Author's Notes: Random idea that came to my mind as I played my favourite stealth game of all time, and perhaps favourite game of all time, Dishonored. Enjoy the ramblings.
Warning: No lemons this time, but there are massive spoilers for Dishonored here and its subset trio of prequels. Go play Dishonored and watch the edgy prequels first if you want no spoilering for this. Otherwise, enjoy.
It was clear to Corvo Attano, once royal body guard of Dunwall's beloved empress, that he was merely a puppet. Strung by the forces of power, greed and the riches that came with the industrial revolution. Hungry hands lashed and grasped at the concept of no leader, gangs and police alike using the limited time they had left to abuse mindlessly. The hand that had once fed was gone, leaving the world of the Isles separated against a once proud city.
When he had asked for their help, they had flinched out of fear. The same hatred and disgust at something that was horrific. Something they couldn't understand, they had rejected any sort of help. With each denial, a wall had built around Dunwall in a desperate attempt to protect their own cities.
A weary routine Corvo endured, finding his rage increase with every night he laid his head to rest. His constant stoic expression stifled a smoldering anger at his 'fellow allies' of the Isles. Even in the way they'd shake hands, Corvo's eyes were dead. Empty. Perhaps the rumors of the plague-ridden jewel of the isles had crafted a silent hostility between a combination of spilt wine and drunken politicians. The whispers behind his back as they shared a glass of Tyvian red, the horrified eyes. They smiled, but never with their eyes. If not for the severity of the situation, perhaps it would bemused the skilled bodyguard.
Yet it became a painful task to even attend such meetings, discontent masked by the sweet smell of freshly poured whiskey and the suffocating smell of discarded fags, left in the mossy cracks that aristocrats had so desperately tried to hide with musty carpets.
He wasn't surprised at the disappointment in his colleagues expressions, the sympathetic looks as they congratulated on his attempts. The fist shakes, the apathetic cries as they departed from city to city. It was repetitive, and it was almost a relief when he was offered the chance to return home. He leapt on it, ready to disappear into the comfort of a once infamous prison ship.
It wasn't just the aristocrats that had become frustrated with Dunwall. It had plunged his comrades into a spiraling sense of insanity. Eyes bloodshot, skin waxen, feet asleep. The eager smiles and the hope that had once sought them to accompany the fellow bodyguard had fallen from their faces, leaving a grey and empty expression to greet the royalty every meeting. Every meeting.
Then the dreams came. And the night was never safe for Corvo.
They were sporadic, unrelenting, taking his peaceful night into one of terror. Writhing corpses, boiling blood. Whale oil shattered against the pores in the skin of victims as they knelt down, begging for mercy. But the bodyguard could never move. Only frozen, staring at the scenes flashing before him.In the midst of such chaos though, the smaller details stood out.
A young man, trudging through a broken down factory of tortured whales. The slow, painful smile that crossed his face as the whale oil dripped into a barrel of dying fire.
A young boy, ravaged by time and horrible people, swarmed by the rats that he so cast upon the monsters that had sought out to convert their own pains upon his own soul.
The broken apartment window, the blinds pulling back as a tired pair of eyes quickly raised in fright as a Tallboy injected another victim's flesh with scalding whale oil.
Then, all of a sudden, just as they came, they stopped.
He noted them down quickly, every single little detail that came to his mind. The color of the man's bowtie. The boy's sullen, hollow cheeks that spoke of poverty and sickness. Even the slightly rusted stilts upon the Tallboy, almost as twisted as the nightmares that haunted him.
For each city that they visited, Dunwall kept descending. He heard the stories, the gossiping when he turned his back. When they thought he wasn't listening.
"Did you hear? The Abbey thinks that The Outsider caused this. Bringing the wretched plague to punish our city!"
"They're delusional. As delusional as these fools that refuse to help us. They think an invisible man is the cause of every tiny thing that happens in our city. "
"I dread we cannot save our city."
"If that's the case, I hope they catch the plague, weep the blood that is spilt in our city. I hope the hagfish feed off of them."
"Quiet! You're going to get us killed! Do you want the Lord Protector hearing us?"
"Not like he's enjoying this scenario either."
Perhaps this type of conversation would've been typical in any city, yet these words worried Corvo. If a couple of rejected deals could cause this amount of gossip outside of Dunwall, what was it like inside? Were gangs and civilians poised to snap, ready to overthrow a deceitful government that had the unfortunate benefit of housing corrupt nobles, drunk aristocrats, and a couple of politicians that wagged their tongue in such ways that people believed them? Or had it already begun to fall, the city crumbling towards its seedy depths?
Corvo kept pushing harder, desperately trying in vain to convince even the most cold-blooded lords to minimize their blockades and help a dying city. But it was the same answer ever time:
"Unfortunately, our resources are pooled towards our own city's problems. We wish we could help you, but we can't."
It was a slap in the face. The same response, every time. No amount of smiling and formality could cloud the fact that they had blatantly spat on Dunwall, and sent them to be executed by poor luck and an over-acceleration of militarized technology. If it didn't collapse on itself, it'd be blockaded. Turned into a garbage dump, a decimated playground. Perhaps the gangs and corrupted officials would run it temporarily, but it would collapse just the same.
Disappointed, their boat finally departed to Dunwall. He thought his nightmare was ending...
But there, Daud had seized his chances at saving the city and threw it to the wayside. He couldn't entirely blame it on him. As the Lord Protector, he had been told of the suspicious activities that individuals within their little 'circle' in the government, but he had disregarded it as minor accusations.
The Empress's blood was spilt, the Lord Regent had seized the throne, and he was severely tortured for 6 months. Even when he had escaped, he always woke up surprised that he was in bed. Not in the small, bloody cell that had been his home for half a year.
Holding the blade in his hand, the mask fused to his face, he expected to feel rage. Anger. Fury. To cut a bloody swathe through the city, to take revenge on everything. Everyone.
Instead, he felt pity. Sadness. He'd lost his wife, his child, and he was an outcast. Even if a rebellious, democratic group such as Havelock's had high hopes in dethroning the Regent and letting Emily become Empress. But he couldn't kill the people that they ordered him to kill. Even if what they did was wrong.
So he took an alternate path. Maybe he didn't have to kill him, but he punished them. From placing the Heretic's Brand upon the High Overseer Campbell, to sending Hiram Burrows to prison, he was unseen. Lurking in the dark, refusing to shed blood.
Finding Emily in the Golden Cat re-instilled that sense of compassion, the sense of responsibility. A violent father could cause a violent ruler. Dunwall needed one that could make it grow again. A true safe haven, where everyone belongs.
And so, here he was. Drugged, sent to die. His life, once again, tossed by the same man that had taken his beloved away. Betrayed by his group. Left in captivity. Destined to end as it had started.
Despite it all, the swell of hatred that threatened to dominate his soul, he kept his composure. Forgave Daud, exited the flooded district as quietly as he came in.
Now, by Samuel's boat, the lighthouse in the distance, he had one final goal to accompolish: To kill Havelock, and to rescue Emily.
But he could never forget what brought him this far.
"You ready to go, Corvo?" A gruff voice interrupted his intermingling thoughts.
'Once more, thrust forward into the chaos I tried so desperately to stifle. Once more, I shall end this fear.'
"He used to be your Lord Protector, Emily. He used to protect both of you."
"So why was he in prison?"
"Some people do bad things to get to places they know they'll never get by doing the right thing, Emily. And the good people have to take the fall."
"I don't understand, Callista."
"Few of us do."
Author's Notes: So, something random about my favourite game. Ever. So, uh... yeah. I'll be back to Freedom Planet soon. Hopefully, I'll release the story t'day. As always, criticism and reviews are welcome.
I did get a bit lazy with this one.