picture prompt meme

[wolfofdunwall]

the picture prompt meme
leave a picture/pictures and i'll respond with a character of your choice (or, if you'd prefer, of my own choosing). or leave a comment and i'll respond with pictures.

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for wingsfordays

[wolfofdunwall]

((for this image prompt.))


[ The bastard has to die.

The god who’d given Daud his powers, who’d marked him and who once deigned to speak to Daud and whisper hints about the man’s importance, about his strength, about the mark he would dig into the world. The god who’d watched as Daud - known then as the Knife of Dunwall, an elite and widely renowned assassin - struck down people without reserve. Watched as Daud gathered coin for murder after murder, slitting throats and sloshing blood across the city. So many had died without needs; so many, deserving and otherwise, had been cut down because some rich bastard held a grudge. Because Daud had been open for hire. Because the Outsider had never said a word to stop Daud’s actions.

(The black-eyed bastard hasn’t spoken in years. Not since just before Daud left his home city, granted the mercy of his life and the punishment of exile. Daud doesn’t doubt that the Outsider’s been watching ever since - watching and smirking at the man he’d once marked - but there’s been no word from the god. Of course not; he’d abandoned Daud to his fate long ago, tired of him when Daud ceased to catch his interest, whatever the fuck that meant.)

For years, Daud had tried to put his past behind him. Tried to carve out some small life of his own, away from the press of others, living alone and filling his time however he could. Only what he’d done never ceased to haunt him. Only the memories of his hands soaked in blood never ended. And as the years passed, his nightmares only intensified, reminding him of what he’d done. What the black-eyed bastard could lead people to do.

It couldn’t happen again. Daud couldn’t let the Outsider mark anyone else, couldn’t let the bastard bestow further powers and egg his Chosen on to disastrous consequences. It was necessary for Daud to act.

It was necessary for Daud to kill the god.

He’d spent the next year and a half seeking out leads on artifacts and old magic that might allow him to end the bastard. It was slow going, especially since outside of Gristol - the island on which Dunwall was situated - the Outsider’s name was known only in scatters. Finally, though, Daud caught whispers of an artifact associated with the Outsider, a twin-bladed knife that might, might just spell the bastard’s end. The work now was to track the artifact down.

Which is how he finds himself in Gotham, navigating unfamiliar streets and pulling his hood up against the frequent drizzle of rain. It’s a city not wholly unknown to him, though he’s never visited before, knows the place only through stories and through old contacts. It’s a city full of shady dealings and scandal, destruction and danger, and Daud’s sources tell him that the next step toward finding the blade is in the city. So as soon as he arrives, he begins seeking out information.

What’s unpleasantly surprising to Daud is that even here, thousands of miles from Dunwall, he’s remembered. Which makes a sick kind of sense: no one shifts from legendary assassin to obscurity in an instant, or even in a lifetime. Much as Daud’s sometimes allowed himself to think otherwise. Much as he’s almost believed that his exile could render him unknown, his past deeds meaningless. As if he could erase the Knife of Dunwall by simply disappearing.

Though he doesn’t care for the fact of his renown, doesn’t care for the way skilled strangers and people he’s spoken with once, maybe twice watch as if they know him, know his motives, there’s something to be said for notoriety. The weight of his name opens avenues of information, gives him access to people who know the city and keep track of its most valuable contacts.

And soon enough these contacts lead him to a bridge in some far corner of the city, the time ticking well past midnight. Thick fog crawls through a sickly green light, the water below the bridge thrashing in a soft rush. Daud’s supposed to be meeting someone here, a man claiming to hold knowledge of the twin-bladed knife’s recent whereabouts, claiming to know something worthwhile about its recent owner. But for the moment, Daud seems to be alone in an uneasy near-quiet.

He lingers near the middle of the bridge’s walkway, a man in his early fifties, black hair going silver, a prominent scar gashed down the right side of his face. Though well-worn, his clothing is chosen with precision, severely cut in black and red, not quite matching any style known to Gotham. As he waits, holding himself warily, he’s aware of every sound around him, every flicker of movement and low-lying shadow. Doesn’t like the choice of meeting spot, but hadn’t been able to swing anything other.

There’s movement nearby and he tenses, expression remaining impassive. It could be no one. Could be the contact. Could be trouble. For the moment, all he can do is wait and see, melting halfway into the bridge’s shadows, watching without apparent concern. ]

[wingsfordays]

Getting a text from The Red Hood out of the blue didn't exactly sit well with Tim. Even though he and Jason had been on good terms lately, the guy was a firecracker ready to blow. No, more like a bomb. Ticking and ticking and biding its time until there was a city large enough to take the brunt of his explosion. And Tim didn't want to be part of that.

But Jason's intel was clean, and though he could question why Jason of all people wanted to help him, the fact was the lead was a good one. The so-called Knife of Dunwall was in Gotham.

All these years, Tim had thought the stories about Dunwall and its feared assassin were just that -- stories. Rumors. Fantasies. It was like Batman, in a way -- meant to scare and keep everyone away. In Batman's case, though, he was a very real, very terrifying nightmare in and outside of Gotham; why then would the Knife of Dunwall be any different? It wasn't like Tim had never met an assassin -- heck, he'd trained with a few of them. But The Knife of Dunwall hadn't been seen in years, the ghost of a legend in the shadows, and Tim wasn't a believer in ghost stories.

But color him curious enough to follow Jason's leads.

The most interesting thing about the whole situation was that the leads themselves were things Tim would have followed up on either way. Terrifying men with terrifying aims of destroying cities and taking over the world, holocausts in their wake. In the center of it all, a dangerous gang from Japan that had recently infiltrated Gotham's underbelly and taken control of the East and South sides. Using the so-called Twin Katana, another legend of lore, to inflict doom and misery upon any enemies who stood in their way.

In Red Robin attire, Tim crouched on one of the dips in the bridge, watching. Below him, all he saw was an adult male, 50s or so, in the middle of the bridge. The facial recognition software in Tim's cowl worked overtime to try and place him, but the fog of the night wasn't helping. When he finally got a clear look and it registered Knife of Dunwall, Tim's eyes widened.

That. That was him? He didn't look so imposing. The only thing that could have given away his past might have been the stiffness in his shoulders when Tim's cape caught the wind. Tim grinned a little. Could he hear that? Very interesting.