#Dunwall Distillery District

[treaversalley]

[karnaca78]

[The City of Dunwall - Distillery District]

[two-crabs]

It’s raining in Dunwall. It’s always raining in Dunwall. The streets are slick and shiny, and oil lamps cast long pallid shadows across the walls. In their light, the mosaic of red-brown bricks that make up the city are all rendered in flat and frigid grays. At this time of night, Dunwall’s alleys and byways are quiet, except for the steady patter of rain or scuttling of rats.  It’s peaceful, almost. 

Maudlin is making their way across the bridge from Draper’s Ward, retracing a path that has become as known to them as the inside of their room or Madam Edwards’s parlor. Between the sound of rain as it hits the river, and the change in the cobblestones as they pass into the Distillery District, they can walk this way and back by sound and feel alone. 

They’re past the Abbey, skirting along the edges of the Slaughterhouse District, slipping through narrower and more precarious passages as they approach home, when they hear it. A long, low whistle, and then the laughing of men. It echoes down the lanes, and in the space between Maudlin’s ears, and sends a chill down their spine. 

“Hey, pretty—” a low gravely voice finds them, and Maudlin rushes to hide their hair under their coat. They’d let it down at Madam Edwards’s house, to relieve the beginnings of an exhaustion headache, and simply not thought about it since. “—what are you doin’ out here all by yourself?” 

Maudlin’s stomach drops. What were they doing? Madam Edwards had insisted they stay until morning. Hester had even offered to walk with them, but she had taken Madam Edwards up on her offer, and they couldn’t bear to deprive her of a single minute more of sleep. 

“Comin’ home from the Cat?” —and— “Don’t be shy now.” Two different voices, but both just as oily as the first, and when Maudlin finally finds the courage to look behind them, three men in long coats and heavy boots are silhouetted by the rain and scarce lamp light, keeping steady pace behind them.

Four blocks from the boarding house, faster if they cut down the narrow alley between the train tracks and the canal, but that would force them into even tighter quarters with their pursuers. 

“I have no money!” Maudlin calls over their shoulder, quieter than they want to. In front of them, the path splits three ways, and they have to stop to think—damn them for still having to think—about which way is the most direct route. In the breath it takes, they hear the men chuckle again, closer, and watch the shadow of a fourth emerge from one of the alleyways. 

Maudlin breaks left, but only makes it a few paces before something falls to the ground in front of them, and shatters. Heart pounding and limbs quaking, Maudlin presses their back to the soaked wall on instinct, and stares at the shards of a grey roofing tile scattered in the middle of the street. 

And then Maudlin looks up—

A hand on their wrist shocks them, gasping, into action, and this time they do run. They move as fast as they can through twisting passages and over uneven streets, blind to the turns they should be making, vision blurred by the rain and senses clouded by panic. They can’t tell if the footfalls behind them are getting closer, can’t tell if the fourth figure joined them, can’t tell which way would take them to a main thoroughfare, doesn’t know if a member of the city watch would help them even if they found one. 

Maudlin steps in a puddle a full hand deeper than it looked, rolls their ankle, and drops, wet and heavy to the ground, like a gamebird shot from the sky.  

Dunwall is a dangerous place, it was said, at port, and on the Abandon, and in Tyvia. And  all they can think about as the three men hover over them, faces black with shadow, is that this is not the kind of danger Maudlin needed to be warned about. 

Wincing, they haul themself up onto an elbow and try to back away. “I have…something… dangerous…” they pant, and reach for their pocket in a clumsy bluff. The men all snicker again. 

Rainwater soaking through their clothes, Maudlin stumbles to get their feet under them, but the cobblestones are slick and an uncontrollable shake grips their muscles. “Please…” they beg, exhaling and raising both quivering hands. “I don’t w—” 

The biggest man slaps a hand to his neck like he was stung by a wasp, and groans in pain, before collapsing to the pavement, his head smacking into the stone beneath him, inches from Maudlin’s knee. There is a hollow dart sticking out of his neck, its shaft a gently glowing green. 

The other two men jump back, one of them brandishing a small knife, and crane their necks to look up and down the alleys around them. They mutter something back and forth in what might be Morleyan and might be Serkonan, and might just be a Northern Gristoli so heavily accented as to be its own wretched dialect. Whatever it is Maudlin barely registers that they’re talking at all; there is blood rushing in their ears and a thought repeating in their mind: I am being watched. 

As suddenly as the first, a second man wails before his legs give out, falling into an awkward and painful looking heap. 

The last man, the one with the knife, turns to Maudlin, then, and points it at them, and hurls a stream of what they can now tell is a foreign language and, unmistakably, vile. He steps around the man at his feet, and Maudlin pushes away, until they’re practically hugging the wall, a screaming ankle, poor traction, and uncooperative limbs still preventing them from standing. 

In the midst of the unfamiliar abuses, the man stops and spits in Maudlin’s direction. It’s lost in the fall of the rain, but they shudder at the sight nonetheless.

And then, a series of jarring sounds: a brief rush of wind, the metallic singing of a sword being unsheathed, bone cracking under impact, and a third and final body dropping silently to the ground. 

It’s quiet again, in Dunwall, as Maudlin stares up at the figure that was hidden behind last man. In their fist is a sword held backwards, knife-like blade over one shoulder, butt end held ready to strike. Their knee-high boots are covered in muddy gaiters, and planted in a fighting stance. They are festooned with bandoleers, and beneath the hood of a heavy grey oiled-leather coat, the glassy eyes of a whaler’s mask stare down at Maudlin. 

After a moment of held breath, Maudlin grits their teeth and finally, slowly, manages to pull themself to their feet, still leaning against the wall for support, and never takes their eyes off the whaler. 

Hesitant, the whaler drops their sword, and sheathes it into a thick belt at their waist. They stand there, then, unmoving, and Maudlin can see their chest rising and falling with quickened breath. 

Maudlin swallows a few times, wipes the rain from their eyes. “Th-thank you, I suppose.” Even their jaw is shaking, so their words come out in an ungraceful tumble. “You…whichever one y-y—you are…t-tell your boss, also, thank you.” And Maudlin inclines their head in a hesitant bow. 

The whaler takes a step forward, an arm half-extended, but straightens again when Maudlin recoils at the movement. 

“I am not f-far…from h—ome.” Maudlin says, and tests putting weight on their ankle. It is unpleasant, but bearable. They look down at the men unconscious—or worse—at their feet. “I should-d not be here. If—when they w-wake up.” 

The whaler is silent—Not Pip, thinks Maudlin—and still, water dripping down the eyepieces and off the nose-like end of the mask. 

Maudlin turns, one hand on the wall, and takes a single hobbling step before looking back over their shoulder. 

The whaler has one hand lifted to the clasp at the bottom of their chin, where Maudlin knows the mask is buckled in place. For a moment, Maudlin is curious to meet another one of these ghosts that haunt the city. 

“Tell also…your b-boss,” Maudlin says, watching them. “That…that Miss Hester is staying with Madam Amruta Edwards tonight, yes? In Drapers Ward? In case he…wonders. About these things.” The whaler’s hand drops to their side, then, and Maudlin clears their throat. “And…in case that is why you were…here. Tonight.” Maudlin grimaces again, pain shooting up the back of their calf.  “She is not with me. She is…safe. And dry.”

The whaler takes another faltering step towards Maudlin, then looks down. Slowly, they raise their other hand, and place it in the center of their chest. In the closeness of the alley, Maudlin can hear their muffled breathing through the mask, and can feel the weight of significance in the gesture. But before they can say anything more, there is gust of wind, and the whaler dissolves before them like paper in the rain. 

Maudlin stands for a moment, already soaked to the bone, and hopes idly that the men on the ground are not dead, before starting the slow walk home. 

[ormakona]

Slackjaw.  Weeper.  Weepers are sufferers of the rat plague in the last stages of the disease. They squat in various abandoned areas throughout Dunwall, such as the Distillery District and the Flooded District, and their numbers increase with chaos.

[first-stricture]

Some mystery fuels their steps.

[sketchfoot]

why they swords do that tho

[loveofdetail]

Mapping Dunwall

I've developed a minor obsession with figuring out the layout of Dunwall and the positions of all the major places in the game in relation to each other. If you've played the game a lot, you will probably already know some of this, but I was really surprised at some of the cool details (and a few inconsistencies, heh) that I found while compiling this. Also, it's just nice to have a bunch of information in one place I suppose.

The Tower of Dunwall

The most noticeable thing is that you can easily make out the Hound Pits Pub, Emily's tower included, directly across the river from the waterlock. Behind it are some buildings up high on a hill which, while they are not actually part of the game, are a fairly useful landmark.

Panning rightward, you see a large, fairly fancy building with two smokestacks and two spires, but as far as I know this building is never identified in the game.

Farther to the right, you see Kaldwin's Bridge in the distance. Being large and distinctively shaped, it is one of the most useful landmarks on Dunwall's skyline and you can actually see it from most locations in the game. Unfortunately, it also presents one of the few incontestable inconsistencies in the layout of the city. But, more on that later...

Continuing the clockwise scan of the horizon leads to another landmark: the clocktower, which is the main method of determining which side of the river you are on in any given district.

And, finally, the Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island, which you can see if you look to the left of the water lock. This definitively establishes the direction of the sea, so we know that Kaldwin's Bridge and the clocktower are somewhat upriver of Dunwall Tower, Coldridge Prison, and the Old Port District.

A final detail:

After escaping Coldridge, Corvo definitely exits the sewers downriver from the pub... despite what Samuel's dialogue says. :P

Kaldwin's Bridge

The mission "The Royal Physician" gives some of the most explicit information regarding Dunwall's layout: Sokolov's apartment is on the north end of the bridge, and the mission begins at the Southside Gate.

This shot was taken from the very top of the bridge. Sokolov's greenhouse is easily seen, and due to the presence of the clocktower we can definitively infer:

The clocktower, Dunwall Tower, and Coldridge prison are all on the north side of the river

The Hound Pits Pub is on the south side of the river

The Wrenhaven flows mostly east, perhaps east-by-southeast, through Dunwall

The taller, completed tower of Kaldwin's bridge is the south tower.

This last point actually contradicts the view of Kaldwin's Bridge from Dunwall tower. In fact, every time Kaldwin's Bridge is visible in the distance from another location, the completed side appears nearer to you, no matter which side of the river you are on. In light of this inconsistency, I think it makes sense to consider the canonical orientation of the bridge to be how it is in the actual mission.

Looking downriver/east, Dunwall Tower, Coldridge Prison, and the Lighthouse are all fairly easy to make out. This makes me think that you should be able to see the Hound Pits Pub on the opposite shore. After all, the buildings on the hill I noticed earlier seem to be there. Yet, for some reason, nothing from the Old Port District is actually visible.

Looking upriver doesn't really reveal anything of note, except that the direction of the sunset supports the earlier inference about the Wrenhaven flowing east.

The Hound Pits Pub/Old Port District

The view from the pub is essentially consistent with everything else so far.

The Flooded District

The location of the Flooded District is not immediately obvious, but I am very confident that it is just downriver from the Old Port District.

For one thing, Corvo travels from the Flooded District to the Hound Pits Pub on foot. Unless Dunwall's sewers go underneath the Wrenhaven (I guess possible, but it seems unlikely) it would have also be on the south side of the river.

There is also this loudspeaker announcement:

"Attention, Dunwall citizens. Be advised, the River Krust infestation has spread downriver as far as the river mouth and flooded district. Do not attempt to approach or destroy a River Krust. Any item recovered from doing so are considered state property."

Getting a shot of this area from another mission is rather difficult; most are simply too far upriver.

However, I managed to get this from the water lock with Corvo's zoom lens. I've turned up the contrast quite a bit because it was very hard to make out details before. Certainly seems like it could be the flooded district.

And here's a non-zoomed, non-edited, daytime shot of the same location:

Looking toward the river from the Greaves Refinery, the clocktower is faintly visible on the far left and the city seems to end as you pan to the right.

Furthermore, this part of the Flooded District is bounded by a tall hill, just like the hill visible from Dunwall Tower. This building especially seems to match the building partway up the hill face in the shots from the water lock.

Fun aside: you can see the Chamber of Commerce from the refinery, but even if you get on top of Jessamine's head, you cannot see the refinery from the Chamber of Commerce.

Finally, this in-game map shows the Rudshore Gate at the west end of the Flooded District. Since Corvo exited that way, it seems likely that the Hound Pits Pub is immediately upriver.

The Distillery District

The Distillery District is by far the most difficult location in the main game to pin down, due to several details which seem irreconcilable with each other.

The view from the docks seems to place us on the south shore of the river (since the clocktower is on the opposite side), upriver from Kaldwin's bridge.

This makes sense because it's not like we can see the Lighthouse or any other landmarks of note to the left:

However, this is contradicted by one of the loudspeaker announcements:

"Attention. All citizens living on the North side of the river between John Clavering Boulevard and Dunwall Tower are advised to remain indoors until further notice."

Now, you could argue that perhaps Clavering Boulevard continues on the other side of the river as well. However, that doesn't quite take the context of the announcement into account: It is only played once, immediately after your return from the mission "High Overseer Cambell." It's obviously a warning due to Corvo's actions, so why would it only speak of the north side of the river if the Distillery District and Holger Square were on the south side?

Now, one inconsistent loudspeaker announcement isn't that big a deal, but it is only the first inconsistency.

Let's consider the in-game map of the Distillery District:

Now, the river is accessible both from the Golden Cat and the backyard of the office of the High Overseer. Since neither of them are near the docks and they are on opposite sides of the district, it would seem that the Distillery District is on a peninsula of land that juts out into the Wrenhaven.

I am not the first person to come to this conclusion:

You go, Pauolo.

A fun little easter egg, consistent with the above map, is that you can see the dome of the Golden Cat from the distillery yard.

The problem occurs when you consider the view from the balconies of the Golden Cat:

If the Distillery district were on the south side of the river, then it shouldn't be possible to see the clocktower from the Golden Cat; it would be the backyard of the Office of the High Overseer that faces east toward the clock.

But that doesn't happen either. It almost seems as though the skylines of the GC and OotHO have been swapped:

I briefly considered that those forested islands might be the same location seen from different vantages, but... that doesn't really fit either.

So I guess there are two possible scenarios:

The Distillery District is on the south side of the river. The view from the docks is correct, but the views from the GC and Overseers' backyard are incorrect (maybe swapped) and the loudspeaker announcement is a dev oversight.

The Distillery District is on the north side of the river. The views from the GC and Overseers' backyard are both correct but the view from the docks when you start the mission(s) is wrong. The loudspeaker announcement is consistent.

I lean toward the second option myself, but it really could go either way.

The Estate District

The Estate District either contains or is very close to the clocktower. It is not on the shore of the river but does have canal access.

Bonus: In-Game Maps

This is the map-slash-table Corvo sees Hiram Burrows looking and in the void, and... it's backwards! 

No really, either the Wrenhaven is flowing west or all the buildings switched shores.

(It also shows the flooded district directly across from Dunwall Tower instead of a bit downriver, but eh, those chunky models look like an inexact science anyway :P)

...whoa check out this figurine of Daud standing on the flooded district!

(Makes sense that Burrows would mark that, doesn't it...)

And here's the real maptable found in Burrows's safehouse. Behold, it is no longer backwards. It's still not entirely consistent with the game (note: lack of steep hill behind the Flooded District) but all things considered, it's not a bad guide.

SO, TO RECAP:

Dunwall Tower: Fairly close to the mouth of the river on the north side

Hound Pits: Directly across the river from Dunwall Tower

Flooded District: just east/downriver from the pub, more or less right at the mouth of the river.

Kaldwin's Bridge: Upriver/west from Dunwall Tower, with the completed tower on the south side

Estate District/Clocktower: Directly north of Kaldwin's bridge, inland a bit from the river proper.

Distillery District: Upriver from everything else, though unclear whether it is on the north or south side. Probably on a small peninsula or between two inlets.

Kingsparrow Island: duh

I'd love to do this for Slaughterhouse Row, the Legal District, and Draper's Ward as well, but... if I am remembering those missions correctly, there really AREN'T any clues as to their location. My headcanon is that Draper's Ward is far upriver oh my god this post is long enough shut up

ETA: Oh man I almost forgot! If you look back toward Dunwall from Kingsparrow Island in high chaos, there is apparently a giant fire in the approximate location of the Hound Pits Pub:

[niknssuns]

Dunwall streets sudy 

uuu it took me only half a year to finish it it’s not even finished but i can’t look at it anymore so...

[filiasyth]

guys, I really love the distillery district

[harrissam19]

Dishonored Blog Project: High Overseer Campbell

Corvo and Samuel arrive at Dunwall's Distillery District as the moon looms large over the dying city. City guards can be seen tossing bodies into a boat from a bridge, all oozing with plague. The streets are dark and filled with unexpected danger at every turn. Corvo takes out the heart straight away to check for the whereabouts of bonecharms and runes that will improve his skills. This is when the game first shows the player that each level has a variety of different approaches that they can take to complete their objective:

A bone charm lies at the end of a destroyed bridge, its song calling to Corvo. He sneaks past the city guards to get to the charm. Here lies a corpse of a man next to a small fire, a makeshift bed and book. Next Marked on the wall is a love heart with the names of a couple. Inside the book is a tragic love song about the plague. This is an example of how Dishonored immerses the player by creating small areas within the level that tell their own personal story. Is the corpse one of the people from the couple or simply someone who had found their hideout to keep safe?

Corvo continues past the guards and through to Holger square, the base of operations for the Overseers. Here he encounters Martin for the first time who is being held by an Overseer, who is taken out by Corvo before he frees Martin. Martin is happy to see Corvo and says that he will see him back at the Hound Pits Pub. But before he leaves he gives me information that will help me when dealing with Campbell later in level. He also tells Corvo that the High Overseer is intending on poisoning a guard called Curnow, a situation that the player can use to their advantage. Callista, back at the Hound Pits Pub, told Corvo to save Geoff Curnow as he is a good man and her only remaining family too.

Now it was time for Corvo to inflitrate the Overseer's building and complete his mission. When inside the building I found readings of a punishment carried out by the Overseers for those who have committed heinous acts against the order, but have not broken codes that would otherwise result in execution. I saw this as a much more fit way of dealing with the Overseer as oppose to just murdering him.

Given my prior conversation with Callista about her uncle, I decided to save Geoff Curnow from being poisoned. To do this, I emptied the glass with the poison in to make sure he didn't die. I then knocked him out and took him to a safe place where he would no longer be in danger of the Overseers. After this Corvo meets Samuel the boatman around the back of the Overseer building to return to the Hound Pits Pub.

By giving the player the ability to choose how they want to approach each level with a range of options, the sense of immersion is much greater. This is because the player can really get to grips with the environment they are playing in as well as behave and handle situations with characters any way they want to.

[treaversalley]

[incorrect-dishonored-quotes]

Hello! Any thoughts on Slackjaw and the Bottlestreet gang? What about the other gangs in Dunwall?

I was really hoping someone would ask about this! I LOVE Slackjaw and his gang. The most interesting part of Slackjaw, to me, is his relationship with Corvo. Even though he's a crime boss and gang leader, Slackjaw is the Low Chaos alternative. Both at the Golden Cat and in the Flooded District with the brawl against Granny Rags, siding with Slackjaw is considered the moral choice. And it's telling to his character that he is this strangle, morally unaligned man. He's not good, but he does make and distribute elixir in the Distillery District during the plague. He charges the residents, and sends his gang for the occasional shakedown, but is overall helping in a place that the Watch has deemed "too sick" and "too risky." By no means is he good, but there is a potential there that Corvo must see in him.

(Minor The Corroded Man Spoilers)

So Slackjaw going from this crime boss that offers a couple of shady, equally beneficial, deals with Corvo, to being recruited into his Spynetwork in The Corroded Man, is very interesting and a good use of his character, even if it's in a minor way. At first I found it a strange choice on Corvo's part, but once I thought about it more, it made sense. Odd times call for odd allies.

(End of Spoilers)

As for the other gangs, I know less about. But I do really enjoy Lizzy Stride and The Dead Eels. I find it hilarious that she's Daud's best chance at an ally, and I'm sure the two annoy each other to wit's end. The Hatters, on the other hand, we got a good peek into. I find the fight for power between Nurse Trimble and Mr. Hat to be a cool twist on who's really in control of the gang. I enjoy how The Dead Eels and The Hatters are portrayed differently than The Bottle Street Gang. The two are in an active war and neither are really shown to be the "good" or "better" side. They're both bloodthirsty gangs that want territory. And no matter how I leave things with The Dead Eels or The Hatters, there's kind of a sour taste left in my mouth.

I'm going to stick with the gangs that are shown in the game. I, personally, don't know much about The Sixways Gang from The Return of Daud, and even if I did I don't want to go too heavy into potential spoilers about that.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 3

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider. yes, I made that executive decision.

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and  Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. The story centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: Daud transforms. It’s horrible and wonderful all at the same time. There is a mild description of consuming a person, but I wouldn’t consider it cannibalism. Necessarily. Werewolves sometimes... eat people. AO3 link First :: Previous :: Next

----------------------------------------------------

Dunwall, Gristol

Month of Clans -- 1820

Daud set up a meeting with the contract creator the next night. It gave him time to prepare, to consider his options and perhaps, to look a little less frightful for the person he wished to work with. The address given on the contract was nondescript; a small general practitioner's office, tucked away in Draper's Ward and identified by the universal dual-snake staff on the window. Daud chose to drop by after hours, of course; no need for others to see the owner conversing with an assassin. He had planted an earlier note to say he would be visiting unconventionally but the individual inside the office room still jumped when suddenly a whaler mask was knocking gently at the upstairs office window.

It was a small man with a round face and large eyebrows that greeted Daud, glasses getting pushed up as he quickly came over, unlatching the terrace doors and allowing the assassin entry. Daud slipped in, silent and stealthy despite the tremble in his hands and shoulders. He hadn't expected his client to be a doctor and quietly hoped the man wouldn't pay close enough attention to ask questions.

"Thank you for finally getting back to me on this contract," the man -- Misha Romanov, if Daud remembered the contract properly -- nervously said, looking over Daud. His eyes trailed from the mask and hood to the black clothes to the whaler blade at his side. He swallowed, clearly intimidated, walking around the office to physically put distance between the two of them. Daud tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

"You've never hired a hitman before," Daud remarked, posing it more as an annoyed observation than a question. It was clear; from the man's unease to the amount of coin offered, he was a novice when it came to dealing with and understanding the job he was asking for. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all; but Daud was here, and it would be ludicrous to turn around now. Might as well make the best of it.

"This is my first time, yes," Misha replied, choosing to busy himself with one of his displayed medical instruments instead of looking Daud in the glassy eye. "I have never had a need before. I try more to save lives, rather than take them, you see." He wrung his hands, then offered a small smile. "But now... my brothers are dead and I have no idea what happened to them, or their dogs. They were the only family I had left… I didn't know where else to turn."

"Misha Romanov then, right?" The doctor nodded, confirming what he knew. "What happened to your brothers-- before they disappeared?" Daud asked, his voice muffled behind the thick mask. Misha, emboldened by the question, answered as clinically as possible, recounting how his brothers had gotten into a dog fighting business over the last few years, completely sucked in, throwing money into dogs and gambling over Fink's wagers. It had been an obsession -- one that ultimately, they didn't return from. Naturally, Misha feared the worst and blamed Eustace and Howard Fink for their disappearance.

"I saw the one brother, Eustace, sulking near the cafe one morning soon after Adrian and Mikhail didn't return at their usual time," Misha supplied, "and that's when I knew I'd be powerless to get justice unless I hired an assassin. So I posted my contract and waited. And waited. I had almost given up on anyone taking the job, until you contacted me. Your interest in this hit is greatly appreciated."

Daud held up a frustrated hand. "Please do not offer appreciation, not until my work is done. I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm doing it because it's personal, and the pay is so low only someone like me would take the contract anyway. If anyone is the lucky party in this deal, trust me, it's you."

Misha blinked. "Oh? You… you know Fink?" He then blanched, his face going terrified. "You didn't work for him in the past, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," Daud said, taking a too-ragged breath. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, across his wounds-- even that simple contact burned. "I actually was contracted to kill Eustace's brother, Howard. The same day your brothers most likely perished, I almost died, too. Lady Luck herself is the only reason I'm still alive; the Fink brothers were into some deep, disgusting shit."

Misha blinked, adjusting his glasses before giving Daud a more thorough look-over. Daud stiffened under the gaze, suddenly self-consciousness, and he tried to still the tremor of his limbs.

"Are you well now? You appear in pain, or feverish."

Of course this guy could tell. Daud cursed him for being such an astute doctor.

"You're not being paid enough as a doctor if you can tell that just from looking me over," Daud sneered, hiding the rasp of his voice. This only furrowed the man's brow further, his tone growing serious.

"If you need me to offer medical assistance before the mission, I'd be more than willing to--"

"I'm here for a job, doctor. Not a diagnosis."

"Right, of course, of course… But, if you're still in a state when the job is over, consider it part of the payment. I can easily add it to the contract between us, mister…?"

Void-- "Daud. Just Daud." He said, annoyed. "No Lord, no mister, no honorifics at all. I'm an assassin, not a noble."

"Sorry, just trying to be polite. And you know my name, of course, but I can supply a business card if needed--"

"No. All I need is half payment up front, and as many details on Fink that you can provide." Misha nodded; he went to a dusty safe in the corner, opened it, and pulled out a small purse of 100 silver. Daud noticed very few valuables in the safe and wondered just how lucrative being a general practitioner was in the Draper's Ward. Or, perhaps, his gambling brothers had preyed on his meager earnings too, an addiction that drained the doctor and ultimately tore apart their family. He felt the urge to ask, to reach out and inquire, but he managed to keep his curiosity to himself. It wasn't important to the job, and it wasn't Daud's business to know how wealthy his clients were, or where they got the coin they paid him with.

Misha returned with the coin and Daud carefully pocketed it. Misha also handed over papers: they contained a few addresses, including one not too far from here. Daud frowned under the mask, his breath hissing out of the respirator.

"That's his home and work addresses," Misha explained. "I tend to see him at this cafe, Swinney's, down off Cashmere Ave in the mornings. I pass it on my way to the clinic in the mornings."

"That's quite a ways from here," Daud muttered, before he could stop himself. Misha just shrugged.

"The commute is long on foot, but it's what I can afford. Most nights I just stay here. Cheaper that way."

Daud said nothing. Just crumpled the paper in his hand before folding it up and tucking it away, next to his contract.

"Do not be surprised if this takes some time. Assassination is not easy, nor is it quick in the way you expect it is. I will seek you out once the hit is complete, understood?"

Misha nodded, and if he had any further questions, he didn't ask them. "Whatever you need to do, I suppose."

"That's why they call it 'wet work,' Romanov," Daud told him, a hint of dark humor coloring his words. Daud then took his departure, leaving Misha and the office as silently as he had entered.

------

It should be simple. An easy set up: an easy take down. Silent, efficient, no trace to let anyone ask after. Eustace Fink was not well guarded, not spatially aware, and he was incredibly routine. Textbook, really.

Instead, it was shaping up to be one of the hardest stake outs of Daud's career.

He had spent a few days setting up the kill, pulling himself through the motions. He cached any necessary food, plenty of coin, and a few changes of clothes. He knew where he needed to be and when. He had all of his equipment restocked from the black market right outside of the Distillery District, where nobody asked twice about his mask or his stance. It was all ready to go.

But of course it couldn't be that simple. Nothing of importance ever was.

It was the fourth night of his stakeout when it happened. As soon as he settled in to make the hit finally happen, his fever rolled him over like a riptide.

It came on quickly, the nausea. He hadn't expected it; for the last week his fever had been low-grade, barely noticeable. He had, effectively, learned to ignore it. But it came roaring back up as if it was the day he spent crawling out of the sewer. One second, he was relaxing, waiting for Fink to be alone in his own home; the next he was lurching, tossing the whaler mask up and over his head just in time to empty the contents of his stomach over the side of the roof.

It stank so bad he reeled, dry heaving again. He managed to keep the rest of it down, the sweat drenching his forehead as he wiped his mouth with the back of a clammy glove. He growled in frustration, his arms barely holding his weight, but he spent the extra moments to breathe, evening out his heartbeat and emotions. He looked over to the estate; Fink was alone. Daud felt his stomach flip again, making itself known. He swallowed back the sensation; it was now or never.

Sickness be damned, he needed to get this hit off.

He stood and his feet were surprisingly steady for the vertigo he was experiencing. Not that he was worried; Daud had stalked and successfully killed someone drunk before. It was a dare, one that Rulfio didn't think he would go through with, but he was even younger and cockier back then. A little head sickness was nothing compared to that job, but the thought of Rulfio sobered him enough to keep focused on the task at hand. He lithely jumped from the roof, heading to the Draper's Ward residence, as silent as a street cat.

He kept a bead on Fink even as he felt the sweat gather on his forehead again; something in his chest felt like it wanted to burst, and Daud vaguely hoped it wasn't his heart. He slipped on a roof tile, steadied himself, then listened intently, hearing Eustace's voice float up.

"I should be fine, but I can't help but think that I should be more worried about what happened that night. I mean-- I woke up and Howard was dead and so was that huge black magic brute. There was another person, dead in the corner, and so many unlucky bodies that didn't make it out alive… there will be questions soon. So many questions. How do they not smell it there under the Pub? Maybe the rats ate the bodies… how convenient if so. Nothing to investigate, nothing to convict. If the City Watch ever got wind of this..."

It took Daud a bit of processing to suss out if Eustace was speaking to someone else in the room, but no; the beat and cadence was reminiscent of someone recording an audiograph. If he listened closely enough, nearing the balcony door, he could hear the whirr of the machine, the click of the hole punch. His breathing hitched and his pulse thundered in his ear.

His prey was so, deliciously, tantalizingly, close. Daud stayed his hand, listening closely.

The machine stopped, pushing the card out and finishing the audiograph. There were footsteps, and Eustace walked out onto his balcony, his hands tight as he tucked the audiograph away in his vest, where he clearly thought it safe. His back was to Daud and the balcony door, lighting a cigar, the smoke curling up into the warm summer night air.

The wind roared in Daud's ears. It would be so easy to drop down, slit his throat, watch the blood spill over his gloves-- and suddenly he was aching for it, longing for the crunch of bones, the heat of crimson rivers running from a burst vein, the thrill of a new kill…

The thoughts were intrusive and revolting, nearly causing him to heave again. He still managed to hold himself together, not wanting to drown in his mask, even ignoring the persistent itch on his face. The rising threat of bile burned at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down, his grip growing tight on the roof's edge. He held his position and waited, patience baked into him from years of careful practice. Fink eventually finished enjoying his cigar, extinguishing the butt before turning back to his room.

Daud waited for Fink to pass under him. He then slipped down, his boots silent against the stone. He crouched, righted himself, and pulled his blade from his side. His thumb found the notch in the metal.

When Eustace Fink turned around to close the balcony doors, Daud was there, glassy eyes and muzzled mask glaring down at the second noble that had caused this nightmare of his to happen.

Fink opened his mouth to scream. Daud rushed him, faster than he's ever moved. A powerful hand gripped Eustace by the throat, silencing him and guiding him over to a wall far from any escape route. He felt like nothing in Daud's grasp, like he was a weighted bag that Daud had the displeasure of carrying for a friend. The man was larger than him, heftier, and yet Daud could take him and lift him with a single arm, his right hand still holding the blade he'd drawn. It was heady and unbelievable, Daud didn't know where this power was coming from but it surged through him like a rising storm. He tapped further into that tempest, slamming Eustace into the wall next to his desk.

The man whimpered. Daud snarled. Fink flinched and gasped and Daud almost laughed. He can't believe someone so weak-hearted tried to command a literal monster.

Or perhaps, a nasty little voice in his head supplied, the monster was the weak one... Show him that you are different. Show him what your Power is.

"You and your brother sure made a lot of enemies, didn't you, Eustace…" Daud growled out, his teeth feeling oddly heavy, morphing his words as he spoke them. They came out graveled and sharp and he suppressed the urge to lick his lips as he continued. "If I'm here, you have a bigger problem than the City Watch finding bloated bodies under a riverside bar."

Fink said nothing. Instead, he started crying. Of all things, the man wept in front of his soon-to-be killer. Daud almost recoiled in disgust; this man wasn't even worth the coin. He slammed Fink against the wall again, eliciting a startled yelp from him.

"Do you even know why I'm here, Eustace Fink?" Daud spat the name out like it was undercooked blood ox. "Do you know who killed your brother? It was the assassin who you thought was dead in the sewers when you woke up. Your brother's monster ruined me but I survived and if you value your life, you're going to give me the answers I deserve."

His voice grew in power despite the low whisper he spoke with. His words filled his own ears, reaching the room around them, and Fink gulped visibly. He looked Daud over, rasping against the hold that kept him in place.

"Did it mark you?" He asked, finally. "The Outsider's monster?"

"And if it did?" Daud threatened, mask dangerously close to Fink's face. "What does it matter?" He brought the blade up, his head tilting. "What do you know, Eustace Fink?"

"Ah, I-I don't know as much as Howard did! He found the original beast, not me! But it… they always changed. The curse was always passed down. There isn't a cure for it. They all went mad and eventually--" Eustace gasped and his words died as Daud's grip dangerously tightened. He recalled what Brimsley had said to him, the words burning in his ears.

"You're one now too, aren't you?"

Daud's body lurched. His grip loosened, freeing Fink as that nausea filled him again, along with a different sensation, one where his head, his chest, his limbs wanted to burst, his skin scorching him all over.

"No," Daud rasped out, his eyes far away. "I am not--" He stared at his gloves; his vision blurring dangerously. When Fink tried to crawl away, however, his sight caught the movement, head turning sharply. In a flurry, the blade was singing through Eustace's heels; the tendons sliced like butter and Fink collapsed, crying out. The blood pooled around his ankles, the smell of it sharp in Daud's nose. Eustace stayed prone on the floor, whimpering, his face rapidly losing color as shock set in.

Pathetic.

Daud hunched over Fink's form, his breath ragged and heavy. Eustace stared at him, eyes wet and terrified, and Daud felt his seams unravel, his body falling apart.

"It's happening? Here, now? Oh Void, oh Outsider's eyes…" Fink continued to babble, crying out for the fabled god of the Void, as if such an entity existed, could even save him from what was happening. Daud opened his mouth to refute Eustace; it came out as a splintered roar, words failing him.

"Where is your god, Eustace?" His voice boomed, but he did not know where the words came from, not when his mouth was making such unearthly noise. "You were the one who played god, killing assassins for your games, your bloody gambling coin. Did you think yourself honorable, setting such a trap? How many men died to serve you and your fucked up brother?"

Eustace paled and he looked so small, so tiny, so weak. To think this man and his brother succeeded as much as they had, enslaving unknowing participants for entertainment…

His head reeled in anger and rage. He pulled the man close, his hands curling into smoking, burning claws that dig deep into Eustace's clothes, ripping at skin.

"Stop praying to a god who won't listen! This is your reality! Now face your judgement!"

Daud ripped the whaler mask off and underneath was no longer the face of a man. A true muzzle burst from his face, black and filled with glistening, razored fangs. His wounds burned and steamed as his eyes bulged and he screamed, the pain of the last month consuming him entirely. Ribs cracked and bones shifted and he grew, his body doubling, tripling. His skin was tearing off and it felt so good, like he had been waiting his whole life, his whole existence, for this singular moment of unbridled ecstasy.

He roared and it was like the land, the sea, like the Void itself, shook under the sound of his cry. He laughed, eyes watering, filled with relief and pain and it was all so much, too much. He screeched, the sounding reminiscent of a dying whale, before his teeth slammed together like a crashing wave. Fink was still in his vicinity; he could smell the fear, hear the pleading, but all it did was anger him further. He didn't need this sniveling worm of a human.

A clawed hand grabbed Eustace and in the next second his body was in ribbons. Guts spilled and a head rolled and Daud felt his mind flee, the smell of iron and heat overwhelming his senses in a way he'd never known after a kill. Suddenly he was ravenous, he needed that blood on his tongue. He obliged his primal desire, ripping the man's arm off with ease, letting bone and fat and muscle fill his mouth with the heat of a fleeing life.

There was a scream. Daud's ears caught it and he turned, lip curling. He had nothing to say to the woman standing in the door, hair tied back and clutching her dress. The sound of her distress continued, unwavering. Daud stepped towards her, snarling.

She ran.

He was moving faster than he could ever have imagined, his legs possessing a strength that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His body moved on its own accord, spurred on by the thrill of the hunt, of the pursuit of prey and he was giddy, drunk off it. The house was a maze but his nose cut through the turns, following the fear and nausea, the horror of his unhinged rampage left in his wake. Walls and doors meant nothing; his body either forced its way through or smoked through openings, dissolving and coalescing in ways he didn't understand and spent no time dwelling on. He was consumed instead with the goal of reaching for and pouncing on his next victim, then the next. He caught sounds over the rush of his own blood; a tiny shrill voice here, a male voice there, the howl of hounds released upon him. All of them meant nothing; their teeth could not hurt him now. Their attacks were just pin pricks of lucidity within his fever dream, all dying or cowering before his unbridled wrath. Two dogs were bodily thrown, another bitten in half, still another tossed at a human handler, throwing both dog and man through a wall. He pursued, determined to not let anyone in the house escape. Not this time. Not after this hell month, not after everything--

A drop of water rippled through the chaos of his mind. The scent of the sea filled his nostrils, the sound of whales keened in his ears. Daud stilled, suddenly entranced, and turned his head.

A rune chittered and vibrated and sang on an ensconced shrine. The room was small, perhaps a hidden pantry; it had been revealed when Daud had thrown the body through the wall. Purple cloth fluttered from the disturbance of the crash and used candles scattered about the floor and table.

Someone was sitting on that table, cross-legged: someone lithe, dark, and still holding the ageless beauty of youth. Despite the slim, ethereal frame the person presented, Daud could sense the incredible shadow lurking just out of sight, the leviathan crying from the deep.

The figure smiled, his black, endless eyes glittering. He beckoned, and Daud obeyed. Like a leashed hound, he was irrevocably pulled under the waves, his huge body buckling before the sight of something greater, something far more ancient than he could ever fathom to be. He bowed his giant furred head and cold hands ran over his wounds, calming the persistent itch and smoothing away his month-long fever. Daud whined, giving himself over entirely as the figure held him close, arms embracing him like a long lost lover. The voice in his ears calmed his storm and soothed his pain and called him Home.

"Oh, Daud, beautiful Daud," the man cooed and Daud was enraptured, a whale's cry leaving him like a warbled gasp. The grip tightened on him and suddenly his body was melting away, the fur turning to ash to reveal his human skin underneath. He breathed, his left hand itching pleasantly where the figure held it, the other hand running smooth circles across his shoulders and down his back. Daud looked up into that ancient face and when it smiled, there was no warmth, no stars in those endlessly black eyes.

"I knew you would come back to me, Daud. After all..." the god's smile spread, breaking his face.

"...It was just a matter of time."

[vtmb2s]

also 5, 13, 24, + 37 for georgie >:)

House of the Rising Sun: Would they ever run away and start a new life? Have they before?

No, there's nothing to run away from, nothing that she could realistically escape :/ She can't run away from poverty and her job doesn't bother her enough to excape from it. Maybe the workload during the plague, but she can decide when to take a break anyway.

Call On Me: Who or what do they rely on?

Marzanna, Slackjaw & Corvo😳 She's well connected throughout Dunwall's criminal underworld and knows where to get what she needs but she has few actual friends except these three, so they're who she knows she can actually rely on. Marzanna and Slackjaw are a heretic maid and a criminal respectively (AND their besties), while Corvo is.. also a criminal in a way so she knows they wouldn't turn her away if she needed anything. ANYTHING.

Bus Stop: Do they have a “meet cute” story? How did they meet their partner if not?

It's not a classic meet cute but I dunno, in Dishonored verse it probably would be one. She and 🐀 met when he was sneaking around her clinic in the Distillery District (imagine shes just minding her own business like some rando npc who can be talked to) and she was like AGH who tf are you >:( and threatened to throw something at him or report him to the guards outside. Until she changed her mind 5 seconds later and asked him to retrieve something in exchange for free leeches.

Fancy: What was their socio-economic status growing up? How has it changed?

She was born into a wealthy family but they lost their status when she was really young, so she only has memories of being poor 🤷‍♀️ It hasn't changed much at all throughout her childhood and early adulthood, however I imagine she got her money back because. things happen. When she becomes underqualified royal physician..............

[first-stricture]

an empty stage №1

[of-tatooine]

honor him. | chapter 7 - new hope

a day before your mission, you pay the little girl a visit.

The longer you spent roaming the cold and ruthless streets of Dunwall, the more you found yourself longing for the relaxing ease and seeping warmth of your hometown.

The contaminated waters of the Wrenhaven River, squirming with countless hagfish eager to bite, along with the fair share of river krusts finding their nests below docks could simply not compare to the vast, shiny ocean at the Edge of the World.

It had been a long, long time since you sailed from the city that smelled of fresh fish and exotic spices, to a city of corruption and bloody money, trusting a killer-for-hire to keep you company. Yet, as you boarded the smuggler's ship from the dockyards all those years ago, you did not dare look back to the gardens you used to run in, the beautiful Conservatory you used to marvel at, nor the unforgiving cobblestone streets you had been thrown onto.

Leaving Karnaca behind had been an ache in your sore heart for the years that followed - you had been a foreigner in a world of nobles and pure Gristol-born lineages, while your heart beat to the gentle rhythm of Serkonan mandolins.

With all the flaws it possessed, all the rats that hid in every corner of the paved streets and all the stuck-up rich aristocrats it housed - the cursed city of Dunwall had become close to a second home to you.

It had to, sooner or later, after having you roam through every gritty corner of it with a blade in your hand. Trouble could find you at any given time of the day, every step of the way yet there was this certain excitement of sneaking around that said trouble and feeling clever about it - making your way across chimneys and rooftops, jumping from balconies and ledges alike, finding shortcuts through noble homes without even alerting a soul of your shadowy presence. It enthralled you, gave you a sense of purpose, with the additional strength your gifted power running through your veins donned you.

Before, you had fought to survive.

To see another day, living on the run, sleeping near dumpsters and moth-eaten mattresses that someone had thrown out. Breaking and entering the vast, breeze-filled apartments of the Aventa district, overlooking the endless ocean that the Jewel of the South had to offer - apartments that once you resided in before fate loomed upon you. Picking up fights with stray Guards in back alleys just so you could loot some coin off of them in the aftermath. How sure you had been that you would win the duels that you initiated recklessly. And win you did, most of them to say the least.

It still ran shivers of sheer disappointment down your spine when images of that one duel you had lost flooded into your mind, blade crossing blade as amber eyes locked into yours.

They were all in the past now, fragments of memories soaring in the Void, visiting you with their reminding thorns at night. Times long gone, yet never forgotten. In the aftermath of endless winds of change over the years spent running and cutting, killing had become merely a job to you - they were contracts to execute, after all, signed by your Master to whom you had pledged allegiance. That was what you had taught yourself. Going out on missions and finishing off targets meant you and your friend’s pouches would be full. It was an attuned trait among assassins to let all thought and emotion slide, and just focus on the task that could cost them way more than the distaste of emotion.

Lately, you had found out that you could only suppress those emotions for so long. Guilt and buried feelings found their way to resurface, to re-capture that essence of humanity left in your trained body and soul. A constant hollow surrounding your being - and there was only one thing that could fill the void.

In front of you, the famous round glass rooftops of the Golden Cat loomed tall, the pretty architecture of the building undeniable amid the inhabited, unkempt apartments that surrounded the bathhouse. Little rays of light gleamed in mesmerizing reflections, a welcome mix of purple, blue and gray in a world of browns and crimson reds. The supposedly finest establishment of the Isles that housed an heiress, whom you longed to help with all that you had to give.  

The moment you found out that the young Lady was kept captive at a renown bathhouse, which had been the fancier word for brothel that nobles loved to use - your blood had gone cold. In the harsh reality across the Isles, it was a known necessity that many children matured early on, learning to steal as a means of providing and wielding a blade as early on as their little hands could hold onto it.

No children was supposed to see the horrors of the world. Pure and innocent souls, they were supposed to laugh, tell stories and draw about the creatures of the endless ocean - leave the ugliness and sadness over to the older. To grow up showered wit love and care and all the attention, not with their mother’s crimson blood.

Even if it meant sacrificing your own blood and bone, you were going to make sure another child did not have to see what you had seen - long as you had the power to change things, you swore to yourself that you would.

She was the future of an Empire, a promising leak of bright sunshine through rocks, the sole rightful heiress among a litany of unqualified tyrannical weasels. The only hope for the continuation of the shortened Kaldwin reign, whose rulers longed for the welfare of their beloved citizens - thrown onto a dirty road that she did not deserve to be on.  

Whatever that was left of your heart ached for sweet Emily who had lost everything that made up her life, left with no one there to protect, to guide her throughout. It stung a sharp pain through you, merely thinking about the horrors she had to witness down in the Cat.

By the Outsider, if you saw the slightest trace of harm on the little girl, you were prepared to spill the blood of the entire cursed building.

That little part of your soul which had some sort of faith thanked the soaring leviathan that one of the courtesans had owed you a favor - indebted to you after you had saved her sister from the dirty hands of a corrupt, disgusting bastard in some back alley near the distillery, a long time ago. The very few good deeds you had done over the years of being a paid assassin seemed to be helping you back out when you needed it the most - and there you stood, after a series of sneaky transversals and climbing, right across the VIP entrance, with the door conveniently left unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. She really did live up to the task - the mere thought of her risking months of missed pay, especially under the infamous new Madame, putting a soft smile of gratitude on your features.

It felt good to know that the Empire still had people who were loyal to their word - unlike you, who had purposefully failed a contract you had been paid to execute. Knowing your true loyalty laid with Daud and the Empire he operated under, provided little to no solace from your constant self-criticism and state of guilt.

Closing the metal door behind your step with the faintest of clicks, your hands would hastily peel off your mask only for it to be hung low on your belt - the last thing you needed when you visited the little Lady was for her to see another one of those masked figures who kidnapped her, who fought and attacked her Protector. All you wanted to do, with every fiber of your being right there and then, was to ease her suffering at least a little bit, not increase it.

Sneaking came easy to you. Hidden in the shadows cast upon the crumbling magenta wallpapers of the establishment, you would make your way towards the wooden set of stairs out in the back, the stench of sin mixed with cheap perfume lingering around with each step. Ascending yourself to the crevices close to the rounded ceilings to navigate, the moans and feminine laughs echoed off of the thick curtains and the wooden panels of various rooms scattered around the pleasure house.

It was not often you came around to the Cat - occasionally there would be some loyal client with a bounty on his head that you had come to claim, so you had a pretty decent idea of the layout. The curtains though, those had been new additions that were saving your bottom from getting spotted as you kept on executing your transversals with accustomed ease. Courtesans, dressed in skirts and bustiers that left nothing to modesty roamed the halls, often with a cigarette in their nimble hands. Most of them had been thrown on this path without having any other choice - in a way, you sympathized and understood, could only fathom the trauma they had been put through by the revolting guards of the City Watch and aristocrats like.

Speaking of aristocrats, you had half a mind to find those sniveling Pendleton bastards first, who were no doubt violating yet more poor women, and dirty your blade with their disloyal blood. Nothing would please you more at that moment than to inflict the same pain they have caused on the little child.

Yet, you had to be patient. There would come a time to take them out, sooner rather than later hopefully, and only then, you would take pleasure in getting rid of those gutless men. For now, you had a future Empress to see.

Leaning over the far wall you had dropped down near, the lined doors across the empty hallway was a surprising yet welcome sight. Powers granted to you by your Arcane Bond enabled you to spot living forms through your gaze - one that came in very handy as you spotted the gleaming yellow silhouette of a small child. Deep within, you knew your Master could sense whenever powers originating from his mark were used, and it created a twinge of guilt in you - secretly running off of base to conduct missions of your own, but all guilt was erased momentarily as you opened the door with a slight creak and came across her.

The future Empress of the Isles, ruler of the four countries with dire troubles, destined to govern over millions of citizens - and she was sitting cross-legged with her back to you on the hardwood, painting with colorful crayons that shed some rainbow into this dark place. The white bow decorating her brown locks, her finely-tailored white garments still her only choice of clothing. Just like how you had last seen her, yet so very different.

Noticing the creak of the door, Lady Emily turned to face you, her golden brown eyes widening as she spotted your unfamiliar figure. In a matter of seconds that had passed approaching her, you did not even realize you had been holding your breath ever since you stepped in - letting it out slowly, your fingers pushed the door to a close. A warm, harmless expression on your face as you lifted a gentle hand, indicating you meant no maim.

The little girl's expression changed into a slight look of fear and confusion, eyes darting over to the door in a means of escaping.

"Who are you?" her voice would give out, laced with some sort of intrigue mixed with her initial fear.

To that, you would raise both of your hands, and very lightly, bow your head in a swift motion of respect. Your loyalty to the Empire and the rightful reign had been something newfound - all your life, you had longed for something to stay loyal to, whether it was a man or a cause. This time, it had been the girl right in front of you and what she stood for.

"I mean no harm. I - " you would stutter, orbs widening only slightly as you pondered an answer to that question. That simple yet weighted question sparked storms in your mind, sending waves of guilt to tremble your heart in its place. What could you tell her? The truth - that you were nothing short of a reckless killer who had been right there when her mother's blood was spilled? Who could only watch but not do anything to save her, to save the Empire? Whose actions, albeit indirectly, condemned her Protector to prison and death?

"I am a friend to the Lord Protector."

Now, among all lies you had told in your lifetime of stealing and killing, this one had to be the most desperate.

"Oh," the little Empress would say, the apprehension on her features lessening yet she took another step back. Smart girl. She had been taught well, not to trust strangers who donned the very same crimson uniform that had taken her mother away from her.

Sensing your taller stance was scaring her more than to it gave her comfort, you would crouch down to her level slowly, daring to take a little step forward as a gentle smile spread your lips. Gloved fingers reached your pouch with slow movements, intending not to scare her, taking out the silver-encrusted wooden cameo.

"Lady Emily," your voice gave out, softer than anyone in the Empire had heard you speak. "Forgive me for scaring you. You don't know me, but all I wanted to do was to give you this." As the words dripped out of your parted lips, your hand would extend the artifact towards the little figure, as if crossing the invisible chasm with the pull of her mother's silver-modeled face. Something inside you broke as you watched the Lady, take tentative steps towards you as her eyes fixated on the cameo only, and you could swear you saw her eyes glisten for a second. Her hands would reach out and clasp onto the cameo representing her lineage, candlelight reflecting off of the both of you as she held it to her heart.

"Thank you," you would hear her say in her sweet voice, words lowly spoken, her lips curling up ever-so-slightly in a ghost of a smile of appreciation.

The remorse on your delicate face coupled with an unknown emotion seeping through your being, you would nod softly, returning her faith smile. You would realize, only there and then, that if bringing Corvo out of prison was the last thing you would do on the wretched Earth, you would gladly die if it meant for this little girl to be happy. You had been involved in a plot that took everything from her, everything and everyone she held dear - the debts of the guilt would never wash off completely, but if the road led to putting her back on the throne with her Royal Protector guiding her, it was worth taking.

"Everything will be alright, Empress. I promise you."

The whispered sweet nothing echoed as she watched you leave with a gaze full of confusion and sadness, hearing the door click yet once more only for her to be left alone with her memories that were much too dark for a child her age.

It was the ache in your heart and your old soul that prayed to the eyeless god, prayed that you could succeed in your suicide mission - only to see her smile.