Hello my name is Timothy. My troubles were not the greatest in life. I had a stable job, a loving wife who was killed a few days ago and a lovely dog called Chunks. Lovely pug. I lived in Watford, England and I died there. So let me give you the context, I, thirty-two year old male went out for his first drink in 10 years to grieve my wife. I subsequently got into a fight with a group of my guys and I got a clean hit to my chin, sent me straight to the ground and the impact killed me.
At least my nana will take care of Chunks. Right?
The strangest thing though is that I'm thinking at the moment and my eyes. My eyes?! I'm alive? Holy shit! I'm alive!
"Wake up boy!" He heard deep scraggy voice shout at him.
I shot up while stumbling out of the bed screaming.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?" I asked repeatedly while sobbing. Why was my voice so soft?
"Stop the crying bastard, the lord of the land demands your presence!" The man shouted while making his way over to me. I crawled back frantically while sobbing. The man lifted me easily and put me over his shoulder and walked out of the cobblestone room.
As we walked through which seemed like endless intersecting hallways I screamed every profanity I knew at him. Finally, he stopped. We stood in front of a large and decorated dark oak door. He put me down and he said.
"Go in boy, " and he left.
I knew nothing of this place and I already had to roll with the punches. I pushed open that door and sitting at a modest desk was a man I could only describe as having a vigorous and dangerous presence. His hair was black with hints of platinum gray and his eyes where hazel coloured and had the latent ferocity of a dying lion.
"Come, sit." He ordered me.
I obeyed unconsciously. My legs didn't listen to me and I sat in the big chair facing the man.
"What is your name?" He asked.
"Tim." I lied.
"Your full name." He said slowly.
"Timothy." I replied.
"So that woman was a commoner." He sighed.
"Well Timothy I am your father or used to be your father." He said.
As he was speaking memories of this person I was in started to surface, my mother was a common prostitute, she died when I was eight but before she died she sent a letter to my father, the man before me, to the battle field and it took a year to reach him and his men retrieved me when I was ten.
'What a lucky boy.' I thought.
'I am lucky.' I thought.
I had a new life in a place like this. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Right? Good thing my name's still Timothy.
"I have abandoned you for I have married another and she will bear a child soon." He said.
"What?" I said.
"I shall repeat once boy. I James Lackard the Third, has abandoned you, Timothy, son of a prostitute. I have already married another and she is soon to bear a child." He said while staring dead into my eyes.
I started to stare into space and a woman broke the silence as she walked into the room unannounced.
"Is this the boy James?" She asked with a somber tone.
"Yes." He replied while still looking at me.
"He looks like you just a bit dark-skinned." She said.
"Don't even think it." He said while tucking his arms under his chin.
"The least you could do is make him a knight in the territory." She suggested.
"It is the least but I don't want to." He said.
"He could be the personal guard of our child?" She suggested.
"Makes some amount of sense but I just told him I abandoned him." He said while taking some time to look at the woman.
"I'll work something out, go and sleep. Our child is soon to come. I want the best for you and the little one." He said and he made a go away gesture with his hands. As soon as she walked out the door he called me to attention.
"Timothy, boy. I still have abandoned you but I have a proposition. Will you accept?" He asked unwillingly.
"Yeah." I mean what else did I have to lose other than my life.
While the memories were kicking in I realised this is the world of Kulon. A novel my friend completed a few years ago. I didn't finish it. I only new the main characters and the general plot and this world has a shitload of problems.
The most memorable thing? A stereotypical Daemon King would invade this world in the upcoming years, twenty years to be precise. Aw shit, here we go again.