The kingdom was at peace. The land had broken away from the Northern Reaches long ago - the one noble house that wasn't tainted escaped to the South. There, had risen up a port city. The city was called Cer. A beautiful city with many twists and turns, arches and gardens, and of course, the harbor, with its great sweeping ships. The climate was mild, with soft breezes and a dry heat that clung to the city streets. It was nothing like the North, where the noble house had crawled from. The House of Libon had made the South its home for a long time now, generations upon generations of Libons had ruled over the city. The were a lawful family, proud of their traditions, but with a healthy respect for the rules of the people. The good king Bovh Libon had ruled over Cer for many years. He had a son. Only one. His name was Aleron Libon, and was well known to be a summoner and knight - chivalrous and noble. He was the crown prince, and the people loved him, and his strange, pale family, with their dark hair and blue eyes. And then, one day, the king was assassinated. King Bovh Libon had been the wielder of a very special sword. It was called Deheubartha, the Blade of the Lost House. It had been in the house of Libon since the day it was forged, the day the family first came to the South and became the rulers of Cer. And the sword was gone, when they found the king's body, still sitting in his Throne. The King had been stabbed through the heart, and runes of demonic power surrounded him. The whole palace glowed with the light from Hell itself. The Queen, reportedly, sat on her throne next to the king, and did not move from the spot, even when the mages tried to cleanse the ground, she did not move. And with the sword, and the king's life, the crown prince Aleron also disappeared. The assassin was seen running from the palace. They were wearing a thick, black cape, and an over sized hood. Their face could not be seen, but in their hand, there was the glimmer of a dagger and the flash of red blood. The cannoneers did not hesitate. A splay of bullets, thick, heavy lead bullets were shot at the assassin. And the identity of the the assassin remained undiscovered, because by the time the canoneers got down to the palace's gates from their high point on the steps, there was no body. There was just a trail of blood. There was a young man on the top of a building. He was crawling on the roof-tops, and watched the bustling streets for a moment with careful, curious eyes - like blue glass marbles. The young man was handsomely dressed; blue tunic, grey leggings, and a fine pair of black boots. His hair was as black as his boots, and was too long for pleasant company. He carried a sword at his side, something that was unusually large for the young man's lithe build. It had a royal crest of some kind on it, the same sort of design embroidered around the base of his tunic. There was some sort of primitive firearm at his waist as well, but to the ignorant, it was just a strange, thick stick. The young man had a stain on the front of the tunic as well, a large red cloud around a hole in both tunic and skin. There was a hole. A huge, gaping hole. He was run all the way through. He promptly leapt onto the street, hiding the hole in his chest as best he could, tossing a bit of a blue cloak over it. He coughed a little, some blood staining his lips, and he ducked through the crowds, trying to move swiftly, so that nobody got a very good look at him. He was moving as fast as he could, with the hole and all. He was trying to make it to the docks. And so, he kept moving, and moving, until he came to the edge of the harbour. He watched the grand ships pass, with their wooden masts and ornately carved figureheads. And then he saw the platoon of guards walking around the harbour. So he ran, on those black boots, up the ramp into the first ship he saw.