A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a fic completely from a first person point of view. If you've read anything else I've ever written, then you know I don't usually do that, so it's kinda new ground for me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dishonored, Daud, or any of the rest of the canon characters/locales... merely my own characters and ideas.

(To all Overseers of the Abbey of the Everyman:

The following is an excerpt taken from Deception and Dishonor, the first in a series of three journals collectively titled: An Assassin's Tale discovered in an abandoned building. Studying it should help provide insight into those vile beings who worship the Outsider. However, it should be noted that no evidence of the events described within can, as of this time, be verified.

- Overseer Timms, Recorder of Evidence)

An Assassin's Tale, Book 1:

Deception and Dishonor

Chapter 1

Back-alley Dealings

My name is Larothe Tristaine.

I am the second son of Gaerman Tristaine, Head of House Tristaine.

I am the current living heir to the Tristaine Estates in Dunwall.

I am considered by some to be nobility.

Of greater import, I am an assassin.

The 27th Day of the Thirteenth Month, the Month of Songs, 1836

Two hours before midnight

The gentle lapping of the water against the hull was all that accompanied us as we made our way along the tributary. At this late hour most of the residents of the city were already home… most honest residents I should say.

The night belonged to whispers and rumors, to dark shadows and nightmares given twisted life. It was a time when vicious thugs were bent on malign business, when rats scurried in great numbers, and when killers traveled freely. Killers, such as us.

I was at the bow of the small punt, jabbing into the black water with my pole, propelling our craft slowly forward. Thomas was standing on the till at the stern, steering with the oversized oar. Dust crouched low in the middle, keeping watch as we glided silently along.

"I don't understand," Dust whispered as she kept her vigil. "Since when are we under the employ of the gangs?"

"Times have changed," Thomas replied. "Whole Districts have begun to seal themselves away from the plague's influence." The master assassin paused.

"Maybe so," she replied. "…but I thought our services are usually reserved for the elite of Dunwall."

"What constitutes the elite of Dunwall these days?" I mused quietly, not really expecting an answer.

"What?"

When I didn't immediately respond, Dust asked again.

"What are you talking about?"

I gathered my thoughts, then answered.

"The influence of those who once held power is waning," I explained as we approached another bend. "It's the criminals, the gangs, that have grown into forces to be recognized. They control most of the streets, most of the docks. Soon they may well control everything."

"But still," she pressed as she looked up at me. "…we shouldn't have to cater to them."

"They are becoming a new aristocracy," I replied, glancing back at her. "An aristocracy of the Underworld."

"You and your dark philosophies, Trist," she commented lowly. "Sometimes I think you missed your calling."

"Master Daud has sent us to follow up on the job offer and we will enforce his wishes," Thomas interrupted as he leaned forward and pointed ahead. "There is our contact."

Dust and I turned our attention to where he indicated. About fifty feet in front of us, a weathered dock jutted out into the tributary. Near the ladder leading to the water's surface was a small lantern, whale oil burning bright inside. The smoked glass was tinted a dark green - a signal placed there by our scout that all was clear and safe to approach.

Upon the dock stood two figures, warming their hands over a small fire. They wore dark rainslicks that covered them from their necks to the top of their ankles, leaving only their hands, heads and heavy work boots exposed. As we got nearer, I noticed a rat on a stick cooking upon the bright embers.

Dust harrumphed as Thomas and I eased the punt alongside the dock. She reached out and extinguished the lantern hanging by the ladder.

"What's the point of Billie scouting ahead when these…" Dust's voice took on a distasteful air. "…individuals are just going to call attention to the area anyway?" She waited for Lurk's signal lantern to cool down before unhooking it from the dock.

"I doubt it will matter," I answered, keeping the boat steady as Thomas tied it off. "With so many buildings condemned due to the plague, people are taking shelter anywhere they can find it. It won't seem out of place for some squatters to be here."

Thomas ascended the ladder, followed by Dust, then myself.

"We are here as instructed," Thomas announced to the pair. "Which of you is Thews?"

The taller of the two individuals - an older man with an unkempt, scraggly beard - snorted, turned his face and spit into the river.

"Neither, ya dark blighter," he grumbled in a low tone. "Think da boss'd wait in the damp for ya likes?"

Dust tensed at the arrogant tone of the man and took a half-step forward, but Thomas held up a hand at her. The master assassin directed his gaze back to the speaker as he addressed him.

"Then, take us to him so that we may conduct our business."

The man paused a moment then nodded. He slapped his companion on the arm then jerked his head at a dark alley to the west before heading towards it. The other man quickly snatched the skewered rat from the embers and followed.

Thomas continued after them, with Dust and me taking up positions of rear guard.

"They invite us here and treat us like gutted hagfish," my companion whispered behind Thomas and the others.

"As you noted earlier, they employed us," I retorted under my breath. "There is a difference."

"Maybe to you," she scoffed quietly with a shake of her head.

"We represent Master Daud here," I continued on in a hushed tone. "Not only by our deeds and actions, but word as well. Keep that in mind. He deserves our best efforts, as does Master Thomas." I indicated our superior with a nod of my head.

We walked the length of the dock and reached the edge of the cobblestone street before Dust replied.

"You're right," she muttered with a quiet sigh. "As usual."

I smirked behind the mask and cowl hiding my face.

We crossed the street and headed into the darkened depths of a side alley. Posters, ragged and discolored by the weather, lined the walls. A low stink hovered in this area, lightened by the filters in the industrial gas masks the three of us wore. I could imagine the full effects the unpleasant odor would have normally.

We passed three large buildings before coming to a cross-alley. It was vaguely lit by a streetlight at the far-end and some small lanterns positioned near the rear entrance of one of the businesses further south.

I glanced up at the sign above the door and blinked in surprise.

"Desmot Press?" I whispered, recognizing the bookbinding establishment we passed. I glanced around. "I… know this area."

Dust nodded slightly as she walked next to me.

"Yes, that was the Olkhein Docks we arrived on," she informed me. "Most of them were active when the Hatters had control here. Now there's not much left of them."

I glanced at her.

"Prices for goods were better then, too," she quipped in a low tone.

Before she was recruited into the Assassins, Dust had been a freelance river pirate plying her trade along the Wrenhaven River. She'd earned her nickname by being quick and skilled enough on a job to leave her victims with 'naught but dust at the bottom of their coffers' as she put it once. She sold her ill-gotten goods at an assortment of interesting locales spread out among the docks and piers of Dunwall, and other ports around Gristol when she'd attracted too much local attention.

"Here, then," our guide announced suddenly, bringing me back to the task at hand.

I looked over at the direction he'd indicated. Standing by a heavy wooden door bound with brass were two unsavory thugs attired similarly to the men accompanying us. A sign above the door labeled the establishment as The Gullet. Our guide nodded to one of the men, who responded in kind and unlocked the door for us. He stepped aside and held it open for us.

As we passed the doorman, I noticed the end of a long cleaver poking from beneath his slicker. Even though it was hard to judge, I had to assume each of these toughs was similarly armed.

The corridor into which we were led ended with a smaller door upon which our guide rapped once. A small peephole in the door slid open and an obscure face filled the hole. The peephole slid shut again and the door opened. We were led inside.

The room we entered was set in an earlier style, the wood and stone moulding along the edges of the ceiling and floor spoke of a subdued yet elegant symmetry. Clean edges with just enough design to speak of culture. The furnishings also spoke of class, though to a lesser degree. I admit I was surprised, not unpleasantly so.

"Well now, 'ere we go," a crude voice called out from the end of a heavy wooden table. A figure stood and sauntered forward.

The individual was a solid man, perhaps as tall as I, dressed in black - shirt, breeches and boots. Over his top he wore a heavy breastplate and pauldrons reminiscent of that worn by the City Watch Guard. His armor was heavier though and covered more of his torso. He also wore a helmet similar to the Guard but his had a thick steel mesh protecting his face. Thick leather bracers protected his wrists, and hanging from his wide belt was an odd curved weapon that looked like a grotesque amalgam of a peasant's sickle and a gaff hoof.

Even though I'd never met the man, I knew immediately who he was from reputation alone. His name was Steely Thews and he was the brutal leader of a gang of ne'er-do-wells known as the Barrel Boys.

He was also, as of this moment, our employer.

"Luverly," the brute of a man appraised us. "Jus' luverly as pie, you lot are." A toothy grin split his twisted face. "Up fo' a bit o' murder, then?"

My 'fine and proper' upbringing caused my upper lip to twitch, hinting at a sneer that threatened to overtake my features. The gang-leader's improper dialogue rankled something bred into me, something I tried to keep deeply buried.

I detested my instinctual reactions brought on by years of growing up amongst the aristocracy of Dunwall. It was something that I hoped the disciplines taught by Masters Daud, Thomas, and Slade would overcome. For the most part the disciplines worked, but breeding was something I had to surmount if I wanted to continue to succeed in my chosen career.

I briefly glanced at Dust. She was a prime example of discipline overcoming nature. She was in truth fairly vicious and her background as a pirate would lend one to believe that she would never be able to set aside her chaotic nature or to learn the abilities our connection to Master Daud granted us. Her path was more difficult than most and I respected her for it.

"Which o' ya blighters is the one needs greasin'?" Thews inquired.

"What would you have us do?" Thomas asked in return.

"So, you're the biggin' here, eh?" Thews laughed. "All a ya 'ssassins look the same ta me."

To a mere cursory eye, the gang-leader was correct. If one observed closely enough, however, it could be espied that the uniforms Dust and I wore were a dark charcoal grey and brown revealing our rank of mere novices. Comparatively, Thomas' ensemble was a midnight blue and brown, indicating his status as master assassin.

"You indicated in your missive that there are some problems with the Bottle Street Gang that you want resolved," Thomas explained. "We are not going to fight open warfare on the streets for you. We are neutral and will remain so."

"In case ya get a contract to take me out, eh?" Thews laughed heavily, a hand on his gut.

Our superior's silence was his only response.

The leader of the Barrel Boys ceased his guffawing when he realized the answer that had been given him.

"Fine then," he growled and turned on his heel.

He went back to the head of the table and gathered some papers there. He marched back and slapped them down on the table near the three of us, revealing them to be crude maps of an alleyway.

"I'm havin' a meet with the Bottle Street Gang at half past midnight behind the old bakery near Garver Street. They'll be sensing treachery, and I want you there."

"We're not bodyguards," Thomas explained calmly.

"I know that, ya blighter!" He pointed to a spot on one of the maps. "The Bottle Streeters are 'specting treachery cuz there will be! I need you lot to assures me that the leader is killed at the meet."

Thomas paused as he studied the map, then looked back at Thews.

"Slackjaw is currently valued at two thousand coins from the Watch. We expect at least that much for dealing with him."

"Fair nuff."

"If Crowley is there as well, we'll expect another twelve hundred."

"Okay."

"Plus an additional five hundred just for our time."

"Damn me, but I can get a better deal over at Stamp's Money Lenders!" the large man groused.

"But I doubt Stamp will be able to resolve your gang problems," Dust growled as she took a step forward, her hand fell upon the pommel of her sheathed blade.

The maneuver did not go unnoticed.

"Right then. What about a deal fo' ya? An even thousand coins fo' ya troubles and an extra five hundred, minimum, if any of Slackjaw's top Nellies come ta the dance and ya can peg'em. What do you lot say?"

"Any stipulations?" our superior queried.

"Jus' that I have ta be alive, and relatively unharmed mind ya, by the end of it. Ya knows, so I can guarantee your payment." The thug gave Thomas a hard look, a grim smile on his face.

Thomas was quiet while considering the offer.

"Very well," he finally replied. "In the name of Master Daud, I accept your proposition."

It was half past eleven. The signal lantern rested on the tiled rooftop where we awaited our scout, Lurk. The green glow of the tinted glass would be easy to spot for one of our kind from the street and surrounding areas.

We'd chosen to wait atop a low single-story family dwelling set between two larger apartment buildings. The shadows from the taller edifices were deep and dark, protecting us from the bright glare of the street lights.

As we crouched in the shadows, Dust explained more about our current employers.

"Back before Daud found me, the Hatters had control of this area, just like everything else. After the plague swept through, though, their power was crippled."

She leaned against a wall.

"The Barrel Boys are one of the gangs to crop up since then. They were smart enough to hire some muscle before making a play for the Olkhein Docks and the streets surrounding it. Glorified smugglers are all they were before that."

I looked over at her as she continued.

"That's how they got their name, the Barrel Boys. They use to smuggle northern sheep in these big barrels, mouths tied shut so their bleating wouldn't be heard."

"Sheep?" I asked, perplexed.

"There's a decent market if you know where to look. Tyvian sheep are sought after for their thicker wool. Those from the south of Redmoor are desired more for the flavor of their meat. Thews and his men made a small fortune rather quickly."

"Will there be a problem with them?" Thomas asked sternly, his gaze directed at her.

We both glanced at him, but I knew what he meant. Dust's attitude had been hostile since we first came into contact with Steely Thews' men.

She looked away.

"No," she replied, hanging her head low. "No, sir… I mean, Master Thomas. I… My personal issues will be set aside. I will make Master Daud and you proud with my actions."

A low noise suddenly emanated from my left. A -hwuff- that sounded reminiscent of a large candle flame being quickly snuffed out by a strong, sharp breath. I knew what it was, and suspected its origin, but nonetheless a sense of caution sent my hand to the pommel of my blade.

"So," a new voice interrupted our discussion of local lore, "what's the development? Are we doing business with Steely Thews or not?"

We turned in unison towards a figure crouched on the other side of the roof. The figure stood and approached slowly, coming out of the shadows to reveal another of Daud's Assassins. Unlike the three of us, she was dressed in a dark red and brown factory whaler uniform and vapor mask. She was a superior scout, was known for her excellent swordsmanship, and most importantly, she was Daud's second-in-command. Her name was Billie Lurk.

Thomas quickly explained the situation to her, the contract we had agreed to. She nodded in approval. I found myself staring hard at her; everything about her fascinated me. I'd seen what she looked like beneath the mask and cowl and could even now picture her features perfectly.

"Unfortunately, neither Slackjaw nor Crowley are in the area, so we won't collect anything for them," she admitted. "One of Slackjaw's up-and-comers is in charge of the local Bottle Street crew - an individual by the name of Slathersby Crumb. He's been looking for weaknesses in both the Hatters' area near Fhavre Square to the west and the Barrel Boys' territory here in Olkheim."

"What's his strength?" I wondered aloud without considering to whom I was speaking. "How many men?"

She directed her gaze at me.

"At least eight. That's not including his right hand, a blond mountain of a man simply identified as Mutt." She shifted and then stepped towards me, her movements graceful. "Although, I've heard he's been hiring local talent to fill out his ranks."

I stood transfixed by her. There was a pure intensity about her such that I felt myself grow warm by her very proximity. I suddenly realized my utter foolishness and silently berated myself.

"Where will you be?" Thomas asked, and I was thankful that Lurk turned her gaze from me to him.

"I'll be down that way," she informed us indicating where the street wound out of sight. "I saw a patrol of four Watchmen. Two Lower Guard and two City Guard. They wouldn't even be a challenge, but I'd rather we keep a low profile if we could. At least until our business here is done."

"Very well," Thomas replied. "The meet's in less than an hour in the side alley behind Keiper's Pastries near Garver Street."

"I'll meet you there as soon as I'm able," she said with a nod. "I just want to make sure the Watch isn't anywhere near when it goes down. Good luck."

She turned and with the same -hwuff- sound melted away into black ash-like shadows via her transversal. I watched the spot she had just vacated, mesmerized by the ease with which she seemed to do everything.

Thomas turned to Dust and me.

"Let us make haste, then. We've less than an hour and I wish to be in a superior position before The Barrel Boys and the Bottle Street Gang arrive."

It had been nearly twenty minutes since we heard the tolling of Dunwall's Clocktower signaling midnight - the last day of the year.

We were stationed about the open alleyway behind the bakery known as Keiper's Pastries. Dust and I had settled on the low roof of a shed built against a warehouse. We were back against the wall, hidden from sight. Thomas was positioned across the way, crouching quietly on one of the large water pipes that ran horizontally along the third story of an older apartment building.

Dust checked her weapons again, the third such time since we'd climbed up here. I was about to whisper something to my partner when a loud voice boomed out of the darkness.

"Where ya at, Bottle Street curs?"

It was Thews's voice. He bellowed again.

"I'm here with three of my boys and we need to get this 'discussion' underway! I have a few trollops waitin', wat needs to be luvered a bit!"

I scanned the area quickly and spotted the representatives of the Barrel Boys. True to his word, Thews was only accompanied by three of his men.

"I'm here, braggart!" a similar cry issued from the other end of the alley. "And I've brought my own blokes with me to answer your challenge. It's time Garver Street and the surrounding area belonged to Slackjaw!"

Braggart? I smirked to myself. If nothing else, this Slathersby Crumb sounded like an interesting fellow. It would almost be a shame to put a wristbow bolt through his eye.

"Well then, c'mon!" Thews roared. "Let's be gettin' the night's business done with!"

"I'll pray now that the Outsider takes your spirit quickly," the challenge was answered still out of sight, but I could hear the rustling of clothes and booted feet moving steadily along the stone-paved alleyway toward our employer.

"Damn blighter!" the leader of the Barrel Boys growled as he and his three companions stepped further into the alley. "I'll chop ya to bits meself!"

A quick movement in one of the windows on the floor below where Thomas was waiting grabbed my attention. The window slid silently open and the barrel of a pistol poked out. It was aimed in the direction of Steely Thews; the Bottle Street Gang had brought their own assassins.

I rapped Dust lightly on the shoulder and pointed to the window. She glanced in the direction I indicated and nodded quickly. I was preparing to tell her that we needed to signal Thomas somehow and let him know that…

"I'm on it," she whispered lowly and with a -hwuff- she vanished from sight into smoky ash.

A moment later, I heard a sharp cry and an explosion of light and fire emanating from the room from which I'd seen the pistol emerge.

I shook my head; sometimes Dust had misconceptions about the meaning of stealth.

"Ya traitorous bastard!" Thews cried out at the noise. "Trying to kill me with your hidden murderers!"

The irony of his statement was not lost upon me.

"Kill him!" called out the still unseen Lieutenant of the gang from Bottle Street as he realized his trap had failed him. "One hundred coins for the head of Steely Thews!" A raucous cry went out from the enemy gang and figures started charging forward, coming into view.

I glanced to Thomas, trying to discern what he wanted me to do. He made a quick series of complex gestures towards me and then reached into one of his belt-pouches.

I nodded, understanding fully, and unbuckled one of my own pouches. I retrieved a grayish, hexagonal, metal cylinder some twelve centimeters in length capped with a brass lid – a chokedust grenade.

I snapped the pin off the lid as I stood. I hastened to the edge of the shed roof as I counted off the seconds.

One… two…

I leaned out and hurled the device towards the mob. It began trailing smoke from the lid as it flew toward my targets. A similar device tumbled down from Thomas' position.

With a pair of low thumps, our devices exploded right into the front ranks of the charging enemy, creating thick grey clouds. With guttural shouts of surprise, coughing bouts, and even the beginning of a sneezing fit for one poor thug, their charge was broken. But we weren't here to merely stun them; we'd been called upon to destroy them.

I leapt from the low roof, drawing my blade in mid-air, and landed solidly in the middle of the alleyway. I crouched low and flexed my left hand, activating the hinged draw lever to the wristbow housed on the leather gauntlet there. I gauged distance to the first enemy, stood and clenched my fist at a specific angle, triggering the firing mechanism.

The metal-tipped bolt launched forward, striking one of the thugs square in the chest. He whimpered and fell back, though I doubted if my shot killed him. I lunged forward, thrusting my Assassin's Blade at the next opponent, driving the blade deep into his chest. He gurgled and slumped backwards.

A low -hwuff- beside me let me know I didn't face the attackers alone. Thomas charged forth silently, quickly dispatching two more of the thugs in the time it took me to reposition myself.

The cloud of dust and powdered metal shavings our grenades had created began to dissipate. For the first time I got a good measure of the number we faced. Not counting the four Thomas and I had already dropped, there were at least eight more with movement going on behind them.

Another -hwuff- ushered the arrival of Dust slightly behind us. The familiar whir-click of her wristbow loading followed and then a black-shafted bolt sailed past my ear. It impaled itself into the forehead of one of the remaining thugs, killing him instantly.

"They got p'fessionals!" one of the curs shouted, his tone a mixture of surprise and horror. "They done hired the Whalers!"

The assembly of thugs in front of us, both Bottle Street members and local toughs, outnumbered us easily three to one. They hesitated at our presense though, unsure of what to do, and we used that to deadly effect.

Thomas and I surged forward, each taking a side of the alley, plunging into the throng of enemies.

The first man I struck at had barely any experience with a blade, most likely a backstabbing thug used to accosting unarmed children and the inattentive elderly. I slid my blade neatly across his throat, slicing it wide. He gurgled, fell to his knees, then collapsed to the side.

The second man had more skill and actually parried my first high swing. I moved to the side and thrust low. Again he parried.

Under more genteel circumstances I might consider him a worthy foe, but I had no time for that. On my third motion, I made a slow middle thrust. He blocked me once more and managed to twist my blade with his, locking our swords. I pushed up and to the left, forcing him to move his swordarm away from his midsection, exposing it.

I raised up my left arm, clenched my fist, and unceremoniously shot him straight in the gut with my wristbow. He squawked in protest at the wound and relaxed his grip. It was enough.

I slid my blade back, stepped forward and thrust hard. My blade sank deep into his chest. He looked stunned for a moment, uncertain of how his end had come so quickly. My profession left me little time for remorse or guilt when it came to alley-bashers such as these.

I shoved forward and removed him from my blade, his body slumping on top of one of his fallen fellows.

I hazarded a glance at my companions, checking to see how they fared. Dust was locked in single combat with a rather skilled thug, while Thomas was holding at least two of the attackers at bay. Thews, a twisted grin on his face, and his Barrel Boys were standing back out of the fight letting us destroy his enemies for him.

I turned back to our foes just as a massive brute waded forward. He was nearly as large without armor as our employer, Steely Thews was with it. He had a brown overcoat and a small brown derby placed awkwardly on his blond head. Based off of Lurk's earlier description, I assumed him to be Mutt, Slathersby Crumb's second.

"That's right, lads, that's right," came the familiar taunting from the back of the attacking crowd, although it seemed further away than before. "Get those braggarts! Get'em for Mister Slackjaw."

Without hesitation, Mutt plunged forward. His cleaver was a large, blackened slab of steel easily a third again larger than that used by the other Bottle Streeters. As much as it must have weighed though, he hefted it in one hand as easily as I did my own slim blade.

As he closed the distance with me, he swung the massive thing in a strong downward slash. I sprang back a moment before the blade would have connected. It crashed into the stone-lined alley throwing sparks.

I leaned in and thrust at the brute. I misjudged my enemy's speed for he quickly pulled his weapon up and deflected my blow. I shifted my stance and thrust again. Once more the heavy blade knocked mine aside.

I tried to bait him as I had my previous opponent with a slow and deliberate jab at his mid-section. The blond man, however, batted my blade away, reversed the direction of his weapon with surprising agility and smacked my blade again, almost knocking it from my grasp.

Strength, speed, and skill. I was beginning to detest this man.

He shifted his weight and drew back to strike again. This time I awaited the incoming blow. As the blade arced low, I neatly sidestepped, then thrust downward, trapping his weapon with mine. I aimed quickly and fired off my wristbow; the bolt buried itself in his side and that is when my luck turned.

An enraged look overcame his features and he lashed out with his offhand with surprising speed. His fist caught me solidly in the middle of my chest with such force that the air exploded from my lungs. I stumbled back, slamming my head painfully into a side wall. I slid to the ground as I lost my grip on my blade.

Everything seemed to swim before my eyes. Dust was battling a lone opponent who had more bravery then sense, but she glanced in my direction, almost getting brained by her opponent. Thomas was routing a trio of attackers, the last I could see still standing, and did not notice my predicament. Neither could assist at the moment.

The brute lumbered forward, a cruel smile on his face. I tried lifting my wristbow to shoot him, but my arms wouldn't respond. I wanted to stand, to roll, any type of movement, but I was too stunned. I couldn't even focus my thoughts clearly enough to transverse away.

As he loomed above me and his weapon begun its descent I saw my own death in his eyes. I wryly smirked. Larothe Tristaine, scion of the aristocracy, was going to be brought low, killed during some criminal back-alley dealings by a man named… Mutt. I could just imagine my father's disapproval.

A sudden coalescing of shadows accompanied by a muffled -hwuff- changed my fate, however. An Assassin clothed in dark red suddenly appeared in front of me, blade held at the ready. Billie Lurk had arrived!

Mutt's cleaver was deflected perfectly, the blackened edge of his weapon guided down and to the side by the precision of my crimson clad savior. Lurk kicked outward, pushing the large felon back. She stood and aimed her wristbow which had been specially modified. A fusillade of three black-shafted bolts launched into the blond assailant and he grunted painfully, but still did not fall.

Lurk, however, was far from complacent. She sprang readily at her foe, blade pulled back. At the last moment, she homed her sword deep into Mutt, skewering him right above the collarbone. She wrenched her weapon free, spun in a half pirouette, and neatly sliced through his neck, completely severing flesh, sinew, and bone.

The weapon fell from Mutt's lifeless grip, as did his head from his shoulders a moment later. As his body tumbled down, my savior turned toward me, offering her hand.

"If you're going to survive in this game," she commented dryly, "you'll have to be more careful than that."

A/N: I've taken some liberties with the world of Dishonored.

The first of these being that Billie Lurk is mentioned as the only female Assassin/Whaler in the game – I've changed that slightly by adding a few more.

Second, when I first started this fic, I hadn't seen a working timeline for the events of the Dishonored game/DLC and for that I apologize. Since the release of the Dishonored: The Dunwall Archives art book in late November, 2014 I've revised certain aspects to more properly fit the timeline provided therein and then expanded upon at the Dishonored Wiki.

Finally, Larothe is pronounced like Lair Oath, emphasis on the Lair.

Thanks for reading!