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levispersonalslave · 5 months ago

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Request for @silasthewendigo !! Canon!Levi Ackerman, Wendigo!Reader, gn!reader, Pre-rumbling, Second person omniscent POV, Two versions of the story, Gore, Angst

The crackle and sputter of timber remained the only sound emitted, blending within the solemn quietude of night. With the minute cluster of soldiers huddled around the firelight, they seemed to appear to be a hermit cult more than the once legendary Survey Corps soldiers. The soldiers that children had once aspired to become. A shame the majority of them, both soldiers and civilians, had been slaughtered.

He lay in the rickety wooden wagon, a blanket draped over his lap. Oh, how had the man who had once been Humanity's Strongest Soldier, Humanity's Hope, been reduced to mere game, feeble and ailing? Who could have imagined such a transition? A pity, really. A disgrace. The group had no need for such a dishonorable and ignoble man, no? No one did.

Well, nevermind that. You'd take delightful care of him, wouldn't you? Oh, yes, you certainly would. Marvelous care.

The crackle of twigs beyond the clearing soon merged with the fire's crepitation, veiling what may lurk beneath the thicket surrounding the group. ‘What was that? Oh, perhaps nothing but a rabbit.’ They were all utterly oblivious. Unaware of what was rapidly approaching, their quietus. No matter, that only served to amuse you further. Oh, how the terror would adorn their visages, you relished in such a sight. You'd certainly like to see it. Perhaps a little sooner than later.

An ear-splitting shriek rippled and echoed through the forest, causing the slumbering birds and game to scatter into the distant shrubs and treetops. The soldiers themselves also seemed to be taken aback, expectedly. They stood on guard, their swords unsheathed and prepared to battle with whomever may disrupt their night. Even the man in the wagon seemed to perk up. If you were able to, you would have snickered. The combination of horror and fury upon their faces, their eyes searched frantically for the source of such a scream, much to your amusement. They were only greeted by the silence of the forest, the dim light of the fire doing little to aid the search. With the stealth of a thousand tigers, you weaved your way through the trees, some if which seemed minuscule to your grand size. You settled behind a thick canopy of vines and greenery, near the man that had captured your gleaming eyes. He would make fine meal. He was weak. He could not run. Well, who were you to complain? He would be a particularly effortless kill. Oh, certainly. The mere thought caused you to shudder. You hadn't had a meal in perhaps years. Years of which felt like decades due to your lengthy slumber. You were ravenous by now, even more so than ordinarily. You'd satisfy yourself.

Very, very soon, indeed.

Only a little longer, until the foolish soldiers scatter, abandoning the crippled man. It would be easy. You had done this numerous times ago, it was nothing alien to you. Patience was all you required. With time, you'd ravish yourself until you could no more. With time...

“Help me! Please, I'm begging you! Help me! Please!”

A shrill scream reverberated throughout the thicket, catching the soldiers off-guard. The final plea of the “woman” seemed to stretch on for minutes, soon followed by utter silence. One of the soldiers, a man, barked an order to the others, before he began to slowly and cautiously approach the tenebrous trees. It seemed he would be wandering inside alone, much to your delight. You stood silently, veiled by the thick vines of a neighboring tree. He was about to, quite literally, saunter his way into your claws. Not that you were complaining.

It was not long before he entered the maw of the caliginous woods, certainly never to return. Patiently, patiently, patiently, you waited until he was out of the others' sights before you moved in. All that was heard from the clearing was the man's screams, followed by the faint crack of bone.

You could not recall the last time you had enjoyed such a piquant meal, yet you did not need to. You would have more coming very soon.

The soldiers stood unmoving, rendered static by the event. What had happened to him? Was it a titan? No, no, there were none of those around the area. Not anymore. So, what? The brunette shifted to stand near the man in the wagon, so as to protect him and the pair of children. Blood trickling down the sickly stretched skin of your jaw, you watched, awaiting your next prey. Oh, which one would it be? The blond man? Or perhaps the brunette? The children would be delightful, as well. It filled you with glee at the thought of it.

Ooh, you were giddy with delight. After so, so long, you'd finally have a succulent meal to feast upon. You had your eye on the raven-haired man, as he would be a particularly easy kill. He was smaller than the others, however, so perhaps he wouldn't last long. Well, no matter. There were many others. And the large creature by their side, it looked almost as though it were a humanoid dog, was sizable enough to quench your hunger for the moment. The soldiers were still staring, wide-eyed and immobile, into the gloom of the forest, waiting for you to emerge and reveal yourself. You could, but that would mean too much work. You were sure you'd be able to overpower the six of them, no matter how large the sixth was. It had lifted itself from kneeling to standing on all fours, which seemed to be its standard standing position. You'd have to lure them into your grasp. Until, one following the other, you'd pick them off and enjoy yourself a delightful meal. You could hear the synchronized frantic pounding of their hearts quite clearly. Unbeknownst to them, they had engaged themselves into a torturous little game the moment they had stepped foot into your territory.

A low growl rumbled in the grotesquely thin silhouette of your chest and echoed throughout the forest, causing the group to tense further. The dog-like creature lept forward, crashing into the shrubbery and branches of the trees. It missed you by mere centimeters. It seemed the true hunt had begun. Lashing out with your talon-like claws, you shredded the side of the creature, the scarlet blood squirting out of the wounds. Despite this, the creature seemed to only be mildly affected. You attacked once more, this time aiming for its face. You were much taller than it, even if it stood on its hind legs, which served as an advantage on your side.

This time, however, anticipating the attack, the creature lurched to the side, knocking you over into the bushes. You swiftly regained your footing and lashed out once more, striking its nape and digging your claws into it. The creature let out a loud, demonic scream in response to the hit. Hearing this, you realized that attacking the nape seemed to be the better option for defeating this creature. You would have grinned in triumph, yet, devoid of lips, you could only utter a low and guttural growl. It slowly stood to its feet, swaying like a drunkard. Your head twitched to the side, before you lunged for its neck once more, your claws seizing, tearing, killing... Honed teeth piercing, digging, stabbing...

The creature slumped down, unable to support itself any longer as it slowly, inevitably perished.

The cluster of soldiers watched the scene in horror, you could see the cogs spinning in their minds as they tried to formulate a plan to kill you. A shame you couldn't be killed so easily. Your attention was quickly returned to the slumped creature as a woman emerged from the nape of its neck. She seemed to be unconscious, or, at the very least, dazed. Before she could regain her consciousness, you swiped at her head with your large hand, your claws stabbing through her skull and immediately killing her. Starved, you wasted no time to feast upon her flesh, tearing it apart and rushing it into your hungry maw.

Taking your distraction as a moment of vulnerability, the soldiers simultaneously rushed forward, unsheathing their blades. You showed barely a reaction, your sunken eyes flicking towards them for a moment, as though considering whether to waste your strength on them. Well, you could never have enough food, could you? Of course not.

You turned your grotesquely thin body towards them, causing them to stumble and hesitate. You took the opportunity, slashing at the one-eyed burnette. A pity you wouldnt be able to eat both eyes. You liked them best.

They had dodged your attack, swinging their sword and slicing your hand off. With a shriek, you drew back, though your hand quickly regenerated in a matter of moments with a sickly slurping noise. The soldiers were shocked at how fast you had managed to heal. They had seen titans regenerating, but never as swift as you had just done. What were you? You certainly weren't some abnormal titan mutant, so... what?

Multiple of the soldiers lunged forward, charging at you with their pathetic little blades. How amusing... and utterly futile.

Let them come to you, they were only falling right into your claws, after all. The moment they were close enough, your large jaws opened with an ill-sounding creak of the bone and you flew forward, capturing one of them, the tall blond, by the head. You bit down, the grotesque snap and crunch of bone echoing throughout the empty forest. Your jaws snapped up and down as you let go of the disfigured man.

You turned your cruel gaze to the others as they came forward to avenge their companion, only for you to pounce upon another light brown-haired man. He screamed as your claws tore through the flesh of his abdomen, guts spilling onto the thick and muddy grass. The one-eyed soldier had attacked you from behind whilst you were distracted, slashing at the nape of your thin neck. They had assumed you would be killed the way titans had, yet they had been incorrect. You regenerated once more, turning to them with waterfalls of blood streaming down your jaw and hands.

They seemed to be a veteran, as they were quite skilled at combat and dodging. They managed to land multiple hits on your flesh, but, of course, those had no effect on you. You attacked them once more, only this time, you succeeded. Your attack had sent them flying against a tree, and you heard the crack of their spine. You approached them, your footsteps enough to cause earthquakes. You gazed upon them as they writhed on the ground, desperate to stand and face you once again. Using your malformed foot, you stomped on them, eliciting a shrill shriek and the cunch of their ribcage. Your talons, the length of a foot, dug into their flesh as they let out one last scream of terror and agony.

Now, since the soldiers were gone, where was the man you had wanted? Still in the same spot, of course. He was crippled, after all. You emerged from the bloodied brush and into the clearing with the terrified children were huddled around the injured man, clinging to him in horror. The girl uttered a single bawl, unable to form coherent words at the mere sight of you. You approached them slowly, aware that they could get nowhere. The man held them protectively, although, both you and him knew he could do nothing to protect them nor himself. You had killed his comrades, you were to kill the children in front of him, and then, at last, him.

The children, a girl and a boy of whom could be no older than fourteen years of age, cowered in fear at your towering form, the blood from your jaw dripping onto their clothing. Oh, heavens, what were they to do? They stood no chance of survival. Should they simply accept their fate and succumb to your honed teeth? Or should they fight? They had no weapons. No chance. You were much taller. Much stronger.

You left them no room to decide. You plucked the girl from the man's side, eliciting a sharp screech as she kicked at your arm, but to no avail. She tried to reach for the man's hand, but to no avail. You held her by the hood of her jacket, using your thumb and pointer finger, as though she were nothing but a filthy rag. You lifted her higher, raising your head and opening your great jaws. You dropped her into your maw, chewing your way until only the shreds of her clothing remained. The boy was bawling, his face smothered in tears of terror, and the man could only cover the boy's eyes and close his own.

Not yet satisfied, you noticed how they had both shut their eyes. Taking the opportunity, you dug one of your grotesquely long and ragged fingers into his abdomen, all the way until the claw poked out of it back. He hadn't been given the chance to scream. You shoved your entire hand into wound, tearing his torso apart and killing him instantly.

The man could only watch, his eye widened and his hands trembling as they held the malformed corpse of the boy. A singular tear brimmed over his cheek. He could no longer look at it. But he wouldn't need to. You would kill him. And it would be over. Isn't that right?

He drew back instinctively as he felt the sharp tip of your claw trace along his jugular.

A swift, painless death, right?

//2166 words, 12273 characters //

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ofvoidx · 2 years ago

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i honestly also really like the whole idea that emily TRIED working with the abbeymen but ended up disbanding the whole organization. there's also something fun in the fact that while the abbeymen were just thrown in jail or killed for fighting back and not just disbanding ... whoever she sent after the oracular sisters went off the deep end and killed ALL of them ... and yet emily said nothing. no public wide announcement. she didn't address the fact the oracular sisters were hunted and killed like animals. that's just high chaos, give no shit emily showing and while low chaos is always the canon and my preference, there's still this certain darkness in emily that really shows itself sometimes. i currently don't have the abbeymen disbanded, but i write emily like only a couple months after dishonored 2 and i always felt eventually ... she'd tell them to go. the only thing i don't like about the veiled terror is that the outsider's death not only means the void is leaking everywhere, but that all the marked powers just disappear and billie can't even use HER powers that aren't even of the outsider.

which i guess kind of makes more sense, all super high concentrated void areas like stilton's manor where emily couldn't use powers. i just like them, but also i like remembering that emily is extremely deadly even without them.

#— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 [ introspection ] .

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acebolibro · 10 months ago

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Booklist

My current booklist, with a little over 200 books total, some of which I am currently reading and two that I've finished. Everything will be in alphabetical order and below the cut because this is gonna be a long one.

Please also keep in mind that there may be issues with the listed writers or books that I don't know (I don't really inhabit spaces where I'd find this information out and googling every book or writer I find to see if they're controversial is depressing and I'm not doing that). I'd still like to know though so if you see someone on my list give me a heads up.

🤎 A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ni Ghriofa

🤍 A Magic Steeped In Poison by Judy I. Lin

🤎 A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki

🤍 After the Sun by Jonas Eika

🤎 Afterparties by Anthony Veasna So

🤍 All Flesh Is Grass by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 All the Living and the Dead by Hayley Campbell

🤍 All the Lovers in the Night by Mieko Kawakami

🤎 All This Could Be Different by Sarah Thompson Mathews

🤍 Annhilation by Jeff Vandermeer

🤎 Atomic Anna by Rachel Barenbaum

🤍 August Kitko and the Mechas from Space by Alex White

🤎 Before the Coffe Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

🤍 Bliss Montage by Ling Ma

🤎 Borne by Jeff Vandermeer

🤍 Briefly, A Delicious Life by Nell Stevens

🤎 Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes

🤍 Build Your House Around My Body by Violet Kupersmith

🤎 Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi

🤎 Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

🤍 Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka

🤎 City by Clifford D. Simak

🤍 City of Saints and Madmen by Jeff Vandermeer

🤎 Cold Enough For Snow by Jessica Au

🤍 Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata (COMPLETED)

🤎 Coraline by Neil Gaiman

🤍 Crying in H Mart by Michell Zauner

🤎 Dead Astronauts by Jeff Vandermeer

🤍 Dead Eleven by Jimmy Juliano

🤎 Devil House by John Darnielle

🤍 Diary of a Void by Emi Yagi

🤎 Dishonored: The Corroded Man by Adam Christopher

🤍 Dishonored: The Return of Daud by Adam Christopher

🤎 Dishonored: The Veiled Terror by Adam Christopher

🤍 Disorientation by Elaine Hsieh Chou

🤎 Don't Say We Didn't Warn You by Ariel Delgado Dixon

🤍 Earthlings by Sayaka Murata

🤎 Edenville by Sam Rebelein

🤍 Edge Case by Yz Chin

🤎 Elsewhere by Alexis Schaitkin

🤍 Enchanted Pilgrimage by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (COMPLETED)

🤍 Far From the Light of Heaven by Tade Thompson

🤎 Fever Dream by Samantha Schweblin

🤍 Fire Season by Leyna Know

🤎 Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

🤍 Flux by Orion Carloto

🤎 Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

🤍 Funny You Should Ask by Elisa Sussman

🤎 Ghost Forest by Pik Shuen Fung

🤍 Ghosted by Jenn Ashworth

🤎 Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

🤍 Gods Behaving Badly by Marie Phillips

🤎 Gods of Want by K-Ming Chang

🤍 Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #1 by Mō Xiāng Tóng Xiū

🤎 Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead

🤍 Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

🤎 Hear the Wind Sing by Haruki Murakami

🤍 Heaven's Official Blessing #1 by Mō Xiāng Tóng Xiū

🤎 Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh

🤍 House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

🤎 Hurricane Girl by Marcy Dermansky

🤍 I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

🤎 I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Se-Hee

🤍 Idol, Burning by Rin Usami

🤎 If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio

🤍 Infinite Country by Patricia Engel

🤎 Insatiable by Daisy Buchanan

🤍 Islands of Abandonment by Cal Flynn

🤎 Joan Is Okay by Weike Wang

🤍 Kamikaze Girls by Novala Takemoto

🤎 Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo

🤍 Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

🤎 Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

🤍 Laserwriter II by Tamara Shopsin

🤎 Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century by Kim Fu

🤍 Letter to a Future Lover by Ander Monson

🤎 Life Ceremony by Sayaka Murata

🤍 Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

🤎 Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura

🤍 Loteria by Cynthia Pelayo

🤎 Love in the Big City by Sang Young Park

🤍 Made to Kill by Adam Christopher

🤎 Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones

🤍 Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer

🤎 Memorial by Bryan Washington

🤍 Memphis by Tara M. Stringfellow

🤎 Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathaniel West

🤍 Mister N by Najwa Barakat

🤎 Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

🤍 Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of N.I.M.H. by Robert C. O'Brien

🤎 Ms. Ice Sandwich by Mieko Kawakami

🤍 My Year Abroad byChang Rae-Lee

🤎 Never Whistle At Night by Shane Hawk

🤍 Night Film by Marisha Pessl

🤎 Nobody Is Ever Missing by Catherine Lacey

🤍 Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

🤎 Normal People by Sally Rooney

🤍 O Beautiful by Jung Yun

🤎 Olga Dies Dreaming by Xochitl Gonzalez

🤍 Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint by Sing Shong

🤎 Our Wives Under the Sun by Julia Armfield

🤍 Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

🤎 Paradise Rot by Jenny Hual

🤍 People From My Neighborhood by Hiromi Kawakami

🤎 Pet by Akwaeke Emezi

🤍 Popisho by Leone Ross

🤎 Postmarked the Stars by Andre Norton

🤍 Pretend I'm Dead by Jen Beagin

🤎 Revival Season by Monica West

🤍 Ringworld #1 by Larry Niven

🤎 Saltwater by Jessica Andrews

🤍 Scattered All Over the Earth by Yoko Tawada

🤎 Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel

🤍 Seeing Ghosts by Kat Chow

🤎 Send Nudes by Saba Sams

🤍 So Bright the Vision by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 Solo Leveling #1 by Chugong

🤍 Somebody's Daughter by Ashley C. Ford

🤎 Spare and Found Parts by Sarah Maria Griffin

🤍 Speak, Okinawa by Elizabeth Miki Brina

🤎 Stories from Tenants Downstairs by Sidik Rofena

🤍 Strange Weather In Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami

🤎 Supper Club by Lara Williams

🤍 Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa

🤎 Swimming In the Dark by Tamasz Jedrowski

🤍 Tell Me How to Be by Neel Patel

🤎 Terminal Boredom by Izumi Suzuki

🤍 Territory of Light by Yuko Tsushima

🤎 The Vietri Project by Nicola DeRobertis-Theye

🤍 The Beast You Are: Stories by Paul Tremblay

🤎 The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

🤍 The City Inside by Samit Basu

🤎 The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrefer

🤍 The Deep by Rivers Solomon

🤎 The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo

🤍 The End of the Moment We Had by Toshiki Okada

🤎 The Factory by Hiroko Oyamada

🤍 The Fallen by Thomas E. Sniegoski

🤎 The Family Chao by Lan Samantha Chang

🤍 The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien

🤎 The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oli

🤍 The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

🤎 The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien

🤍 The Hole by Hiroko Oyamada

🤎 The Honeys by Ryan La Sala

🤍 The Houseguest and Other Stories by Amparo Davila

🤎 The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

🤍 The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

🤎 The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi

🤍 The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave

🤎 The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

🤍 The Local by Joey Hartstone

🤎 The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa

🤍 The Midcoast by Adam White

🤎 The Monsters We Defy by Leslye Penelope

🤍 The Nakano Thrift Store by Hiromi Kawakami

🤎 The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected In the Water by Zen Cho

🤍 The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton

🤎 The Pachinko Parlour by Elisa Shua Dusapin

🤍 The Paradox Hotel by Rob Hart

🤎 The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien

🤍 The Rig by Roger Levy

🤎 The Rock Eaters by Brenda Peynado

🤍 The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System by Mō Xiāng Tóng Xiū

🤎 The Secret History by Donna Tart

🤍 The Stange Bird by Jeff Vandermeer

🤎 The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester

🤍 The Sun Down Motel by Simone St. James

🤎 The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien

🤍 The Visitors by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 The Wanderer by Fritz Leiber

🤍 The Werewolf Principle by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 The White Book by Han Kang

🤍 The World After the Fall by Sing Shong

🤎 They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera

🤍 They Walked Like Men by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone

🤍 This One Sky Day by Leone Ross

🤎 This Weightless World by Adam Soto

🤍 This World Is Full of Monsters by Jeff Vandermeer

🤎 Those Who Walk Away From Omelas by Ursula K. Le Guin

🤍 Time and Again by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 Tokyo Ueno Station by Yu Miri

🤍 Tripping Arcadia by Kit Mayquist

🤎 Way Station by Clifford D. Simak

🤍 We Play Ourselves by Jen Silverman

🤎 Weather by Jenny Offrill

🤍 Welcome to Lagos by Chibundu Onuzo

🤎 Welcome to Nightvale by Joseph Fink & Jeffrey Cranor

🤍 What Is Not Your Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi

🤎 What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

🤍 When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain by Nghi Vo

🤎 When We Lost Our Heads by Heather O'Neill

🤍 Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

🤎 Where the Dead Wait by Ally Wilkes

🤍 Where the Evil Dwells by Clifford D. Simak

🤎 Why Call Them Back From Heaven? by Clifford D. Simak

🤍 Winter in Sokcho by Elisa Shua Dusapin

🤎 Wolf in White Van by John Darnielle

🤍 You Have A Friend In 10A by Maggie Shipstead

🤎 You Made A Fool of Death With Your Beauty by Akwaeke Emezi

🤍 Yvinka, Where Is Your Huzband? by Lizzie Damilola Blackburn

#🔖booklist #🧾announcement #bookblr #readingblr

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lady-of-the-mirror · 11 months ago

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The Blood of Traitors

Pain. The earth was soaked with it. Pain, riches, and the promise of a life made better for the risk taken.

It wasn't worth it.

So many had died in the initial strike when the sky cracked open and pillars of blue flame fell on our heads, followed by the very stars themselves crashing around us. There had been no warning, and truth be told: there didn't need to be. The risk was estimated upon this plan's hatching, but it was estimated poorly.

Those who survived barricaded themselves in the mine- the mine we had been sent to acquire in her name- and I was only made aware of the deceit not even a day before we deployed. I had no choice but to go along with it, lest I and my family be killed for whatever passed as treason to this.. now dubious mercenary company.

I promised my wife that it was just for the coin, and that I would get out of it as soon as we could afford a corner of the world we could call our own, somewhere far away from that accursed marshland.

I wish, now, that I could go back.

It smelled of dirt, stone, blood, and fear; and the only places to go were outside and face Shal'assan's wrath, or go deeper into the mine. Those whose plan this had been squabbled amongst themselves- blame being thrown back and forth in forced hushed tones so as not to induce a panic among the surviving conspirators. We had a hostage- a geologist hired by Lord Shal'assan to confirm the contents of the mine- someone more innocent than myself or anyone a part of this damnable company.

They were sent with a pair of hired hands - like myself, but not including myself- and a surly dark iron shaman who was the lynchpin and part and parcel the whole reason this company could potentially pull this heist off. I was tasked with staying above ground and keeping an eye on the entrance where the ground still smoldered in the wake of the initial retaliatory strike. It was quiet, but beyond the veil of smoke the sounds of distant voices reached my ears- soldiers relaying orders, if I had to guess. But they didn't move, nor did they send anyone to parley with the conspirators.

What I could see was unsettling. Soldiers in shining silver armor, faceplates like emotionless masks, daunting shields, and massive lances. Their formations made it clear they had no intention of letting anyone escape until justice for our betrayal was mete out. Regrets over my choice to join this mercenary company were beginning to overwhelm me- I wanted to be loyal, but.. to whom did I want to be loyal to? My family's home in the county once called Inkblot had been left in ruins, terrors upon terrors haunting the land that were simply no good for raising our family in.. but we couldn't afford anywhere else.

That's why I am here. That is why I will now die to the same people who helped save what they could in Sorrowmend: for coin. For a dishonorable cause, something that I would only be remembered by dearest beloved and the life growing within her- would she tell our child of me? Or would she tell them their father was someone who lived up to the ideals of a proper knight- not a bloody mercenary who betrayed their contracts in pursuit of simple, superficial riches.

I pray that I am remembered well. I wish that I could see their faces one last time.. Light, to hold her in my arms one last time, I beg of thee..

A scream brought me to my feet, prepared for the battle to come- the death I'd earned - but none from the perimeter of Shal'assan's lines charged or approached. Another scream- a pained one, terror and suffering made manifest through the shredding of ones vocals- but whose? And.. from where? I turned as I heard steps behind me, the conspirators at our backs now looking deeper into the mine.. where the screams were originating.

Then there was silence, for several heartstopping seconds there was silence.

Then footsteps from the elevator shaft in the depths of the mine.

Someone was coming.

We had a choice to make then: turn our backs to the formations of the Shattered Shields of Shal'assan, or face whatever terror lurked our way. We were doomed either way, but as was made mention before: the risks for undertaking this endeavor were estimated, and estimated poorly. I was personally called from guarding the entry to the mine- the two who were assigned to guide the dark iron shaman had returned- their armor covered in blood, their lips moving with incoherent rambling. One of the conspirators demanded I check them for injuries- our dubious clerics having fallen in the initial strike- to account for the blood- but I found no obvious signs of injury. Their gazes were distant, their voices hushed as they mumbled incoherently.

The only thing of note that stood out on their persons, clutched in their bloody hands were blueish white crystals.. as if someone had trapped the essence of a watercolor tapestry and hardened it into stone. No one knew what they were, Light.. they just seemed so..

..Wrong.

A gargling whine met all our ears next, the dragging of steps across stone that sounded wet, and infantile. Someone else had stepped off of the mine shaft elevator. Torches were raised and then magnified to cast their light further down the tunnel, where revealed quivering in the shadows was the dark iron: and the source of the blood on my compatriots. The shaman's fingers had been mutilated, severed, only the thumb and forefinger of each hand remaining, bloodied and seared stumps now residing where the previous appendages had once been. His gaze was naught but terror- his eyes wide and visage drained of any color- but they were focused, trained on the conspirators who called his name.

He pointed his remaining digits towards them.. then fell face down in a bloodied heap. No one dared approach the body as the shadows in the mine deepened, torchlight unable to pierce the swallowing darkness that crept ever forward.

I could feel it like I'd felt it so many times before, the imminence of death- but this was the first time it felt all but assured.

The sound of.. something, on the bloodied stone echoed out from within, then the sound of a woman humming rose from deeper still. My heart and mind felt as if they might explode or wither, respectively; my hand absently going to the firearm holstered at my hip. Others followed suit, and took aim at the shadows.

"Exquisite, is it not? The blood of traitors.."

The voice from the dark- feminine, malevolent, echoing with the ethereal quality of the darkness that enshrouded the speaker- but it was familiar to the conspirators.

"Fire.." one of them whispered through trembling lips. "F-FIRE! FIRE!" I turned my head from the conspirators to those lined up with me aiming our rifles, then into the shadows. I could feel the heat of their muzzles as triggers clicked and commands were repeated to fire. I froze as I turned my face forward and stared into the darkness, and into the eyes of she who stared back from within the churning abyss.

Brilliant blue hues, pinpricks of light amidst a consuming wall. Then, I watched as one by one animated runeblades emerged. Violet, fire, storm, and frost.. and suddenly I knew who it was that had come for us. The stories of their conquests, of their fight with the darkness that had taken Sorrowmend- my home. She who we had so foolishly betrayed in pursuit of personal gain.

I dropped my weapon as my comrades reloaded their weapons- the fatal flaw in their design versus the Lord-Archon- and I saw in the corners of my vision as her blades surged forward; impaling those foolish enough to keep fighting, slaying them where they stood. I fell to my knees, my firearm cradled by the bloodied ground, the throes of death washing over me as one by one we hired hands fell until none so armed could lift a finger in further betrayal.

I fell forward as color swam through my vision as the Lord of Shal'assan stepped from out of the shadows, runeblades aligning once again at her back- but the seething black blades of legend duly withdrew from their concealments. She was beautiful.. and ***terrible*** all at once. She was our doom.

I could just barely hear the retreat being called as the conspirators turned tail like the cowards only betrayers of their sort could truly be borne of.. But I knew even as consciousness gave out that there was nowhere for them to go, nowhere for them to hide: that the true estimation of their gamble had now been fully realized. The warm embrace of unconsciousness took me- and I felt at last the release I knew was coming- that the ferriers of the dead would claim my soul soon. I pray that I am remembered well, for who I was. Not this. Not this.

“Open your eyes.”I awakened, and found myself prostrated in a kneeling posture, air rapidly inflating my lungs and pressing my chest against the constraints of my chainmail tunic and shredded company tabard. I blinked several times rapidly to clear the blurriness of light flooding my vision- shapes started to form, two humanoids before me- one standing, and one crouched. “What form of coward is greater, do you think?” came a woman’s voice- HER voice. “The kind who willingly betrays their contracts for personal gain? Or those who when caught in the midst of their consequence feigning their demise,” she said as my eyes locked on her vibrant arcanic hues. Her posture, crouched though she was, was casual in its manner considering the carnage around us that I could now see. “Mmmnot a coward..” I tried to speak, only for the Lord of Shal’assan to reach forward to press a finger to my lips to silence me in as demeaning a manner as possible, then relaxing as she set her wrists atop her exposed knees; the skirt of her lordly raiment strewn around her. The figure at the elven lord’s back chuckled and shook their head, then headed back towards the mine behind them, where the smell of freshly shed gore rose. “Appearances suggest otherwise,” the mage-lord replied lowly, the echoing bite of the ethereal now completely absent. She rose to her full height, her chest rising and falling with the exertion of a calmed breath. Her own appearance was impeccable, and one might never know the catastrophic loss of life that suffered beneath the icy heels where she tread. “Fortunately enough for you,” she says then as she drops something before me- “Your memories do not betray your heart.. Sir Sven Williamson.” My name- I never told her my name. My eyes narrowed on her, and I opened my mouth to speak, but could only cough so forcefully as to send me sprawling forward onto my hands and knees, where I then saw what she had given me: a blueish white stone, just as she’d given the shaman’s guards. I tried to stand, to retreat- and I met no resistance to the notion save for a niggling curiosity as to what had happened to the others of my company.

I looked around me, to the desolation wrought from the sky’s opening and the raining of fire. Charred corpses were being gathered and assembled into piles by the same armored figures standing in opposition to us, containing us- trapping us with her. I looked further around, and saw as bodies were pulled from the mine behind the Lord of Shal’assan, whose piercing gaze did my soul feel the intrusion of. What had she meant by what she said? That.. my memories did not betray my heart?

“You have before you,” she says, raising two fingers as she spoke to me, wiggling them as a mother might while speaking to a child, “Two choices, Sir Sven Williamson,” she says while deftly approaching me, no sounds coming from beneath her steps save for the soft grinding of her icy heels into stone. “Your memories- and your actions- while not necessarily in service to anyone but you and yours do speak to the veracity of your intentions. You can die here, as forgotten as the rest of these traitors- your lifeforce harvested and used in pursuit of our nobler cause.” The Lord of Shal’assan then shrugged, tilting her chin upwards in the most vile and despicable manner all nobility used to look down their noses at those deemed lesser- ohhh how I was starting to hate her!

Rage swelled in my breast, my fists clenching- one around the gifted mysterious stone- and the other around the pommel of the dagger hidden in my bracer. She had no guards attending to her, and while I knew my odds of surviving were all but a forfeiture of my future- there was nothing I wanted more than to just try to carve her lips from her face. The look in her eyes had a knowing quality to them that I couldn’t quite explain- nor did I care to either as I stepped forward, and staggered as pain wracked through my person.

“Or..” she lowers one finger, holding up a solitary index digit, paying as little mind to my stumble as someone who expected it might. “You return to Sorrowmend with a renewed purpose. To your family. Take with you the lessons learned here- and consider very carefully the future you wish to tread, friend.” Her own gaze narrowed on mine, and the memory of what transpired in the mine.. However long ago that it was, surfaced in the fore of my mind. My anger quelled just as her head tilted forward, replacing her demeaning expression with one that bespoke.. Something else. My grip on my blade laxed, and the tension all at once eased. “I have made many orphans in my time: I would just as well wish not to take away your child’s father,” she said then as she stepped towards me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder. Her gaze goes just beyond me, to steps approaching from behind- her hand outstretched towards them. A masked soldier placed in her hand a bloodied satchel, which she then offered to me. I looked- and saw seven kneeling figures- the conspirators, all summarily and judiciously slain- and while seven haunting robed and hooded figures held bowls beneath their slit throats. The blood of traitors..

My fingers closed around the satchel, which was heavy with the weight of the slain conspirator’s coins. “Why,” I started, softly shaking my head as I held more wealth in my hand than I’d ever possessed throughout my thirty odd years of life. “Why.. here, why this place?” I asked the Lord of Shal’assan as she meandered further still past me. I turned, watching their grotesque fascination as whoever the robed figures concluded their work. “What, in a mine, contributes to the greediness of a scoundrel’s heart, you mean?” the magus replied as she turned back towards me, her lips pulled into a violet painted line. “Yes,” I replied truthfully- I had not been a part of the conspiracy after all, and somehow Lord Shal’assan already knew as much. The pause that followed my response was pregnant with an air of skepticism, as if despite however which way she already knew.. Doubts still gnawed at her for whatever reason. “Please, I just.. I only-” “I know why you are here- I know what purpose you sought- I know how it simultaneously contrasted and aligned with your compatriots. You need not justify your position, Sir Sven,” the magus interjected brusquely in stark contrast to the soft imposing glow of her countenance. I fell silent as her gaze narrowed on me once more, at which point I realized I would not know why so many had to needlessly die for this imminently remote mining settlement. That silence carried further on amidst the disposal of the conspirator’s remains- their bodies consumed in the same blue flame that had fallen upon us at the sky’s splitting. I watched as the husks of their forms withered into ash, leaving naught but armor scraps to be pilfered behind. “You have yet to make your decision, Sir Sven,” Shakiena said to the rhythm of caution- the silence between us shattered in remembrance for the same memories the Lord of Shal’assan referenced- why I lived, why I was here, and why I was now holding the means with which a future could be made possible.

“I… will return,” I replied, much to the mage-lord’s satisfaction as tension seemed to evaporate as quickly as it had built. “Thank you..” Lord Shal’assan remained silent, simply acknowledging my gratitude with a slow nod of her head. One of the mages nearby offered to return me to Shal’assan- where I would be directed to the gate that linked the Northrend realm to Sorrowmend, my home. I returned, still wearing the chainmail and shredded tabard, firearm back in its holster, dagger still in its concealment. I both loved and hated this place- but the former now tasted much sweeter on the tongue, knowing that despite the nightmares haunting the shadows still- love was what brought me here, and had inspired me to take up arms as I had. I was barraged with questions upon walking through my own front door, my wife panicked by my appearance, my shredded tabard, but above all else: the blood. She asked where it had come from, if I was hurt- to which I assured her and showed no significant injury on my person.

“Then whose blood is it?” she asked, concern incapable of vacating her expression. All I could do was smile, and remember the hunched forms of the conspirators as their blood was taken from their slit throats into sanguine basins. I huffed a breathless laugh, earning my wife’s confusion and tentative smile- Light, how I loved her smile.

I simply left the bloodstained satchel on the kitchen table, and went to wash up for supper. The conspirators' coins spilled out and clattered against the wood, saying everything else that needed to be said.

#roleplay #short stories #world of warcraft #moon guard

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lord-archon · 11 months ago

Text

THE BLOOD OF TRAITORS

Pain. The earth was soaked with it. Pain, riches, and the promise of a life made better for the risk taken.

It wasn't worth it.

Those who survived barricaded themselves in the mine- the mine we had been sent to acquire in *her* name- and I was only made aware of the deceit not even a day before we deployed. I had no choice but to go along with it, lest I and my family be killed for whatever passed as treason to this.. now dubious mercenary company.

I wish, now, that I could go back.

I pray that I am remembered well. I wish that I could see their faces one last time.. Light, to hold her in my arms one last time, I beg of thee..

Then there was silence, for several heartstopping seconds there was silence.

Then footsteps from the elevator shaft in the depths of the mine.

Someone was coming.

..Wrong.

bloodied and seared stumps now residing where the previous appendages had once been. His gaze was naught but terror- his eyes wide and visage drained of any color- but they were focused, trained on the conspirators who called his name.

I could feel it like I'd felt it so many times before, the imminence of death- but this was the first time it felt all but assured.

"Exquisite, is it not? The blood of traitors.."

The voice from the dark- feminine, malevolent, echoing with the ethereal quality of the darkness that enshrouded the speaker- but it was familiar to the conspirators.

I fell forward as color swam through my vision as the Lord of Shal'assan stepped from out of the shadows, rune blades aligning once again at her back- but the seething black blades of legend duly withdrew from their concealments. She was beautiful.. and terrible all at once. She was our doom.

“Open your eyes.” I awakened, and found myself prostrated in a kneeling posture, air rapidly inflating my lungs and pressing my chest against the constraints of my chainmail tunic and shredded company tabard. I blinked several times rapidly to clear the blurriness of light flooding my vision- shapes started to form, two humanoids before me- one standing, and one crouched. “What form of coward is greater, do you think?” came a woman’s voice- HER voice. “The kind who willingly betrays their contracts for personal gain? Or those who when caught in the midst of their consequence feigning their demise,” she said as my eyes locked on her vibrant arcanic hues. Her posture, crouched though she was, was casual in its manner considering the carnage around us that I could now see. “Mmmnot a coward..” I tried to speak, only for the Lord of Shal’assan to reach forward to press a finger to my lips to silence me in as demeaning a manner as possible, then relaxing as she set her wrists atop her exposed knees; the skirt of her lordly raiment strewn around her. The figure at the elven lord’s back chuckled and shook their head, then headed back towards the mine behind them, where the smell of freshly shed gore rose. “Appearances suggest otherwise,” the mage-lord replied lowly, the echoing bite of the ethereal now completely absent. She rose to her full height, her chest rising and falling with the exertion of a calmed breath. Her own appearance was impeccable, and one might never know the catastrophic loss of life that suffered beneath the icy heels where she tread. “Fortunately enough for you,” she says then as she drops something before me- “Your memories do not betray your heart.. Sir Sven Williamson.” My name- I never told her my name. My eyes narrowed on her, and I opened my mouth to speak, but could only cough so forcefully as to send me sprawling forward onto my hands and knees, where I then saw what she had given me: a blueish white stone, just as she’d given the shaman’s guards. I tried to stand, to retreat- and I met no resistance to the notion save for a niggling curiosity as to what had happened to the others of my company.

“What, in a mine, contributes to the greediness of a scoundrel’s heart, you mean?” the magus replied as she turned back towards me, her lips pulled into a violet painted line. “Yes,” I replied truthfully- I had not been a part of the conspiracy after all, and somehow Lord Shal’assan already knew as much. The pause that followed my response was pregnant with an air of skepticism, as if despite however which way she already knew.. Doubts still gnawed at her for whatever reason. “Please, I just.. I only-” “I know why you are here- I know what purpose you sought- I know how it simultaneously contrasted and aligned with your compatriots. You need not justify your position, Sir Sven,” the magus interjected brusquely in stark contrast to the soft imposing glow of her countenance. I fell silent as her gaze narrowed on me once more, at which point I realized I would not know why so many had to needlessly die for this imminently remote mining settlement. That silence carried further on amidst the disposal of the conspirator’s remains- their bodies consumed in the same blue flame that had fallen upon us at the sky’s splitting. I watched as the husks of their forms withered into ash, leaving naught but armor scraps to be pilfered behind. “You have yet to make your decision, Sir Sven,” Shakiena said to the rhythm of caution- the silence between us shattered in remembrance for the same memories the Lord of Shal’assan referenced- why I lived, why I was here, and why I was now holding the means with which a future could be made possible. “I… will return,” I replied, much to the mage-lord’s satisfaction as tension seemed to evaporate as quickly as it had built. “Thank you..” Lord Shal’assan remained silent, simply acknowledging my gratitude with a slow nod of her head. One of the mages nearby offered to return me to Shal’assan- where I would be directed to the gate that linked the Northrend realm to Sorrowmend, my home. I returned, still wearing the chainmail and shredded tabard, firearm back in its holster, dagger still in its concealment. I both loved and hated this place- but the former now tasted much sweeter on the tongue, knowing that despite the nightmares haunting the shadows still- love was what brought me here, and had inspired me to take up arms as I had. I was barraged with questions upon walking through my own front door, my wife panicked by my appearance, my shredded tabard, but above all else: the blood. She asked where it had come from, if I was hurt- to which I assured her and showed no significant injury on my person.

“Then whose blood is it?” she asked, concern incapable of vacating her expression. All I could do was smile, and remember the hunched forms of the conspirators as their blood was collected in sanguine basins. I huffed a breathless laugh, earning my wife’s confusion and tentative smile- Light, how I loved her smile. I simply left the bloodstained satchel on the kitchen table, and went to wash up for supper. The conspirators' coins spilled out and clattered against the wood, saying everything else that needed to be said.

#short story #roleplay #writing #moon guard #oc

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cryopathiic-a · 1 year ago

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Oh, to be spoken to like a dog under his own roof; he should have at least thought to unravel those golden folds in the other's face for that. But it was impossible to conjure such heresy, even for someone as vain as the black crowned lotus. The threatening aura overtakes everything in its path, cracking old bones and running through each fiber of wood on the boards under the samurai's footfalls. Even in his own domain, Dōma knows better than to strum his claws over that taut leash again. The bloodstain on his head may appear as a crown, but it is as much of a collar as everyone else's.

At the top of the food chain; and yet there was still another that could pry the meal from his jaws.

How... irksome, that sizzling in his chest. Is it because he lost, or because he is inhaling that intoxicating wrath that pours from the first moon's presence? The air grows heavy and thick with his disdain; and when he goes to part his lips, the words are caught in his throat. And when he tries to swallow, nothing comes down. So a measure of confusion blends into the conciliatory smile as his head offers a reluctant bow; a thinly veiled petulance behind his saccharine tone.

❝ Of course, my Lord. ❞

I don't care how much money he brings in for them.

He dishonored me in my own temple.

I thought you would understand.

A blink. The tone is quite different there, in the unseen words only whispered in each other's mind. There's an uncanny discrepancy with the tone of their voice. A harsher hue. His gaze does not part with the other's even as the child lands on the floor with a finalizing thud. Inosuke's frail body slides back to the only arms that have offered him any measure of mercy tonight; a tragicomic end to a tragicomic story. Things will change between the two of them after this. But, until Upper One made his announcement, the Lord Founder had yet to decide in which manner; which manner of punishment would be more fitting — for he would not afford this one the kindness of death, after all the trouble he had gone through to save him. Dōma was used to a lavish lifestyle. To venture outside these comforts for the sake of a child... well, he thought he was justified in feeling as if he was owed something in return.

I have found my own prodigy...

Lo and behold; that coiling worm on the floor might just have some use left in him still. There was a twisted gleam in his gaze as a cool palm reached out to cup the child's shoulder and pull them closer, on his lap.

❝ Forgive me for speaking so boldly, but Upper Six, I believe, has been granted special perks, if only for how quickly they gained his favor. ❞ The only demons within the Kizuki to share their spot. And their progenitor would have added his own personal thoughts on the matter, about how one of them may have deserved it a little more than the other, had it not been for the present circumstance. It was not the time to venture into it. And he did not wish to speak to Kokushibo about it in private either. His palm patted down on ruffled locks as the child wheezed and curled in on itself, seeking some manner of relief from the frost. He seemed to be in tremendous pain.

But his heart was beating.

And is there anything more beautiful than that? A live, beating heart; so full of terror — so full of emotion!

❝ Well isn't that wonderful news. ❞ Dōma muses; his prismatic glare parts with the other for the first time to traverse the child's form. There's a measure of perverted affection in the act; in the way his brows furrow and his features contort as if he truly shares in the child's suffering. The suffering he caused; that he refuses to acknowledge. The suffering he could have lifted all this time, and yet chooses to do so only now; only after the other has given him the incentive. And he will insist, later, that it was a gift. But between him and the first moon, they both know they are far from messiahs. Humans, mere children, falling victim to the games of forces beyond their understanding; for what is a human if not a pawn to be moved for a God's entertainment?

Ah, he smiles wider now. More genuinely. There's a challenge in his eyes when they turn to meet the notorious glare of his superior. Kokushibo has been looking for a challenge, that he knows. He will take the deal, to find some purpose within himself; something to spark his interest again, in a world that has left him so empty and indifferent. Almost as empty as the one who sits before him now, cradling a human in his arms — both just as desperate to justify all the lives they have been adding to their own. What for? A true God is not only meant to take. A true God creates life with those same hands that pry it. That's what divinity is; the absolute choice of another's existence.

❝ That's very moving; that you believe in him so much. Correct me if I am wrong but, he, too, must be quite young, otherwise he would be here with us now. So that's quite the reach, isn't it? My little Inosuke has plenty of life left in him still, after all. ❞ And his head cants, just as a pale hand hovers over the child's form. Under the Lord Founder's palm, an aura of colors begins to form; as if his skin is but a prism through which the light of life passes and reflects on the dying child — a hand not to push them further in the depths of darkness but instead lead them up, into treacherous light.

Paradise is a matter of perspective, after all.

Are you willing to bet on that?

When they grow up a little, let's turn them both.

And see which one will make it to the Upper Ranks and become a Twelve Kizuki, like us.

❝ May you be at peace. May your heart remain open. May you awaken to the light of your own true nature. May you be healed. ❞ He chants calmly, as his hand passes over the child's writhing form and lifts their ailment from them; taking back the very damage he had caused, in his lungs, on his skin — maybe, in another life, it would have been an act of kindness. His hand would move to cup the child's eyes, tenderly stroking his eyelids shut to protect the glistening emeralds within. Things would change between them. And now the Lord Founder knew exactly how. ❝ Rest now, little lotus. Tomorrow begins a new day for you. ❞ And it was that knowledge that had his eyes sting with a tear; shed for the misfortune that awaited that poor child in his arms.

Because his fate had been sealed. The Gods would play their cruel games with him at the forefront.

[ @fallesto ]

#fallesto #whirling fangs #(( the way this built up is just. chef's kiss. ))

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gregellner · 6 years ago

Photo

Cover by Bethesda Softworks and Arkane Studios.

Today I’ll be reviewing the third (and so far final) installment in Adam Christopher’s Dishonored novel trilogy, following Dishonored: The Corroded Man and Dishonored: The Return of Daud, in addition to following its relatively immediate predecessor Dishonored: Death of the Outsider in the games and tying into the comic bridging story Dishonored: The Wyrmwood Deceit. Chronologically, this story is the last in the Dishonored timeline thus far, for reasons that will be readily evident.

The book was published by Titan Books of Titan Entertainment.

A lot has changed in the Empire of the Isles since the fall of the Outsider in 1852. His removal from his place at the Ritual Hold fundamentally altered the nature of magic, and the world itself is breaking down by degrees as the Void moves apart from the “real” world.

The fracturing of magic has driven the Abbey of the Everyman to the point of needing to be abolished by Empress Emily Kaldwin the Wise, with the men of the Overseers and the women of the Oracular Order driven against one another, resulting in the surviving Overseers being driven into poverty, and the Oracles driven off and/or killed in witch hunts, the latter of which are not under the control of the Empress at all.

Following the fall of Delilah Copperspoon’s usurping government, Alexandria Hypatia’s recall of her invention the Addermire Solution seems to have ultimately resulted in no form of the elixir being produced anywhere at all, presumably on account of the side effects of said drink when taken in high doses. Said side effects seem to include addiction, given the disposition of one former Overseer. As such, this explains why there is no restorative for mana in Death of the Outsider.

With the Outsider gone, there is little to keep the world stable. While Billie Lurk was able to see “hollows” in the fractures between worlds, things have gotten much worse since then, to the point of rips in the fabric of reality itself that Lurk calls “rifts.” Far more dangerous than the hollows, these tears can make travel impossible from one point to another, and in the case of Morley, were involved in the “Crisis,” better known as the “Three-Day War” between Queen Eithne and King Briam that ravaged the country and the city of Alba in particular.

What exactly happened to the Outsider is deliberately unclear, but some inferences can be made. The text avoids actually saying that the Outsider is dead or was killed, using terms like “fell” and “gone” instead. While this word choice on its own might just be an implication that anything is possible, there is one added piece of the puzzle. In Death of the Outsider, if Billie Lurk kills the Outsider instead of freeing him from the Void and giving him back his life and his name, she tells the ghost of Daud that “The world might change, but we won’t. Killers never change,” continuing on in the conclusion that “after all this, I’m still just a murderer.” That kind of fatalistic attitude is not present in the novel’s Billie, who seems to have done her best to move past her failures. To paraphrase a certain character from Brandon Sanderson’s Oathbringer, the world cannot have her pain, and her every movement forward indicates a refusal to allow her past to dictate her future. In all, her ability to move forward seems to indicate that the boy who was once the Outsider is still alive, but that Billie has told not a single soul what happened that day in the Ritual Hold between her, the god in human form, and Daud.

On another note, Martha Cottings finally has her arc paid off, one first set up with the original appearance of the post-prostheses Billie Lurk back in late 2016’s The Wyrmwood Deceit. It’s a small thing, but still good to know where that was going.

"The Outsider had fallen, and the Void had become unmoored from the world—but it was still connected to it. It still existed, but its relationship with the world was different. Somehow, that had changed the way magic worked. That change had driven the Overseers and the Sisterhood to moonstruck oblivion, and had affected Billie’s black-shard arm and the Sliver."

Predictably, removing the focal point from the magic system has resulted in a serious shift in the way in which magic actually works. Although this change was alluded to in The Return of Daud, having been implied in Death of the Outsider, this is the first time we see it in any sort of depth.

First and foremost, the most famous use of the Void, through the Outsider’s Mark. Given the Mark was a means to connect to the Outsider and share in his connection to the Void, those empowered in this way (in particular Emily Kaldwin and the possibly-alive-and-imprisoned Delilah Copperspoon) have lost their powers altogether, their connection to the supernatural power completely cut off. Whether or not the Mark itself has disappeared is unclear, but such a thing is largely irrelevant now given the revelation that it is the Outsider’s true name, especially with him gone.

"The world is broken around you, and you carry the scars. I wonder if you can live with that."

Important to the magic system is a new term that refers to what Billie has become: Void-touched. Individuals of this type are both a part of the Void and not, having an intricate, physical connection to both worlds that lasts beyond deposing the Outsider. Owing to that connection, magic still does flow to these persons, albeit in different ways that are more “standardized” than the specialization made possible by the connection to the Outsider himself. In the case of Billie, she can summon the Twin-bladed knife and can view through walls akin to Daud’s Void Gaze, in addition to seeing trails leading toward areas of high Void energy concentration, but her teleportation (Displace), mystical disguise (Semblance), power to strike with the power of the Void through her knife (Void Strike), and ability to see across vast distances (Foresight) are inaccessible.

Much like how Daud felt agony when he tried to empower himself with a rune in The Return of Daud, there are certain significant downsides to Billie’s abilities that last beyond the Outsider’s fall. Given that her powers still derive from the cognitive aspects of the Void, she has difficulty using said powers for the majority of the novel. Said difficulty comes from her insecurity with herself after the fall of the Outsider and the changes in the world, feeling she is too different to reconcile her own life’s experiences. Until she manages to accept that both she and the world are changing, but that change is just a part of life, she has a chance of not summoning her powers, but merely feeling agony. In essence, she has to realize that while the Void may be harder to grasp, given it is now further away, and given that this means that her powers will be weaker and slower to activate, she has to accept the world as it is and own her new identity for herself.

Certain runes, including those from Maximilian Norcross’s collection, have new characteristics, ones that can be replicated or otherwise utilized to act as a kind of “magical technology” bridge. The most overt use of these runes is the Leviathan Company’s teleportation to and from the Void Hollow, a location that has emerged in the space between the Void and the normal, “real” world and is more of a reflection of the real world with elements of the Void within, including the ambitious Leviathan Causeway. The runes allow one to transport through the aforementioned rifts, rather than just view them, and to teleport to any point within the Hollow as well. Other supernatural abilities are likely possible, but are not gone into depth about. Most notable is that these abilities can be used by anyone, including those without any connection to the Void before, so long as they have two of these runes in their possession and know how to use them.

The Void itself has had some major changes, as well as elements that existed before that are expanded upon. The most prominent is definitely the effects of the Void itself (including the Void Hollow) on unprotected individuals. Without proper protection akin to a mystical HAZMAT suit with certain specific runes, individuals will slowly find their flesh turn to stone, in an accelerated form of the transformation that the original members of the Cult of the Outsider underwent when becoming the “Envisioned.” To use a real life analogy, the Void seems to exude a kind of supernatural radiation that infects life from outside the Void itself, eventually turning victims into little more than shells of their former selves, incapable of interacting with others around them beyond fulfilling some relatively basic mystical commands such as grabbing someone or transporting them away.

Some of these cracks are in time itself, not unlike the fractured nature of time around Stilton Manor as seen in the Dishonored 2 mission “A Crack in the Slab.” As such, some entities like the Shadow (a mysterious Void presence tied to a particular conspiracy in Morley) and Billie Lurk herself can manipulate the rifts to travel to various points in time.

"I know more than most. I know that time is bleeding into itself around you. I know you have felt it, and you’re searching for the places where the world has broken against the Void."

Whereas many cannot make changes in time that will stick, others such as Billie can on account of having a physical presence in both the Void and the normal world. In a sense, Billie herself is a focal point around which time solidifies itself on account of her Outsider-given Void-connected prostheses, the cold black shard arm and the Sliver of the Eye of the Dead God, making her essentially the only person who can solve many of these problems.

On account of the increased use of the Void by mundane persons, there is an increased focus on certain physical elements present in the Void itself. One particular one that has been seen before but never thoroughly examined is the very Void stone that is common in locations of the Void, seemingly the same one that makes up the black shard arm: voidrite. On the mystical end, this material can be shaped into new artifacts, such as blades with mystical properties (such as one wielded by the aforementioned former Overseer Woodrow) capable of causing paralysis through some kind of self-harm ritual combined with a vocal incantation (“Eco, lazar, lapolay, yram.”) to paralyze a target until the spell is broken. On the mundane end, there are far more applications, including use as a volatile fuel source that can also negate gravity, allowing for the first air vehicles in the entire Dishonored franchise, along with giving some similarities to DC Comics’ Nth metal. One particular fact holds true for another use of voidrite: a weakness for Void-based entities. Much like how the Twin-bladed knife is lethal to Envisioned and even the Outsider himself, voidrite fuel can harm even monstrously enormous Void creatures when other sources cannot do a thing.

"I am here because you are different. The Void has found you through the cracks in your broken life. And when you cut me out of it, what will remain? What will you leave behind when you walk away?"

Technically speaking, Billie Lurk can be considered the most heroic and selfless character of the various Dishonored protagonists. Corvo Attano wanted to save his daughter and lover and in theory reclaim his good name. Emily Kaldwin wanted to save her father and reclaim her throne. Daud did perform a heroic act in The Knife of Dunwall and The Brigmore Witches, but only on the urging of the Outsider, and subsequently ignored any and all blame in any of his actions to the point of becoming a villain once more across The Return of Daud.

By contrast, Billie Lurk’s decision to look into the rifts is entirely on her own volition for the safety of the Isles and perhaps the entire world. Yes, she is the only one who can truly sense them and see what is wrong, but she had no outward obligation to do anything about them. By going out of her way to try to stop the madness, a problem she is well aware that she is responsible in part for causing in the first place, she proves she is better than Daud, something that his ghost admitted to her in his talk about her forgiving nature. From going to the Imperial Palace to try to solicit her friend Emily for help (a surprise, given it was unclear if they were even allies anymore, let alone friends), to going to the Academy of Natural Philosophy to use up Anton Sokolov’s remaining goodwill in a fruitless attempt to get the scientists to look into the rifts as anything but a meteorological phenomenon, to traveling to Morley on her own so as to help solve the problem of the rifts, everything involves her being the instigator. Even when she nominally is traveling to Morley to get evidence and support for Withnail Hugh Bruce Dribner’s experimentation with the Void rifts, she is the one in charge, considering she is the only one who could stop any of it on account of her borderline Schrödinger’s cat nature.

Her personality, as ever, leaves something to be desired in terms of her rudeness, but Adam Christopher manages to make her blunt, rude exterior and relationship with royalty absolutely hilarious, especially in how she deals with people trying to be overly polite with her in accordance with their protocols. Even her interactions with the borderline antisocial personality of the stoic Miles Severin are entirely reasonable, neither overly harsh (given circumstances) nor overly kind when dealing with his better sides. She is simply matter-of-fact and, to a point, highly manipulative, showing the darker sides of even the most heroic of people in the Isles owing to her upbringing.

“What will we do with the drunken whaler? What will we do with the drunken whaler? What will we do with the drunken whaler, early in the morning?”

Certain elements in the novel, on top of those in previous ones, give implications as to how this story may move forward into future games.

Voidrite is outright stated to be volatile, and able to expel an extraordinary amount of energy. Additionally, the substance is capable of sealing rifts, as it did with the one at the Leviathan Causeway, on top of being lethal to Void entities like the Shadow or Envisioned, but in powerful enough levels even able to face down fully realized Void gods like the Outsider himself. Said substance could be made into not only swords, but also projectile or placed weapons of untold power with a “poisoning” effect added on, primarily in the form of grenades or traps, but not excluding bolts nor bullets either.

Together, this could end up taking the balance of power shift away from the Void alone and more toward a more evenhanded use of power between magic and technology, a stance that had already begun under the creation of Jindosh’s clockwork soldiers and their ability to effortlessly take on the anti-witch Overseers. The fact that the anti-gravity properties of voidrite have made for the creation of flying machines within a year of the Outsider’s fall even further shows the rapid expansion of technological superiority without letting magic fall too far behind either. What other properties could this substance have? It appears that only the surface of its utility has been explored thus far.

In addition, the Voidrite infected seen at the Leviathan Causeway seem to be, in some ways, not dissimilar from the Weepers of Dishonored nor the Nest Keepers of Dishonored 2, with the “radiation” of the Void corrupting them by even faster degrees than the Envisioned. Adding to the ability to seal rifts, this set of facts sets up a possibility of a variation on the Gears of War “emergence hole” sealing mechanic for explosives to avoid incursions of the Void, or even to open them up in the first place to change the flow of battle.

The fact that the teleportation runes can be used to travel not only into the Void Hollow and out, but also across the other dimension to other locations in that parallel world, brings up the very real possibility of near-instantaneous intercontinental travel, allowing for incredibly fast invasions and, from a gameplay perspective, a reason for not only a fast-travel system in a series that is becoming increasingly open-world (especially in Death of the Outsider), but also for a far larger map including more of the Isles, and even a possibly more global conspiracy.

Adding to the possible globalization of the game, we have the other, rather familiar properties of the Void’s atmosphere, which bring to mind a host of hazardous materials with the use of a mystical HAZMAT suit. However, the sheer destructive power and heightened energy release bring particular focus on an analogy to nuclear power. Much like Edmund Roseburrow’s discovery of whale oil as a fuel source acted as an analogy to various power sources (in particular gasoline) for Dunwall’s industrial revolution, the discovery of the power of voidrite could act as an analogue to nuclear power. Couple that with the very real possibility that Morley could invade other nations with superior, air-based firepower made from the Void-based substance, along with the economic implications inherent to the trans-oceanic Leviathan Causeway, and the stability of the Isles could fall into ruin with the advent of voidrite national superpowers.

Rifts are seen to have erupted all across time, or be capable of being used to access different eras as far back as 1790 and likely earlier still. Without a Void-touched being who has a corporeal presence in the Void and reality (Billie Lurk being the only known example), these eras are not in much danger of having serious alterations in the timeline, but can still pull people from other eras through them. Could this mean that earlier villains could emerge once again, perhaps for some kind of alliance across the ages, brought forth by a magitechnology sorcerer with a mission?

On the magical end, do bonecharms still function? They are not used overtly in the novel, unlike runes, but they do seem to be disconnected from the Outsider’s Mark, especially in the hands of Zhukov (who used the fully powered Twin-bladed knife which might not have the same abilities), Paolo (who used Vera “Granny Rags” Moray’s Marked hand as a vector), and Breanna Ashworth (who had access to her powers through the Arcane Bond with Delilah). How would their functions have shifted, or even been removed altogether, with the changes in the Void? Do they connect with the Leviathans, if we will ever see their like again?

Many questions and possibilities to think on.

In all, Dishonored: The Veiled Terror serves as a great way to conclude at least this saga of the Dishonored franchise, tying together at least most, possibly all, of the remaining loose threads and making a knot through which further stories down the line might continue.

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