[ He'd heard the reports on the streets, read stories in a collection of papers. Knew of the supposed madman who murdered without apparent method and left corpses mutilated, as if on display. He'd heard, but what did it matter? Dunwall has always had its share of walking fuck-ups. And Daud has plenty of business to hold his attention. So for a while, the matter had drifted beyond his concern.
Then the scenes turned stranger still, Daud's own title invoked.
The first few times it happened, Daud paid the matter little enough mind. Had his people analyze the scene, describing it in detail, seeking signs of ill intent. If it was a death threat, it was unclear and ineffective. And deeming it a death threat didn't sit right. Something about the scenes seemed showier than that. More like enthusiastic displays than any kind of hazard. It isn't the first time some sad sod in this city has tried to catch his attention. Isn't even the first time someone's tried to call out via a corpse or some half-assed hit. But Daud's never heard of bodies transformed with such... morbid finesse.
And indeed, when Daud at last visited a scene, beheld the repurposed body of a notorious bastard of a banker, he'd been struck by the uncommon - if unnecessarily applied - skill. It was fascinating, almost. One of his Whalers had been sick, while a couple of others had been amused. Inspecting the scene for signs of the creator's identity, Daud had declared himself unimpressed.
Still, as word came that fresh bodies had been found, he'd visited another scene. Then another.
By now he's seen four of the stranger's sites. The work reminds Daud of occultists he's known, people who worked in entrails and animal corpses, who occasionally exhumed human bodies for their bones or sought organs from fresh kills. Only he's never seen any of them go to these lengths. Doesn't know if they'd possess the capacity, because some of this work seems almost impossible in its intricacy.
What he reads in these scenes is intensity. Excess. Removal from the world of most men. And an intensity of focus that Daud could almost respect.
Maybe this one is worth contacting, after all.
Once Daud makes the decision, it doesn't take long for his assassins to track the madman down. There are whispers among them, rumors of witchcraft that they only half-credit, doubting their eyes, doubting the potential. Something to keep in mind; something that Daud expects no trouble from, not for him, not given his powers and his skill. And then word comes that the man's been spotted at work.
Daud arrives with quiet suddenness, appearing a couple of yards behind the lithe stranger, sword at his side, arms folded. He doesn't expect this to take long. ]
i love everything about this jesus christ.
Then the scenes turned stranger still, Daud's own title invoked.
The first few times it happened, Daud paid the matter little enough mind. Had his people analyze the scene, describing it in detail, seeking signs of ill intent. If it was a death threat, it was unclear and ineffective. And deeming it a death threat didn't sit right. Something about the scenes seemed showier than that. More like enthusiastic displays than any kind of hazard. It isn't the first time some sad sod in this city has tried to catch his attention. Isn't even the first time someone's tried to call out via a corpse or some half-assed hit. But Daud's never heard of bodies transformed with such... morbid finesse.
And indeed, when Daud at last visited a scene, beheld the repurposed body of a notorious bastard of a banker, he'd been struck by the uncommon - if unnecessarily applied - skill. It was fascinating, almost. One of his Whalers had been sick, while a couple of others had been amused. Inspecting the scene for signs of the creator's identity, Daud had declared himself unimpressed.
Still, as word came that fresh bodies had been found, he'd visited another scene. Then another.
By now he's seen four of the stranger's sites. The work reminds Daud of occultists he's known, people who worked in entrails and animal corpses, who occasionally exhumed human bodies for their bones or sought organs from fresh kills. Only he's never seen any of them go to these lengths. Doesn't know if they'd possess the capacity, because some of this work seems almost impossible in its intricacy.
What he reads in these scenes is intensity. Excess. Removal from the world of most men. And an intensity of focus that Daud could almost respect.
Maybe this one is worth contacting, after all.
Once Daud makes the decision, it doesn't take long for his assassins to track the madman down. There are whispers among them, rumors of witchcraft that they only half-credit, doubting their eyes, doubting the potential. Something to keep in mind; something that Daud expects no trouble from, not for him, not given his powers and his skill. And then word comes that the man's been spotted at work.
Daud arrives with quiet suddenness, appearing a couple of yards behind the lithe stranger, sword at his side, arms folded. He doesn't expect this to take long. ]
Tell me what you want.