Alright, in case you haven't noticed, the stiory's changed... well, the title and the first chapter has been changed. I'm going for a different idea in the beginning of the story, so if you haven't read the first chapter, well the uodated version, do so now or you'll be confused by the way this one begins.
Answers to reviews:
Clagann: Yeah.
headreviewer mk2: It was either this, or a Star Wars version.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle or The Elder Scrolls.
The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow. The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools were completely frozen over. The rough game trail was faintly worn and, in places, nonexistent. Because it had been forged by animals, it often backtracked and took long detours. Yet for all its flaws, it was still the fastest way out of the mountains.
The Spine was one of the only places that King Galbatorix could not call his own. Stories were still told about how half his army disappeared after marching into its ancient forest. A cloud of misfortune and bad luck seemed to hang over it. Though the trees grew tall and the sky shone brightly, few people could stay in the Spine for long without suffering an accident. Daemon was one of those few—given his experiences in adventures, delving into dangerous ruins that were said to be 'cursed', and also hunting in the wilds of Skyrim.
In late evening he arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. Gorged with hundreds of tiny streams, the river was a brute force, battling against the rocks and boulders that barred its way. A low rumble filled the air.
He camped in a thicket near the ravine and watched the moonrise before going to bed.
It grew colder over the next day and a half. Daemon traveled quickly and saw little of the wary wildlife. A bit past noon, he heard the Igualda Falls blanketing everything with the dull sound of a thousand splashes. The trail led him onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down mossy cliffs.
Before him lay Palancar Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Igualda Falls, more than a half-mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley. A little ways from the falls was Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings. White smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it. At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than the end of his finger. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind. The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar's southern end, reflecting great strips of sunlight. Far in the distance it flowed past the village Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard.
Soon, Daemon reached the descent to Carvahall, adjusting the position of the wolves' bodies on his right shoulder. Making his way to the village, Daemon's destination was the butcher's, something he was not looking forward to... namely dealing with the butcher himself.
the butcher's shop was abroad, thick-beamed building, with the chimney belching black smoke. He pushed the door open. The spacious room was warm and well lit by a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. A bare counter stretched across the far side of the room. The floor was strewn with loose straw. Everything was scrupulously clean, as if the owner spent his leisure time digging in obscure crannies for minuscule pieces of filth. Behind the counter stood the butcher Sloan. A small man, he wore a cotton shirt and a long, bloodstained smock. An impressive array of knives swung from his belt. He had a sallow, pockmarked face, and his black eyes were suspicious.
Another person was also here, and Daemon gave a slight start when he realized it was his friend, Eragon. Eragon was a boy of fifteen years,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.
Eragon was Daemon's first friend when he arrived in Carvahall. He helped him settle in at Carvahall, showed him around, though was naturally curious about where Daemon was from given he kept that vague and didn't speak much of it. He only said enough to satisfy Eragon's curiosity for now, such as that he was from across the sea and had journeyed several days at sea to reach land after an... incident caused him to leave his original homeland. Eragon also spoke a bit about his own past.
His mother had come to the village some years ago, pregnant and scared, to seek out her brother Garrow and wife Marian. With no explanation as to her condition or what brought her to Carvahall, she asked Garrow to allow her to stay until her baby was born. Once she had given birth to her son, she begged Garrow and Marian to raise him, tearfully saying that this was the way it had to be. She named him Eragon and left the village shortly after, never to be seen by them again.
Raised by Garrow and Marian alongside their own son Roran, Eragon never knew that they were not his real parents until, on her deathbed, Marian told him the truth. Although shocked by this, he eventually grew to accept this, and his mother's reason for leaving, whatever it was. After Marian's death, Garrow moved the family to a farm outside of Carvahall where they lived away from the village and kept mainly to themselves, except to come into town to trade.
After their first meeting, Daemon and Eragon developed a fast friendship and bond, namely over the course of Eragon helping Daemon settle into living at Carvahall, such as helping him build his own home on the outskirts of the village, on the edge of the Spine since Daemon liked his privacy. It was Daemon who taught Eragon a little bit about hunting and tracking, since he could see the potential of a hunter in the boy, and there were also times when Daemon would help out at Eragon's farm. Garrow hesitantly accepted, being the type that believes they needed to be helped but Daemon insisted as a way to return the gratitude of them helping him.
Daemon was one of the few people Eragon could confide in and feel comfortable around, apart from his uncle and cousin, and their friendship grew deeper and stronger over the next five years, to the point where their friendship was that of a big brother and his younger brother, seeing as Daemon was twenty now, while Eragon was fifteen, only five years younger than him.
"Is there a problem here?" Daemon asked gruffly, his eyes looking Eragon over for any sign of injury, especially since Sloan was holding one of his bloodstained knives in his hand. However, the Dragonborn's eyes then caught the sight of a blue stone in Eragon's arms. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.
"N-No." Sloan said, slightly stuttering at the serious look in Daemon's eyes as he stared at him. He gave Eragon a murderous gaze, then spat, "This…boy came in here and started badgering me. I asked him to leave, but he won't budge. I even threatened him and he still ignored me!" Sloan seemed to shrink as he looked at Daemon.
"Right..." Daemon said slowly, not even believing him. He looked at Eragon. "What really happened?"
"I offered this stone as payment for some meat, and he accepted it. When I told him that I'd found it in the Spine, he refused to even touch it. What difference does it make where it came from?" Eragon explained.
Daemon glanced at the stone, curious about it's make and where it came from since there was no way anyone here could be selling something like that. And if it was in the Spine... how did it end up there? Shifting these thoughts aside for now, Daemon walked forward and put five of the six dead wolves on the counter, leaving the sixth one over his shoulder.
"Our usual deal. Pay me for five wolf pelts and give me some of your meat." Daemon said, his eyes briefly catching the eyes of Sloan's sixteen-year old daughter, Katrina, at the back of the store and he dipped his head slightly in greeting which she returned with a small smile. No doubt, she had been about to interrupt or get Horst had Daemon not shown up instead. This wasn't the first time Sloan has been tricky. "Eragon, were you planning on buying?"
Eragon nodded, smirking slightly at how Daemon handled Sloan. He could tell the butcher was afraid of the man. "As much as I could."
Daemon grabbed his coin purse. "Give me your best roasts and steaks. Make sure that it's enough to fill Eragon's pack." The butcher hesitated, his gaze darting between Daemon and Eragon. "Sloan, don't make me wait. You'll have five wolf bodies to skin and do whatever to make meat out of, which you'll pay me for. Now I'm buying meat from here, so don't try and barter your way out of this."
Glowering venomously, Sloan grabbed the five dead wolf bodies, then slipped into the back room. A frenzy of chopping, wrapping, and low cursing reached them. After several uncomfortable minutes, he returned with an armful of wrapped meat. His face was expressionless as he accepted Daemon's money, paid him what he was owed from the five wolves, then proceeded to clean his knife, pretending that they were not there.
Daemon scooped up the meat and walked outside. Eragon hurried behind him, carrying his pack and the stone. The crisp night air rolled over their faces, refreshing after the stuffy shop.
"Thank you, Horst. Uncle Garrow will be pleased." Eragon said gratefully.
Daemon chuckled and patted his friend's shoulder. "What are friends for, Eragon? We both don't like Sloan, and I barely tolerate dealing with him but the pay from the prey I hunt is worth it. I managed to secure us both enough meat to hopefully last through the entire winter... especially since game will be hard to track and hunt during this time of year, what with animals entering hibernation. So, that strange rock, you found it in the Spine?"
"Yes." After stuffing the meat into his pack, Eragon handed the stone to Daemon who carefully held it, running his hands along the smooth surface with a frown. He hadn't seen anything like this before, and he's seen a very wide amount of objects that were very rare and would fetch quite a price, but this stone, rock, whatever it was... he hadn't seen anything quite like it.
Been a long time since I've seen anything I haven't seen before. Daemon thought, continuing to examine the stone before he hummed and handed it back to Eragon. "Not sure whatever made that, but it looks like it'll fetch quite the price. You should take that to some of the merchants when they arrive, see how much it could possibly be worth."
Eragon nodded, taking the stone back. "Hoped to try and speak to Katrina there." He said.
"How so?" Daemon asked curiously.
"Well, Roran wanted me to give her a message. He wants her to know that he'll come into town as soon as the merchants arrive and that he will see her then." Eragon said, Daemon raising an eyebrow. "He also wants her to know that she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and that he thinks of nothing else."
Daemon smirked and shook his head in amusement. "About time he got serious. I was tired of watching those two skirt around each other like embarrassed children who've done wrong."
The two soon came to the road leading to Eragon's farm, with onje path going that way, another that would lead to the Spine, the edge of the village where Daemon's home was located.
"I'll see you later, Eragon." Daemon said, patting his friend's shoulder one last time and Eragon gave his own farewell before they parted ways as they headed to their respective homes. Daemon adjusted the dead wolf over his shoulder, looking forward to cooking the body and making dinner out of it, along with pieces of the meat he bought from Sloan.
Daemon soon arrived at his home, which was like any other house seen in Carvahall. Not many journeyed to Daemon's house, save for Eragon, namely because it was on the edge of the village, before the forest that would lead into the Spine. Some called Daemon foolish for wanting to be near such a place, but he said he feared no forest just because of past incidents. If anything did try to happen to him, he would fight it off as he always did.
Entering his home, Daemon sighed in quiet happiness while taking the wolf off his shoulder. "Home sweet home..."
I know the chapter was short, but I'm trying to show the life Daemon's leading now after going into self-imposed exile from Tamriel, and also what happened over the five years he's been in Alagaësia, and also the friendship he's strung up with Eragon.