Silver City » Places

         Prince Valnoral was interrupted from his drink by a member of the local law enforcement: the sheriff. District 3 was not the safest place, and the prince did not envy this sheriff's ongoing task of preserving law and stability. Valnoral wondered what was transpiring for the sheriff to approach him personally. It didn't take long for the Prince to become aware of the situation. He sighed as the sheriff offered him safe passage of the 3rd District. Valnoral should have expected something like this to unfold. The sheriff, Marcus Shurloft, had already prepared for the prince's extraction before he interrupted the prince's drink; Valnoral noticed three other policemen march into the bar and begin preparations of a perimeter.

"I assure you, Sheriff, that I do not need any extra protection," Prince Valnoral assured Marcus, "If you're going to protect royalty, might I suggest you guard my brother; his recent... political decisions may have earned him the favour of the Dwarves and a large amount of Kastodoans, but I fear there are those who would seek to change his new decisions in more violent ways." More police poured into the building.
"I am trying to protect this great kingdom using diplomacy and peace, but if there are those who wish to commit acts of aggression against me, then so be it. A strong Prince doesn't need a legion of bodyguards to defend himself." Valnoral did have his own group of privately trained bodyguards. They were loyal to only him and fought using different tactics than the standard Kastodoan Army.

Prince Valnoral had never been attacked in the districts and felt that no peasant would be foolish enough to attempt an assassination. The prince dismissed Marcus Shurloft and his means of providing security. Valnoral slowly walked away from the sheriff and Niall followed in suit. In the corner of his eye, Valnoral noticed a policeman pushing his way through the crowds of people gathering around. The man pulled out a new weapon, a magnum as they called it and aimed the weapon towards the prince.

"Racist warmonger!" he cried, "For free Kastodoan!" He aggresively pulled the trigger.
"No!" Niall shouted as he pushed the prince out of the bullet's trajectory. Niall took the mpact of the projectile directly into his chest. He fell violently to the floor and rolled to his side, clutching the wound.
"Niall..." Valnoral muttered in disbelief. His mutter turned into a war cry as he charged the gunman who was readying his aim to shoot the prince. Valnoral caught up to the man before he could fire a second time. The prince grabbed the man's arm and twisted it violently, causing the man to drop his firearm. Valnoral drove his elbow into the man's twisted arm, breaking it at the joint. The policeman fell to his knees, holding the arm and groaning in agony. Without hesitation, Valnoral mercilessly grabbed the man's head and twisted with all his might to snap the neck with a sickening crack. The lifeless body fell to the ground as peasants looked on in horror. Valnoral walked to Niall's fallen corpse. Like the would-be assassin, his body had ceased all movements.

"You have served me well Niall," Valnoral blankly stated, "May you find peace in the afterlife." Valmoral rushed to the sheriff.
"Perhaps I will be taking that escort back to the 1st District," Valnoral admitted, "but only by you and your most trusted men; it seems there is some corruption within the ranks of District 3's Police Force." Valnoral was disgusted that a Dwarf-Sympathiser would make his way within the ranks of the policing forces in the districts. The prince knew this was also an opportunity he couldn't waste; a Dwarf-Sympathiser attempted to kill a member of the royal family and failed: it was going to be the main topic of the next Senatorial Gathering.

         Kastodoan, Abel's home since he was a boy. It was different to him then, seemed brighter, he found solace here. Not anymore. There was no peace to be found here, not for him, not here. This city had fallen, it's time had come. Like the ruined cities of old it had become a breeding ground for suffering and injustice. The hope of a new dawn had died years ago leaving only darkness in it's wake. Abel was the personification of that darkness. The cruel unfairness of a life snatched away for what seemed like tragic chance, the flip of a coin. By Abel's hand fathers never came home to their children, mothers never again got to kiss their little ones goodnight. He brought death to all, good or evil, just or wicked made little difference to the killer of men. The utter hilarity of seeing life as black and white as the good men and the bad was pathetic and naive to him. The world was coated in a morally grey cloud stitched together from the lies, deceit and cruelty of the denizens of this city. This city is afraid of him. For he had seen its true face. The streets are little more than extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood. Soon the drains will fill with their gorey payload and all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and nobles will look up and shout for a savior yet none will come. There will be only Abel, the killer of men, looking down at them unflinching in his gaze like the cold stare of death itself. Abel saw all the secrets of this city and those who called it home. It was astounding what dark truths one could glean by waiting in the shadows and merely listening. He knew about the kings elicit affair with the councilman's wife. He knew that the heir to the Coliatt fortune was not a true heir but merely a bastard placed in that position after the murder of his whore mother by his father the Duke of Geraldine.

Abel stood now on the edge of a roof, peering down at the filthy city below him as a familiar face passed beneath his gaze. The bold and brave Marshal Marcus Shurloft. The less than noble Sheriff of District 3 was rushing to his usual haunt, The Rusty Nail, but this day unlike most days he was not there for a drink. He was there to save a life. Much like the young ogre girl's life he'd saved earlier that day. Abel had inspected the body of the man murdered by the illustrious bringer of justice hours prior. His long coat lay in tatters as his blood pooled around his fresh corpse. His skull caved in from countless shots to the head from a set of brass knuckles. Yet here he was, upholding the law once more, this time the life was that of a prince. A foolish act of bravado and missed placed courage landed the Brother of King Elrik in the less than reputable drinking house. His overconfidence would prove his downfall. So sure of his own abilities he saw himself as too far removed from the common peasantry that one could not simply reach out and place a knife in his belly. The arrogance of nobility was astounding most days yet this one had shown a mastery of it beyond any seen before. The great Prince Valnoral Kas, though did not know it, owed a thanks to whatever God he prayed to that Abel had not been hired to eliminate the prince this day. For if he had snatching the life from his body here would have been child's play. Too easy for a crowd to swell around the brother of the king, too easy for a knife to find it's way between his ribs. All the fault of the poor and desperate sods of District 3. The death would have been chalked up to the arrogant belief that a prince could stroll into a bar in one of the poorest sections of the city and leave unscathed.

Fortunately for the prince Abel was not here with the task of killing princes. He was merely passing through on his journey to his true target. The infamous Police Commissioner of Kastodoan, James B. Gordon. He resided in District 1 and as he sat in his office, no doubt sipping a glass of his favorite Serrice Ice Brandy he would soon learn of the foolhardy actions of the prince and be forced to head down to the 3rd District to collect the King's brother. He would, however, never arrive to relieve the good Marshal of his current duty.

         Marshal got one day a week off, one, and he was never one to waste it. Most days started pretty much the same in that he would need to make a greasy breakfast to try and deal with the hangover he probably had. Then Marshal would walk out to the graveyard to say hi to his dad. Lunch would happen either at the Rusty Nail or the deli down the street from his place.
The afternoons were mostly spent drinking and gambling, maybe checking the markets or heading to the horse track to see the races. He enjoyed his days off, he forced himself to.
The single thing he liked to do the most though was sit on the roof outside his third floor apartment with a small wooden keg of beer he'd buy at the Rusty Nail, one mug, and just watch the sun set in silence. Marshal's father always told him that magic existed in the moment right when the sun sank under the horizon, and if you were quiet enough, you could make a wish and the gods would hear you. He believed it as a kid, didn't anymore, but it still made him happy to think about.
Just a couple minutes to go. Beer's fresh, chair's comfortable and there isn't a cloud in the sky. Nothing could go wrong.
"You don't have the right to tell me what to do! I'm almost sixteen!" The neighbor kid, Nal.
"I have all the right in the world! You will stay in and do your studies." Nal's father Pen.
Pen, his wife Fena and Nal lived in the building next door on the second floor. They were a sweet family but thanks to Nal being a pain in the ass teenager they fought a lot, loudly.
Marshal moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at the two arguing on their balcony. "Hey, what's the issue?" Being a cop came with two major character flaws, not seeing one's self as a regular member of society, and nosiness.
"Marshal, tell my dad that I'm mature enough to go to the fights with my friends!"
"I swear to the Gods I'm going to kill this kid Marshal."
A quick glance to the horizon told Marshal he was about out of time, better solve this quick. "First off Nal, mature or not, you're not old enough to get into the fights, they're eighteen and up. And if you and your little friends tried to sneak in I'd have to haul your butts to jail. Secondly Pen, no you won't kill your kid cause then I'd have to take your ass to jail instead and when you got out Fena would beat you to death and I'd have to take her to jail. So both of you quiet the hell down and go back inside, you're disturbin the whole damned neighborhood."
The father and son both looked a little kicked in the teeth but quietly turned to go back inside. Marshal had about turned away Fena poked out her head. A pretty woman for her age, way too pretty for Pen. "Thank you Marshal."
"No problem Fena." A quick look at the sun, almost out of time.
"I swear those two will be the death of me someday."
"Well fathers and sons will fight." Hurry up, hurry up.
"I know, it's every day these days. I think Nal is just ready to be out on his own."
"He will be soon enough, well I'll talk to you later."
"Alright Marshal, have a good night."
Rush to the chair, sit, grab beer, sunset.
"Shit." Missed it. "Gods damn it."