Hey guys! This is the first story I've posted on FanFiction, so I'm excited to see the responses. I got this idea from SimplySupreme (with permission), who has the most amazing stories, and you should check out if you haven't already! I was just toying around with the idea, so this is my first, and rather short, chapter. I'd like to know if its worth continuing, so please review! I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I borrowed heavily from C.P. for this chapter, so I could get the feel for his writing style. Fear not, however, because it won't happen again!
Enigmatic Emerald: Chapter 1
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before. Soon, they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf or bear catching her. The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with a ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist. He carried a wood-frame pack.
The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine—he was the only hunter near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses. It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall. Eragon stood with a quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the forest toward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks only occasionally; he knew the way.
At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly. Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three days had led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and—a thunderous roar shattered the night.
The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, ignoring the roar and racing through the grass as a shockwave hit him, accompanied by a resounding boom. He grunted as his knee collided into the ground, before raising his bow in desperation and loosing an arrow after the bounding deer. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into the darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow.
Behind him, where the deer had been, was a massive crater that had uprooted dirt, grass, and trees alike, rupturing the very fabric of the world. Eragon gawked in surprise. His instinct was to flee, running as far away as possible from the mysterious crater. Trepidation filled him, but his curiosity soon overwhelmed all of the mixed emotions that were running rampant through his body. Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved were leaves being gently brushed by the whispering wind. Cautiously, he crept forward to the lip of the crater, keeping his arrow nocked.
Even his myriad of treacherous journeys into the Spine, hiding from bears and wolves thrice the size of him, didn't prepare him for what his eyes took in next. Lying inside of the crater was a monstrous, emerald green dragon. Despite being marred by scores of cuts, some of which were larger than himself, burns, and marks of a struggle, its resplendence was unmatched by any creature Eragon had ever set eyes upon. The dragon was well built, muscle rippling underneath its smooth scales, displaying the prowess the creature had. The scales upon its sides and back were a dark forest green, while those upon its belly and the pads of its feet were lighter, with the smallest ones verging upon white. The dragon's wings were against its body, and they appeared to be the color of holly leaves.
The dragon was buried deep into the crater, giving evidence to the monstrosity of its size and weight. It was a beautiful creature, and Eragon's breath was taken by its radiance, despite the danger he knew he was in.
Immediately upon setting eyes on the beast, Eragon's thoughts strayed to the odd storyteller that resided in Carvahall, named Brom. Brom would often recite stories to the village, some legends and myths, but many of his tales focused on dragons. He would know what to do in this situation, Eragon thought. Eragon cleared his mind of his ponderings, and continued to gaze at the dragon.
At the juncture between the dragon's neck and back was a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. Rows of buckles hung off the sides, and the seat seemed to be sculpted out of leather in such a way that looked to provide comfort and mobility. Straps from the saddle encircled the dragon's chest, rigged with slips and knots that looked as if they could be adjusted.
The next sight took his breath away, his mouth popping open slightly as the oxygen rushed from his body, while a pleasant heat suffused his face. Sitting on the elegant saddle was an unconscious woman, whose long, midnight-black hair obscured her face, despite a leather strip bound around her head to hold the tresses back. She was dressed in pants and a shirt made out of dark leather, which hugged her body and clearly displayed her form. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung a beautifully crafted green scabbard with the magnificent hilt of the sword sticking out. Knee-high boots covered her calves and small feet.
As he watched, the gentle breeze caused her hair to flutter to the side, revealing her sculpted face, which was as perfect as a painting. Sarah, the young blue-eyed, blond-haired beauty of Carvahall which he pined after, paled in comparison to this woman. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. The only mar in her beauty was a scrape along her cheek; nevertheless, she was the fairest women he had ever seen.
Eragon's blood burned as he looked at her. Something awoke in him—something he had never felt before. It was like an obsession, except stronger, almost a fevered madness. Then, the woman's hair shifted once more, revealing pointed ears. A chill crept over him. She's an elf, he thought, still enraptured by her beauty.
Carefully placing his feet to avoid tumbling forward, he slowly trekked down to the bottom of the crater, toward the magnificent dragon and its stunning Rider. As his feet touched the bottom, his foot bumped into an object that must have fallen from the saddlebags. Glancing down, he gazed upon a polished blue stone, the likes of which he had never seen. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. Warily, he pulled off his gloves and picked it up, allowing his fingers to traverse across the cool and frictionless surface, which was like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.
It's humming, he thought, surprised. The stone was both beautiful and frightening. While he was admiring it, the veins on the surface seemed to shift ever so slightly, catching him off-guard and leaving him wondering if his eyes had deceived him.
As he was gawking at the stone, a voice penetrated the silence, causing him to jump in surprise at the sudden sound.
"Drop it."
He slowly glanced upward, and found himself lost in enigmatic pools of emerald.
I hope you guys enjoyed it, despite it being brief! I understand there are a lot of "Eragon goes back in time/Eragon's life is different" stories, so tell me if it was enjoyable compared to others. Thanks again to SimplySupreme for the idea!