Hi all! (That is to say, hi those seventy or so people who have actually read this . . . no, not that. Hi, those thirty people who are stupid enough to proceed on to the next chapter!) Keep going at the pace I'm going, and I'll finish this sometime in the next two decades. Oh, and have I mentioned that I haven't exactly finished Eldest yet? Ah well.

Enjoy!

As Eragon slept that night, he kept hearing strange things, such as cracking noises and dragon roars. I suppose the kittens must be acting up, he thought. They were beginning to get much too big for that moldy log, after all. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Eragon awoke to find a giant lizard staring him in the face and trying to coax his tongue from his mouth like a robin would a worm. Eragon gave a strangled yell, upon which the lizard leapt away. Eragon wasn't sure where this thing had come from, but he noticed it had wings. Only one reptilian beast had wings, and they were just like platypi. Most folk called them Draco . . . no, that's not right. This thing wasn't blonde. Okay, try again. Most folk called them . . . funny winged lizards SHIT! That's not right, either. You know what? Screw it. Just look on the back cover. There's got to be something about this creature on there.

I must hide this hideous being from the world, Eragon thought. Otherwise it will be taken to a freak show, paraded around like a freak for many years, then hidden in an opera house where it will be a pedophile and make pathetic attempts at a Beauty and the Beast and the Peeta Who is Just Kind of There retelling. And it will have a singing voice fetish. We don't want that.

To make sure his pet whatever the hell it was didn't live that particular very unlikely life (especially for a winged reptile), Eragon scooped up the beast and hid it underneath the his mattress just as Ronan yelled "What's happening? Eragon, darling, are you alright?!"

Or Eragon imagined he yelled that. What he actually yelled was "Shut up, I'm trying to sleep!"

Eragon yawned. He was rather tired, too. Perhaps he could deal with this misfit creature in the morning. Yawning again, Eragon curled up under the covers and fell asleep instantly.

Eragon was awakened the next morning by a pounding on his door. "Eragon! Get your ass up here!" Ronan yelled. "Uncle Amycus says we have to plow the fields before we can go back to pickpocket the traders!"

"Come get me!" Eragon yelled back. He was not a morning person.

"No way! I'm not walking through that disaster you call a room!"

"Fine." Swearing fluently, Eragon rose, put on pants, gave the kittens a fresh bowl of water from the well outside, and finally exited his room. Only after all this did he remember the winged lizard inside his room. Ah, well . . . it could wait. He wanted to ogle at the traders again.

Once outside, Eragon hitched Ronan up to the plough (his family was too poor to afford an ox or a mule). With the extensive use of Ronan's new whip (a gift to him from Katrina), the cousins finished ploughing the field in no time.

"Eragon, you asshole!" Ronan roared. "That really hurt! I mean, it really hurt! I think you broke the skin."

"Hey, you're not the only one in pain," Eragon retorted. "I mean, I stubbed my toe here."

"I don't give a damn about your toe. I'm not giving you a ride to Pail-and-Car Valley today."

"What!? Ronan, that's not fair. You always give me a ride on the second day. How am I supposed to walk on this stubbed toe, anyway?"

"Ronan!" Amycus barked as the cousins came in to eat their meagre breakfast of roast pork, scrambled eggs, carrots, apples, and oats. "Go outside!"

"Why!?" Ronan demanded. Being a centaur, he took this a little personally; a friend of his had had to sleep in a stable.

"You're bleeding all over the place," Amycus said.

"I think you'll find that's my blood," Eragon said, both to defend his cousin and to make sure his own suffering was not overlooked. "I stubbed my toe, you see."

Once they were at the village, Ronan once again departed to hang out with his buddies. Having no friends or romantic affections of his own, Eragon moped around the village all day. He noticed two men in black cloaks. He noticed many men in cloaks, actually, as this was the main article of clothing people used to keep warm, but these men in cloaks were special. They were . . . different. Eragon wasn't sure how, but he just knew.

As the sun began to set, people were gathered around a big stage. Why there was need of a stage in this village no one knew; they certainly didn't act or dance. Some of the traders did, though, and Eragon saw marvellous foreign dances such as the worm, the twerk, and the Harlem Shake.

At long last, the dancers were tired. Someone called out, "Tell us a story!" To whom they were calling it was unclear, but everyone else took up the chant. Broom, who liked to be known as the village storyteller, finally wheezed, "Alright, alright!" Everyone groaned; Broom's stories were usually about the young children he had . . . affections for.

Wheezing, Broom waddled up to the stage, attempted to climb atop it, discovered he couldn't lift his legs that high, and finally settled with sitting on it. He then began his story.

There was once a little boy named Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle lived in an orphanage in London, where he . . . crap. Wrong story. The villagers groaned. Broom pretended not to notice and started again.

There was once a little midget named Smeagol. Smeagol . . .

"We don't give a shit!" someone yelled. The rest of the villagers took up the chant. We don't give a shit, we don't give a shit, we don't give a shit . . . Broom sighed. He tried to yell and get the villagers' attention, but to no avail. He tried getting up on the stage somehow and waving his arms, but the attempt proved fruitless. Even the funky chicken dance had no effect on the relentless chanting. So, in a last-ditch attempt, Broom farted.

The whole valley went silent as the smell pervaded the air. Some moaned in agony; others fainted; still others assumed the fetal position and cried for mommy. Broom waited until the attention was yet again on him.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a little boy was born. The boy was not a beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

Broom paused. "That is a fuckin' lot longer when it's not in a tiny font."

Anyway . . . one time, a long time ago (like, a seriously long time ago. You weren't even born. Heck, your daddy wasn't even born. Maybe his daddy wasn't born. Maybe even his . . . oh, you get what I mean), there were these dudes. They were pretty cool. They were called the Dragon Men.

Dragon Men were seriously awesome. They were like angels, full of light and goodness and the Light and all their acts they did for good. Thus, they lived forever unless someone killed them, which evidently happened pretty often, 'cause there weren't too many. They were also impossible to kill, though, 'cause they were like super strong and shit. And magic. They were also magical. And there was lots of magic in their pants. I would know. But do you wanna know what made the Dragon Men super special? They rode dragons.

Oh, you don't know what dragons are? Brom launched into a lengthy description of dragons. "...and they've got these super long eyebrows, kinda like the antennae of an insect, plus also there's like, horns and crap coming outta their eyebrows. Dragon eyebrows are cool, man."

So that's what it is, Eragon thought. He understood now. The weird little thing in his bedroom was a dragon.

"Get back to the story!" someone yelled.

After a exhausting his vocabulary of positive adjectives with which to describe the Dragon Men, Broom continued with his story.

And one day there was this kid called Galbixoritax - er, Geldatorix - no, no, that's not right - Galaxitor - Galaxy? Oh, screw it. Everyone called him Galby.

So Galby was this kid who was real good at Dragon Manning, so he became a Dragon Man. They are also called Men for short. So Galby was a very good Man. Teachers liked him, because he was a very bright and handsome young orphan. However, Galby never had - or wanted - a friend.

So after Galby finished his training, he went on a big trip with his friends, who were little more than cronies, really. They were Dragon Men, too. Their names were Bel - well, you don't need to know that. But anyway, they were attacked by - guess what? What attacks everyone in your typical D&D game? GOBLINS. Shit. ORCS No, damn it. Er, they were, they were . . . TROLLOCS. Fuck . . . oh, I know! Urgals. Yeah. They were Urgals.

So anyway, the Urgals, like, killed Sev - Galby's buddies. Cronies. Whatever the hell they were. And they killed their dragons, too. But Galby was special, so he didn't die. He killeded ALL the Urgals. But one of the Urgals, named Bard the. . . but you don't need to know that. The Urgal shot Galby's dragon's weak spot, where it lacked a scale on its stomach. And, lacking proper healing skills, Galby was unable to save it. His dragon bled to death from a single arrow wound in about two minutes.

How do I know this, you ask? Plot convenience. 'Cuz I do, that's why, you asshole. Now do you want to keep asking stupid questions, or do you want to hear the story?

"Stupid questions!" the villagers hollered. Broom pretended not to hear them.

This was when Galby went nuts. He got all depressed and dysfunctional, but he was so cool that he didn't even die. Or gain weight, or stop shaving, or give himself infected wounds by accident because his razor was rusty, or any of those things. In fact, he was so cool that he made it back to the Dragon Man Clubhouse almost unharmed.

While he was journeying, however, Galby realized something; he was lonely. He wanted a new dragon, so they could sex talk while they flew over the countryside. He really wanted a new dragon.

He slept a lot at the Dragon Man Clubhouse. When he awoke, he asked for a new dragon, because his old one was brutally murdered. However, his desperate pleading revealed that he was really, deeply off his rocker, so he was sent to an insane asylum.

Remember that, kids. Don't ever plead and beg for a new dog. It means you're 're erecting an insane asylum of our own, once King Galby sends us the money . . . shit. Forgot to say spoiler alert.

But, being as cool as he was, Galby escaped the insane asylum and began to live in the wilderness, living on naught but berries, bark, and whatever he could hunt with his magic. Which was everything. He eventually found another Dragon Man called Morgana . . . Morgan . . . Morzan. Yeah, that's the one. He and Morzan had hot gay sex.

Galby and Morzan announced themselves as a couple, but the Dragon Men wanted to make more Dragon Man babies, and Galby and Morzan couldn't make Dragon Man babies together. The two of them were banished from Dragon Man City, now known as Ru'ru'ba'ee'nu'fu'ku'guacamole'poo, our capital. {As we all know, apostrophes in names bring a touch of fantasy}

Morzan entered Galby's dark apprenticeship, where he learned secrets and amazing magic tricks lost to the ages. Something about Broom's boner said that these weren't tricks confined to the battlefield.

But anyway, they kept on being bad together, and starving in the woods, and doing magic, until twelve more of the hundreds of Dragon Men joined them. These twelve became the Thirteen Forsaken Forsworn, and they were EVIL.

"Twelve doesn't equal thirteen, dummy!" someone shouted. Eragon suspected it was one of the traders. Those rich bastards were always so keen to flaunt their higher educations, which of course the villagers didn't have access to.

Does it look like I give a shit, motherfucker? Ha. Thought not.

So anyway, Morzan, Lanfear, Be'lal and Sammael and all the other Forsworn took on the Dragon Men. The Men tried to fight, but thirteen whole people, plus Galby, who now rode astride a komodo dragon . . . anyway, thirteen people were too much for them. They all died.

However, the wise and aged leader of the Dragon Men, Alby, stood and fought Galby. They fought long and hard, but alas, Alby's arthritis caused him to stumble and drop his sword. He picked it up, though, ignoring his screaming bad back, and defeated Galby.

But it was not over yet. Using his powers of sweet seduction, Galby seduced Alby, and the two of them had hot gay sex 'til sunrise. Then Galby cruelly chopped off Alby's penis before he departed, taking the crumbly, wrinkled thing with him as a souvenir. Alby died of depression three minutes later.

Then, raising Alby's severed penis high above his head, Galby declared himself ruler of all Alagazioo - Alagiazi - er, Anagaysha? Anaconda? Yeah, that's it. King Galby is now ruler of all Anaconda. The end.

Broom made a sweeping bow, which caused him to overbalance and topple off the stage. The villagers exploded into cheers; it was a rare event that they heard the story of their evil and tyrannical ruler, King Galby.

I'm hoping at least some people got all the Wheel of Time references in there . . . reviews?