[ One fact has become startlingly clear to Daud: The Outsider needs to die.
After everything he’s done, everything he’s set in motion and allowed to happen, always sitting back in sneering silence, he has to be stopped. And much as Daud would rather fade away, much as he’d rather sink into some quiet of his own (he tells himself; he feels is true), he knows he has to be the one to carry out the job. It’s the least he can do, after the damage he’d inflicted upon Dunwall. It’s the least anyone could do, knowing what the bastard of a god is capable of.
For months, Daud’s been following lead after instinctive query after lead, seeking information that might lead him toward a way of ending the black-eyed bastard. Seeking information that might lead him into the Void, information that might produce a weapon capable of striking down a god. Right now, that information has led him to a man by the name of Eustace Cunningham.
Cunningham’s tangled up in the occult, holds connections to several clandestine groups, though his loyalty and primary focus is to a minor cult whose members call themselves the Void Shifters. As far as Daud’s gathered, the group aims their efforts toward establishing a new god within the Void. Unleashing some new deity in order to harness the new god’s powers.
It’s absurd, of course, but what cult doesn’t veer ridiculous? In the end, what they want to do matters little to Daud; he’s concerned only with the information Cunningham can offer. Concerned only with following Cunningham’s information-to-be up the chain leading toward the black-eyed bastard. It’s thus that a particular twilight finds him heading toward a glen in some far-flung corner of Gristol, toward the location where he’d been told he’d meet Cunningham.
When he reaches the glen, what he finds stops him cold, fingers shifting their grip on his blade. He’d come knowing there might be some minor scuffle. But this…
It’s a bloodbath. A scattering of mutilated bodies dropped haphazardly around a carefully constructed series of lines and whalebone runes, burned powder strewn about in patterns. It’s a ritual site; something was supposed to happen here. Hard to say what, though the altar in the middle - the altar against which is propped a young man, scarcely more than a boy - lends suggestions.
Whatever was meant to happen here seems to have gone awry. The boy seems to be alive. The rest - including a corpse that looks suspiciously like Eustace Cunningham, his hand gripping an intricate blade - are cold and slashed through, slumped in seeping pools of blood. Eustace Cunningham is dead. Eustace Cunningham is dead.
By the Void. By the fucking Void what happened here, and how is he too late? Wasn’t he supposed to find the man alive and well and ready to be made to talk? What is he going to do without Cunningham?
It’s a mess. Daud glowers at the scene, a man in his late fifties with hair going silver, a tell-tale scar gashed down the right side of his face. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t right, at all. ]
What is this.
[ The words are spoken mostly to himself, though he glances at the boy, never once releasing the grip on his sword, ready lest some new danger should present itself. ]
for ain
After everything he’s done, everything he’s set in motion and allowed to happen, always sitting back in sneering silence, he has to be stopped. And much as Daud would rather fade away, much as he’d rather sink into some quiet of his own (he tells himself; he feels is true), he knows he has to be the one to carry out the job. It’s the least he can do, after the damage he’d inflicted upon Dunwall. It’s the least anyone could do, knowing what the bastard of a god is capable of.
For months, Daud’s been following lead after instinctive query after lead, seeking information that might lead him toward a way of ending the black-eyed bastard. Seeking information that might lead him into the Void, information that might produce a weapon capable of striking down a god. Right now, that information has led him to a man by the name of Eustace Cunningham.
Cunningham’s tangled up in the occult, holds connections to several clandestine groups, though his loyalty and primary focus is to a minor cult whose members call themselves the Void Shifters. As far as Daud’s gathered, the group aims their efforts toward establishing a new god within the Void. Unleashing some new deity in order to harness the new god’s powers.
It’s absurd, of course, but what cult doesn’t veer ridiculous? In the end, what they want to do matters little to Daud; he’s concerned only with the information Cunningham can offer. Concerned only with following Cunningham’s information-to-be up the chain leading toward the black-eyed bastard. It’s thus that a particular twilight finds him heading toward a glen in some far-flung corner of Gristol, toward the location where he’d been told he’d meet Cunningham.
When he reaches the glen, what he finds stops him cold, fingers shifting their grip on his blade. He’d come knowing there might be some minor scuffle. But this…
It’s a bloodbath. A scattering of mutilated bodies dropped haphazardly around a carefully constructed series of lines and whalebone runes, burned powder strewn about in patterns. It’s a ritual site; something was supposed to happen here. Hard to say what, though the altar in the middle - the altar against which is propped a young man, scarcely more than a boy - lends suggestions.
Whatever was meant to happen here seems to have gone awry. The boy seems to be alive. The rest - including a corpse that looks suspiciously like Eustace Cunningham, his hand gripping an intricate blade - are cold and slashed through, slumped in seeping pools of blood. Eustace Cunningham is dead. Eustace Cunningham is dead.
By the Void. By the fucking Void what happened here, and how is he too late? Wasn’t he supposed to find the man alive and well and ready to be made to talk? What is he going to do without Cunningham?
It’s a mess. Daud glowers at the scene, a man in his late fifties with hair going silver, a tell-tale scar gashed down the right side of his face. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t right, at all. ]
What is this.
[ The words are spoken mostly to himself, though he glances at the boy, never once releasing the grip on his sword, ready lest some new danger should present itself. ]