Prologue:
A young elven man, probably no older than few hundred at most, though appearing no older than his twenties, bounded across the forest floor, holding – no, protecting, something inside his beige tunic. As swift as the winds, the elf jumped over the rotting logs, the long fallen leaves of the canopy overhead and dodging the mighty trees. Night had fallen hours ago, now with stars twinkling in the skies, winking at all living creatures, the silvery light from the moon reflecting off his flowing white hair and pointed ears. Even though traversing at a great speed, with the winds whistling in his ears, his highly tuned senses heard water. With fierce determination in his pale blue eyes, he headed towards the source.
Not much later, the elf neared a wide river, beautifully reflecting the moonlight from overhead, no trees obscuring the view. Across from the river were more trees, after all, what could one expect from nearing Du Weldenvarden, home of the elves. Stopping for a quick rest, the elf leaned against a tree and shut his eyes, wiping his brow with the back of his pale hand. Inside, he felt as if his lungs were burning, his muscles ached, and he had the strong urge to vomit. On the outside, he had to struggle to remain impassive and alert, something he fought against every instinct to force himself to do. Even for an elf, running extremely long distances was stressful, especially when one was fleeing the mighty minions of Galbatorix.
His legs suddenly gave out, and the elf slid down the bark to the base of the tree, his bottom hitting the ground with a muffled thump. Checking his precious cargo, the elf pulled out what he had been concealing within his tunic, an egg of sorts, although with the appearance of a beautiful stone. This was definitely no ordinary egg, for it was large, with an amethyst colored shell – and lines of dark blue to dark red intricately swirling around the shell. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of dragon would hatch from this beautiful egg. He traced his fingers along one of the lines on the shell, admiring the egg he had stolen from the evil king Galbatorix, the leader of the forsworn, the one who threatened to destroy the world, and to kill all dragons. Galbatorix was the dragon rider who went mad after losing his own dragon, and after asking and denied of another dragon, the bastard betrayed other Dragon Riders, enslaved them or killed them with his dark arts.
Unconsciously, the elf began to squeeze the egg, harder and harder, his knuckles turning white, as his thoughts clouded more and more with anger until he caught himself. Biting his lower lip hard, enough to draw blood, he quickly checked over the egg to check if damage was done, for if it was, it would not be reversible, and he would have ruined his entire mission, and possibly destroyed the future. Agilely, he worked over the egg, feeling around it, to see if there were any cracks on the beautiful shell. To his amazement and surprise, the egg had not suffered any damage; after all, an elf's strength was incredible. Perhaps this egg was stronger than he believed, and willed itself to survive. His eyes twinkled a bit at the thought of the egg willing itself to survive for a rider, and his thoughts began to wander again, with his fingers dancing and strumming its way around the egg's incredibly beautiful and elegant design.
Maybe there was hope for the world after all, if this egg would choose to hatch for another rider, he and the other elves would train him or her, making him or her as strong as they could, arming the next dragon rider with knowledge they would need to stand toe to toe with Galbatorix. He and several others were sent by the elves to steal the remaining eggs from Galbatorix, but everyone except for him had died in the process. They were not expecting to be ambushed by the magical beasts under Galbatorix's disposal, chased yes, but certainly not ambushed. One night, the night before the planned raid of Galbatorix's egg stash in Uru'baen to be precise, they were ambushed, in their own camp! Many of the elves had died in the original attack, with daggers plunged through their backs, or had their necks sliced open. Others who fought back were enslaved, and taken back to Galbatorix. He had been the only one to escape, and not easily either. His stomach fluttered and his thoughts faded back…back to that night where he almost lost everything…
Sitting by the fire in the middle of the camp, my fellow elves and I were discussing the tactics which would be best in order to increase survival chances as well as chances of successfully retrieving an egg. It had taken our group of elves years of traveling to get to Uru'baen, and plenty of time was given to hone our own personal skills and fix flaws. We knew they had to be prepared, as Galbatorix was in no way going to be a pushover. Over the years, there had been little bonding between us, aside from what was necessary to survive. Aside from that fact, some of us were better acquainted with one another due to being friends before the journey began.
There were probably around a dozen elves including myself, all dressed in our leather armor, deadly wooden bows at our sides with quivers on our backs. Some of the elves had some swords in scabbards on the sides of their hips. I remember that I had one too, one that my grandfather gave me…
The air was dry and cool, wood cackled under the bright flames which leapt towards the sky, licking the sky and dancing among the stars. Aside from the occasional suggestion of what the tactic would be, it was a rather grim night. It was known to us that this night might be our last, as Galbatorix was not to be underestimated.
One elf, his name Ardreth, I believe it was, bravely stated in the ancient tongue, "Brothers, together, we shall overcome this obstacle and return to our families, and to our Queen! Do not worry about failure, or death, just think about everything that will come to be WHEN we succeed. The eggs will hatch for us – that I am sure of! With guidance the new dragon riders surely will succeed."
Although this did lighten the mood slightly, it was not the place to be making a loud heroic speech. The apparent leader of the squad…
The male elf racked his brain for the leader's name. Queen Islanzadi had sent him and several others to retrieve the eggs, yet the elf only knew two of the twelve. He hadn't actually bothered to waste his time learning names when something more than that was on the line. His eyes momentarily flickered as memory served him correctly.
Ah yes, his name was Eriladar… He was a very serious elf, even by normal elven standard. He would tolerate no nonsense, no foolishness. He was very proud and composed, taller than most elves, and lean. Signs of aging were apparent on his pale skin. His amethyst colored eyes shone with anger and
frustration, losing its normal regal air of authority. I still remember that night: he got so frustrated at Ardreth that he almost pulled his hair out!
The male elf chuckled at the leader's frustration, and seemingly out-of-character moment. Well, compare to the mask and air of seriousness he normally had. Momentarily, the joy he got from reliving that memory quickly faded, and his eyelids closed and squeezed together harder, as if trying to relive the moments of his past again, seeing to every detail that had occurred before.
"You know, the king is probably prepared for this…I mean, we really have no hope of defeating him without another rider."
Another elf interjected, "No need to be so negative you know…maybe there will be a way."
The elves exchanged different tactics on how to succeed while retrieving eggs, while half of the ideas were completely foolish. Using an elf as a distraction, hopefully enough to stall Galbatorix? Honestly speaking, not likely to happen.
Still, at this moment in time, he realized something. Possibly, it wasn't so foolish, these ideas, even though crazy at best and suicidal at worst, were perhaps the only way to defeat Galbatorix. He was all powerful, so not like they could win in a magic duel, or any kind of duel in that matter. Maybe sometime in the future, when he had another chance, he would try one of these tactics, who knew what would happen. If they were to die anyways, why not try a method that has a slim margin of success?
The male elf remembered tuning out his comrades, and focused on sharpening and reinforcing his blade with spells, to prevent it from breaking upon impact. He pondered what would happen when they got out alive, if they got out alive, and what further course of action they would take. Perhaps he would confess his true feelings to her…before there were no more chances…
"…tomorrow we shall try to sneak in, and take the eggs. Whoever gets there first shall be charged with carrying an egg. If I am not mistaken, there should be two, possibly three, and maybe four. This isn't the same stash we apparently raided years ago…Seems like he has found more eggs…"
"Wow, that's quite a big difference there, so we're looking at between two to four eggs, correct?"
"Yes. Now if we shall get attacked…"
There was a slight rustle in the leaves; I remember hearing at that moment. I brushed it off at the time, but I would live and regret that. I thought…it was just the wind, nothing to be scared off, possibly just a small critter foraging for food. I wish I had not been so stupid! I could have saved all those elves, and my friends…
A tear began to slide down his pale, flawless face, as he recalled the ambush, and the inevitable fate of his comrades.
Out of the shadows of the nearby trees, these six blurs rushed past me, with one running into me, causing me to skim across the ground. These six monstrosities, how I wish I hadn't seen them. They were clothed in black, with hoods, and armed with daggers. They had these beaks, which they drove into the soft of my brethrens necks! How the blood splattered! Those who were not killed in the initial attack, were stuck with daggers…had I not been so bewildered, I may have helped them!!
As Ardreth was confronted, he valiantly brandished his sword, and parried two strikes with easy. The sound of the metal blades clashing caused ringing in the night like a scream in the silence. Ardreth was not an exceptional fighter like the rest of the troupe, but he has incredible reflexes and the ability to adapt to almost any situation, probably why he was chosen to accompany and retrieve the eggs. Dancing about, with grace and speed, he blocked, parried and stabbed at the challengers. Lunging forward, he stabbed a Ra'zac through the face, impaling him. While trying to retrieve his blade lodged inside the Ra'zac's skull, two others snuck up on him, and slashed through his armor, one blade imbedding itself between his ribs.
Ardreth struggled to the side, yanked up his bow, nicked an arrow and leashed it point blank at the face of one of his assailants. As the arrow met its mark, a screech, so horrifying, so…disgusting and terrifying all at the same time. The Ra'zac clutched at its face and fell to the ground twitching. Another dagger struck Ardreth, this time, his neck, causing a geyser of blood to squirt out, drenching the ground with his blood. Ardreth fell to the ground, lifeless.
Eriladar, like Ardreth, was not faring too well against these foes. "Kveykva!" I heard him cry, calling the mighty lightning from the sky. As the lightning struck his foe, the Ra'zac seemingly fell, but only to arise a few minutes later.
"Blast it!" cried Eriladar as he parried a strike with his sword. "Magic seems to have no effect on these fiends! It seems Galbatorix was well prepared for this!"
Trying once again, Eriladar tried once again, calling for his magic. "Kveykva!!!" He cried again, only to have a larger lightning strike to hit in vain. Those were his last words as several Ra'zac surrounded him.
One by one, the elves were falling, whether outnumbered or outclassed in skill. There were only a few handfuls of them left. Occasional squeals of pain or hysterical screams of pain would notify one of when another enemy or ally fell in battle. However grim the battle seemed, the elves tried to remain calm, for if they panicked, they would have no hope of survival. Most elves already learned from Eriladar that spells would not work, so those who were left depended on their melee skills, praying that they were enough to keep the elves alive.
As the battle raged on around me, I remember standing up, and trying to duel one, first throwing a rock at him and getting his attention away from one of my comrades, when something hard hit my head, my surroundings turned black, and the edges of my vision turn fuzzy, I heard my friend call out. That sweet voice that called to me! It could only belong to once elf, one whose complexion matched the sweetness and purity of voice, the one I grew up with; the one I loved. Kythaela…
She cried out to me with, "Felarean, flee! We shall hold them off and defeat them, you're the fastest of us all, you must get to the eggs, and bring them safely back to the queen! We will catch up with you later, I promise!" I remember, those sweet tears trickling down her flawless face, her perfect complexion. Somehow, I knew, she had lied to me that moment. Dazed as I was, I remember daggers striking me, through leather, near my stomach, drawing a thin line of blood. As more daggers struck at me, tearing my armor. As another one headed for me, ready to strike me through the heart…I closed my eyes like a coward, waiting to die.
A splatter of warm blood met my face…it was not my blood however, it was Kythaela's, she had taken the blow for me… One again, her sweet sorrow-filled voice called to me, coaxing me to run. Run, run I did, like never before, to try to get to safety…Little did I know, to never see them again…Kythaela or her beautiful pale blonde hair or fair green eyes…
As I fled, I whispered to the wind, in hopes that she would somehow miraculously hear me. I love you and eka elrun ono… I thank you.
Wiping the tears from his face with the back of his left hand,Felarean grit his teeth, remembering that night and the friends and comrades he had lost. Even though it had been over a year ago, losing an acquaintance and a loved one is never easy. That moment, he swore to protect the egg with his life to honor the sacrifices of his comrades and his one love, although it wasn't like he had a say in the matter. He forced his eyes open and shook his head left and right, trying to shake the thoughts of his befallen friends from his mind. Sitting there, taking nice deep breaths, attempting to meditate, and keep his center calm, his heartbeat slowed down and his regular breaths reverted back to regular intervals. Looking at the glimmering violet egg one last time, and its wondrous swirling colors of many shades, Felarean stroked the smooth rounded surface of it before he tucked the egg-shaped-like-a-rock back into his tunic.
Now that he thought about it more and more or rather the ludicrous idea of how he survived, a single thought ran through Felarean's mind. He had departed with almost a dozen elves, and all of them were lost in a single ambush. While being the only survivor, it was his duty to fulfill Queen Islanzadi's orders and retrieve the few remaining dragon eggs. When he had gotten to Galbatorix's castle, he had expected heavier guards, but since nobody had expected an intruder, whether incredibly brave or stupid to waltz into the most powerful person alive castle and steal one of the most valuable treasures. Sadly, since the eggs were rather large, and not exactly pocket sized, he could barely carry two. Doing his best, he had attempted to flee.
Slipping one egg into my tunic, I tried to stuff the other egg into his leather bag. Sadly, the bag could not hold the egg, without taking out all the supplies I had remaining. What was the point of escaping with two eggs if I couldn't survive the whole ordeal? Deciding instead then, to hold the sea green egg in the crook of my arm, I bounded out away from Galbatorix's castle as fast as I could, with my heart hammering in my chest. It was almost sundown, and it appeared that I might have escape without another fight. However, not wanting to risk everything my comrades had sacrificed their lives for, I had not stopped for anything short of a quick breath or a small meal. I continued running to the best of my ability, across the plains, and heading towards my homeland of Du Weldenvarden.
The sun began to dip below the horizon, its brilliant rays of colors ranging from golden-red through various shades of red and orange split apart, scattering across the beautiful sky, Felarean leap across another crevasse in the plains, no doubt a scar of battle, his long shadow tailing behind him. Even though fleeing for my life, I couldn't help by gaze around at the scenic beauty that surrounded me. Far away from major cities I was, with only the wind caressing my face, and the rays from the sun on my body, it was a feeling of freedom and beauty. The wind gently whispered in my ears with a lullaby of peace and calmness. The golden sunlight bounced off and tickled various plants and animals nearby, giving everything an orange tan, casting off shadows longer than trees themselves.
However the thought of pursuers, or lack thereof so far, ate away at him. How could there be no pursuers? He practically stole the most important artifact of Galbatorix, and he gets off the hook just like that? Although the thought did foster a feeling of safety, he kept telling himself not to let his guard down, that there were pursuers and he would have to fight. As he continued north to Du Weldenvarden, the more anxious and paranoid he became.
Drifting closer to my destination, I couldn't help but feel a profound feeling of joy and success. Thing was, I wasn't exactly there yet, there was still a ways to go. And the underlying paranoia was not without reason.
One night, shuffling of leaves woke me. Instantly jerking up from my resting spot, I quickly grabbed my grandfather's sword and scabbard with my left hand, and strapped it onto my black belt. Deftly moving with my right, I grabbed my wooden bow and strung it with an arrow with a bird-feather shafted end. Quickly jumping to my feet, I readied myself for inevitable conflict. I looked around conscientiously, made sure to check all around so nothing could sneak up on me. Every night where there were any sounds whatsoever, I would arm myself and prepare for the worst, yet they were all false alarms. I figured that it was better to be on guard than to be caught sleeping by an enemy.
Checking once again to see if the egg in my tunic was still safe, and that the other egg was still there, I continued to look around. I narrowed my eyes as I heard another shuffle nearby. I pulled the bow string taut, and got ready to shoot at a moment's notice. I squinted in the dark to try to get a grasp of my prey, or my potential predator. Hearing another rustle of leaves and whispers of grass, I unleashed an arrow, and to my joy, heard it make impact. Not soon after, an ear piercing screech and a thump, no doubt the enemy falling to his demise. Out from behind a bush on my left, a creature clad in black, smelling of rotting flesh, flew up with deft blinding speed, with a dagger gleaming in the moonlight.
Quickly jumping back, I grabbed my sword and swung my sword at the creatures back. Apparently not fazed or stunned, the beast quickly ducked and viciously began a counter attack. Exchanging blows in the moonlight, sound of steel filled the night. Parrying another strike, I lunged for his chest, and although missing the initial lunge, I still managed to slice through one of its ribs. My success was met with a pained screech and a vicious counter attack. Although doing my best to parry, it was still a very strenuous match. Unable to parry all slices, I had already suffered deep gashes along my arms and chest.
As the battle drew on longer, I figured that it would be safer to flee, and with one last stroke of my sword, I aimed for its leg. With a sickening crunch, the Ra'zac hobbled a few steps before landing on the ground. Not willing to risk another chance I fled.
It didn't me too long, however, to realize that I had left that emerald green dragon egg where I had slept. In my haste I must have forgotten it…
Deciding to clear his mind to further tarrying on this depressing subject, Felarean stood up slowly, tested out his aching legs, and straightened out his shorts. Heck, he could barely stand it anymore, he had traveled for days, no, weeks, without properly grooming himself, his pale skin had brown dirt patches all over, and as for his clothes, he didn't even remember wearing beige! He started with white clothes! His clothing was simple, just a somewhat baggy tunic, a simple bag to carry handheld items and food around, made with some animal skins and enchanted with magic so it wouldn't tear under straining circumstances. Such was elementary magic for being an elf, and some shorts that went just above his knee caps. Nothing too fancy, it was just his regular attire when traveling. Inside his bag, he had leather armor, which he had used in Uru'baen as his battle attire. Ra'zac, those humanoid height, but beetle shaped assassins had sliced clean through his armor though, and during the fight, the armor had become almost unusable and far beyond repairable. So, he had to revert back to his simple traveling clothes, not like it bothered him, in fact, he liked it a lot more. There was much more mobility in cloth than there was in animal skin leather. He chuckled darkly to himself, berating himself for thinking about his clothes in such a dire situation, barely managing to lose the Ra'zac on his trail.
By elven standards, Felarean was of standard height, not too tall, and not too short. He was lean, with well toned muscles, but not too cumbersome. His facial features angular and sharp, his ears pointed as all elves were. His eyes were a pale blue, filled with sorrow and anguish – they were the eyes of someone who had seen war, who had seen loved ones die before them. A spark of life flickered into these pale eyes as the elf stood up. Stretching a few more times, and testing the other various parts of his body to see if they were functioning correctly, he slowly walked towards the water, and with one extremely fast- seemingly single fluid motion, swept up some water and drank it. His brows crinkled and his lips twitched unnaturally. He forced himself to swallow the rancid water, as he had to save his magic for potential danger. The elf growled in annoyance at his misfortune.
Still stricken with grief over his lost friends, he wallowed in his thoughts until sleep claimed him. At the break of dawn, Felarean woke up. His eyes slowly opened, growing accustomed to the light that sank to the forest floor through the holes between the leaves. The river glistened with the morning rays, and the dew collected all around Felarean. The forest smelled of fresh pine, something that reminded Felarean of home and his past, the smell rejuvenated him, and it alone gave him the determination to continue home with the egg. Checking his tunic again, just checking that the egg was safe, he stepped back, took a nice deep breath, sprinted and bounded over the river with a mighty leap. Landing on the other side with an impressive flip, he grunted and smirked. His eyes burning bright with vigor, he continued his way home with the dragon egg in tow, bounding through the woods once more, running as if on wings of hope.