Inheritance Cycle The Greatest Adventurer of All Time, Brom

**The Greatest Adventurer of All Time, Brom**

**Ch 1: One-man Army**

The mounted bearded man rode down the valley with a smirk planted firmly on his face. A casual observer would have been mildly curious as to why he was riding down a dead-ended valley in the towering Beor Mountains. The decidedly less casual observers concealed within small caves in the mountains knew exactly why he was here. The one man army had presumably completed his mission.

One particular sentry, by the name of Devard, was acutely aware that Brom had a, well, habit, of picking apart the hiding places of the soldiers here. Devard was the sergeant of five men. All the other sentries always attempted to conceal themselves better every time Brom found them, but Devard knew that they could literally be invisible and Brom would still know their location. Magic, he thought, and shook his head.

"Devard! Movement is the number one revealer!" Brom bellowed up to him.

"Yes, Commander." He wearily intoned.

Brom resumed his trot towards the waterfall, pointing out the faults of the archers as he passed them. Without fail, as always, every single guard had been spotted and reprimanded. Resentment was almost tangible in the valley as Brom muttered something, held up his hand, and the waterfall parted for him to enter.

"Blasted magician," Devard muttered, "off on his secret missions, with never a thought to us normal folk." This wasn't, in fact, true. Brom thought quite frequently of the ordinary citizens of the Varden. It was what kept him going when he woke up and felt all the pain of Saphira's death. It was what kept him going when a Forsworn had his boot planted on Brom's chest and was steadily crushing his lungs. It was what kept him going when he realized that, sure, he had burnt thousands of supply trains, but Galbatorix still had three dragon eggs, and he had no way to get them. But he would keep burning those supply trains, and assassinating Forsworn and Empire officials, because it was something to do to get him closer to slaying Morzan and his godforsaken dragon.

This was why he rode into Tronjheim today. Kialandi had gone too far and tortured Oromis. Brom had ridden out to stop him, but he had been too late. Oromis was dead. In his fury at his master's death, Brom had cut down Kialandi and slew his dragon with magic.

Now, returning to the Varden, he was in a fairly pleasant mood due to the fact that he had found one of his old enemies. Well, his skeleton. The Hadarac Desert had a way of doing that to people without water of good sun clothing. Brom, however, had been prepared, and survived the grueling environment.

One of the Varden's few spellweavers glanced up from his scroll as Brom entered, then returned to studying. Brom inwardly sighed. He was the only magician here with the ability to even push a man a few yards. If only he had more funds, then he could attract skilled casters to him like flies to honey! But the Varden barely even had the money to keep its members fed. He had to convince the leader of the Varden to allow him to rob treasuries.

"You're too important to risk in such a small-time mission, he says," he grumbled, "No one else can accomplish it, blast it!"

"I can." A suave voice sounded from behind him, startling him. Brom whirled around to see a silver-cloaked man leaning with an air of easy confidence against the marble wall.

"And who are you, who claims to be capable of a delving into the Empire's heart, retrieving guarded items, and returning alive and unscathed?" Brom demanded quite edgily.

"You will know me as the Fireraiser until I've determined your mettle." He replied.

Brom clenched his fist, muttered "Aerva risa" and a compressed ball of air struck the strange man in the jaw. He then hollered "Brisingr!", and flame coated his hand. "Adurna!" he raged, and a basin of water was emptied until its contents coalesced into a gauntlet on his other hand. "So, what is my mettle, man?" he queried smugly, purposefully avoiding using the term the "Fireraiser" had specified as his name.

"Adequate." He replied, and uttered "Sundavar Liva.", enunciating each syllable quite distinctly. All the darkness in the room swirled into a strange vortex directly in front of Brom's nose, until they were no shadows, giving everything an odd, flat, look.

"What is my purpose?" a deep booming voice sounded from within the vortex. It rang in Brom's head, sometimes in the common language, sometimes in the language of the dwarves, urgals, or plainsmen, and sometimes in dialects he could not comprehend. But never in the ancient language, never in the language of power.

"To obey me." The man intoned.

"Give me an order, LifeGiver." It implored.

"Drain half of that man's," he gestured at Brom, "energy." He commanded.

Brom, shaking off his panic, bellowed "Garjzla!" and a beam of light shot from his palm and smote the strange creature. It evaporated; the darkness that formed it gone. He glanced about the room, and noticed that the shadows were had been returned to their respective places. "Impressive, Fireraiser." Brom congratulated him.

"My name is Faolin. You relied on cleverness instead of brute force. It is you, who deserves congratulation." The strange man replied. "Faolin?" Brom was aghast, and then struck at the cowl that covered the man's ears. It fell, revealing pointed ears.

**Ya know, sometimes, my characters control themselves. The "Fireraiser" was going to be an OC, but then inspiration struck me and I made him Faolin. I don't know where this is going. I just don't. No slash, I suppose. That is some sort of direction. Maybe I'll make Faolin survive after all. What I don't understand is why Faolin and that other dude didn't have wards. Nine urgals vs. three Kick-*** elves, and the elves ****LOSE?**** And Brom can p'zone both Ra'zac but he can't take a lone Urgal? Then, a few chapters later, he kills five! FIVE! WTF? The strength level of the races and individual characters vary far too wildly in the first book, and then they level out in book 2. Grrrr. Oh yeah, and I made it possible to animate something. Still can't bring them back, but they can animate.**


End file.

Inheritance Cycle, Adventure