The Exiled King

Prologue

In a vast universe of nothingness, there was a world known simply as Dargon—but one of five parallel worlds—that was divided into further five kingdoms ruled by different races. Elf, Druid, Dwarf, Dragon and lastly, Human.

In the vast human kingdom, there existed large cities, packed with people and bustling with activity, but also large fields and plains, the epitome of peace. In one such field, a single house stood far from the others. In this a house—small enough to be called a hut—built of sturdy pinewood and straw, there lived an old man, a shepherd from a long line of shepherds.

Inside the hut, it was cramped and dirty and dimly lit. It was smoky and filled with dusty paraphernalia hanging on the walls as relics of the old man's past years. A large, rusted hoe leaned against the wall from when the old man had tried unsuccessfully to turn the barren plains into a farm. Bits of leather and food hung next to the odds and ends he had found and taken a fancy to over the years.

A small path, made by generations of feet, led from the house to the pen and outhouse near the outskirts of the property. A rickety fence surrounded the land, more to define the space than to keep intruders out—it couldn't keep a determined chicken out if it tried. The small pen housed a few dirty sheep and an old sheepdog, with fleas undoubtedly living in his dirty coat of lumpy fur, who kept watch on the sheep with his remaining good eye.

The fence squealed loudly on hinges that had needed a coating of oil for several years now. Oil was not something found in abundance in the dwellings so far from the city, and there had been a scarcity of oil even in the large metropolises as the world still recovered from the devastating war nearly fifty years ago.

"Grandpa!" A youthful voice shouted over the noise of the hinges as the gate swung open with a bang.

The old sheepdog started barking, rousing the shepherd from his slumber. Quick footsteps ran along the dirt path and clambered up the few stairs to the porch in front of the house. The old man opened the door and a little boy jumped into his arms with a beaming smile. The old man staggered, but ruffled his light blond hair with a fond smile.

"Why hello, Jason!"

Jason's wide brown eyes sparkled and his smile revealed a proud gap in his teeth.

"Grandpa! Tell me the story about the creation of the world!" he said eagerly.

His grandfather chuckled. "You never get tired of it, do you? You're turning eleven this year—don't you think you're getting too old for fairytales?"

"Nope! I'd never get tired of listening to you, grandpa!"

The old man put Jason down and sat on the porch, placing an arm around his grandson.

"Which part would you like to hear? The creation of this world? Or..." His weathered face cracked into a knowing smile. "...or the other worlds?"

The boy practically bounced in excitement. "Yes! The Abyss... and Heresh too! Also the Ether! Dargon's just boring!"

His grandfather smiled patiently and reminded him to stop bouncing or the floor would collapse—a distinct possibility, considering how old the hut was. Most of the wood had been replaced at one time or another, but some creaked ominously when one stepped on it.

He sighed, but began the tale.

"Long ago, there was nothing in the universe. Darkness filled the void, until the day the founder of the Gods was born. Father Haert emerged and created the sun and moon, as well as five worlds connected by magic."

The old man continued to tell a tale told through the generations, passing it to young Jason, who listened avidly.

"First was the Abyss, a hellish place filled with lava pits and blood red soil. Some said the blood of Ziocrat, the god of death, stained the soil to that shade. The Abyss was home to monsters of all kinds. Demons, vampires, cadis—tall, thin humanoid demons with sharp claws that could slit a throat with no trouble—and elementals were among the Arysi, the bigger monsters who dwelt near the center of the Abyss. Lesser monsters, commonly known as Debui, such as the grysan, ogres and trolls dwelt near the outer edges.