Eragon The Nadar

Fighter Information

Name: Eragon
Actual Name: Chris Baker
Gender: Any
Race: Nadar
Realm: Viridian Hills
Unit: N/A
Primary Fighting Style: Red Sword
House: None
Fighting Since: May 17th 2025

Lore

The Fallen leaves tell a story. The story of a year come and gone, of the bloom, Life, and light of spring and summer. One can look upon the fallen leaves and read their story in their state, Some land upon the floor half eaten by caterpillars. Some land with the empty cocoons and spider egg sacks still clinging to their back like desperate children afraid to release the only thing that they have ever known. Only to find that release upon the detritus of the forest floor. Crushed under foot and Hoof, reduced to dust and worked beneath the soil, fully eaten at last by the fungus, bugs and worms that exist beneath the feet. The Fallen leaves tell a story, But who is the one to read them? The Nadar Now known as eragon was one. Its entire life revolved around long periods of sleep, waiting in the warm forest air, until they grew chill, and the sun shone less. And small creatures either found their wintery homes nestled away in nooks, crooks, crannies and caves. Or found their doom within the frosty forests of this spirits home. It was these lost souls that the nadar came to, an offer to live a while longer, to see through a winter they never would have. “I will do what i can, to preserve you until spring, that we may watch the first bloom together again before your time is past. But until then i have need of your hands, teeth and claws, The forest must be tended. And you could help with this most important of tasks.” The offer was always the same, The lie was always the same. This nadar had never seen a spring, never felt the warm breeze, or seen the flowers bloom.. The only green it ever saw was the fading greens as it pulled the leaves and needles from every tree in its forest, feeding them to the floor, to the earth, For the spring to come, the spring it would never see. On this last waking and taking of form a stag was to be its body, found languishing in the winter, a broken leg alone in the forest. A death sentence for such a skittish creature. As the chill came through the air the spirit awoke, seeking out the fading warmth of the stag with more Earnest lies of preservation, of trying to help this creature seethe next spring. Few ever refused.

The stags antlers helped greatly in the removal of leaves, and spines, the hard protrusions scraping them away, only to find them, each and every one, Covered in a slight powder. Like the spores of mushrooms expelled o’er the entire forest, This was strange, But it changed nothing for the spirit, it had its duty, and so it went, removing the leaves. Finding that the spores stuck to the skin, and burned the lungs of the creature it now possessed. It apologized, and lamented the creatures suffering. Usually the promises it made included a painless winter, with no fear of cold or starvation or predation. This time it failed to deliver these promises as much as the others.

As the leaves fell to the floor, the spores joining them the spirit noticed a strange thing hidden away near the small mortal village. Something it had never seen before A Bud. something not of winter but of spring, and yet as the leaves fell around it they shriveled, rotting away and feeding the growth, which seemed most ravenous The prospect of seeing a bloom excited the spirit to such a degree that it poured all its energy into feeding this bud, though it did not know its nature. Even through the most frozen months where movement became difficult, and the leaves fell no more it gathered what had already fallen, and brought them to the place, The thing it had nicknamed “The Bloom” For this spirits greatest wish had always been to remain waking until it had finally seen the spring bloom. But as this was against its nature, it had never managed such a thing. And so as the months of frost waned, The body of the stag it inhabited began to give way to natures course, Skin peeling, fur falling off and finally Flesh Sloughing from bone and sinew, All fed to the precious bloom. And Lo’ the leaves return! More food for the bloom it thought, How wonderful that after eternity tending the forest that it would provide the fuel for this spirits greatest wish, The bloom. Leaves were pulled as they grew, and fed to the bloom. And yet something was wrong, though the spirit could not see it. The body was decaying, Usually at this stage it was time to find a quiet spot, and allow the poor creature to rest. And to rest itself for the year. Yet…it Needed to see the bloom. I Needed to see my bloom. I could not rest another half year, What if this bloom was a rarity? Never to return? No it needed more, I needed to give it more. And so with shaky legs and rotten joints i laid myself to rest at the base of the bloom, Hoping only that my final sacrifice of my body would let it grow into the bloom it was sure to be. I let the poor stag close its eyes, finally to rest, and attempted to drift away, to observe the final stage of the bloom. Yet i could not, as my eyes closed i felt myself pulled deeper into the stags still heart, which had long since stopped beating. And yet, i felt it, a cold pulse, not a new one. Simply one i was just now realizing was there. Looking down upon my form I could see the networks of mycelium beneath what remained of my flesh. I could see the still forms of other small woodland creatures, pulled from their nests in the night, bones broken by hoof and horn, fed to the bud. It was then that I realized the warm time had long since come, and the bloom i so desperately wished for, I had ripped from its cradle and fed to a waiting hunger. A hunger which only grew as it was fed, And now had consumed me as well, i could not escape, i could not flee. And as far as I knew, I was truly Ending. Never to see the bloom, I so desperately wished for.

The sounds of Cracking bone, and crunching flesh and wood Ring in my ears, Yet only darkness can i see. I feel my body move, it holds a strange tool i don't recognize, and it rages, It hungers, it aches to consume what lies before it. A Creature, a spirit, something warm has entered the forest again. The body moves, I feel the tool I hold bite into flesh, I feel my own flesh cleaved, only to quickly reform stitching itself together. Though, Not as quickly as the biting cold thing came. Then i hear words “Are you satisfied?” A Voice away from this conflict, This battle? The thing that bites my flesh, nay, the one holding it, responds “I am satisfied.” it steps away, my form tries to rest, To focus on reconstituting itself, But another warm thing approaches, i felt a cold fury i think, rage, though not on its own behalf. The blows that came dug much deeper, and came for far longer, I remember my first conscious thought here. Though the words did not come, only a gargle escaped whatever throat i called my own, My thoughts were this “When will this stop, will its weapon break? Or will I?” The answer, unfortunately, was neither. For either would have afforded relief from the pain that was my existence at this point. The blows came until my body could barely stand, And finally the same voice from before, Off and away asked again “Are you satisfied?” And a new voice responded from the warm one in front of me. “I am satisfied.” And it stepped away, I could see it now….a human? No, not quite, But close. And finally, a third figure stepped forward, holding a tool I recognized. I had seen warriors before, swordsmen had battled in these woods for many years, Though never had they had the need to interact with me, Yet now, this one raises its blade to me, even as it looks into its eyes, a bird-man of some sort. One arm replaced by wood and root, the sword swung, not with malice but necessity, The eyes did not hold hate, but hope. Perhaps fear, though not for itself it seemed. My eyes wandered through the exchange of blows, finding a dark street of the mortal village, where it seems me and these three did battle. Two others looked upon me as this final warrior finished the gruesome work of cutting me down, and yet they did not end my unnatural existence. I could feel a warm breeze. Something i had yet to feel before. It was like a great breath, breathed from the lungs of some unknown progenitor, I think now it was the breath of alasia. And as the trio surrounded me, they performed Rites. I was Purified, and my mind sharpened. The earth, to stabilize for tumultuous form. Breath, to bring life to my heart and mind, And Blood, to bring strength to my body. Allowing me to maintain it now without fear of the hunger the gnaws. The three spoke then, Not with swords or violence, but over stumps, and in forests as we wandered. I listened mostly. Until my time came to speak, and i told this story as it is written here. The spirit i was had no name, Though i know now it was Nadar in essence. And i can sense such spirits in my new fellows. As such i have chosen a name for my new form, Eragon. This form is a dangerous one, and one that must be kept in check by me and my fellows, Yet i must keep it. I cannot leave it, To do so would be to change me irreparably. But now that my cycle of life has changed, I may grow, and perhaps, i can finally see the spring bloom.