This is just an idea that occurred to me a few months back that I now finally have the time to write it down on paper. My schedule's been iffy this semester, leaving me barely anytime free time for myself. I'm just glad I was able to remember this. I'm excited for Dishonored 2 and this is part of the reason why I'm writing this to celebrate the upcoming sequel of one of the best stealth games I've played since Chaos Theory and the Arkham games. I hope you guys enjoy and leave a review on what you think.
I don't own Frozen nor Dishonored.
WARNING: Spoilers, of course, for those who haven't played Dishonored or its DLCs
[An excerpt from Daud's personal journal]
They say that second chances are reserved for those who warrant it. That amidst all the discrimination and turmoil the world is known for there exists a sliver of morality that slips through the cracks and latches on to a select few who are given prospect.
Corvo spared me. The man who murdered his Empress. The man responsible for his inequitable imprisonment in Coldridge under the charge of a corrupt Spymaster, together with countless other crimes. Why? He had no reason to. His actions could even be deemed justifiable if he did so. But then he didn't. Did he relent out of forgiveness? A loss of nerve? Or perhaps he decided that living with the regret was more punishment than a quick death?
He couldn't have known. No, it was impossible. Not even the Outsider would fully confide to Corvo the events that transpired with the Brigmore witches. The Black-eyed Bastard would probably find it poetic that I end up this way; a blade held to my throat, within the mercy of a bodyguard-turned-assassin. I could've told him of what I did. Of the lengths I went through to prevent Delilah's scheme from succeeding, that I saved Emily Kaldwin from a living death. But what would that accomplish? More so or less? I've made my choices, excuses be damned. I was ready to look death in the eye and become one with the Void.
Even now, as I write this down aboard some smuggler's ship, the thought continues to haunt me. I might never be able to quench that flicker of curiosity, but in time I hope to come into terms with it at the very least. For now I have to make use of the chance I was given and conclude my promise to leave Dunwall for good.
Where do I go from here? How does someone who has made it his life's work to benefit from the misfortune of others hope to pursue an honest living? It remains to be seen. The only solace I could really gather was that I escaped with my mind and body intact, which is less than what I deserved.
~0~
The rocking of the ship's deck is comforting beneath Daud's feet and here, out on the waves, he can feel the creeping doubt fade away into the wind.
Dark-grey clouds billowed across the sky, obscuring the sun and threatening a downpour of heavy rain. It was midday, the damp-smelling air overcoming the salty scent of the sea. The waves themselves were a faulty reflection of the looming visage above. Tranquil at one moment and turning volatile the next, it was a sight that any seasoned sailor is familiar with. The inherent arrival of an oncoming storm.
Daud remained unfazed by the premonition. Leaning over the bulwark, elbows rested along the rails. He stared at the horizon, watching as the waves repeat their rhythmic pulse along a vast open space of blue and grey.
The scenery brought back repressed memories of his mother, back when he was a boy still and harsh reality had yet to taint and settle its mark upon him. He remembers that of her smell—a mixed aroma of exotic herbs she used to brew potions with that always seem to surround her, the musky zest of old books she once read to him every night before falling asleep herself.
There were momentary lapses when he would just break away from it all, when the stress and the weight of his killings seemed to consume him; seeking instead to relive that particular memory. When his mother was still alive and not some rotting corpse buried deep within the soil. Then his resolve would harden and he'd chastise himself for harboring such delusions. The past is already written, the ink dry. Wandering thoughts have no use in his line of work, where a clear head is pertinent to accomplishing a task.
Daud heaved a sigh. Stepping back, he made one last sweep of the horizon before heading towards the rear of the ship.
His soft, leather boots made little noise as he paced along the wooden floor of the deck. Around him the crew was bustling with activity. Sailors were climbing up the shrouds to unfurl the remaining sails intending to take advantage of the sudden draft of wind. Others were scrubbing dirt off the floor, managing the rigging, whilst the rest were simply lounging around grabbing a meal or sleeping. Daud made his way towards the staircase that led to the helm's platform.
He nodded to Baldwin, the barrel-chested quartermaster who was surveying the rest of the crew with a watchful eye. Stony-faced and tall, he acknowledged Daud's presence with an imperceptible nod. Standing next to him and manning the wheel was the captain of the ship, Steve Dennings.
Compared to his bulking companion, Dennings carved out an unimpressive figure. He was a stout man, with a wide, plump face, and a thoughtful expression. Dressed in a rich green waistcoat embroidered with bronze linings over a white, linen shirt and satin breeches, his countenance passes him off as more of a minor noble rather than the appraising merchant he is in actuality. The many layers of clothing, however, failed to hide the protruding belly visible beneath his overcoat.
"Ah, welcome good sir!" he greeted Daud amiably. "Come to finally join us up deck, I see."
Daud didn't reply immediately, gazing pointedly at the sky instead. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"It does look rather ghastly, doesn't it?" Dennings agreed, following his gaze with some concern. "Normally I wouldn't be so anxious to engage the seas in such a way, but I've heard many a captain who've sailed aplenty that have come to meet their end here inasmuch as to their folly for underestimating the elements."
"The North Sea is as treacherous to its occupants as easily it would on a summer day," Baldwin declared in a booming voice.
"An exaggeration surely, but it does bear some grain of truth. I've once been told a rumor that a royal envoy sunk around these parts when it ran afoul a storm. Not even to kings and queens do the winds bow down to, it seems. I think it best that we tread lightly for we are mere stains compared to the likes of royalty."
"But not to worry though, I don't plan on sailing into my doom today, or any other day, really. If worse comes to worst the nearest port is only half-a-day's sail away if the winds are true." Dennings made a small gesture towards the sails, which were holding fast against the blowing wind. "And by the look of things, it seems Lady Fortune is smiling down upon us."
He gave a hearty laugh, followed by several of the crew who were stationed nearby save for Baldwin.
Daud frowned thoughtfully to himself, rubbing a gloved hand over his dark beard. Doubt continued to linger at the forefront of his mind. His thoughts catering back to the offer that was presented to him back in Ashford. Perhaps it would've been wiser if he had accepted, rather than traversing through the seas aboard some fat merchant's ship.
"Second-guessing myself? I never thought I'd see the day…" Daud muttered. But then again, it never does end in the way it was supposed to be.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigars. Not the same quality as Cullero's but better than nothing. With careful hands, he flipped open the lighter, warm light illuminating his weathered features. He moved the flame towards the cigar, drawing breath to light it. He took a long drag, ignoring Baldwin's look of disapproval as he inhaled the smoke.
Maybe when this is over I should consider governing a ship of my own, Daud mused idly tapping the cigar to loosen the stray ashes.
It wasn't an unpleasant idea. He used to work odd jobs on the ships he took voyage on during his travels across the Isles. The process of acquiring a ship alone without any sort blackmail involved will be cumbersome enough, totaled with personally garnering the men that would serve as his crew, but the payoff seemed the better prospect than having to wander around the countryside like some lost beggar.
The irony that he was entertaining the idea of leading yet another group of individuals set to gain and profit from ventures while on retirement was not lost on him.
Daud took another breath of the cigar. He stood for a moment, exhaled and watched as the smoke drift through the air before tossing it overboard.
He headed below deck to the corner that was granted to him. It was gloomy and damp, the low ceiling providing little room for head space. A rusty lantern left on top of one of the keg barrels served as the only source of light in the room. The flickering flame cast faint shadows across the dark confines, highlighting the oak pillars and throughbeams. His sleeping arrangements consisted of a hammock whose both ends were tied to the opposite sides of the ceiling frame, and a berth where his baggage was laid out.
He shrugged off his wool jacket and stepped out of his boots. The hammock swayed slightly against the sudden weight as his body laid down to rest. Perhaps some shut eye would draw his mind at ease.
The few men that were dallying in the hold were oblivious to the lone figure in the shadows as it watched the man shift and turn in his makeshift bed before finally stilling. Slow, even breathing was heard moments later, signaling that he is steadily asleep. The intruder smiled and nodded as if satisfied then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
