Gah, a random compilation of unfinished Eragon parody skits. Enjoy.

Rider and Fool

Wakey wakey, my friend Said Spherea, its half past ten already and Ruhiinia is losing her patience.

Errorgone bolted upright, throwing his blankets across the room as he did so, which was not the smartest thing he could have done because he was as naked as a jay. His eyes darted around the room nervously, and he found some clothes, putting them on as quickly as he possibly could. He zapped back to his bed and lay down quickly, hoping Spherea didn't see any of that. I mean, seriously. Oh! Hello Spherea, my friend! He said sheepishly. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and sprung from his bed once more, this time grabbing his boots and yanking them onto his feet. His hands, and, even his arms were shaking with so much excitement that to a casual onlooker it may have appeared that he was having an epileptic fit. After a great deal of fumbling, Errorgone managed to tie his shoes. Then he shot upright and leaped down the entire elaborately carved flight of stairs in one ecstatic bound. Then he tripped on the landing (it turns out that he did not in fact know how to tie his shoes properly) and face-planted epically into the entryway of Ruhiinia's circular house. After springing to his feet and walking into the newly-washed glass door no less then forty-eight times, he stepped into the outside world.

Outside, the sky was bright, and all this other stuff that I can't be bothered typing.

Errorgone spotted Ruhiin and Spherea by the forge at gaily trotted over to them, combing his eyebrows with his special little elvish eyebrow-comb as he went.

Ruhiinia Stood leaning against the edge of the bench. This was a shame because this bench of hers was not the most stable bench in all the lands, and it collapsed under her weight.

"Oof (my friend)!" she exclaimed, landing with a dull thump in a cloud of dust and assorted forge tools. She groped around on the ground for a bit, before her tired old hands found the thing they were looking for, and she stood once more. The sword lay in her hands, concealed beneath a length of toilet paper.

"I have done the impossible, Errorgone, my friend," she said, her voice crackling with frailness and sleep deprivation. "I made a sword when I swore I would not. And I might say, my friend, I did a pretty good job..." She smirked as she tore away the toilet paper.

Errorgone gasped, and accidentally inhaled a fly. After much coughing and spluttering, Errorgone corrected himself and ogled at the sword. He stood there oggleing for the next half hour, transfixed by its beauty.

"Wow…" he breathed.

Ruhiinia, who's arms were getting mightily sore from all this, said "Just take it."

"Can I?" Errorgone asked genuinely, in a crackly whisper.

"Yes! Errorgone my friend, it is all yours!"

Errorgone reached out with infuriating slowness, before taking the blade from Ruhiinia's hands. He stared in wonder at the beautiful carvings winding their ways over the shiny blue scabbard. "It's so beautiful…" he breathed. Then, quick as a flash, he unsheathed it and set out to stab a rather unfortunate passerby to test just how well it worked.

"NONONO, ERRORGONE, MY FRIEND!" cried Ruhiinia.

Errorgone paused mid-stab, and the elvish man paused in the middle of his girly scream.

"Over there" she gestured to a conveniently placed, freestanding horizontal rod of metal.

"Oh." Said Errorgone, turning his attention to the rod instead. He allowed himself a moment to focus his thoughts, then took a single step forward toward the rod. With a mighty exclamation of 'HAI-YA, MY FRIEND!' he slashed downward and sent half the rod flying through the air, nearly impaling the aforementioned elvish man in his desperate bid to escape.

The iron rod was cut through, with such perfection that onlookers thought Errorgone should have really been building parts for expensive space-shuttles rather then running around saving the world from evil kings.

"AND IT WORKS, TOO!" he exclaimed, waving the deadly-sharp blue blade dangerously close to Ruhiinia's face "OH, THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHAKNYOU, Ruhiinia, my friend!" He cried, giving her an overjoyed hug and nearly cutting her back open with his new sword he was holding.

And to another completely random chapter:

Man and Wife

Sixty eight looooonnnggg hours later, Errorgone was still standing on the crest of a low hill dotted with joyful yellow wildflowers.

Surrounding the hill was a beautiful lush meadow, with happy pink lambs frolicking around and pretty little butterflies flitting through the refreshingly cool air. The sky was bright and clear, with the sun shining down happily and gently bathing the world in golden sunlight, like a big tub of golden syrup spilling gently over the Earth.

The air was calm and fresh and smelled slightly of the elvish body spray Errorgone was wearing.

It was a perfect day for a wedding.

Gathered at the foot of the hill were the villagers from Carnival, none of whom had been injured by the fighting because they had all been wusses and hid in their special secret underground cellars. Among them were practically half the men in the Varden. Many of the warriors held large pointy objects to which Errorgone had asked them, in the most discreet manner possible to

'Please put away them away if you don't mind, my friends'.

To which they did reply 'stuff you Errorgone Lampshadeslayer my friend, they're our pointy things and we can hold them weather you like it or not!'

And Errorgone did recoil and say 'very well, my friends,' because he was rather outnumbered, and they WERE holding large pointy things.

The wind blew extravagantly through Errorgone's highly flammable (because of all that cologne) hair, as Spherea glided over the congregation and gracefully dodged the large pointy things that a few members of the Varden threw at her, fanning her wings. Errorgone smiled anxiously.

Errorgone, my friend! What a glorious congregation you have congregated here, my friend!

Yes, Spherea my friend, he replied nervously, a mighty congregation indeed. I have to talk to them, my friend. I have to speak a speech, my friend. Oh dear, my friend, I am shitting myself or what.

Oh, do not fret, my friend! Spherea said comfortingly Everything will be okay, you're a Lampshadeslayer my friend!

A Lampshadeslayer I may be, Errorgone said grimly but do not forget, Spherea my friend, that I am still like an inferior mortal man in the respect that public speaking is still something I fear more than death...

I think you need a reality check, Errorgone my friend.

Shadows of the Pasta

That night, Errorgone sat staring at the pitiful fire, chewing thoughtfully on a small chunk of granite. Their dinner has consisted of an assortment of rocks and sticks that Aria had gathered from the surrounding countryside, as well as Errorgone's spare socks. Eaten uncooked and unseasoned, they were hardly appetizing, but anything was a good alternative to dwarf bread. Errorgone suppressed the urge to run over to the McDonalds over the road and get something proper to eat because he did not want Aria to disapprove. Moreover, after watching that documentary about fast-food, the thought of processed hamburger buns sickened him.

It was late and they were going to have to get up really early the next morning so they could watch the rest of the World Cup, but he didn't feel like sleeping.

Errorgone sighed and gave himself an elvish eyelid massage to relieve the deep ache brought on by keeping them open all day. I need a sword, he thought. A real, proper awesome one that flames like that angel dude's one. Short of that, I should like some kind of weapon. Like, maybe claws that come out of my knuckles like Wolverine! Hm. Maybe not. He'd probably sue. Perhaps… Perhaps I could … He glared at the skin on the back of his knuckles and willed it to change. It began fizzling and thickening into his very own built in knuckledusters. Four creepy metal points on each hand. Errorgone was satisfied with how they looked, but he needed to test them. He snuck up to Aria, and with an exclamation of 'HUUUH, MY FRIEND!' punched her very hard indeed in the shoulder.

Errorgone then whimpered and sunk to the ground, having broken his thumb on account of him not knowing how to make a fist properly.

"Errorgone my friend. What the hell are you doing." she murmured, looking down at her friend who was writhing in agony in the dirt at her feet with apathetic eyes.

"OW! Oh, Aria my friend I have broken my thumb!"

"Idiot." She muttered, and continued writing her emo poetry.

Errorgone gasped through his haze of pain. "Aria my friend! You forgot to say 'my friend', my friend!"

"Bite me."

"Aria my friend! How dare you! I was just trying to show you my awesomely cool metal knuckle things and then you go and BREAK MY FREAKING THUMB, MY FRIEND!"

Aria glanced up. "they look gay."

Errorgone stuck out his tongue. "You look gay."

Aria's eyes narrowed to letterbox-like slits. "What did you say?"

"Uh, nothing, my friend." Errorgone said quickly before it could escalate.

"Good."

There was a short silence.

Followed by a slightly longer one.

Then Errorgone went off to pee.

BRISINGR!

"LAY YOUR WEAPONS DOWN, OR PREPARE TO DIE, MY FRIENDS!" Errorgone shrilled.

They all ran away screaming because Errorgone was a sight to behold with his silver-painted-wooden-sword and his built in knuckledusters; or took Errorgone's advice and threw their weapons down, kneeling on their knees. Errorgone then set about slashing the kneeling men to ribbons.

"Errorgone!" BkqæҖǖйahm cried "My friend! That's not what you are supposed to do, my friend! You are supposed to let them go!"

"NEVER!" roared Errorgone through a mouthful of foam, hacking and ripping at everything in his path, including BkqæҖǖйahm.

"AAARRRGGGHHH!" exclaimed, BkqæҖǖйahm as he fell to the ground, clutching a deep gash in his fury stomach.

"NYAAAHHHHHHHMYFRIEND!" yelled Errorgone as he brought down his sword with the force of a rabid tsunami.

"Errorgone, calm yourself, my friend." Said the Angel, appearing out of nowhere and restraining Errorgone by holding onto his shoulder very tightly with his godly hand. Time froze. Errorgone didn't. He thrashed and struggled, but he noticed that the Angel wasn't going to let him go anywhere, so he gave up. A fine mist of blood began to settle around them. Errorgone tried to catch some of it on his tongue though a rabid grin, skipping about madly.

"You are letting you bloodlust control you, Errorgone." The Angel said, restraining him gently. "How do you think you are supposed to win if you do that?"

"OOOOHH! YOU HAVE A COOL SWORD!" Errorgone replied, reaching for the mystical flaming blade in the Angel's left hand.

"No, No, Errorgone, my friend. This one's MIIIIIIIIIINNNNEEEE. I need it for the apocalypse."

"Aww. But it's cool."

"Actually, my friend, it isn't. It's actually very hot, my friend. Stupid laws of physics. All this heat's conducting itself into the handley bit, see my friend?" He showed Errorgone the nasty blisters all over his hand.

"Oh." Errorgone said, wincing in sympathy. "But, still, it's not called a 'handley bit'. It's—"

"Shut up." Said the Angel curtly.

Gifts of Plutonium

Errorgone stood next to Spherea, fifty yards from Nasuada's neon pink pavilion. Glad to be free of all the commotion and paparazzi that surrounded Elva, he gazed up and the clear sky. He was already getting tired, because he hadn't had his morning coffee, and he was already beginning to suffer severe withdrawals. Spherea inteneded to fly out to the Great Dragon Bathtub the Varden had prepared for her to have a relaxing soak, but Errorgone's own intentions were less definite. He still needed to finnish oiling his armour, and repainting his wooden sword so that it looked slightly more realistic. Also he had to prepare for Roran and Katrina's wedding. Oh. And find a proper sword, because his supplies of metallic silver spray-paint were running low. Also… he scratched his chin. There. That was better.

How long will you be gone, Spherea my friend? He asked eventually.

Spherea unfurled her wings in preparation of flight, and did the dragon equivalent of a nonchalant shrug. A few hours. After I've had my bath I'm going to go to get something to eat at Cart Station.

Okay then. Errorgone glanced over at a nearby elf in a way he hoped was discreet, a tall and rather attractive looking elf who he still hadn't figured out was male or female. You know, my friend… the Elves probably wouldn't approve of fastfood like that—

SCREW THE ELVES, MY FRIEND! Spherea roared, launching herself into the air and making a bee-line for the GreatDragon Bathtub.

Errorgone sighed and lowered his gaze as BkqæҖǖйahm ran up to him, as lithe as a rainforest frog.

"right!" said Errorgone to no one in particular as BkqæҖǖйahm rejoined his companions. "First things first!"

He power walked through the camp in a perfectly straight line, ploughing through a few of the Varden's tents in the process. Thankfully, though, the seven-hundred rather burly men were too busy training to notice as he strode by. Eventually he found an appropriate patch of ground. Crouching like a frog, he lay his right hand palm-up on the trampled Earth. He spent about three-quarters-of-an-hour trying to think of an appropriate spell, then yelled: "KULDAR ΆŘɊƆɧǸOǷȞȌƁǏǺ ʬȊȚɦ̲ Ȃ ȿȉɗȅ-ŚĒŔʌɨƝƓ ʘᶂ᷆ ƿǞƧŢȦ ONITH, MY FRIEND!" at the top of his hybrid lungs. The soil beside his hand coughed out a lump of what was supposed to be gold but didn't really look like it.

"Hm." Said Errorgone, who was a little bit confused. Well, it was still some kind of metal… He just couldn't ever remember gold glowing like that… He leaned over and sniffed it pensively.

"Um, Errorgone, my friend?" said BkqæҖǖйahm, who was surveying the Dragon Rider a little nervously.

"Oh, Hi, BkqæҖǖйahm my friend! Look at this gold I've conjured here!" He threw it from hand to hand thoughtfully "Weird how it's glowing, hu?"

"Wha- YE GODS, ERRORGONE MY FRIEND! THAT'S PLUTONIUM, NOT GOLD! GET RID OF IT, MY FRIEND, IT'S HIGHLY RADIOACTIVE!"

"Oh no, I assure you, BkqæҖǖйahm my friend, all is well. We do not invent radios on this world for centuries yet, we should be fi—Where are you running to with such haste, BkqæҖǖйahm my friend?" He asked, a little hurt as BkqæҖǖйahm sprinted away as fast as his hairy legs could carry him. "Hm. Oh well," Errorgone thought. He had better thing so do than talk to that freak anyway. He had to turn this rather interesting gold into wedding rings.

AND THEN THE STORY WAS OVER.

(Temporarily.)