Silver City, Kastodoan

Prince Valnoral marched out of the Senatorial Congress Hall frustrated as usual; another day of mindless debating about the King's newly found friendship with the Dwarves. Though many senators refused to admit it, there was growing support for good relations with the Dwarven people and their feared and sought-after technology. Senators argued that with the Dwarven weapons, the 'firearms' as they were called, humanity could dominate any opponent: the Elves, the Orcs, even the Dwarves themselves. Valnoral felt that humanity didn't need these heathenistic weapons. The Senate mostly shared this same opinion but Valnoral was losing the support of Senate in favour of the King.

"Pathetic sheep," Valnoral commented to his assistant, Niall, his most loyal of subjects, "They flock to these new ideas as mindlessly as the King has embraced them."
"Agreed, Sire," Niall added, "under your leadership, they would see the error of their ways." Niall was smart to agree; Valnoral would have him replaced in an instance if he suspected the man of incompetence. Niall was a smaller man with longer, dirty-blonde hair with hazel eyes to match. He looked similar to the common form of peasant folk but Valnoral insisted he be better dressed in a royal tunic similar to his to show his allegiance. Black and red were Valnoral typical colours.

"I need a drink, Niall," Valnoral sighed, "and not the Senator's Pub, I tire of that place."
"Of course, Sire."
"Maybe one of the smaller ones the peasantry is quite fond of."
"You sure that will be safe, Sire?" Niall's concern was easily detected. "Do you wish for me to prepare a bodyguard for you."
"No that won't be necessary, Niall. I can protect myself." Valnoral was never afraid of a confrontation; he welcomed it.

After wandering through the streets, Niall stopped Valnoral in front of a medium-sized building.
"The Rusty Nail?" Valnoral read aloud, a hint of disgust in a voice. "This will due." Upon entering the establishment, the bartender gasped in great surprise of his new guest. Valnoral detected a bit of fear in the man's voice too.
"My lord!" He bowed in respect to the prince.
"As you were, barkeep," Valnoral commanded as he and Niall sat down. "I want a drink...whatever's strongest." Valnoral looked around; the people were surprised to see him. Royalty never walked around these parts without risk of beggars and thieves finding them. The public was all too familiar with Valnoral's ruthless reputation along with his zero tolerance of criminals. If it were up to him, martial law would be enforced immediately, but the King believed in establishing guards and local police forces. Valnoral turned back around to see a tall glass with a dark liquid floating inside. The prince reached into his pocket and threw a handful of coins on the table as he knocked back the drink with ease.

Marshal saw the look on James' face as he ran up. James had just started in the district and every little thing seemed to excite him, he'd grow out of it eventually, but this was different somehow.
"Sir, sir!" The only worlds the poor out of breath kid could manage.
"Calm down. What is someone dead?"
"No sir." Deep breath in. "It's the prince. General Valnoral is at the Nail."
Marshal let out a loud laugh. "I'm sure."
"No, he is. I saw him myself. He isn't even in regular clothes or anything. He looks like he came straight from the palace or something."
"Bodyguards?"
"I don't think so sir."
A few worried thoughts crept into Marshal's head. "Alright show me." Was this for real? Not district 3, Marshal didn't need this kind of headache.
It was only a few blocks to the Rusty Nail bar and they ran the whole way but it still seemed like an eternity. Worst case scenarios of one of the local gangs getting there first or some magic loyalists attack him for being on the senate or a Dwarven sympathizer taking a pot shot from across the street, any such nightmare was a possibility.
They stopped out front and through the window they could see the king's younger brother. Everyone in the bar keeping their distance.
"See." James pointed out.
"Yeah I see." Marshal took a quick look around, people were talking and staring and the word was getting out quick. Someone undesirable would hear soon enough. "Alright James I want you to find every last cop, member of the militia, and city guard you can find and bring them back here in five minutes. I want a full three block perimeter in all directions. You got me?"
"Yes sir!" James was off like a flash, he was new but he was also eager. Marshal only hoped he'd find a decent group.
"Alright Marshal what's the play?" He gave the area another quick look over. Still no real issues. "Well hell. Let's do this."
He straightened himself up and started to walk towards the door of the bar. He'd been around royal types before, a couple cousins or Jarls or some such crap always came to the policeman's ball every year. Probably just there to feel more important than they were. This however, this was something else, this was Prince Valnoral Kas, King Elrik's brother. Marshal was good at a great many things but tact was something he had always struggled with. It served him well as a sheriff but any time other then talked to his deputies or yelling at a perp generally ended in him saying something he didn't really want to. He knew this about himself.
He approached the table and stood next to the prince. Bowing low, he knew the protocol at least, he spoke. "My prince, I am Marcus Shurloft, Sheriff of District 3. Is there anything that I can do for you, perhaps have my men escort you safely to the gates of District 1?"

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.