A.N. I guess I should explain myself: I felt that I could not continue the second humanoid story until I had gone back and improved the first one: descriptions, details, etc. Those of you who read Chronicles of the Pridelands will see hints of that in this version, since I felt it was the best explanation for Scar's 'evil'. So here is the new and improved Lion King.

Prologue

It was a damp morning and the sun had not yet risen. The grounds of the Royal Palace were bathed in semi-darkness and there were small puddles all over the place, remnants of the rain storm that had passed by the previous night. A lanky man sat on the top step of the vast stairway that led to the entrance doors. Dressed in a black leather trench-coat, he was easy to miss in the dark, and beneath this coat he wore a white shirt and a loosely tied black tie. He pulled a small silver lighter from one the coat's many pockets and lit a white cigarette which was hanging from his mouth. As he pocketed the lighter, he inhaled deeply on the cigarette and let a stream of smoke escape his nostrils. This chap did not look as if he belonged anywhere near a royal palace; his long black hair was streaked with grey and was very messy, he sported a stubble and his eyes were a cold green. These were not even his most distinguishing features; he sported a long scar over his left eye, which served as a reminder of a past he wished so desperately he could return to. He slowly ran a finger down his scar - an old habit most people in the palace found annoying - and he heaved a sigh.

The man I have just described went by the name of Scar, to those who knew him. As for those who had merely heard of him, they refer to him as 'Scarface', but he had once had a name, a real name: Thomas Jarlos. Though there were a few that still referred to him by this term, the name had lost all its meaning.

The Royal Palace had five massive towers; the biggest one had four large clock faces on either side. Thomas heaved himself to his feet and looked upward towards the Clock Tower, which now read 5:45, and he pulled out an expensive silver watch from his coat pocket and checked to make sure the time was right, seeing that it was he replaced the watch back within his coat. He wrapped the coat tightly around his body to keep out the cold morning air and proceeded to enter the palace through the vast double doors.

Thomas was walking down the second-floor corridor. This was the one of the most important sections of the Palace, since it contained the bedchamber of the King and Queen of Moroldia. Thomas did not give a damn about that, in fact he had made it his life's mission to completely alienate himself from their 'Royal Highnesses'. The corridor itself was lavishly furnished, with cushioned sofas at regular intervals, vast paintings of previous Kings and Royal Families. Thomas' room had a wooden double door with brass handles. As he reached it, he removed the cigarette from his mouth, extinguished it on the wall and threw it into a corner, he then began fumbling among his numerous keys for the one that would gain him access to his private world of misery, he heard a familiar voice call out,

" Thomas!"

"Oh, shit," muttered Thomas and sped up his search for the right key. He had just found it when a large hand was placed on hid shoulder. Thomas inhaled deeply and slowly turned around, attempting all the while to remain calm, and he stared straight into the deep brown eyes of his older brother Michael - King Michael XII to be exact. Michael was roughly the same height as his brother, but his muscular build was a stark contrast to Thomas' scrawny frame, and though Thomas' eyes overflowed with intelligence, Michael's eyes were full of wisdom and as any learned person will tell you: there is a vast difference between wisdom and intelligence.

"I wanted to ask you something," Michael stated.

"Make it quick," Thomas said rudely, "So I can say 'no' and get on with my life."

Michael chose to ignore the hint of rudeness in Thomas' voice, though he had grown weary of it, he just decided to let it go…this time, "I want you to come to the Ceremony tomorrow."

Thomas rolled his eyes and said, "As I have told you, about eight times, I am not coming to that tribal ceremony."

Michael tried not to get worked up over this, and proceeded to say, "You and I went through it, as did our forefathers. I don't know what you have against it."

"Now look here," muttered Thomas, "It is the most ridiculous, superstitious, adolescent ritual in the history of all the Nine Kingdoms. How it still exists in this day and age, I'll never know."

"Thomas," said Michael, sternly, "I am asking you as a brother."

With that, Michael went back in the direction of his room, but not before looking back to see Thomas light another cigarette. Before Thomas entered his room, he heard Michael say, "What would Mother say if she say if she saw you smoking those?"

Thomas quickly removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked around nervously; he then looked at the cigarette with a guilty expression on his face. He sighed sadly and tossed the cigarette on the stone floor, crushing it with his foot.