(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The story is told in first-person, both in Murtagh's point-of-view and Jura's. Jura's words will be in italics while Murtaghs will be in regular format.)

This is the personal account of Murtagh Morzanson, murderer of King Hrothgar of the Dwarves. I feel terrible for doing such a thing, and my actions following are contemptible. I have been living in exile, wondering around Alagaesia for almost 20 years before someone from the Du Vrangr Gata had contacted me. She was Trianna, a person I had been acquainted with during the struggles with Galbatorix. She told me about a Tome with the detailed history of the Fall, but was written in Siltrim Elvish. While under Galbatorix's tutelage, he had me versed in a variety of Elvish dialects, and the one I had become most familiar with is the one of the city of Silthrim, a walled fortress far away from Ellesmera. I agreed to translate the text for one reason alone; I wished to uncover the dark secrets and machinations of my father, Morzan. I wish too see more of what vile things he committed as Galbatorix's pawn. I hold no contempt for my mother Selena, but it is in my father where all my rage is directed at.

He was a cruel and sadistic father, and had more than one seriously injured me before being killed by Brom himself. He was a great man, and one of the people in my life that I admire, the other being Eragon, his rightful son. It was once thought that me and Eragon were of the same father, but that is no more. I now know the truth about it all.

I will be translating a large bulk of the Nameless Tome in full detail, but will pause periodically to regain my energy, as translating text soaked in magic tends to drain my powers. The wards placed around it are still strong, but the Eldunari infused within me and Thorn's power will allow me to bypass these wards as if they were butter to a sharp knife. So begins the translation of the Nameless Tome...

Forgive my Elvish to whomsoever reads of this account. Time was short. The day is October 13, if my mind still has not yet forsaken me. I have been hiding from the dreaded Forsworn for almost three days, and I am badly injured. I write this off to those precious to me. If for anyone, this is for Jarnunvosk; I will always remember you as a great dragon. Galbatorix is on the verge of insanity. He's enslaved countless eldunari and given them to his "Forsworn," with Morzan as his righthand man.

Morzan had never really struck me as someone who could do such a thing. He loved the Riders, and sought to uphold its laws and prevent anarchy from destroying the Brodding Kingdom. How silvertongued Galbatorix must have been to be able to persuade someone as adamant as Morzan of the Firebrand. "He is a great man." Morzan said to me during the Battle of Vroengard. His dragon, now nameless and chained by the powers of darkness, had been striking down soldiers and Riders alike until I dived into the fray with Bathalas, my beloved majestic dragon. She had dark purple scales which glimmered in the sunlight and a deep powerful voice that would ring in my head whenever we would communicate. Morzan is too strong for the both of us, Bathalas said to me.

He 'was a powerful and ruthless foe, striking down anyone who got in his way. More than once he assaulted a fellow traitor Rider who had accidentally fired upon him and his dragon. The foolish Rider was incinerated in seconds and Morzan continued the siege. The unrelentless attacks by the Forsworn and the traitors brought our island defenses to almost nothing, but with the help of Vrael we held them off the beachhead for almost half a day. All I could hear and smell was the clashing of metal and the fiery resonance of flame and the odor of blood which ran thick in the soil. My body was weak and I could fight no longer, but Bathalas kept me in one piece with her powerful magic reserves. Galbatorix sent his most powerful spellcasters and Forsworn to lead the attack, while the others were to strike out at Beirand, the last safe haven for the people who resisted the Forsworn. Naeridana and Galzra helped keep Beirand in check, but Glaerun's constant battering left them weak. He was one of the strongest Forsworn, assigned to siege Beirand instead of attacking Doru Araeba. His grey dragon was a sight of horror to any who would meet the creature on the theatre of war, almost on par with the great dragon Umaroth, but never as strong as Vrael's dragon.

Glaerun was a foul-mouthed elf who was both sadistic & knowledgeable with the abilities of most of the Order, once the record keeper of the Order. "Faith comes with fear." he would often quote before turning to the side of Galbatorix. I met with him once while scouting along the coasts of Vroengard. He swooped down on his large dragon with his sword Eythem in hand, ready to strike out. His dragon poised itself in an offensive formation, and spewed fire with lightning speed. Bathalas careened to the right and charged at the gray dragon's unprotected belly, but was stopped in her tracks by wards placed around the dragon. Glaerun threw Eythem at me, flying through the air like a dagger due to powerful magic placed upon it. It narrowly dodged my shoulder while destroying the wards placed there. Rider's swords were extremely resistant to magic and had special enchantations from Rhunon to absolve even the mightiest of wards. I forsaw this complication and turned my attention towards Eythem, which was flying in a circle arcing back into Glaerun's grasp.

Before it could, however, I uttered Brisingr and a jet of fire interfered with Eythem's trajectory, the sword now spinning down into the ground. Glaerun spat and uttered foul curses and swooped in after his sword. This was my chance to strike, so I communicated with Bathalas to come in after them. We plunged after Glaerun, the wind blasting against our faces. I pulled out Emery, my amethyst colored sword and prepared to strike. Glaerun seemed to be fumbling with acquiring his weapons, as the grey dragon was dizzy from the blunt force of the strike Bathalas inflicted. Glaerun tried to stabilize the area around them, but failed as the sheer power of the Eldunari given him rendered the spell too strong, creating a vacuum. But for all of my luck, Glaerun was no ordinary Rider. He created wind spells on his feet and launched himself at both me and Bathalas with Eythem in hand. Bathalas coated us in fire, me being saved by my fireproof wards. Glaerun continued upwards, propelled by the gusts of wind subdued on his heels. As he swung Eythem, I tried to parry his attack, swinging my left arm with Emery with all of my remaining strength.

It was over in a few moments. I remember feeling titanic amounts of thought-erasing pain all over my left side, and found myself falling to my death, catching the sight of a bloodied Bathalas with no limbs on his left side.