I. An Explosive Beginning
Wind whipped through the underbrush, carrying a scent of rotten meat.
Eragon wrinkled his nose, but then formed a grin on his snide, fifteen-year-old face. Like most fifteen-year-old boys of near-human intelligence and sociopathic tendencies, he realized that he could save a lot of time and effort collecting carrion for his family (or better yet, for Sloan the Butcher) to eat and/or butch(?) as opposed to the original mission of actually hunting.
The one thing this particular youthful protagonist did not realize was that if he brought home carrion, carrion would be his meals as well, but that is neither here nor there.
Because as he approached a stinking, rotten corpse of what had once been the smallest, sickliest deer in the herd, half-eaten and writhing with maggots already, an explosion ripped the forest.
Eragon happened to be a most fortunate fifteen-year-old boy of near-human intelligence and sociopathic tendencies, because although he was well within 300 meters of the center of the blast, this was a magical explosion and there was neither primary nor secondary fragmentation.
But of course, he did not happen to know those basic safety guidelines. He never learned from his mistake.
Because although the first blast was magical, the "blue stone" that had appeared in the epicenter, at ground zero, was a cleverly disguised and very powerful mechanical-time explosive device.
A bright flash and loud boom from the general direction of the Spine awoke the citizens of Carvahall, who panicked in the streets. Garrow and Roran built a bomb shelter, although they of course did not know what a bomb was. Brom capitalized on the cataclysmic explosion by leading the weak-minded in sacrifices of chickens, cows, and money in order to "appease the Gods." Horst and his family bypassed the rescue of their souls by drowning themselves in spirits at Morn's abandoned tavern.
In Uru'baen, Galbatorix cackled on his throne and cradled a blue dragon egg in his arms, pleased with his clever adaptation of what had previously been a Surdan state secret. And when the Ra'zac informed him that a puny town with no economic benefit, far in the North of the Empire, was rioting and panicking, he took the opportunity assign a certain newly-commissioned young cavalry officer to lead a detachment in order to put down the revolts.
Murtagh quickly found that deployments were not nearly as exciting as he had hoped, and that he hated the cold up North. His soldiers alternated between making crude types of sculptures in the snow (which none of the men from the Capital had seen before), and complaining about the discomfort and terrible weather. Granted, that after some of them had managed to build a bonfire despite his express orders for noise and light discipline, he had made his entire company stand at parade rest in the snow for two and a half hours as he yelled at them, but honestly…
With the small, slaughtered town of Carvahall bleeding red rivulets of its citizens into the pristine snow at their backs, the cavalry officer and his troops marched themselves back South, a bit sickened by the scene they left behind for the glory of the Empire, and eager to return to the warmth of their home.
Murtagh could not stop seeing the old man he had killed personally; who had looked up at him, met his eyes, and recognized him. His beautiful grey warhorse was tired, and the hard journey, cold weather, and slaughter of civilians had shaken him.
Tornac would understand.
Nobody ever found Eragon, or the shrapnel from the fake egg. There is a reason the Spine is dangerous.
The blue dragon became frustrated at playing solitaire in her egg, and was just thinking of hatching for the sole purpose of asking her current keeper to get her an IPad already, so that she could keep up with her buddies' Instagrams while she waited for her Rider.
In the military prison in Gil'ead, Arya was none the wiser.
Author's Note: So, Geez, the ending got a lot more serious than I would have hoped. Sorry!
I just have a lot of time to kill, and a lot of Nerd Rage, and a somewhat twisted mind. Tell me what you think; there's more irreverent fun to come!