#ch: emily kaldwin

[torntruth]

TATTOO - for emily

                               ask about tattoos , accepting .

the moment was so incredibly peaceful. even when it is just a moment. emily's in her full outfit, just leaning against kassandra. on that small bench inside emily's safe room. brown eyes shut, just relaxing in a moment away from the chaos of politics and arguments and men who seek too much power for no other benefit of their own. her head's resting on kassandra's shoulder, her hand in kassandra's lap.

emily's brown eyes pop open. her hand actually twitches out of surprise. just surprise, it's not like the tattoo is ever asked about on purpose -- especially if she covers it. there's also the fact ... it is covered and kassandra dipped fingers underneath the covering to reach it. only really surprising emily in the fact that she merely forgot that kassandra has certainly seen it before. even if she can't remember if she's mentioned exactly how it got there. she's pretty sure she's mentioned the outsider marked her. memory's hazy on that subject, if only because it feels like she and kassandra has dated for a pleasant lifetime instead of a few months.

" did i ever tell you about that? "

[torntruth]

blissful sex filled with passion really does feel like some kind of high. or at least a buzz. she does know what that feels like, a fan of smoking hookahs when she has more than a few moments of downtime. wyman was supposed to bring back new tabacco from their latest trip. emily relaxes fully into kassandra, just letting her weight on top of the other woman.

" where is a place you've always wanted to live? " emily's voice is just so lethargic now, past post-sex voice to just relaxed intonation. she probably could fall asleep like this, at least for a little while. until she inevitably gets cold, even with kassandra's warmth below her. she mostly just wants to keep the high-like feeling of the moment up. even if that's just having a bunch of small and random conversations.

It's these moments when coming down that she truly appreciates. Having Emily in her arms, lightly tangled under the night sky the raven-haired woman is brighter than any star hanging above, brighter than the moon itself. Red eyes close as Emily presses a kiss to her forehead. The soft moments in between the violence that follows them, these are the moments she longs for most.

"No one will, not while I am around." It is one thing about Kassandra that never changed. She is fierce in her defense of those around her. It's just that Emily is the first person in so very long that she has kept around, that she has loved and cared for. Leaning her head against Emily's, the Keeper sighs. "It's all I've dreamed about since I was a young woman. It's all I could ever want."

[ripleyellens]

man, I miss Emily kaldwin though. I hope she's slaying the patriarchy and being as non-violent as possible doing so.

[galedekarios]

High Chaos Week  — Emily the Butcher

"Perhaps we need an eighth Stricture. Defy your empress and be burned alive."

[pointlessideblog1]

how  many  times  have  i  looked  at  that  skyline?    it  feels  like  everything  just  changed.

[torntruth]

the pause emily gets looks rather thoughtful -- maybe she doesn't necessarily hate any would be suitors being knocked flat on their ass. she always did particularly hate the whole entire display of suitorship. trying to take her hand, giving her meaningless gifts, some boring speech. the rare attempt at a good date. it was all so ... invasive.

emily's brown eyes move back to vi's features ... and she's just smiling. her hands reaching up to rest on either side of vi's neck. eyes flick away just to watch her own fingers trace the other woman's tattoo. she's not a big fan of tattoos herself [ and maybe it's because her only tattoo is a source of magic and that just turns her away ] but she does like them on vi.

" i certainly wouldn't stop you ... " emily ends up answering, a laugh in her words. she just leans forward, eyes closing, until her forehead is pressed against vi's.

"I will always love you as Emily. It's how we met and developed and it is how we will always stay. I know you have your duty and position, but that will never change how I love you." she remarked. Vi appreciated not having to change herself but in a sense, she had begun to change into a better person of her own free will of things. While still a bit reckless, she was becoming more mindful of her movements in a situation where she had to think first instead of merely react. Vi had become more of a stability instead of an instability that she had been with emotions in the past. Emily helped to soothe those things about her just by being there for her.

"I am yours if you'll have me as such, Emily. I'm not much but I will always treat you well and love you like you've never been loved before. It'll just mean I get to deck any would-be suitors before the news comes out twice as hard with my fists." she grinned only to chuckle.

[jackkrauser-archive]

Next time I’ll hold on to the things I cherish

just a bit tighter.

[torntruth]

emily in bg3 things --

i was going to make this more neat but i can not. i have too much adhd for that, so here's so random points.

-- the outsider still exists as a god. this doesn't have to be changed. he is mostly a neutral entity. when his neutrality tips over, it's also usually as chaotic good and he usually only favors followers of selune or shar. one follower of shar has his mark ( daud resemblance, of course ), all others are followers of selune with the exceptions of corvo and emily. as is dishonored, he is no religion or real worship. there are only a few that bid to him for power.

-- and yes, i am going to consume the map and make her the overall empress. the void is also an afterlife and a very neutral one. people stuck in the void are purposely clinging to life like ghosts that need reconciliation from something.

-- emily is his daughter in this verse and she is of no race, but really only poses as a human [ technically an aasimar with the otherworldly characteristics and a monster form ]. she was made. as his consul and placed with a family where the outsider could have a lot of power and the perfect set of eyes. a little different than the main verse headcanon, she's slightly more bitter about it.

-- probably a cleric in class, idk. some combination of fighter too. she probably has MORE abilities in this verse that deals with necromancy.

[huntershowl-moving]

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

NAME -  persephone aisa hellhound, the hunter EYE COLOUR -  unnaturally pale blue HAIR STYLE / COLOUR - black, pin-straight down to her knees + emits smoke from the ends, usually pulled into a low, loose ponytail HEIGHT -  6′4″ CLOTHING STYLE -  tailored black military-style coats, sharp angles, vests and button-ups, embroidered crocus flowers on the linings. sorta modern emily kaldwin uniform chic. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE - ch-cheekbones...

LAYER TWO : THE INSIDE

FEARS -  demons catching up to her + being unable to face them without freezing up, not being useful anymore, losing leto, becoming attached to anyone GUILTY PLEASURE -  jam. straight out of the jar. BIGGEST PET PEEVE -  being disrespected or not taken seriously AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE - to kill a certain person and then ... shrug emoji

LAYER THREE : THOUGHTS

FIRST THOUGHTS UPON WAKING UP:  where am i? am i safe? where’s my gun? WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MOST:   hard to say. she does a lot of thinking – a lot of it’s related to her hypervigilance but she also mentally argues with herself about morals, ponders on the things she sees during the day, general buzzing and worry and distraction from everything she’s repressing WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED: next job. where’s my gun.  WHAT YOUR BEST QUALITY IS:  deep down, won’t give up on love. 

LAYER FOUR : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES -  single. TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED - respected. BEAUTY OR BRAINS - brains. DOGS OR CATS -  cats.

LAYER FIVE : DO YOU…

LIE - often, but she’s not great at it. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF - hellhound? yes. persephone? no. BELIEVE IN LOVE - yes . WANT SOMEONE -  great question! repressing that!

LAYER SIX : EVER BEEN …

BEEN ON STAGE:  no. DONE DRUGS: yes. CHANGED WHO YOU WERE TO FIT IN:  i mean... does her whole self count because she’s like seven different layers of persona

LAYER SEVEN : FAVORITES

FAVOURITE COLOR - purple! FAVOURITE ANIMAL - she never thought about it. FAVOURITE MOVIE - i ... hmm. has she seen a movie? FAVOURITE GAME - honest to god hellhound has never played a video game. or a board game

LAYER EIGHT : AGE

DAY YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE -  december 5th HOW OLD WILL YOU BE - 26 AGE YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY - mm, it would have been around 19? DOES AGE MATTER -  yes.

LAYER NINE : IN A PERSON

BEST PERSONALITY - either very gentle or agumentative and Difficult, generally BEST EYE COLOUR - nah. BEST HAIR COLOUR - nah. BEST THING TO DO WITH A PARTNER - uh – never thought about it. fight back to back?

LAYER TEN : FINISH THE SENTENCE

I LOVE -  leto. I FEEL - empty. I HIDE - myself. I MISS - aya. I WISH - i could guarantee leto’s safety.

tagged by: @ofhomeland​ thank you!!

tagging: @nclled​ ( my boi litho ), @howlins​, @sherage​, @neverreallyend​ ( if y’all feel like it! )

[torntruth]

there was exactly two seconds in which emily was severely disappointed over a lack of kiss -- but as it would now stand, she would do absolutely anything for this baby already. and ... here she was worried she'd be an awful parent or that she wasn't as into having this kid as liselotte and was simply doing it because it'll make lise happy. look at her now.

the hand in lise's hair stays there, but the one that was resting on her collarbone shifts -- hovering over the older woman's stomach. emily smiles. it's so light, so simple.

" may i? "

[ almost ] sender and receiver are centimeters apart, about to kiss, but something interrupts them / from emily to lise

@torntruth sent a thing! - not accepting

The Empress always admitted how much she admired the Princess ; how she humbled other with her honest ( and less than proper ) opinions, or how Liselotte lent her frank and fun personality to fend off bored at frightfully flat affairs. How she bickered with her husband out of boredom, and scolded Philippe to be a better, big brother to his new Empress sister.

And the fondness was found as they sat together today ( in sparse peaceful privacy ), Emily's fingers tangling in Liselotte's tousled curls. A kiss was consented, but unable to be conjured as a ' kick ' caused the older woman to pause and draw back ;

" Oh, there the boy goes again - Battling my bladder! "

[404botnotfound]

Crossing Paths

A conundrum: is revenge still justice if your foe has changed faces? Is it still vengeance if your foe no longer holds to the same lack of morals they once had?

Emily Kaldwin can’t forget what the Whalers did, but maybe she can forgive them.

SERIES: Dishonored WORD COUNT: 2,822 CHARACTERS: derrick hobson, emily kaldwin

Karnaca was unbearably hot.

Even in the summer months Dunwall rarely approached temperatures that were uncomfortably warm, and after being in Serkonos for only a few weeks after her flight from her home Emily has come to the conclusion that she both misses home and has no idea how anyone can stand living here.

But it also makes her realize that she’s sorely neglected her people, and she also determines that after she’s retaken her throne, she’s going to make it a point to visit and help these people in any way she can manage.

Were conditions in Tyvia and Morley as horrifically degraded? Had the seat of power in the Isles lost sight of the other nations while recovering from the plague and the assassination of her mother?

No wonder Corvo had gotten so frustrated with her distaste and dismissal of her duties. No wonder her subjects had.

She’ll fix things. Delilah’s coup had thrown her reality into stark contrast, and Emily will fix things—starting with Delilah, and then with the rest of the Empire.

But it was hard to keep herself so motivated when she had so few people she could trust right now, when her father was trapped in stone back home, and when it was so void-damned hot. Even ducking into the shaded confines of an apartment overlooking the main street nearest the docks.

This apartment was empty earlier.

Emily knows this because she passed through this very same apartment three and a half hours ago in order to avoid a guard patrol.

She knows this because the bodies that had given her pause three and a half hours ago—no signs of fever, no bloodfly infestation, just a thin, clean line across their throats—were now gone. In their place were two children and a handful of figures that cause Emily’s spine to go rigid and sends her mind back fifteen years ago.

Twenty-five years old, and suddenly she feels as though she’s the scared ten-year-old she had once been.

Hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and Emily slowly backs herself into the darkest, shadowy corner she can find.

“—I can’t believe you reached out to her.” One of the figures says, garbed in the uniforms she clearly remembers though it’s been nearly twenty years since she’s seen them, face obscured as they all were by the masks worn by factory workers in the oil refineries.

The Whalers. The supernatural assassins many people still refused to believe existed, still refused to speak of as though it would summon one and spell your end. Emily knew better, because fifteen years ago she had watched these men kill her mother.

Another figure speaks, this one standing with his back to her. Same uniform, but she can see the bare skin of his neck and his hair. No mask. “We don’t have a lot of options right now. She was one of them.”

“If it weren’t for her—”

The maskless speaker lifts a hand and the figure that had been arguing goes silent. Gooseflesh ripples over Emily’s skin and for the first time in the past handful of days it has nothing to do with the now-familiar sights, sounds, and experiences of Karnaca.

She holds herself as still as she possibly can, gaze intense.

Is this real, right now? She thinks to herself. Am I really looking at my mother’s killers? It was hot, and the sun was scorching outside, and she was wearing all black and heavier clothes, and she was under tremendous strain right now. Could she be imagining things?

Her eyes focus on the back of the maskless figure’s head with furious intensity.

Is that him?

The figure turns, and for half a second Emily believes it is him. The Knife of Dunwall, Daud, killer of an empress and Emily’s mother. But no, logic or some other dark whisper at the back of her mind tells her, no, there are too few lines on his face compared to the blurry image she remembers from fifteen years ago.

The most striking difference, impossible for her to miss, are the harshly glaring edges of the heretic’s brand burned into the lines of his face.

If the Abbey had ever gotten their hands on the Knife of Dunwall, they wouldn’t have bothered with the brand—they would have simply executed him.

He’s not young, but he’s far too young to be the Isles’ most notorious assassin; early forties, at least. His face is too lean, features too sharp and attractive, and his body is leaner than the solidly built figure she still remembers hauling her off of her feet and dragging her away from her dying mother. His hair is a few shades too dark, long and smoothed back on top and shorn short on the sides, a far cry from the receding hairline in the image in her mind.

His eyes, almost unnaturally blue even in the dim light of the apartment, settle on the same corner she’s hiding in, and Emily holds her breath and goes as still as death.

“Hobson. What is it?” Another whaler than the first asks.

She watches the unmasked one step to the side and turn around fully, her eyes flicking over to the two children—a pair of nervous-looking girls—standing behind the group of whalers. A familiar burn begins in her veins, anger filling her from head to toe; what did she walk into? Are they stealing more children away from their mothers for a handful of gold and coins?

The whalers had vanished early after Corvo had ended the violent coup that killed Jessamine Kaldwin. There’d been recent sightings most had dismissed as overactive imaginations, but there were those that were still afraid of the enigmatic and elusive figures.

They were tantamount to myth in the Isles.

Gifted by the Outsider or not, they were just monsters masquerading as men, and Emily wishes they had remained the subject of tall tales.

She makes a decision and steps out of her hiding place, taking a small sort of victory in the way the whalers’ stances stiffen upon seeing her. Barring the masked one who remains unaffected, they knew who they were staring at.

They knew what they’d done.

The whalers and usurped empress stare each other down.

After a moment one of them mutters, “well, shit.” Another of them snorts in response.

“Lady Empress.” Their leader she assumes, the one they called Hobson, says. His expression is carefully blank, but there are undertones to it that she can’t identify. Intrigue, maybe? Certainly not the wary fear she had hoped for. “You’ve been making deals since leaving Dunwall.

The masked group behind him all look at him sharply at the statement, glance at each other, and then turn a focused gaze on her.

She resists the urge to glance down at her covered hand where an eldritch being’s mark hides, barely resists the urge to twitch her fingers in response. She’ll give these killers nothing. “Are you stealing more kids away from their families? How much coin is it for this time?”

There’s enough bite to her words to make the whalers shift on their feet uncomfortably.

How many of the men standing in front of her now were part of that assault on the gazebo all those years ago, she wonders.

None of them respond to her question.

The grip on her blade tightens. “Did you kill their mothers, too?”

Corvo taught her well, and she’s already glancing among them, plotting out what she’d have to do to get through all of them to the girls on the other side. Which of her new, damnable powers could she use?

Emily Kaldwin has a kind heart, but she wants to hurt them.

“How long have you been in Karnaca, Lady Empress?” Hobson asks, an she’s not sure if the use of the title Delilah had stolen from her is meant to irritate, but her skin crawls anyway.

“Long enough.” She answers.

“So, not long at all.” His lips twitch minutely, making her believe that he had already known the second her boots hit the pavement down at the docks. “Did you know there’s a trafficking ring here in Karnaca?”

All of the whalers are still standing stiffly between her and the two girls, and Emily’s fingers clench and unclench around the hilt of her blade. They’re watching her intently, ready to retaliate should she go on the offensive.

They must really need that coin.

Her brow furrows at his question. What does it have to do with anything? What was he trying to make a point about?

“One that extends farther north, to smaller cities and towns. Places where people go missing, young boys and girls, and no one in authority cares because they’re small and penniless. The sort of ring that brings children to brothels in the bigger cities all across the Isles.” Hobon continues, and she must be imagining the raw anger in his voice.

Her expression twitches, hopefully blocked by her mask; she won’t let whatever distraction he’s attempting to drag her away from the very real, very old anger she feels at the men who murdered her mother and stole her away from her life all those years ago.

“We were offered every coin to a pair of mothers’ names three weeks ago to find their missing daughters and bring them home.” He glances at the two girls, who are both watching the exchange with the sort of subdued terror that she recognizes far too easily.

But what person in their right mind would ever ask assassins for help with something like seeking out missing people?

Why would they agree to it?

He must be lying.

His gaze returns to her and she tries to pretend her stance is sill as steady and certain as it had been. “We declined the payment.”

A heavy, thick silence falls over the apartment, one that neither he nor his fellows seem willing to break. They were waiting for her to respond.

“Are you trying to make me forget what you did? All those years ago?” She demands, the authority in her voice lessened by her uncertainty. Corvo had taught her to never ignore a possibility unless she had absolute proof it wasn’t true or possible.

The only assassinations she’d heard of since those whispers of the whalers’ reappearance in the Isles were accompanied by revealed scandals, threats to the safety of others and—in one case—threat to herself.

Other whispers were from people that swore these near-supernatural figures had saved their lives or helped them in some way.

She didn’t believe it.

His answer to her question, immediate and solemn, makes her want to believe it. “No.”

“Are you trying to make up for it?”

“Lady Empress,” Hobson says, a humorless smile finding its way onto his face, “you and I both know there’s no making up for what we did.”

They stare each other down again. She wants to be the angry child, wants to get the retribution she damn well deserves against these monsters—but were they wholly monsters when they were returning stolen children to their mothers?

Should she trust that he was telling the truth?

He was being utterly sincere, completely open with it when she got the impression this was a man that didn’t do that freely or easily. None of this makes her hate them any less, but it curbs her anger and she finds herself relaxing her stance.

A quiet pthwip breaks the silence of the room and another whaler appears; the newcomer starts upon seeing her, stares for a moment, and then without commenting turns his attention to Hobson. “The north road out is clear for the time being. We need to move before the next rotation.”

“The wall of light is down?”

“Yes.”

Hobson nods, but when none of the whalers make to move his expression pinches into light irritation and he turns to them. “I’ll catch up. Go.”

She watches, grip on her blade slackening, as two of the whalers turn to the girls and speak quiet words to them, then hold out their hands and wait. The girls willingly take them, and then those whalers disappear, followed by all but one of them as well as their leader.

The one that remains glances at Emily again. “Careful, Hobson.” He says, and then he, too, vanishes.

Another nod, this time an acknowledgement of the warning. Hobson exhales and runs a hand over his face. She can see the weight of leadership all but melt from his shoulders. It’s a familiar feeling, one she tried to shake every night after her duties by escaping to the rooftops of Dunwall Tower.

“What is this?” She asks, trying desperately to hold onto her anger.

“An attempt to be better. We’ve got blood on our hands, all of us. Nothing can change that, and our former leader,” the word is accompanied by a curl of his lip and is spat with venom, “saw to that the second he agreed to that contract with Hiram Burrows.”

They almost brought an empire to its knees with a single murder and kidnapping. The blood of Dunwall was on their hands as assuredly as the blood of her mother had been on Daud’s.

And he knew it.

“Then what?”

“Sleight of hand and under the table is all we know, Lady Empress. Daud is gone, one way or another. We don’t know how to operate differently, but we’re not just assassins anymore, and I will not be the selfish leader he was.” Hobson answers.

She stares at him.

He continues, expression weary. “We come from every corner of the Isles. This place is as much our home as anyone else’s, and we want to help it recover. Maybe make some good come of the black-eyed bastard’s gifts just as the Lord Protector had.”

Just as the Royal Protector had. Just as her father had. What would her father have to say to finding out that the infamous Whalers were trying to follow in his footsteps?

Emily glances down at her hand, then, and she feels her anger fully deflate.

Shaking her head she moves to an open window prepared to move on. She still has a mission to do, a father to save, and she lets the words he spoke echo in her head.

Something to think on later.

“The brothel on the south end was a frequent haunt of the Duke, Lady Emily.” She pauses at his voice, hand on the windowsill, and turns back as he continues. “Not sure if you’ve got what you need already, but I’ll keep someone posted near that building for a few more days, if you want more intel.”

The offering throws her off balance, and she blinks. The only thing she can think to ask is: “I’m not the empress anymore. Why do you keep using my title?”

“It may not mean much, but we tried to stop the bitch that stole your throne once before.” He answers, glancing away and folding his arms over his chest. His expression becomes cold and angry. “We failed, apparently.”

She lets the information sink in and is surprised when it only leaves her with curiosity. “So that’s twice you’ve been the ruin of Dunwall’s royalty.” She says.

“You’re not ruined yet, Lady Emily.” He replies easily, the weight of his conviction hitting her in the chest.

A moment passes and his eyes slip to her hand—the one with the Outsider’s mark hidden beneath a band of fabric. “We’ll do our part to finish what we started. If you want our help taking back Dunwall, there’s a dead drop we monitor on the roof across from the City Watch headquarters.”

One of her eyebrows lifts. “Bold of you.”

A small, amused smile appears on his face. “A...friend of mine maintains it. She’ll pass on the word if you send for us.”

He stands straight after that, giving her a salute of admirable form with one fist pressed over his heart and heels together as he bows to her. What was he, before he became an assassin? Surely no one lowborn, if the assured crispness of that bow was anything to go by.

Then, with a quiet pthwip, Hobson vanishes.

She stares at the space he had vacated for a few moments longer, filing away what she had learned and what he had told her so she could think on it once back on the Dreadful Wale. Once she had some time to herself.

The offer to help her retake the throne had been sincere, and they had previous dealings with Delilah and her witches—it would be helpful to call upon them for more than one reason.

But once upon a time they killed her mother.

She shakes her head and moves on.

[screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse]

Stories of the Street | Ch. 20: The Age of Lust Is Giving Birth

‘The point of power,’ she remembered her mother’s words, ‘is to share it, to use it to protect and defend those who have none.’ Jessamine Kaldwin had not been infallible — she had, perhaps, indeed let down her sister. But she had barely been ten years old. Just as old as you were when you took the throne, a whispering voice in her head reminded her, and she hated how much that voice sounded like Delilah. Ever since she had visited her that night in her dreams, Emily found herself thinking of that story.

Yet, all that changed little of how Delilah had chosen to reclaim her throne — her family, if such a notion held any value for her. It didn’t change that she was still holding Alexi hostage, imprisoned in stone for all Emily knew. Reports had reached Karnaca that the throne room in Dunwall was now littered with bodies: trapped faces, trapped screams. Some would have sworn allegiance to Delilah, others came to oppose or at least question her. None should survive the journey; for the ones who dared challenge her would die, and those who would swear fealty to her only too readily could not be trusted. Emily had no wish to examine the conduct of Dunwall’s aristocracy in her absence once she returned, but she knew well enough she would have to, if just to determine who to trust with what remained of her Empire after this. Here in Karnaca, Corvo and Daud had spent hours upon hours in and out of noble houses, beguiling or intimidating at her behest; and what she did today would decide whether these efforts had been in vain.

Delilah had taken what had not belonged to her, and honour dictated that Emily take back what was hers. Dishonoured, disowned, she cowered in the shadows of a foreign palace; ready to take the head — or the crown — of a man who ruled a country she was connected to by blood and yet by so little else. In all the weeks she’d been here, she’d been unable to determine whether the people of Serkonos loved her.

Read on AO3.

[callsign-chimera]

House of Gold and Bones [CH 4]

I haven’t touched this in a year and boy, was it hard to get back into it. But I have a new chapter for now. Feedback is appreciated, and I hope you enjoy! 

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

WAR UPON THE SEA RAGING

Men of land and sea are baffled by the increasing resiliency of the enemy our Royal Navy battles. While the goal of reuniting the isles despite multiple insurrections is still fresh in the mind of each navy man, tensions are causing doubt and cause to re-think what we had once thought so easy. There is rumor of multiple dispatches sent to Her Majesty herself, Emily Kaldwin, and soon perhaps we shall learn of what is to be done to end this extended period of war.

And I thought it was over. Coby pulled his lips into a thin line and reset the paper upon the cold wood of the table. Smoke billowed discreetly from the corners of that taunt line as the ashes of a Morleyan cigarette were flicked away. The Overseer’s apartment was not so gloomy now that his remaining belongings had at last been brought to him, nor was it so cold. Despite the dull colors of the walls, it had turned out to be a cozy abode with the aid of a fire and installation of thicker curtains. The windows remained drafty, but that was something that he could no longer be bothered with. There were obviously bigger problems, none for him to worry about, but it provided greater food for thought than his breakfast had.

Gristol at war again. First against itself, the Morleyans, itself again, and now another people Coby had no knowledge of. Yellow journalism was a must in the capital, so that only those with an analytical matter between their ears could detect. The nobility had grown soft and dull with their increasing luxuries over the twelve years that Her Majesty had allowed them to prosper. He almost couldn’t help but accept that. There were great hopes put in that little girl, and nearly all that Coby had left had so far been dashed, whether or not by her own means or something she could not control. Now she fought a war, the ones she talked about with Havelock when he would listen, and the ones she promised Corvo she would win. Now she had those ships she could crash into one another, the men she would expend to do so - and through all the dressed up journalism, the Vice Overseer could see that neither went in her favor. He scoffed and took a long draw of his cigarette.

His eyes locked on the window and squinted against the light. In light of Her Majesty, where was His Majesty? The one few spoke of and even fewer seemed to know about. Was he someone only the court and Emily’s advisers knew of, was there even a wedding? All the years in his home country, all the years stalking the docks, purchasing paper after paper for some false hope the little Empress and her crown had dashed, never had he heard of the Imperial’s betrothal. Corvo was a man to keep secrets, and through most of her upbringing, perhaps he had, but for a royal wedding? It was not a simple thing to keep hush-hush. Even a priest of the Everyman knew that. Coby sated his curiosity by telling himself he would find out soon enough, but enough time had passed for her word to meet his ears, and for that task to be completed. He was anxious and restless, with everything he had learned - His Majesty was someone who would give him questions, and Corvo was the man for answers. Eager to acquire the least and most specific of both, the Overseer had spent the last week over-analysing his findings from the archive. His notes on recent exorcisms and happenings between the Overseers of Karnaca, the Sisters of the Oracular Order, and the head of it all in Dunwall proved enough for him to lead his own investigation. It was most troubling, however, to confront the letter the High Overseer kept from him, and the items he hid away. He could only begin to wonder what possibilities it held, what secrets it revealed about the people who would rather hide it all. Coby narrowed his eyes at the hypnotizing light. His head threatened to pound as he continued to think, and think, and think. Cold as it was outside, he needed its air.

He rose, holding his cigarette between his lips and returning to his room to fetch his coat and boots. Upon entering his room, he took notice of the clutter on the desk, the mess his bed had become, and the dust that settled upon the mantle. The sudden urge to clean was a wave he must ride to its fullest if he was never to get such a thing done, but now was not the time. He had a few other ideas in mind, one that became a priority as his eyes settled upon the unfinished letter he had carried with him to the capital. The seal of the Abbey shone in shimmering gold still, though the ink had settled and begun to fade. There was still much that could be done, one he believed a few old friends could help with.

Coby donned his sturdier boots, his thickest coat of black cloth and down feather insulation, a scarf, his gloves; the letter was tucked away in his breast pocket, and he made for the door. A wave of his hand over the hearth as the crossed the main room, a sigil appeared, and the fire snuffed itself out.  

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The Financial District was as cold and lifeless as it had always been. Towering, beautiful buildings coated in snow with dull windows reflecting little of the light that shone through the clouds. People paced the streets in their best, men in suits that showed off their standing and women in attire that made Coby wonder if they ever felt the cold. The woman he was looking for would be wearing something more practical, and even if she was, she wouldn’t be outside. Keeping his eyes roughly raised to navigate, he managed to avoid any long winded conversations with the passers by who recognized him as an Overseer. Kind words and greetings were shared before he dismissed the last of his greeters and disappeared into a building.

Inside it was dark as the windows refused to shine light beyond their dirty frames, but the interior itself was lovely. Marble made up the floor and dark wood covered the walls and the ceiling, creating a cozy space. Coby sniffled and moved to the distant desk and directory beside the winding staircase. He pulled his gloves off as he read the jumble of directions beside soft golden lights, pointing this way and that. Beside him was a woman hidden behind her desk, keeping herself busy and avoiding his eyes, even as he turned to face her. For a moment, Coby considered asking after his friend, then decided against it. Turning back to the directory, he took himself up the stairs of marble and wood. The offices she would be in were written to be on the third for, and after quite the jog, he stopped himself at the top of the stairs.

The atrium he walked through was far loftier than the floors below. A balcony winding all around the parameter served as the fourth floor, with its own offices hidden behind dark walls. Coby read the room numbers carefully. If she wasn’t here, then it wouldn’t hurt for him to check the Abbey’s Offices again. That was the last place he located a Sister of the Oracular Order, strange as it was. Edith was not like that, however. She preferred to be working and moving rather than being trapped behind a desk. He remembers a letter he received from her not long after his promotion to Vice Overseer saying that she pitied him for being demoted to desk work. He never replied. Perhaps he should have.

Room 105 came into view so quickly he almost missed it. The door was propped open and a pair of voices could be heard inside. Edith’s was one of them. She was speaking to another man who likely worked there by the way that he phrased his statements. Trying to outsmart her - Edith had probably proven him wrong and he was embarrassed. Coby smiled slightly and rested his back against the wall.

“You cannot simply pretend that this exchange never happened. And what would that look like for you, simply destroying them or taking them away?” Edith’s little voice came through calmly but firm. She was young for a Sister, but it had been made apparent again and again that she had a good handle on her work.

“It won’t rest well on my conscience, Sister, but I’ve always been one to do as I am told. The High Overseer insisted that these were not to be recorded, and that they are not to be shared,” said the man evenly.

Coby’s ears perked. High Overseer? Could this possibly tie back to that Karnacan exchange that flew under his radar so many years ago? How was it still a problem? 

Edith’s heels echoed in the open space as she stomped her foot. “They weren’t even connected to the High Overseer until he ordered them to be confiscated and delivered. The ones you should be reprimanding are the Royal Family. I refuse to allow this.”

The air was struck with silence as her words faded away. The man did not reply, but there was a shuffle of polished shoes on the floor. Surely he was contemplating. It was hard to act dishonestly with a religious figure present. Edith was supposed to represent what high morality was, what it stood for and what it looked like. Coby would be at her side, picking apart the situation without casting judgement. Then why aren’t I? The Overseer traded blows with his curiosity and desire for secrecy, however, honesty tugged at his heart hard. He was far from perfect, but that’s not what his title said. He could bluff.

Furthermore, the man Edith was speaking to sparked an interest. On one hand, he was no more than a financier, tracking and keeping a hold on the trades between his client. On the other, there were questions that Coby would like to ask him, perhaps he’s read something; he certainly knows something they don’t. But the Vice Overseer was not looking to interrogate the poor man, but he would not be willing to give up the documents to easily. Or would he? With a high ranking priest among them, the Void Watcher himself, Coby was convinced that his appearance alone could sway the defiant man into doing what the little Sister asked.

He huffed, he sniffed; he straightened his coat and brushed off the remaining snow from his shoulders and opened the door. When Coby met the eyes of the Sister and the man in question, he squinted against them. Their genuine shock combined with the bleached sky from beyond the windows was blinding. The Overseer allowed his icy eyes to adjust while they gathered themselves. He never expected a reaction such as theirs, nor did he expect to ever get used to it, but it would seem that his title held far more weight than he imaged, as it hardly fled the financier's mouth with as much support as the High Overseer’s.

“Overseer - Vice Overseer Martin, hello!” babled the man, standing straighter with wide eyes. “It’s good to see you in Dunwall. How are you?”

Coby greeted him and the Sister with a polite smile, moving to stand closer to the tiny circle of conversation. “I’m well, brother,” he replied absentmindedly. Icy eyes shifted to Edith, who watched him with equal surprise. “I’m here on an investigation much like our Sister here, and was told that one of you would be able to help me.”

The man eyed him with an unreadable expression, clutching the unblemished folders in his dainty gloved hands. His gaze shifted to Edith, who in turn hung on the silence, saying nothing to break it.

Coby chewed his cheek and shifted his weight. “The High Overseer was in possession of some documents that prove shipping and receiving from Karnaca to Dunwall, and then specifically to him. I would ask permission to view those documents.”

The financier assumed a casual position as well, finding that the Void Watcher’s presence was not as overbearing as he may have anticipated. “Of course, Overseer, however, those documents have long been archived. I have more recent trades in my hands, but if what our Sister said is true -”

He stopped as his eyes met the Vice Overseer’s again. They were cold but no longer hard as ice, however, they were as piercing. Coby seemed to look through him, and it words stopped in his throat.

“If I had not been as observant as I am, sir, then I may not have noticed that you just stated that you were to dispose of them. Is that true of all shipments to the High Overseer?” Coby spoke evenly, while Edith’s presence beside him was brewing with anxiety. The financier was a small man, and so when he seemed shaken, it couldn’t be easily masked, especially in the company of two of the Abbey’s keenest minds. “You can’t lie to me, brother.”

The documents that were in the noble’s hands were set upon an adjacent table as he passed it. Gloved hands were shoved deep into pockets and his disposition became agitated. Edith moved to collect the folders as her older companion remained where he was.

“Nothing gets by you, Vice Overseer, I know that,” said the man. His voice was firmer than before, calmer and confident. “What I do is to protect the Abbey. Should not every man do what they can to preserve the religion that guides and councils us? For these documents to be open to the public in the sense where any man could summon them, even the Empress herself, would that not endanger everything we stand for?”

Coby shifted, toying slightly with the bonecharms that hung on his belt. “Your zeal is admirable, brother, and your devotion is not only appreciated, but commendable. However, since this is an issue that concerns myself and the spiritual security of our Empire, I believe that I have the proper authority to conjure these documents regardless.”

The man turned to face the priest with a grim expression. “What does this all mean, Watcher? Does your foresight not tell you what will become of you if these shipments are revealed? Does that not compromise the Abbey?” His voice wavered with genuine concern, and his eyes spoke of a trouble that Coby’s gut had sensed a long while ago. But the fears of one man could not keep him from uncovering a mystery.

“You overestimate me. But I can tell you that there are foreseen troubles that do not concern you, brother. Sleep well knowing that the one who should be holding those documents has them in possession, and if I cannot take them, then allow me to leave with the knowledge of them.”

Coby did his best not to flinch as a pained expression met his own once again. He forced himself to meet the man’s eyes, trying to decide whether or not the emotion was staged. His intuition told him that everything was alright, that there was no further trickery when it came to the empire’s security; such phrasing had such an effect on people. The man agreed, and Coby was asked to follow the tiny financier down the hall to a separate, larger room. As he passed the door, Coby turned back to Edith and pointed downward, asking silently for her to wait for him. The Sister acknowledged him but did not speak as the two departed.

The man led the Overseer to an archive, illuminated by large windows that yawned upwards to the ceiling and nearly touched the floor. It was in no way as dreary as the first floor, nor as secretive as the one the Abbey possessed. With so much light, Coby felt as though he could see everything even if it was concealed. He felt a lack of security, but knew all too well how protected these documents were. The Watcher waited patiently as the man pulled aside a small stepping stool and worked his way up the wall to the drawer he needed. When he had descended, he held the bundle of papers close to his breast as he approached the priest.

“I may ask of you to take note of the information, Overseer. I can’t find the nerve to hand them over, even if it is yourself.”

Coby smiled slightly, kindly. “No worries. I’ll just have a look then.”

Gingerly, the papers were exchanged. Once Coby held them firmly in his hands, he moved across the room to a small table to spread them out. From his pocket he withdrew a tiny notebook and pen. Recently, he found it more useful to keep note of everything rather than finding a way to take all the hard copies with him. With most of what he’s looking for being written or printed, he found it to be less of a hassle to write what he saw over keeping track of individual documents.

The routes he recovered were as he expected, and he began to wonder if the morning spent accidentally frightening the staff was worth it. Edith was never one to worry when it came to getting things done, but Coby had conditioned himself over years and years not to come off so roughly. It worked for a while, but perhaps it was the title he was given that caused people to stress more than they had to.

After noting every detail he found worthy of investigation, he stuffed the notepad back into his coat pocket and adjusted the gloves on his hands. Coby turned back to the man who watched him so closely with an easy expression.

“You may do with them as you wish.”

The man nodded. As he recovered the documents, he seemed calmer, as though a storm had passed. The Vice Overseer couldn’t guess what his conversation with Edith was like before he arrived, but it couldn’t imagine it to be so stress inducing that he would fret at the sight of another holy man. Coby shelved the thought and made his way out of the room, leaving the shaken financier to his own devices.

He then made his way down the winding staircase again, finding his steps to be a little lighter than before. There was a weight of his chest that he couldn’t explain, other than he felt as though his personal mystery had been solved. Coby was hoping that it was only that easy, and that he could save the lecture for High Overseer Yul and His Majesty when he saw them. Time would tell, and so he did what he could to make that time pass quickly.

In the foyer, Edith was waiting for him. Dressed in her long coat, elegant gloves, and sturdy boots, she hardly looked the part of a Sister. Her clothing did not bare the emblem of either organization. Maybe it was better that way. They greeted each other with tiny waves and polite gestures as they made their way back to the street.

“Should I call a cab?” Edith’s voice was seemingly loud in the stillness the snowfall left behind.

“No, don’t worry about it. I prefer to walk anyway.”

“Well, I don’t,” the Sister replied playfully. “But you look like you have something to say. Just be my windbreaker, eh?”

Coby chortled through his nose and held out an arm to the younger woman. “If that’s what keeps your company.”

Edith held onto his arm loosely as they made their way along the main street. Rail cars rumbled overhead as they passed, leaving a static in the air. People moved by them briskly to escape the cold they never adjusted to. Coby kept his eyes forward and downward all the same as Edith allowed her head to hang where the wind could not catch her.

“Tell me something.” The Overseer’s statement was flat as the cold attempted to freeze his words in his throat.

“Hm?”

“Why are there so many Sister’s here? Shouldn’t you be in Karnaca?”

Edith adjusted the gloves on her hands and shivered as a small gust of wind hit her from behind. “The idea was simple enough. We were trying to compensate for your absence. With you all the way in Caulkenny, it would have taken weeks for you to show for any situation regarding the Void and its effects. So a few of us took it upon ourselves to make up for that.”

Coby frowned. He hooked his arm around the younger woman’s and stuff his hands in his pockets. “Why didn’t they just contact me anyway? Did they think it was insufficient enough?” He almost laughed. “The Abbey here has been slacking off on their responsibilities.”

There was laughter then, a light chuckle from Edith. “More or less. I don’t know, Martin, for you being one of the Abbey’s most important assets, you don’t turn up in conversation as much as I thought you would. We speak more about you in Karnaca and in visions of our own than we even hear of you from the people you serve directly.”

Coby couldn’t help but shrug; it was the only response he could think of to be appropriate. He couldn’t find himself to care too much about how people thought of him or how often he may cross their minds. The only circumstance that would cause hm to turn his head would be in circumstances such as this. He was needed, and by all sources more than ever, and yet he was allowed to sit idle while something so dangerous passed under his nose. The High Overseer was always the first Coby thought of, how his eyes were so intense, so set on his goal of ridding the Isle of this spiritual breach; his words were just as strong as they had been in letters, and yet there was no action taken to ensure that whatever it was would no longer be a problem; a threat.

The torn letter from the archives and the missing parcel proved to be a larger problem than Coby had originally foreseen. By all accounts, the Royal Family was accountable for parts of it, as well as the man who allowed all of their evidence to go missing. New questions arose as he and his companion continued on their walk through the frozen streets. His Majesty should send a letter shortly, and that’s what Coby kept telling himself. Questions would have answers very shortly, and if not, then he would back track. He would find a way to go back to where this mess began and start all over. High Overseer Yul would be facing his scrutiny, written request or not; and those amid Dunwall Tower would be not far behind.

It was not any kind of anger or overzealous righteousness that drove the Overseer to end the mystery at hand, it was his concern for safety, that of himself and the capital. The Void was a place that he had experienced first hand so long ago. For it’s spirits, artifacts, and raw power to be left unattended was frightening, to say the least. Coby lost his fear of that place and its demons so long ago; his only concern was how the fear of others would drive them, and what it would force them to do.

[torntruth]

okay but because i wanna talk about it now, the thing about monsters not being gentle isn't that they're literally rough or hardened, the way i see is that there's a feral part of them that's so very inhuman. especially with emily. there's a part of her that's literally an ancient inhumanity, eldritch even, it can not be processed as anything remotely human. it is literally the void. not a human. not a monstrous being. a whole inhuman thing. she can be human, but that piece of her still exists and it's feral and people like kass or alexi have now learned to love that inhumanity as much as the humanity.

[torntruth]

sorotrax​:

Welcome to Karnaca.

This is sort of an accompanying piece for my 2 one-shot stories I wrote, which can be found here.

[jackkrauser-archive]

Careful, there’s always a price to pay.