The Vileness of Man: Mission Thirteen — The Rudshore Restoration Project
"Chapter 5, page 46:
The Rudshore Financial District, now referred to commonly as the Flooded District, is among the oldest and more historical sectors in the city of Dunwall. In its prime, it was rivaled as being the most prosperous area to own a small business and housed the Chamber of Commerce and the ruthless Greaves Whale House. During the last few months of Empress Jessamine's reign, the flood barrier which had once saved it from the wrath of the turbulent Wrenhaven River finally broke and with its collapse spurred a breeding ground for rats, river krusts, and rumors. Accusations of blame began to pour in with the water and everyone wished to believe that the floodgate had been victim to sabotage. In truth, the fault laid entirely with the city as maintenance in that particular area had been lax for over a decade and once one leak sprung the entire foundation immediately crumbled. Though this event was marked as a tragedy, the plague was already so deep-seated in Dunwall when the barrier fell that everyone outside the district and within the Royal Court were far too preoccupied with eradicating the daily riots and throngs of Weepers preying the streets to care about any rebuilding efforts.
However, that was seven years ago. Today, the district is showing modest improvement due to Empress Emily's Rudshore Restoration Project, and already a few hundred citizens whose family members and homes were taken by the plague have found solace in one of the completely refurbished apartment complexes on Northern Thresh Street. Despite the majority of the population being warily divided on this elaborate venture, promises of affordable housing for the worker's families, free health care, and good pay lured the masses away from their fears of the ever-present Weepers to make up the labor force slowly rebuilding the city. Already the flood barrier has been repaired and the water level has emptied from Thresh Street to Central Rudshore, despite the latter sector being completely off limits. To protect the laborers from the few unaccounted for Weepers, thongs of rats and river krusts, and the unsavory deviants that lingered around the old Chamber of Commerce, a large movable partition was erected to allow them security as they worked. With each newly cleared street the wall was moved back, though now it seems to be stuck too close to the Whaler's shanty town to allow any comfort. And though it has been a long time since I had dealt with the assassin Daud and his sinister cult, whispers of a new ringleader always emerge from the shadows.
Following Lord Banister's regency, Emily was desperate to insert herself in the forefront of Parliament and take back those years she had sat in near silence. For months she schemed of how to accomplish this goal and win back the people's hearts. She had already successfully commissioned a cure for the Rat Plague, though the aristocracy mistakenly gave most of the credit to Banister, and John Clavering Blvd and the surrounding Distillery District had almost been completely repaired. Even Bitterleaf Almshouse was reopened, taking in a surplus of orphans and homeless from the plague destruction, and Kaldwin's Bridge was finally accessible to the public. It seemed the last feat that everyone had either completely forgotten or pushed to the back of their minds was the Flooded District, and Emily was eager to take on this challenge. Such a venture had not been assumed since the erection of her grandfather's bridge, and just the thought of accomplishing this task would surely make Empress Emily a name to remember for years to come and mark the beginning of her "golden era" that she so desperately desired.
However, nothing in this world is free, not even freedom itself, and while her project was purposeful and good-natured, it lacked support from the city's wealthy for multiple reasons. For one, the Rudshore Financial District was once the center not only for prosperous business owners, but the lesser nobility who lived in lavish apartments along Dunwall's coastline. Emily's restoration endeavor had no place for the elite who had lost their secondary condos and instead looked towards the more impoverished masses to give these once-extravagant complexes to for a fraction of the price. Despite their long disuse and decay, the aristocracy felt as if she was removing part of their previous territory in favor of shady dockworkers and other members of the menial proletariat class. Never mind that it was those people that made up the majority of the city's populace, for as long as they gained nothing physical for the exchange of their coin, they would not dip deep into the pockets for their young empress' dreams. Because of this, Emily had a difficult time gathering the financial and political support she needed to begin making her fantasies reality, and in fact, the only persons she felt she could truly rely on to subjugate an almost certain unanimous decision against her decree were Haddon Mercer and Lucius Banister.
Lucius Banister was practically a buzz name all throughout the nobility. Eight years ago he appeared out of nowhere, with no family ties or old money to substantiate the position he quickly gained within Parliament. It was as if he materialized from thin air and through his immense charisma and spectacular oratory skills he won over the older, more prudent members so thoroughly that they made him regent just a year later. No one truly knows his full story, what his heritage is and how he gained his wealth, nor do they seem to care, for he was the embodiment of Parliament itself, not their empress, and they all waited for his words before making their decision on anything. That said, I hate him. For too many times did he draw the aristocracy's ears away from my Lady's voice, and if it wasn't for Emily constantly begging me to restrain my anger towards the manipulative prick, I would have found some way to neutralize his power long ago. And yet she saw him as an opportunity, despite her distaste for his arrogant demeanor, for if she could persuade Banister to back her project then she would have the only vote she needed. Then all that was left was the financial support."
Corvo set down his pen, laced together his fingers, and bent them back, listening to the relaxingly morbid cracking sound caused by an intense writing session. After his unexpected visit, he had retreated back the guestroom to find the servant woman and inform her that her phobia had now departed, only to find the chamber empty. Though he had not cared too much about her menial terrors to track her down, and settled on changing into his long nightshirt and beginning another chapter. As he wrote, he had strayed away from the topic of love that he had originally intended on conversing about and continued to appear as the simply stoic bodyguard, despite how biased this perspective might have been. All books are biased, based on the principles of their authors and what they chose to divulge upon their readers. Even sacred and legislative texts subjected their followers to prejudiced sayings under the guise of order. A knock on the door distracted these thoughts as he turned his attention towards the sound, fearing that it was the old hag come to inquire about her rodent problem. However, as he answered the call, a low groan reluctantly whined from his throat and he felt another stress-induced headache coming on.
"You left me in that bath all alone; how naughty. What if a burglar swept in to ravage me? I certainly hope you treated your empress with more diligence," Camille teased as she leisurely brushed against his shoulder and strolled into the room. It had been a few hours since their run in the washroom, giving enough time for the head of the household to turn in for the night and his promiscuous wife to sneak from her chambers dressed in a piece of fabric scarcely thick enough to be considered apparel, "Drusus is asleep. He snores like a pig. Outsider knows, he looks like one," she scoffed as grabbed onto the collar of his nightshirt.
Aggravated, Corvo latched onto her wrists to prevent her from unbuttoning past his collar, "You shouldn't say ill things about my brother, Camille. Especially not if you're trying to woo me over."
And yet his remark and resistance only seemed to please her further, a small laugh echoing throughout the room, "Trying? No, no, no. I get what I desire, when I desire it. It's that simple, really," she sincerely snipped, wriggling her wrists out of her guest's grasp.
"Then you're going to be sadly disappointed."
"I think not. I always thought the chase was the best part, but I can see you're becoming far too resilient. So here is how it's going to be. You either drop your pants or I'll tell my dear husband how you cornered little ole' me and tore my blouse in some drunken lunacy, and how frightened I am to have an assassin looming over our bedroom," false fear dripped from her words as her lower lip bulged outward in a pout, and an innocent glint snuffed out the fire of lust from her eye.
Threats? Was this how she was going to operate? If Corvo hadn't been so tired of this woman's pushy advances he might have laughed at her gall, but exhaustion pulled at his sanity, begging him to be far more forceful than before. As her hand reached to cup his groin, he snatched up her wrist once more, though this time tight enough so that she could not shirk away, "You may not know this about me," he seethed, constricting his grip and glaring down at her coldly, "but I do not like being threatened. I have done terrible things in my line of work. Terrible things to powerful, beautiful women who stumbled too far past the edge of lust and treachery. Things that would haunt your precious dreams. So I strongly suggest you take your threats and go back to your room before that 'assassin' you're so worried about decides to stalk you from the shadows."
Silence passed for what seemed like minutes before Camille's snarky smile broke the tense atmosphere, "I married the wrong Attano," was all she said as turned and left the room, shooting a careful gaze over her shoulder and disappearing down the hall. A tired and grateful sigh escaped Corvo's lips as he watched the woman retreat from his chambers. He closed his door and locked it behind him. Did he scare her away? Probably not, but he had been assertive enough for her to know that he stood by what he had said earlier. He was loyal, to his brother and his empress, and he wouldn't allow the sin of Wanton Flesh to further corrupt his already sacrilegious repute. With the libidinous women successfully banished from his room, the noble lord could finally settle back to his biography and forget about the most heinous interruption he had endured. Sitting back down at his desk, he picked up his fountain pen, filled it with a new ink cartridge, and continued to literarily reminisce on past times.
"When Emily was younger, and had trouble sleeping after her mother's untimely demise, she often asked me to fill her anxious mind with stories of the past, typically concerning my masked adventures. At first I was reluctant, for I did not want to worsen her night terrors with tales of my vengeful antics. But she was persistent, as was her nature, and I could not deny her wish. Her favorite story was about the Lady Boyles, and their fabulous party in which I had silently infiltrated and snatched one of them away right under the drunken nobles noses. How fair Esma had looked, so lavish in her red costume, sailing away in a peaceful slumber with her dearest admirer, Lord Brisby. Emily loved how much of a mystery the Boyle sisters had wrapped around their identities, making it into a game with their esteemed guests and seemingly protecting them my rancorous grasp, and she laughed at my audacity when I signed my own name on the guest ledger after committing my dark deed.
But why is this relevant to Empress Emily's conquest for the Flooded District? Because earlier this year, in the Month of Nets, a month after her seventeenth birthday, Emily held a similar party. Inspired by my tales and longing for Parliament's financial support for her restoration project, the young monarch decided to throw a charity ball to raise awareness of her dream and guilt the nobility to plunge into their coin purses by holding it on the seventh anniversary of her mother's death. She was a clever girl, and could be shrewdly cunning at times, a quality I fear she learned from me, for Jessamine was far too subtle and trusting to conjure the true reason for the extravagant event. Apart from it being a simple charity ball, Emily was wary of the grueling whispers she had recently learned from her Royal Spymaster about the aristocracy's distaste for their empress' financial policies. They craved Banister's old, conservative, and harsh ways, which had effectively lessened the taxes on the rich by taking what little coin the common people had left. And so she adopted a key detail from the Boyles party, the masquerade ball in which no one knew the host's true identity. Though her game of hide-and-seek did have a snarky twist.
Whereas the Boyle sisters openly disclosed their titles and only concealed their given names, Emily disguised herself all together. As her party lingered on, no one knew that their empress was amongst them in the throng of gossiping hens, listening to their every word and even chatting alongside them about how their empress was plunging her capital into debt by taking away their disease infested territory, and caring more for the once walking dead than the ever-present and esteemed living all huddled in her Grand Foyer. She hid herself so well behind an elegantly morbid mask, and I donned my old one after retrieving it from Piero for old-time's sake. Together we learned firsthand who the real vipers of my Lady's court was, and though I hated allowing her to stand and listen to their blatant insults, it was a much needed act, so that I knew precisely whom to watch closely for any subversive thoughts that might have been twisting their minds."
As Corvo wrote, his eyes drooped and his handwriting grew lax as sleep begged to take hold. A few more sentences, he urged himself, another paragraph lest he forget his words by daybreak. His wrists cramped from the hasty scribbles, his mind wearily scouring for the perfect arrangement of words that would encapsulate his thoughts. Corvo did not know when his writing had ended and his dreams had began, for as he set down his pen for a quick moment's rest, his head dropped onto the barely dry parchment and slumber whisked him away into yet another blissful memory.
Happy (early) Holidays everyone! I doubt I'll have my next chapter up by Christmas, so this is my gift to you—a short chapter XD. Camille is at it again, and we start to realize the real reason Emily is not Parliament's favorite monarch and Banister's true power. The next chapter is another flashback, if you haven't already deduced that yourselves.
However, it might not come for a little bit. I promised the readers for my other story, "Space Invader, Gladiator" that I would return next month. So from now on, chapters are going to update at a slower pace, especially when school starts back mid-January. I plan to take turns updating each story, so when one chapter goes up here, another will have to go up in my other story before I can resume concentration on this one again. If that makes any sense.
I promise the climax is coming soon, probably in the next…3 chapters? If I don't get carried away (like I always do). So with that all said, REVIEW!
Edit 12/20/12: After recently purchasing the Dishonored Strategy Guide, I realized I made a huge mistake concerning the time in which this story takes place. I discovered that Emily was actually 10 during Dishonored, and not 12 as I had originally thoughts. So after some hard thinking, I decided to go back through all my chapters and change the dates from 5 years later to 7 in order to be accurate. All the changes should be in place, however I'm not perfect, and I might have missed one or two dates. If you ever go back and read though a previous chapter, and find a discrepancy, let me know immediately through a pm and I'll promptly change it. She's still 17 in this story, and Corvo's still 37, she's just been in power a little longer that I had originally stated.