(Trust me, from this point on, chapters will start to become more substantial. I shall also try to improve my 19th century impersonation, which for now is causing Thackeray and Austen to roll in their graves. This is probably going to resembl Penny Dreadfuls-or, more likely, parodies of Penny Dreadfuls-rather than literature…)
Part 2: In Which Our Hero, in the Midst of a Hunting Trip, Has A Brace of Meetings Which he Is Unlikely to Forget
Our narrative now shifts to the view of one Eragon, a young lad whose disposition is greatly inclined towards the noble sports of life: notably, those of archery and hunting, and it is to his great misfortune that, as a farmer's son, it is he who has to do much of the labour. He is, however, not a man easily given to melancholy; when one is heavily engaged in hard work, as he has been oft given to saying, it is difficult to be so. He had, prior to the beginning of his adventures, been much given to the virtues of hard work, obedience, and thrift, and had therefore won a no shortage of acclaim from his peers: notably, Garrow, his Uncle and guardian, and Roran, his cousin. This is also due to his notable ability with the longbow; when winters have proven long and extreme in hardship, as they often did in the Spine Mountains, it meant that Eragon was much relied upon as a source of food from deer, rabbits, and other creatures of the mountains.
It is on such an outing that our story begins. It was a fine, clear day, in such a manner as is oft the case after a night of storm. When before thunder had rumbled across the mountains and snow sheeted down, filling the air with a whiteness that was almost oppressive in nature, was now an air of serene calm. Birds tentatively poked heads out of nests and, seeing that, to use the vernacular, the coast was clear, they began to sing. Trees which had been torn down over the night now played host to rabbits and suchlike. The sun shone down, providing some scant warmth to the proceedings, and, more to the importance to Eragon, allowing him sufficient light to adequately line up his shot at a deer.
It was a doe, he reckoned. A doe, of small size, but still sufficient to feed his family. He drew an arrow from the arrow bag in a well practiced motion, and sited down the shaft, before drawing the bowstring back to his ear and loosing the arrow. The arrow buzzed through the air, and the deer fell, the shaft protruding from its throat.
Much of the rest of the day was spent attempting to skin the deer, which Eragon did with a not unreasonable competence, and occasionally taking bites out of the loaf he had taken for sustenance. His business done, he fell, gratefully, into slumber.
He was then awakened, somewhat rudely, by the point of a sword being held to his belly. "Good morning to you, sir," said a cheerful voice in an accent which was not known to Eragon.
Who began to curse, loudly and at great length, in response. "D—n you!" he cried. "Where the b--y hell was my b--y watchdog? How could I have been so b--g well stupid not to take one? D—n!"
And so on, and so forth.
Eventually, the cursing died down, and the man continued. "I very much apologise for putting you through this, young sir, but you appear to have been fouling the air with a most dreadful racket." He bowed ironically, and stepped back into a patch of moonlight, revealing himself to be a short, plump gentleman, with a three cornered hat and mask firmly on his head.
"A highwayman!" Eragon crowed, shrinking away in his terror.
"Not exactly, son, seeing as we are not as such near to a highway," the man said, still smiling in a manner most genial. "But that is true in essence."
"Why, you scoundrel!" Eragon cried, "you fiend- Why, you-"
"Enough of that, young sir," the highwayman said, reaching up to adjust unseen spectacles. "We must now move on to a next level of our acquaintance. To wit, the exact reason why I, kindly soul as I am, took stroll into the Spine with a view towards relieving unsuspecting huntsmen of heavy loads- notably, those of copper coins and potential meat. I must admit that am an easily suggestible fellow, you see, and just looking at that huge steaming pile of venison, with nary a guard in sight- well, it just got my stomach grumbling, if you would get my drift."
His speech, whilst exceedingly elegant, was swiftly cut off when Eragon revealed that he had not been entirely idle by springing at him with his hunting knife drawn. With a punch and a kick, the highwayman lay sprawling on the ground, relieved of a fully intact nose. With a snarl, clambered to his feet and hurled himself at Eragon, who smartly stepped back and demonstrated the immense superiority of the Spine's style of boxing to that of the Highwayman's native land. Having turned the tables on the ruffian, he made good his escape, running as fast as his legs could carry him.
Unlike the escapade previously mentioned in this novella, the hero managed to outpace his assailant by a high margin. After several minutes of hard, fast running, he stopped to take stock of his position and surroundings. These did not provide much solace, for they were indeed desperate; in his rush to get away, Eragon had managed to leave behind his pack, which contained food, spare coins, bow, and his venison. All he had, in fact, was his knife, which was only ever going to be of limited use. He was, in short, alone, in cold, bleak mountains, without food or much ability to catch it, or fire and ability to make it.
It was going to be difficult, he concluded, to make his way out of the Spine.
Therefore, concluding that it was hopeless to continue, Eragon sat down upon a rock, feeling horribly alone. The cold, winds and so on began to set in. With these various distractions, along with the general feelings of cold and the bite of the wind, that Eragon took several minutes to realise that he had spotted no such rock in the area where he now sat.
He stood, looked down, and saw what appeared to be a stone. A blue stone, which gave appearance that it would not be disadvantageous to keep and sell for profit.
With this new motivation lending zest to Eragon's efforts, he set off again, on foot, determinedly trying to get out of the Spine.
"It was in the reign of Galbatorix that the aforesaid personalities lived and quarrelled, good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now"