite the decades and centuries, sat and watched the sunrise every morning. He marveled how the shades of color in the dawn sky changed from midnight black to that of deep blue before even that dissipated to shades of red.
He watches and lives.
Color theme 080: Indigo; Word Count: 500
Posted on the 20th of December, 2010
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Disclaimer: I abdicate any claim of ownership on the novels in the Inheritance Cycle which rightfully belongs to Chirstopher Paolini and his storytelling.
A Brief Explanation of My Text: I've finally read Brisingr and I've been inspired to write something for this series. I know my story and ideas are bound to be deemed un-canon when the 4th book comes out, but I can't help writing now since the inspiration is hot. Maybe I'll come back and edit accordingly when everything is revealed. On the genre choices: yes, there will be romance. But it is (very) slow in coming for a variety of reasons.
A Note of Thanks: The base foundation for this story's chapters will be based on the 100colors challenge on LJ, because I think I need themes to give me structure and keep me going. Each chapter will range in length, but be at least 100 words, and will be based upon one of the 100 colors. Like many, I enjoy feedback on my efforts and reviews would be wonderful and are encouraged to keep me going. So, lastly, thanks for reading and I hope you continue on with the story! :)
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