Hornan Droverson

Chapter 1

    Under the discomfort of the scorching summer sun, within the small town called Mogbottom,and in a crowded arena filled with thousands of fans, two male Wabblots were centered in the middle, dueling the contender. Everyone in the crowd was a Wabblot as well; or, in the simplest terms, a short, human like being, with really no defining features except the size of their noses and eyes, their pale skin, and the single, unique mark upon their forehead. Each Wabblot was born with a different mark, or symbol, and this would help define their personality. Hornan Droverson, a taller Wabblot than most, stood within the crowd with his peculiar, rather large mark beaming radiantly from his forehead. Not one Wabblot in Hornan’s eight years alive could depict what the mark stood for. It more or less looked like many brown dots, three different sets of them, leading to odd looking shapes and boxes. He was an energetic little Wabblot, and unfortunately his mother had died soon after his birth, and he was taken care of completely by his father. 
Hornan’s attention at the moment was directed towards a strange little male Wabblot in the row ahead of him, dressed in a short, green robe with his red hair longer than most female Wabblots. In his opinion,  there were more important things than his dad, Diller Droverson, being one of the two Wabblots fighting to the death in the arena. 
Diller was armed with a short metal staff, same as every other Wabblot in the area, its power source on the tip, and each Wabblot was born with their staff tucked, in the form of a toothpick, within their mouths; upon being taken out of the mouth, it was grown into a full size Wabblot staff, whatever form this may be for the particular Wabblot. This staff can be used to send firebolts at the opponent, summon various creatures, create magical transformations, generate counterattacks, and much more of the sort. Each staff, and depending on the utmost skill of the Wabblot, can perform various attacks. The duels these Wabblots engaged in were in which a male challenger, whoever feels able enough, would battle the king of Mogbottom for right to the throne. Through the generations, most kings were dueled to death eventually, and the challenger would become the king. 
Diller’s black, obsidian staff, a golden ball resting on it’s top, was known to be much more powerful than most, and his talent was incomparable. Many in the crowd had come to watch because they assumed Diller would defeat their current king, Argin Grant, and they believed he would then have a long, successful reign. 
Argin approached his opponent carefully, fire protecting him on all sides. Diller summoned an earthquake, and Argin toppled over to the ground, losing his concentration on the fire. This was one advantage that Diller had that most Wabblots did not; the ability to control parts of the weather. Immediately upon Argin’s fall, Diller sent two goblins upon him. But Argin quickly retaliated, transforming into a giant troll, and with one slash of his giant hand, sent the pair of goblins flying out of the arena. He then shrunk down to his normal being, and Diller instantly summoned a lightning bolt upon him. The bolt struck Argin, and the crowd took up to murmuring whether it might be enough to kill him. Argin collapsed to the ground, and the crowd erupted into a loud cheer. 
Pleased with himself, Diller turned to the crowd and let them get a good glimpse at their new king. Right at that moment, Argin jumped to his feet and sent a huge blaze of fire upon Diller. A gasp came from the crowd as Diller turned to ashes within that half second and was gone. The whole crowd was completely silent, except Hornan, who had now noticed what had been done. 
“Noooo!” he cried, drawing his staff. Enraged and not even thinking, he summoned a gigantic dragon that flew quickly down to Argin and swallowed him up right before disappearing into the air. The rest of the crowd, completely stunned, all turned their heads to face the eight year old Wabblot that had just murdered the king. 
“Get him!!” someone shouted from the crowd. The next second Hornan found himself being dragged off to the Mogbottom jail, Intyran. The dungeon was dark, misty, and cold; he noticed stone Wabblots as well, in desperate positions, as if they had once been living Wabblots, but had been turned to stone. Hornan was soon thrown into a small room in which he hit the back of his head on the wall and everything went black. 
Hornan woke hours later, darkness overwhelming him. The door was open, and a Wabblot stood staring over him. It was the short, male Wabblot with red hair that he had noticed earlier! 
“Hornan. Hornan Droverson.” Hornan refused to look him in the eye. “Look at your king, you maggot. My name is Rock Whiley, and I must thank you for killing off the king, allowing me access to the throne. But of course, what you did was treacherous, and as my first act as king I will be banishing you from the land. Thank me later, you deserve death.” 
Hornan had assumed as much, and he was just glad he wouldn’t be joining the stone Wabblots he saw earlier. And so it was done, he was dragged off by two large Wabblots, taken miles away until he was tossed into the mud, surrounded by swamp and wasteland. He was no longer a Mogbottom citizen. He was now part of the bigger world, where unknown creatures roam and which other species can call home. But Hornan was a lost Wabblot, with no family and nowhere to go, nothing to do and nothing to eat, nobody near and a nobody was he.