I wanna get back inna writin, so here! A writin event for February!
Pick a prompt from below an a character from my list, send it in, an I'll write it to be released durin February! No smut though. Ones coloured in have already been yoinked for a character!
1 - Caring for each other while sick/hurt - Piers Nivans (Resident Evil)
2 - Leaving each other lil love notes around the house - Cove Holden (Our Life: Beginnings & Always)
3 - Finding their song - Dinah Lance (DC comics) & Hal Jordan (DC comics)
4 - Double Date - Eskel (The Witcher games/books)
5 - Telling the family - Oliver Queen & Dinah Lance (DC comics)
6 - Morning cuddles - Roy Harper (DC comics)
7 - Moving in together - Jason Todd (DC comics)
8 - Valentine's Day dance/party - Piers Nivans (Resident Evil)
9 - First kiss - Oliver Queen (DC comics) & Piers Nivans (Resident Evil)
10 - Proposal - Hal jordan (DC comics)
11 - Date at home after a failed movie night/romantic dinner - Wally West (DC comics)
12 - Wearing each other's clothes - Piers Nivans (Resident Evil)
13 - Getting caught kissing/making out by friends/family - Daud (Dishonored)
14 - Holding hands - Barry Allen (DC comics)
15 - First Valentine's Day together - John Constantine (DC comics)
16 - Discovering each other's celebrity crushes - Dick Grayson (DC comics)
17 - One tucking the other in when they fall asleep on the sofa - Ethan Winters (Resident Evil)
18 - Photobooth - Oliver Queen (DC comics)
19 - Winning something for their S/O at a carnival/arcade - Hal Jordan (DC comics)
20 - First date - Kyle Rayner (DC comics)
21 - Talking about the future (sacrificed)
22 - Back rubs/massage - Piers Nivans (Resident Evil)
23 - Seeing a romance movie together (sacrificed)
24 - Adopting a pet together - Jason Todd (DC comics)
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ💕 I can't get enough of tragic old videogame men... Daud a few letter shy away from 'dad' and that means something right??? Right??
Lemme know if you are interested in NSFW with him!
Enjoy!
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ🌟
You, of all people, were not supposed to be here.
The Boyle Estate blazed with light and laughter, every chandelier a small sun, every guest a preening peacock in silks and powders. You pressed through the crowd with purpose disguised as aimlessness, your gown a whisper of deep blue that blended into shadows when you needed it to. Just another daughter of sister of Lord-something-something, well fed, round faced, innocence in your wide opened eyes. But your thoughts were anything but innocent. Your target was upstairs. Third door on the left. A locket containing codes that would shift the balance of power in the whaling trade - or so your employer claimed. You didn't ask questions. You just collected, came back, got payed and then waited for another job. You were good at this. No one would suspect a girl of your… proportions to be a spy, a thief, a pickpocket.
But someone else was collecting that night. You felt him before you saw him - a presence just like before the storm. The old man moved through the crowd with the easy confidence of a predator who knew he was the most dangerous thing in the room. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Grey-streaked hair pulled back from a face carved from granite and regret. Handsome in in the way a blade is handsome - elegant, purposeful, and likely to draw blood if handled wrong.
The Knife of Dunwall.
Shit.
You veered left, disappearing behind a cluster of chattering nobles, muttering apologizes. Your hand found the small pistol hidden in your skirts. Not to use - never to use, not there, not with so many witnesses - but to feel and to remind yourself you weren't at all helpless, despite your appearance. You circled toward the stairs, whipped your head to the side and saw that he was heading for them too.
Shit.
First Encounter: The Stairs
You were halfway up when his hand closed around your elbow. Not hard. Not threatening. Just... present. A true gentleman helping a clumsy lady up the stairs.
"Lost, are we?"
His voice was low, rough as uncut diamonds. Up close, you saw the lines around his eyes, the weight in them. It was intoxicating to saw those eyes that close and to hear his voice right beside you.
"Powder room, sir" you lied smoothly, your lips curving in a familiar shy smile (you weren’t entirely playing).
"The maid said it was this way."
"Hrm. Seems the maid was wrong."
Daud’s thumb pressed, just slightly, into the plump flesh of your inner arm.
"It's on the first floor. Back hall."
"Ah, but of course. My mistake. Thank you, sir."
You tried to pull away. He didn't let go.
"Funny thing," he murmured, leaning closer. «I've seen you three times tonight. Always near the stairs. Always watching."
"Perhaps I find the view compelling."
His lips twitched. Not a smile - too sharp for that. But something close to being amused.
"Perhaps you should find somewhere else to be, girl."
He released you and you descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, refusing to run or look back. When you did glanced back, he was gone, leaving behind the faint smell of whiskey… and sea.
Second Encounter: The Library
You'd circled around through the servant's passages, emerging in the library on the second floor. The locket was close now, just down the hall. Void help you, second time should be the charm. You cracked the door to find the dark corridor empty. You slipped out, gliding along the wall, counting doors.
One.
Two.
Three.
Your hand closed on the handle. It turned. You pushed—
"Looking for something?"
He was behind you.
In the library.
Which meant he'd come through the servants' passages too, which meant he knew them, which meant—
You spun.
He was leaning against the doorframe like he belonged there, arms crossed, watching you with those tired, knowing, predatory eyes.
"Just exploring," you said.
"Lovely estate."
"Lovely," he agreed. "Also full of valuable things. Easy to steal, if one were so inclined."
You dared to look insulted.
"Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm observing you."
He pushed off the frame, moved closer, but you held your ground.
"Observing that you're very bad at this."
"At what?"
"At not being noticed."
He was close now. Close enough that you could see the scar on his eye, the faint grey at his temples, the way his eyes didn't quite hide the things they'd seen. Close enough that you could smell him - leather and steel and something underneath, something almost like regret.
"I haven't done anything," you said, and it was almost true, though your voice faltered.
"Yet."
He reached past you, opened the door you were about to enter. Inside, a servant lay unconscious, bound and gagged.
Your target. Already neutralized, no doubt by his hand. You were outplayed and caught in the act before you even had a chance.
"But you were about to step into this room and take what’s mine."
Your heart stopped. Actually stopped.
"Who are you working for?" he asked. Not a threat. Just a question, but in his voice, it was a death sentence.
"No one you know."
"I know plenty of men in this city, girl. Try me."
You didn't answer. You just couldn't. Your employer's name on your lips would be a death sentence - for you, for them, for everyone you worked for. Daud watched you for a long, terrible moment. Then he sighed.
"Fine. Keep your secrets. But if you try to finish this job, I'll know. And I'll find you."
He turned away. You should have run. You should have fled. Instead, you followed. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but the satisfaction would bring it back to life after all.
Third Encounter: The Curtain
"Huh? You again, girl? Why are you still here?" he hissed as you slipped into the alcove beside him just two minutes later. The corridor beyond was filled with guards - someone had raised the alarm. Your way was blocked. His way was blocked. You were both trapped. It was definitely not your fault.
"Same reason as you, I imagine," you whispered back. «I shouldn’t be here. Yet I am.”
He shot you a look that could have curdled milk. You ignored it, pressing deeper into the shadows. The alcove was small, meant for a single decorative statue that had been removed for the evening. It was barely large enough for one person. You were both there. Which meant you were pressed together. His body was a wall of heat and muscle at your back, one arm braced against the wall beside your head, holding the curtain in place. The other rested - casually, dangerously - on your hip. Not groping. Just... steadying. Keeping you still.
"Breathe quietly," he murmured against your ear. "They're close."
You breathed. Quietly. It was hard when your heart was trying to escape your chest. The guards passed. Boots on marble. Low conversation. A laugh, too loud, too close. You didn't move. Neither did he. And in the darkness, in the press of his body against yours, something shifted. His hand on your hip tightened. Just a fraction. His breath, warm against your neck, hitched.
"Mm. Good job. You're very still. So you can follow what I’m telling you after all," he observed in low, rough voice.
You should have pushed away. You should have slipped out the moment the guards passed. You didn't. Instead, you leaned back. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel the heat of him more fully. His breath caught - a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch that you felt against your neck. Then his hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately. Sliding from your hip to your waist, spanning the curve of it with fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.
The air in the alcove was thick - perfume and powder from the party beyond, the faint mustiness of old velvet, and underneath it all, him. And something else, something sharper, more immediate: the scent of two bodies pressed too close, of heat building between them. His hand slid higher, fingers grazing the underside of your breast through the fabric. A question.
You arched, just slightly.
Yes.
His thumb traced the curve, feather-light, and your heart hammered so loud you were certain the guards would hear it through the curtain. They didn't. They passed, laughing at some joke, their footsteps fading into the distant noise of the party.
But Daud heard and hand continued its exploration - reverent, almost worshipful. He cupped your breast fully, his palm warm through the silk, his thumb brushing across the peak in a way that made your knees weak. You reached back, one hand finding his thigh, gripping the rough fabric of his trousers to steady yourself. His breath was hot against your neck now, uneven. You felt the tension in him, the barely-leashed control. He was a killer, the most dangerous man in Dunwall, and here he was, hidden in the dark with a stranger, touching her like she was something precious. You turned your head, just enough to see him. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, lips parted. He looked... vulnerable. It was gone in an instant - his eyes opened, met yours, and the mask was back - but you'd seen it. You'd felt it. Your gaze dropped. To his chest. To his arm, still braced against the wall. To his hand. And you saw it. Grey and pale against his calloused skin, faint but unmistakable, a mark. Black lines, sharp and angular, curling across his palm and up toward his wrist. It seemed to shift as you watched, almost move, like something alive beneath the flesh.
The Mark of the Outsider.
Your breath caught for an entirely different reason. You knew what that meant. Everyone knew. The powers. The magic. The things he could do. The things he payed to do that. You opened your mouth—
His hand was there in an instant, covering your lips, pressing gently but firmly. His eyes met yours, sharp with warning, and he tilted his head toward the curtain.
Voices.
Close.
Too close.
"—thought I heard something back here…"
"Ach, probably rats. Place is full of 'em."
"Should check anyway."
Daud's hand stayed over your mouth, steady and warm. His body pressed closer, if that was even possible, shielding you, hiding you in the shadow of himself. The curtain shifted. A hand, reaching in. Daud didn't move. Didn't breathe. Neither did you. The hand swept through the empty space, inches from your face. You could see the guard's sleeve, the brass buttons, the faint glint of a weapon. You could smell him - tobacco and cheap ale.
The hand withdrew.
"Nothing. Just curtains."
"Told you. Rats."
Footsteps retreating. Fading. Silence.
Daud's hand stayed over your mouth for a long moment, waiting, listening. Then, slowly, he lowered it. His palm dragged across your lips as it went, a deliberate, almost teasing motion that sent a shiver down your spine and it returned to your waist, but this time it wasn't exploring. It was claiming. Pulling you harder against him, fitting you into the curve of his body like you belonged there.. Your head fell back against his shoulder as his lips found your neck - not a kiss, not quite. Just pressure.
"You did good, girl."
The praise sent a spike of heat straight through you. Your grip on his thigh tightened.
"Quiet. Still. Patient. Even when your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest. You liked it, little thief. The danger. The risk. Being this close to getting caught."
His teeth grazed your skin, just barely, and the pathetic sound that escaped you was barely a breath, barely anything at all - but he heard it.
"And now… Now you're here, with me, in the dark. A wanted woman pressed against the Knife of Dunwall, and your pulse is still racing. Is it those fools you're afraid of, girl? Or is it me? Or perhaps," he murmured, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, "it's neither."
His lips dragged down your neck, following the line of your throat, mapping the places where your pulse jumped beneath his mouth.
"Perhaps you're not afraid at all."
He paused, mouth hovering just above the curve of your shoulder, and you could feel his smile - sharp, knowing, dangerous.
"Perhaps you've just discovered something about yourself."
His hand released your breast, sliding down, down, over your ribs, your waist, your hip, until his fingers found the slit in your gown and slipped through, finding bare skin beneath.
You gasped. Soft. Barely audible. He heard.
"There she is."
His lips returned to your neck, pressing a kiss to the spot where your pulse was wildest.
"My little thief, getting wet in the dark with the most wanted man in Dunwall."
His fingers traced patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, not moving higher, just... teasing.
"Tell me," he breathed against your throat.
"Were you this eager for the secrets, for the job well done and payed? We can't have you forgetting yourself, can we?"
His hand withdrew, sliding back out of your gown, leaving you aching and empty and wanting.
"The next time I find you skulking around where you shouldn't be," he murmured, "I expect you to put up a better fight."
He kissed the spot behind your ear, soft, almost tender.
"And when I win…"
He released you. Slowly. Letting you feel every inch of space that opened between you, every loss of heat, every absence.
"...I'll finish what I started."
He was gone before you could turn, before you could speak, before you could do anything but stand there in the dark, trembling, aching, and more thoroughly undone than any payment could ever have made you. Behind you, the curtain whispered shut. And somewhere in the Boyle Estate, the Knife of Dunwall slipped back into the crowd, a predator well-fed on something that had nothing to do with blood.
Hello, would love anything Daud! thank you for doing this
Daud x gn!reader
warnings: very suggestive!!! (i'm sorry), swear words, kinda short
no use of Y/N
words: 683
You are a member of Whalers, Daud's group of assassin's. There seems to be a rather weird tension between you and your boss.
It was a chilly day in Dunwall, especially in the Flooded District. The blow of the cold, harsh wind only made you shiver and snuggle deeper into the whaler suit, not that it helped much. You were not build for this weather, not back from where you came from. The Serkonian blood remaining deeply rooted in your body even after years of not living there. You blow into the air painting it with white intricate patterns.
He did this on purpose, Daud, that asshole. He always does this, putting you on the watch, high in the air, knowing damn well your feelings towards the cold. Daud enjoyed tormenting you, sneering at your presence and giving you the most annoying tasks such as getting rid off the bodies or guarding some high and mighty dude. There was so much tension between you two, but it’s still a mystery to you if he wanted to skin you alive or fuck you into his bed. You must admit, that he is rather attractive, but his attidute matched the rough weather of Gristol and you hated Gristol’s climate.
You sigh as you feel your ass going numb from sitting on the cold stone for so long. You caress your thighs in a soothing manner, warming yourself up, keen eyes wandering over the area. Ah there he is! Daud is back from his mission, seemingly not losing a limb. What a pity. You scoff as you watch his attractive face and strong arms. Asshole.
He gathered all the Whalers, giving out orders and some briefing for the upcoming mission. You stand on Daud‘s far left, leaning your back on the wall, watching not really listening. Staring at him without a whaler mask is your favourite, so he can see the glare and know the hatred is mutual. He ended his long ass speech and everyone started to leave, you were left alone with him. You pushed yourself off the wall, but his hoarse voice stopped you in your tracks.
„Will you stop acting like a brat?“ You turn around, narrowing your eyes. He’s staring right back at you, arms folded over his chest and his face possesing a stern grimace. „And what is that supposed to mean, boss?“ you shoot back, mirroring his posture. „You know exactly, what i mean.“ Daud edges closer, his eyes strict. This proximity makes you dizzy and breath heavily, you feel your face going hot. Heart hammering against your ribs. Fuck fuck fuck…
„You’ve been acting like nothing but a brat. Complaining about everything, rolling your eyes, mumbling under your breath, glaring at me. You think i wouldn’t notice?“ He was really close to you, almost pressing his nose against yours, trying intimidate you. You set your chin up, not backing down. „I hoped you would.“ You ball your fists, trying not to shiver from his deep voice. „Hm.“ Daud’s face twists into a rare smirk. „Did you also hope for me to notice your lingering stare, your flushed cheeks or your blown out pupils?“ You don’t answer, your lips twist into a snarl. He swiftly grabs you by your cheeks,smushing them together. „Cat got your tounge, you brat?“ He pulls you closer, scaning your face and reactions. His eyes not giving away any emotion.
„No, i decided to stay silent and leave you in your delusions. Maybe you will feel better thinking i’m interested in you.“ You taunt him, which only results in Daud squeezing your cheeks tighter. „Why don’t you put your mouth to better use than continuing to mock me, huh?“ He’s not really asking, his features sharp and unforgiving, letting you know you overstepped a boundary there.
You, like the biggest fool in the Flooded District, maybe in the entire Dunwall, decide to challenge him. „Hmm and what are you suggesting, boss?“ You put an emphasis on his title, mocking him again. Daud visibly clenches his jaw and pushes you by your face on your knees. You stare up at him, wide eyed. He starts to undo his belt while he grins at you. „Let me show you, then.“
sword practice takes a turn as tensions rise under the gray skies of the Flooded District.
Ego homini lupus.
Man is wolf to man. The dark, twisted, plague-ridden world you had to be a part of brought this brutal law of nature to the spotlight - in all of its twisted ways man could think of.
Sometimes it took form in letting swarms of rats crawl and devour a poor soul in a matter of minutes, only leaving the gut-wrenching sounds of human tissue getting chewed on while you watched and did not lift a single finger to rescue the man. It was just the way the world worked, the way the cogs turned and clicked. It had been a challenge to shut down your sense of pity and helpfulness as a good human being - when your entire life revolved around killing and letting it be killed, finding time for remorse did not come so easy between the death contracts.
Often times it was a bloody blade twisting in yet another soul’s heart, tearing arteries and ribs apart. Traveling to the deepest, grittiest corners of the once-great city of Dunwall, slicing countless noble and Weeper throats for coin that would only be enough to barely get by, days and days of living on cold and ruthless rooftops to scout for missions had all shown you many horrors that your humankind could commit. In times of distress, of misery and sometimes, times when one succumbs to selfish intentions.
This time, the simple combination of Latin words was showing its' gnarly thorns into killing an Empress.
The piercing sound of steel clashing steel echoed through the bricks and the damaged rooftops as it got mixed with the filtered huffs and groans thrown in the duel through the whaler masks. He pressed on with another attack, taking a quick forward step along with a low groan of effort as he threw out an expert dash that would have taken your dainty little beating heart out of your chest if you had not anticipated it, a little spark flying out as your trusted blade clashed against his yet again.
The shadows in your hands became prominent, engulfing your fingers with the familiar warmth of smoke and magic until the sensation was blocked. The dark but enticing songs of the whales muted for the time being, powers taken away from you momentarily as the cool and cold surface of the steel felt harsh against your palms again.
“Flesh and steel. The way I trained you,” the Knife of Dunwall sneered, almost reprimanding you, a familiar spark of adrenaline in his darkened eyes.
A man of enigmas stood before you wielding a knife, but there was only one certain truth eminent on him - when Daud fought, it had been with the only intention of killing.
The man rose strong yet scarred from the slums when all odds were against him, killing to fight for his life, later for coin, for reputation and much to your gratefulness, to keep his underlings alive and fed and equipped. It had been easy to him, taking lives as he did not even bother for a split second to watch the light dim out in their eyes, blood washing over his leather overcoat and steel only to dry off till the next target appeared in his eyesight. Whoever saw the Knife in front of their mere mortal eyes, with his blade drawn and ready, begged to pay him tenfold whatever his patron paid, collapsed without a hint of pride left.
Only this time, there was something else lurking in there, some sort of unknown. Uncertainty reflecting off of his irises as they met yours on the opposite sides of locked steel, neighbored by the reflection of the old and battered down Rudshore Financial buildings. Almost as if those dark eyes of his were looking for answers to questions you could not fathom, questions you did not dare ask yourself in the first place.
The shadow magic unavailable from your disposal for the time being, you fueled your pent up adrenaline into a violent push to break out of the agonizing lock, sending your Master’s blade slide off of yours with a screeching sound from the friction.
Taking a step back and catching your breath, the blade was flipped with years ease in your hands as you watched his movements - taking in every step, every little reflex, even the single movement of his fingers clasping the metal handle. The two of you moved in accustomed unison, albeit on opposite sides, like two wolves circling in the snow, waiting to bite each other’s throats off but only waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The Serkonan scanned your every movement with his rugged but dangerously handsome face - you knew he knew your next ten steps, what you wanted for dinner, and then some. His moves and tricks were no surprise to you either, after all, you had been by his right hand, under his wing for many painful years.
Locked in that tense moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and knuckles almost white from all that clutching, you lunged forward in a swift but graceful attack which got countered by none other than the blade master himself and a series of slashes, groans and sickening clangs began echoing in the air.
What had been an ordinary daily sword practice on the rooftops of the Flooded District had turned into the rather interesting sparring of the Knife of Dunwall against one of his most-trusted lieutenants. Whalers knelt and stood on surrounding buildings, some watching behind the brick remnants of destroyed walls, some choosing the more traditional approach and staying on the rooftops. Wherever the Whalers were, it did not matter - there was only one focal point, one spectacle to follow.
“Is the old man trying to kill her or something?” the assassin clad in navy leather spoke in a surprised tone beneath the mask. “Always thought Daud had a soft spot for her - how did this happen?”
The woman clad in red leather shrugged, with her arms crossed, eyes dead focused on the clinging blades further down below, following every moment and every flick of the leather-covered wrists. “Daud knows what he is doing,” she spoke, sounding fairly confident in contrast to the fact that, frankly, Billie Lurk did not have an inkling of an idea of what fueled the almost emotional duel she was witnessing.
Sure, it was common occurrence for Daud to try one of the assassins in a duel every now and then, but the magic running through her veins sourced by none other than her Master himself told another tale - he was desperate. As if he was looking for a way out, or for someone to reassure him. Someone to tell him that everything would fall into place in the end. A trapped soul he was, signals of doubt lingering in the ebbs and flows.
The Daud she knew never crumbled against the unknown.
Panting mixed in with angry throes of war with the side of sickening metal clashes were all you could hear as your footwork did not let you down for the time being.
By the time you could count the ways you fought against Daud, it would take you an entire trip around the Isles and maybe more. After all, he had been the one to pull you out from the gutter, from the decrepit, bloodfly-infested back alleys of the slums of Karnaca. Taught you how to slit your first throat in exchange for money. Sailed across the Isles and brought you to capital of the Empire, where he trained you relentlessly. Told you how to exploit the weaknesses of each and every victim. How to find the shady stuff under everyone’s name, even the cleanest, the most noble. How to stick a blade in one rich bastard in the Estate District to please another rich bastard somewhere else, long as gleaming coin went in your pouch at the end of the day. How to confront the most dangerous, most reckless and the most wanted of Dunwall - only equipped with one of his old swords he had stolen from the Grand Guard.
“Always go for the head,” he had always said as his leather-clad hands tutored yours, teaching you the ruthless ways of fighting. The feel of that calloused texture still fresh under your fingertips.
True to his advice, that was exactly what he did to send you reeling back in a loud groan - his undefeated blade knocking yours out of your grip in a sharp flick of his large hand, sending it sprawling against the old bricks and cement.
Your panting and aching body was then left without a solid defense, he seized the opportunity as well as any - the cold hard steel rested dangerously on your covered throat, the victorious master assassin’s larger frame close to yours as his dark eyes sparked in some sort of emotion you could not discern. Shivers running down your body, a lump in your throat so evident it made the blade angle as a defeated gulp passed through.
It was as if the world had stopped. You wondered if this is what being summoned to the Void felt like - cold, uninviting, tiring, frightening, daunting. Unknown and unexplored. He had told you about his encounters with the black-eyed bastard once, years after when he first received the wretched mark on his left hand that seemed to haunt him in his nightmares to every single dawn.
Now it seemed to be that Daud himself was recreating the Void for you, for all of the eyes to watch as the Whalers held their breaths.
“You better not fight like this when we take the Empress,” Daud scolded you, his fierce eyes locked into yours even through the covers that your whaler mask provided. As his mouth uttered the last word, your entire body was begging you to give up, to collapse as your heart dropped. Your body under the heavy tactical gear stood as rigid as can be, though, even with a blade looming on your precious neck and all you could give to your mentor as an answer was a short nod.
Was this one of those usual duels he would pick up with you just to show the other Whalers what failure could cost them? Beat you on purpose, take the shared powers away from you for the duration of the fight so that the others would train like they would die in the next hour?
No - this had been a message for you. Every single footstep he took as he advanced on you, every little spark that flew into thin air as metal hit metal.
Much to your demise, the Knife of Dunwall knew you to your core. By the Void, he could piece together details about you that the old soul of the Outsider maybe did not even consider looking for.
Daud knew this one contract, the biggest job his Whalers were asked to pull off would strike a nerve deep within you, hit a buried spot concealed within your emotions, your morals and memories. The same spot in him that was struck, that made him do a double-take on the grand scheme of things, what they implied. What this particular death implied.
It terrified him, as much as it terrified you. He knew the mere prospect of it, considering the looming deadline as you steadily approached into Month of Earth, shook you to the very core. It was natural instinct for you to read through his irises, but some experience to see the hesitance lay in them.
“Understood, sir,” your throat gave out in a hoarse voice filtered through the mask, your head tilted upwards to his towering figure as he grew satisfied with the answer, loosening his grip on the blade slowly, then sheathing it to the holster on his belt with habituated ease. Your chest heaved with deep, lingering breaths as the remnants of the adrenaline emptied themselves in your veins, slowly dissipating after the sparring. The man in front of you tilted his muscular neck, as the mark on his left hand glowed orange ever-so-visible even through his thick gloves as he raised his palm lightly - making the familiar warmth of power surge through you once again, the return of the bond making you gasp lightly, finding some sort of much-needed comfort as you nodded your thanks.
With yet one more stare thrown your way, his jaw clenched as his feet carried him across the rooftops away from your figure, walking in between his assassins, his loyal gang of misfits and killers alike. Taking this as a signal that practice for the day being was over, the Whalers began to vanish into the shadow one by one, leaving a more vast, open sight of the gray skies contrasting the beige-white ruins of what once used to be a booming financial hub.
It was at that moment of defeat that your weakened body fell on the knees next to your sword, millions of possible scenarios filled with blood and screams running through your mind. Head leaning forward as you breathed in and out, in an attempt to calm yourself down.
And it was at that moment when your heart and body and mind fell in unison - you could never spill the blood of an Empress, even if the man who swore to protect your life ordered you to.
new information comes to light and the contract is bent.
“One move and I start cutting.”
Breath held back in a sharp gasp, the quick palpitations of the heart beating out of the chest. A little hiss at the coldness of the blade against warmer skin. The salty droplets of cold sweat starting to form on their foreheads. Too afraid to take tentative steps to escape, threatened by the perfectly-measured, mastered amount of sheer pressure against their throats just enough to not break the barrier of flesh.
If all the targets that fell dead under your blade had something in common, it would be their reactions when you prepared to deliver the final cut.
Pendleton had been no different. The moment your cold steel met his skin, the nobleman knew better not to move his hands towards the blade he kept on the dresser. If an assassin had been that skilled to sneak in, not make a single living whiff of a sound and press a blade against him like that - he would not dare take a single breath. Though he had been surprised, you could tell by the way his head tilted ever so slightly to the right, to hear a woman’s voice wielding the killer weapon. You hoped he did not have a weak heart, since you were about to surprise him much, much more with what was to come.
The contract sent by Lord Shaw to the one and only Knife of Dunwall stated that Lord Treavor Pendleton was to be eliminated, with a handsome reward of shiny five thousand coin. Most nobles you had been ordered to kill, that you have interacted with at some level, had been slimy and shady, thinking their money and their power would solve every single problem they encountered - even the slightest inconveniences. Most of the times, they did. That night was not going to be one of those times.
“Take a seat over at that chair,” your strong voice would demand while your empty, gloved hand would reach out to grab onto the back of his fancy overcoat tightly, the agonizing touch of the blade loosening ever so slightly against his throat to give him room to walk. “Start walking.”
It was as if you could sense the cowardice of his soul seeping through his expensive garments, the man’s breathing became ragged with droplets of cold sweat racing down his jaw as you followed him around the bed towards the wooden chair, nudging him. Only when he sat down without resisting you could you take a good look at his face - terror, his slicked back black hair emanating a couple of loose strands out of sweat, his eyes big and full of fear. Some glints of surprise in the orbs, as he took a good look upwards at his captor, who happened to be a sight for sore eyes.
Standing in front of your captive with nothing but determination in your eyes, your extended hand would hold the steel dangerously close to his bulging, sweaty throat part covered by that high-collar neckline he wore. An occasional night breeze would toy with your hair as the fading remnants of sunlight hit your features.
“W-what do you want? I swear, I can give you money, so much money and power-” the man would start rambling, in a trembling voice as one of his legs started shaking ever-so-slightly.
“Someone wants you dead and gone, Pendleton,” your voice dipped in control echoed in the vast bedroom, as you would lean in lightly. “I have to admit - I did too. I would love to stick a blade in your little throat and watch you squirm. After all, you’re just another noble out of the bunch, aren’t you?”
Pendleton gulped, the pleading look in his eyes back again. “Please...”
Tilting your head slightly, you would lean in even further, the blade staying horizontally against his flesh, restricting all movement. “But on my way here, I came across a very interesting sight. It isn’t exactly the wisest decision to conspire near the Regent’s Parliament, huh?”
If someone’s eyes could widen to cover half their face, Treavor’s eyes at that moment would. Oh, this was bad. Not only would this woman gut him alive and leave him to the plague rats to feast on, she had heard their plans too. The entire Pendleton family name, if someone had found out about his intent to restore the rightful heir, would perish to no avail. The mere thought made him quiver under her hands.
“I know a great deal,” you started, your voice thickening as your orbs bore fire into his, your face inches away from his terrified one.
“Emily Kaldwin. I want to know where she is, Treavor. And before you start saying you don’t know anything,” the blade pressed against his throat firmer, causing him to writhe under you. “I know those choffers you call siblings have her, so I suggest you co-operate with me here.”
It was almost as if the eminent fear of dying had awakened something inside of the coward, when his eyes lit up for a second, looking into your eyes with a newfound tone in them.
“That information comes at a price.”
To that, you could not help but let out a chuckle, shaking your head at his utter and hopeless naivety. You were being paid top coin to kill this man - was he not aware of the fact that you could skin him alive right that second?
“You bastard. I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands now, are you?” you would ask, the edge of the blade leaving a small cut underneath his jaw, couple drops of blood coating your shiny metal. A loud hiss would emanate from the man underneath you, yet he managed to look into your eyes with all the courage he could muster.
“I can do better than that. You help us get the Royal Protector out of Coldridge, I will get out of sight and out of mind, disappear into the Void itself.”
It was your turn to show surprise as he made you the most unexpected offer. It was as if all those made-up rescue scenarios you made in your head, playing different turns of events for four long months were coming to life. Could you trust this man? Was he loyal to the Empire as he claimed to be?
“I can just torture you to death right here and you would be begging to spill information to me,” you spoke, your tone evident.
It seemed like the man did not have a choice but to trust you. He knew damn well what you had been capable of, the itching and burning fresh cut on his jawline would always be a reminder of that. Bribing guards had been too risky - no one could pinpoint what those dimwits could do. If you hadn’t had good intentions for the heiress either, you would have started torturing him on the spot, but instead you leaned towards the more merciful path.
“Lady, you could have killed me the moment you stepped in my chambers. You need me alive. The Empire needs nobles who are still loyal to the Kaldwin reign, and you know it.”
Never before had you been this intimidated by a target. You had been sent to stick a blade through this man, what in the Void did you think you were doing, trying to cut some crazy deal with him for a suicide mission, all the while sparing him? It felt like losing control - you did not like losing control. Jaw clenched and fire burning in your eyes, it was time you took it back.
“I’ll do it,” the words spilled out of your mouth without little hesitation. “Tell me where Lady Emily is.”
Pendleton could only let out a little grin, blinking, not expecting to recruit that easily into the conspiracy. “My brothers frequent the finest bathhouse in the Isles.”
Getting the hint, your eyes would glimmer with determination and you would nod sharply to the man, before you extracted your blade back into the holster and made your fist meet his jaw. Sending him reeling back to tumble on the hardwood with a groan.
Out of the corner of your eye, a small glint of metal caught your attention, positioned neatly on the chestnut dresser against the wooden-paneled wall. You had done this man the favor of his lifetime by not letting him go victim to your blade - maybe it would not hurt him too much if you scavenged a little something.
A Kaldwin cameo, you would recognize as you walked towards it, the mere sight of it making you clench your jaw. Without giving it a second thought, you grabbed the shiny object, slipping it into your pouch.
“If I hear your name around anytime soon, I will come and slice your head off,” your threatening voice echoed as you perched up on the window, looking at a disheveled Pendleton leaning against the wall.
His fingers tracing the burning cut, he could only look as you jumped out of the window towards the rooftops.
---
The return back to your base, the wretched place you had learned to call a home alongside him, had not been as easy as it had always been after your previous targets, who were no doubt swarming the Void already.
The choices you make, he would tell you, always matter to someone, somewhere.
Letting Pendleton disappear alive and unharmed, to realize the plans he had been discussing with the Admiral was a decision that would impact you and those around you tremendously. It would mark the start of your involvement with the conspiracy, founded to bandage the wounds your master had impaled under orders.
As you approached the riverside neighboring the non-functioning but ever-so-tall Greaves Refinery in the skiff of a smuggler you had paid to get across Wrenhaven, the dawn of the approaching crossroads sulked on your mind. The mission ahead of you irking you to an extent you never felt before, knowing there was so much more at stake than just life and death. In many ways, the future of an Empire depended on whether you succeeded. The burden it had already put on your shoulders was beginning to drag you down, cloud your mind with reason and equally with judgment.
Was aiding Corvo in any way treason to your master? The same master who stuck a blade into the woman he was hired to protect? The former Royal Protector was an unknown, a mystery - even if he did manage to get out in one piece, which was very unlikely given the nature of the busted hole he was in, there was no telling what he would do. Would the man be so full of revenge that he would start killing every person he set his sights onto? Cause havoc in the cursed city that has taken everything away from him?
No. The Corvo you knew all those years ago would not. You prayed to the dark-eyed god that all that pain and misery had not changed him too much.
Slowly making your way through your territory, the route to Central Rudshore gave you the opportunity to reflect, your reflection gazing at you through the chest-high waters. The more you thought, the more your heart and your mind slipped into unison. You had seen Daud, once a bloodthirsty killer without emotion, crumble and suffer with the regret that his last assassination brought onto his aching soul. You knew he would take it back, take everything back to the start, give back all the coin and put a blade into that small man Burrows if he had the chance to.
He ached to do something right, something for the good of the Empire, and so did you. In your heart and mind, aiding Corvo Attano get his honor back was the right thing to do. Even when you served the man who led to his misery in the first place - you would do your part in a hopeful quest to restore the rightful heir, for as long as you could, all the while keeping your Master from harm’s way.
It was that deep hollow in your stomach letting you know that you only could for so long.
Mask on, couple of your fellow Whalers would greet you inside the Commerce Building as you approached his double doors. For the moment, all you could do, all you could hope for was for the noble to listen to your carefully-spoken word and leave the area for however long it needed to take so that rich bastard Lord Shaw would not notice you deliberately failing the contract. You only could hope the payment reached Daud safely and soundly - the last thing you wanted to do was to give him even the slightest hint of suspicion.
Taking your mask off the moment you stepped inside his quarters, you would find the Master Assassin lighting up a cigar, holding it in between his leather-clad fingers as his head would rise in your walking figure, your blade holstered and mask in hand. His steel blues glinting in relief for a split second to see one of his best Whalers coming back in one piece, his head would tilt ever so slightly to the left, eager to listen.
“Pendleton’s eliminated,” your voice would not falter, in all due technicality, it had not been a lie. Daud would catch your dishonesty even if you were far away in the damned Void itself. There was no use trying the Old Knife.
The assassin would nod, taking a long drag off of his cigar as his other hand scribbled something illegible onto his ledger, guessing it had been the bounty off of the contract. Taking steps closer to his office space, you would notice the fresh cards he readied near his audiograph - you had an inkling of an idea of what they would be about. Lately, his thoughts were about one thing and one thing only.
“I need you to lay low for a while,” the master assassin would start with his usually gruff voice, this time a little hint of care etched onto his words. “Pendleton was a man with connections, and I don’t want anyone tracing back to us. People in the Parliament will notice his sudden absence. Get a little rest, you earned it.”
Your features neutral with a hint of a smile on your lips, you would nod graciously. The Whalers had been laying low for a while, ever since it all came down. His request from you did not intrigue you too much.
“As you wish, Master,” would spill out of your mouth as your fingers gave him a salute, which he would return with a nod your way before you vanished into the shadows.
Daud knew they could not keep hiding and running like this - trouble was headed their way whether they liked it or not. Whatever demise that was coming his way, he knew he deserved it.
Not yet, he would mumble to himself as he exhaled the thick smoke.
a simple assassination contract takes an unexpected turn.
This was where it all ended, but in many ways no one could fathom, where it all began.
Dunwall Tower had been where reigns started and ended, whether legendary or calm. Where calculated coup attempts took place, some successful, some condemned to death. Where the law that governed the citizens all across the Empire was made, where nobles and aristocrats and the like raced their voices during court. The gardens of the vast Tower used to be open for the general public to visit and relax in, though they were sealed off again during the late Empress’s reign - you guessed it was the Royal Protector’s order, to ensure the Empress was protected against any impromtu attempts against her life and rule.
Sadly, that had not been enough to keep the blade from killing her in the end, hence led to the new Lord Regent taking new precautions, many out of sheer paranoia, over the months.
From the rooftop you were perched up on for the last couple hours, you had a front-row view of the new installments the Regent had added to the once gleaming tower. By the Void, you were sure the entire city of Dunwall could spot the creepy-looking, steel installment of a safe chamber on the rightmost wing of the tower, along with the numerous tallboys venturing around the entire premises to spot any intruders. Being one of the very limited number of people who knew the truth behind this grand coup, seeing those additional structures made you want to tear them all down with fire and smoke. It made your blood boil to see the man guilty of all this chaos stay safe in his high-up tower while the entire city, the city he seemingly ruled, bled from their eyes.
So much had changed in the Tower District since the last time you were around. Witnessing the consequences of your actions first-hand as you roamed through the rooftops of Dunwall did nothing but deepen the crack in your pained soul. Under the purple and orange lights that the city’s pretty sunsets offered, the plague victims who sneezed and coughed and vomited in the back alleys proved to be a stark contrast. It was a city of opposites after all - across the river, a little further down the shore was a gentleman’s club, surprisingly accompanied by the close proximity of the Office of the High Overseer. A city where the poor wept under the doorsteps of the rich and noble.
And yet there you were, tasked with the mission of ending another noble life.
This would not be your first aristocrat who tasted your blade, nor would it be the last by the looks of things. Before, during your days of following your master’s orders without failure or divergence, killing anyone had been easy. A very well-trained assassin like yourself did not even bother shutting their eyelids after your target was on the floor, gargling on their own blood. Never before did you have any doubts.
This certain Pendleton, brother however, would be different. Your fellow assassins had delivered the innocent and pure Lady Emily, only a little child, to his forsaken brothers a mere four months ago. Over the years, rumors had been spiraling around that the three Pendleton brothers,the very three banes of aristocracy, had not been getting along well - with Morgan and Custis siding off together to keep their mining business running, the number of people they have enslaved and tortured only known by the Outsider. The very same two brothers who knew the location of the little heiress.
Brothers would be brothers - they would fight, bicker and argue, but they shared secrets. You hoped Pendleton would not be so shy to let you know what he knew before you put a blade through him.
Roaming on the rooftops came as second nature to you, with so much time spent running from tacklers and stray gang members looking for their preys for the night. It was liberating, to feel the breeze ghost over your overcoat, with the muffled sounds of your stealth boots across the tiles. That night had not been different - despite the numerous plans and kill scenarios going on in your mind, it was a short-lived blessing to be able to sneak and transverse across the rooftops as the illuminated Parliament building loomed in front of you, overlooking a vast square encircled with apartment buildings - no doubt occupied by the affluent who had influence on the court.
The previous adventures you had as a Whaler had brought you over to this part of town many times, so the horizontally stretched-out architecture with many ornate windows and well-kept white stone walls did not intimidate you like it had the first time. The long, red banners draped across the exterior, with none other than the Lord Regent’s silhouette pasted on them did, however. It should have been the light blue, golden-encrusted silk adorning the walls instead, their memory still fresh and aching from that wretched day when they stopped swaying in the wind.
That beautiful blue, reminiscent of clear skies, was the fragment of your memory that kept you on the drive to reach the little Empress, somehow, sometime.
Senses in your body were awakened as you crouched at the edge of a balcony, closer to the ground level but with a clear vantage point for the huge wooden doors. There exited two figures, their clothes and faces illuminated by the ever-blinding streetlights installed by the City Watch. The thinner, slightly taller one clad in finely-tailored ivory garments you could discern a mile away - your target. The muscular one clad in uniform on his side, however, you had yet to meet. Unknown pawns and intruders in any mission had been a huge risk, and you needed to see if you could get that nobleman alone.
Other members of the Parliament, slowly yet surely, started walking out of the double doors, following the pair’s lead as they descended the stairs after the session ended.
Some would head to their homes to their wives and kids, some would head to bars to drink their woes away. Yet your attention was on the pair of men, who were headed towards a back alley, their body language rigid and somewhat eluding.
Like they had something to hide. Needed some place to talk privately.
Behind the mask, you would raise your eyebrow in intrigue. What would Pendleton have to do with some uniform for them to head over to the back of an ale house to talk? Playing court politics was not exactly your particular area of expertise, you had been a foreigner to Gristol after all, but you knew this much - if it meant a secluded and hushed talk in a dark corner, it was more than just games played to win votes.
Making your way as you followed their movements albeit on the leverage that the roof provided, you spot them stopping near a row of wooden barrels, without a soul in sight while you loomed over to eavesdrop.
“So you think he will make it out? No one’s ever done that before, Admiral... this could either make or break us,” Pendleton spoke lowly, running a hand over his face in thought.
The supposed Admiral nodded, albeit hints of worry were etched in the slow movement. “He’s our only hope. We cannot go and save her ourselves - our reputation would tatter, and we need your nobility to work in our favor,” the man spoke in a gruff voice pensively, his arms crossed as he took a couple wandering steps around. His steps were calculated and had a certain rigidness to them, his tone of speech exuding authority - everything about him screamed some sort of military training background, which made him a little more dangerous to the mission for any normal assassin, but not for someone in your caliber.
Pendleton would let out a sigh followed by a slight shrug, crossing his arms to match his companion. “We would need someone on the inside, someone to unlock his cell when the time is right. Martin would know who to bribe. The man has more connections than me and I am the noble one...” he would say, sounding somewhat willing to co-operate with the Admiral.
As a professional assassin, you could care less what crime your victim was trying to plot next, let it be a near impossible one of infiltrating Coldridge. You just needed to get him alone, slit his throat and get paid -
“Good call. Though I give Corvo a one out of five chance of escaping, it is worth our efforts.”
The silent breath got hitched in your throat.
The mention of his name stopped you dead in your tracks, your heart starting to beat faster and faster out of your chest. So that was who they were breaking out of prison, that explained the quick and straight to the point nature of the conversation as well - his life would cease in less than two months at the hands of the prison executioner. Every single plan needed to be made in utmost haste and total precision.
Your mind then would drift to the Royal Protector, him in those noble clothes that were no doubt tattered by then, defending the Empress moments before her death, sending your assassin friends to their demise with his pistol.
The man who had nothing to do with this conspiracy, thrown on a dishonorable road, probably tortured every single day in that hole for a crime he did not commit. Who had everything taken away from him. If given the opportunity, you knew he would make it, you knew he would live - he had always been strong, so very strong to beat any opponent.
It sparked a glimmer of hope inside you, knowing that there were men out there in high places, planning to restore the rightful order in the Empire and bring back the innocent.
It only was a big shame that you were sent to kill one of them.
Noticing the conversation ending for the time being with the Admiral parting his way from the noble, your trained senses came back into play as you furrowed your eyebrows in full concentration. Your mind worked at an impeccable pace, combinations of different plans and scenarios going in them as you settled on one. The eavesdropping had given you so much information, and you would be a fool not to use them to your advantage, so you took off your mask in a quick motion before strapping it onto your belt - you would not need to hide your identity for what you were about to do.
Following the Lord onto the street, you would see him walking into his apartment, hastily making your way to his bedroom balcony through your well-performed transversals. Like any other elite assassin, you took your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike your target and fulfill your contract at once. There he was, without a clue of what was bound to come, of what was lurking in the shadows for him - with his back turned to you, his hands rummaging through his vast chestnut dresser in search of something.
Perfect.
With your hand on your trusted blade, your quick yet quiet feet thanks to your padded boots would carry you over through the richly-decorated master bedroom, to be positioned right behind him, sneaking up on him with such ease. A swift and expertly controlled movement later, you would feel his breath get caught in his bulging throat as your cold steel rested against his unshaven skin.
