daud | the knife of dunwall (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfofdunwall) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kingdomsofrain2018-08-29 10:57 pm
wolfofdunwall) wrote in kingdomsofrain2018-08-29 10:57 pm
dishonored meme
***
a dishonored meme
'ever since the empress died, it's been getting darker in dunwall. but it's that moment just before the light goes that matters most of all.'
the isles are caught amid fractious days, and you find yourself living among them. perhaps - probably - you’ve lived here all your life. perhaps you’ve been brought here by some magical means. whatever the case, you’ve made or will make a life among the isles.
if you were born in or around the isles, what’s your lot in life? are you nobility? a person of great means? a member of the city watch? a shipmate? an inventor? perhaps a civilian just trying to make your way through the rat plague. perhaps a thief, a gang member, an assassin. perhaps a witch or a devotee of the outsider, or perhaps an overseer, scourge of the occult.
when you comment, add a little bit about who your character is in the dishonored world. what your occupation is (if you have one), what you think about recent events, what you tend to do with your days. (if you want to give multiple options re: who they are, feel free!)
you might also want to offer some prompts: scenario ideas, picture prompts, quotes, words, whatever you like.
no subject
Stefano, at the time, had been a simple painter. He adored painting elaborate portraits for others that depicted their true beauty. While not renown, he did not ever have to worry about the plague or a meal. That was until one day a client found fault in his depiction. It ended as all matters end -- with blood and a bladed weapon broken in his right eye. His body ended up thrown into an alleyway to let the rats eat it, to cover up the murder, but the artist was able to drag himself to a shrine of the Outsider.
The mark burned into his left hand as soon as his bloodied hands touched the shrine. And so, Stefano survived with the blade still broken and embedded in his right eye. Like so many before him, madness ate away at him -- yet he remembered one thing. True beauty comes from the horror that the person lives through. It is through the destruction experienced did a person live a fuller, better life filled with unimaginable beauty.
However, unlike all of the others that came before him, Stefano did not care if the Outsider approved of him or not. He did not feel indebted to him for saving his life; he didn't care what the one that hid behind the veils in the Void thought of him at all. What does it matter? I'm making art in the real world. What does one who walks in the subconscious and on the outskirts of reality know of my work? The artist began to carve a bloody path for himself -- leaving eviscerated bodies displayed and hung on display with wire that cut deep into the corpse's flesh.
It was uncertain what the Outsider thought of Stefano, but he did come to the artist during one night in his dreams. He dismissed the black-eyed god, at first, stating that he needed his dreams to himself so that he could imagine new masterpieces. However, the Outsider merely laughed at him and gave him a name -- Daud, the Knife of Dunwall. Stefano did not understand why he was given such a name until he realized that Daud was like him.
He's like me. The artist felt a rush of admiration and adoration fill him. Someone who could understand what it is that I'm doing! Because all the papers and the audiographs seemed to delight in misunderstanding his work. Just like that aristocrat! But surely, someone who paints in blood as I do will understand me. It was then that he decided to get to work to catch the attention of the Knife of Dunwall. He did not know how to find him -- and he knew better than to kill his Whalers when he came across them.
To kill the Whalers would be the same as defacing his own art pieces; that much Stefano understood. No, instead he found corrupt individuals -- individuals that he was certain that the Knife and his assassins would one day focus their attention on. He carved them up, ripping flesh and breaking bone, all to display them proudly in a place that he hoped would be seen by (or heard about) the Whalers. The words painted in the victim's blood was always written upon the walls surrounding their cooling corpses: "FOR THE KNIFE OF DUNWALL."
Daud should feel so honored that Stefano was going so far out of his way to dedicate various masterpieces to him. (Or well, that was what the artist believed each time he carved a body up, each time he ripped a limb free to paint on the walls.) He wondered how long it would be before the Knife came to find him. He wondered how long he would have to wait. It didn't matter; there were plenty of artists that spent years hoping their muse would come to recognize and appreciate them -- he believed he was no different. ]
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.
i am filled with love right back!!
[ The mark on his hand glows bright as time slows to a crawl. Stefano can take the time to laugh -- listening to how distorted it sounds in the frozen space -- as he walks forward to start carving into the body of the aristocrat. He has the time to acquire metal rods to jam into the body at an angle to force the person down upon their knees into a prayer pose. The rods are jammed in a diagonal fashion so that it pins the legs down and the arms just above the elbow.
Carving out the heart, he has to pull it carefully free to place it into the hands of the man. It now looks like the man is offering his heart outward. Stefano smiles in a fond way as he takes a step backwards -- and time resumes. He tilts his head to listen as his masterpieces sputters out its final words: "Who are you?" It's the last question asked before the reality of the situation hits the body, mind, and soul. Screams and blood pour out but the man is already dead. He's already dead and just catching up to it.
Spinning around, he starts as he finds that he is not alone. Stefano gasps, as he sets one hand on his chest, not realizing that he actually had an audience. ]
Ah! You scared me half to death. Coming into my workshop -- [ His words start to come out annoyed, cold, before he takes a good look at who is standing before him. He gasps anew as he ignores the death wails behind him. In a burst of smoke, he disappears next to his art piece to be able to teleport to get closer. ] -- oh! It is you!
You got my messages! No, you got my works of art! I'm afraid I was getting a little desperate and starting to use more conventional designs to get my point across. [ He makes a little gesture toward his latest work before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. ] But you're here! Daud, the Knife of Dunwall! Oh, he really is good for something, isn't he? [ Talking too fast, talking too much, he could not help himself as he spills out all he has been feeling for these past few weeks. ]
Well, I can't say that he's good for much. But he gave me your name and so I'll say that he's good at least for that... so does that make him partially useful? No, that may be going too far. Oh, it doesn't matter. You're here! [ His arms open. ] Please, let me get you some wine or something. I'm certain this man must have some high quality vintage drink that I can offer in his stead.
meanwhile daud hates everything
As soon as he sees the telltale glow, feels the familiar way time slows around him, he sees the truth written plain. Because there's no other explanation. Because suddenly the Whalers' rumors of witchcraft fall into place. Because Daud knows he's not the only one who's ever taken the Mark. Because Daud knows the feeling of the Void's energy too well, and he knows that glow on the man's hand.
That bastard. That black-eyed Void-forsaken plague-ridden bastard.
(It shouldn't matter. Daud accepted long ago that the Outsider was through with him, has told himself that he's better off without the bastard's interference. But to see another man Marked. To find so suddenly that there's another still who can harness the Void's powers—)
Daud tenses, reaching for his sword, and his first instinct is to take a fighting stance, ready to defend himself, to attack, to deal with this unexpected mess in whatever way he must. Only the man in front of him doesn't move to charge, doesn't tense himself for combat. The man simply looks, moves forward - Daud tenses further at the disappearance, hand wrapping a firmer hold around his sword - and...
Talks. Begins to speak and Daud could believe he'll never cease. Speaks Daud's name, speaks quickly, speaks of— 'He'? 'He,' who is the man—? Oh. For fuck's sake. Everything. Everything leads back to the Outsider. Daud suspects the snide little shit of a god's determined to toy with him again. Suspects he watching this encounter with a smirk, pleased with himself as always.
Caught up in his irritation (no, rage; it's fast becoming a feeling of rage) with the Outsider, Daud has to almost force himself to focus on the man before him, taking note of the ways he moves, the tenor of his voice, some strange flash in his hidden eye socket, each and every tension that might signal an attack.
He should kill this blathering wreck of a man before this goes any further.
Only for all Daud knows, the Outsider's expecting a fight, hoping to pit two of his Marked against each other. It'd be another form of entertainment. It doesn't hurt that among this man's onslaught of words included a handful of indications that he's not especially enamored of the Outsider. And it's true that Daud's curious. There's that focus he'd detected in the display of the man's victims. There's the question of why this man - this Marked man - had worked so extensively to call Daud's attention.
Daud will need to play this careful - and he doesn't intend to give the man much leeway - but for the moment he opts not to plunge his blade into the wretched man's throat. ]
You.
[ His voice cuts through the air between them, rough and impactful. ]
He found you interesting.
[ It has the ring of an accusation, the vague suggestion of a question. ]
BUT ART, DAUD!
Possibly? Who's to say? The few times that we've talked, I've shooed him off. [ His expression sours as he explains why, complete with rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively like one of Dunwall's rich dismissing a poorly-made meal. ] What use do I have for someone who sits outside of everything and observes? [ Stefano lets out a loud and suffering sigh. ] He is forever safe within his dreams and his Void. So he does not know anything of the art that I am creating. He does not know anything about living.
[ His shoulders lift and lower as he shrugs in a nonchalant way. ] But just this once he has proven somewhat worth knowing... he let me know who you are. [ And his face immediately brightens up as he takes yet another step closer. ] You're someone who lives in the here and the now. You don't live in a safe or careful way. You don't observe. You affect this world in a shower of blood, bone, and ruined flesh. [ Stefano looks up at Daud with great admiration. ]
I had heard of you before him, of course. Who hasn't heard of you? But I, foolishly, thought you were but mortal assassin. A good killer is a good killer, but you have his Mark and ... you're also creating beauty. You're creating a new vision for this world to walk in! [ He takes a sweeping step backwards to gesture towards the corpse now cooling behind them, the pool of blood growing underneath him. ]
You're just like me!
cue the deepest facepalm in all the world
Perhaps this man isn't wholly mad, after all. So long as Daud ignores his claim that they're somehow exactly alike. It's a ridiculous idea, and Daud's gaze sharpens at its sound, but it isn't enough to put him off.
Amid the chaos of words, what catches Daud most is the talk of 'him.' The 'him' who's been shooed away - an act Daud can understand; an act Daud could applaud - and who 'sits outside of everything.' The 'him' who's so neatly anatomized by this man, who seems not to have impressed this self-styled artist.
Daud hopes the black-eyed bastard regrets what he's done. The strange, flitting creature he's unleashed. (But that's too much to hope for, isn't it? More likely, the Outsider's enjoying the show this one provides. More likely, the Outsider knew exactly what he was doing when he marked this man.) ]
You speak as if you've known him for years.
[ Again there's an unintentional accusation in the statement, a tone Daud would deny if confronted. ]
But you're right about the bastard.
[ Daud produces and lights a cigarette, takes a deep draw and looks around. ]
This is your work.
both hands on his face as he sighs loudly
[ Even as a Marked, he does not feel the Outsider's influence in anything that he does. He only sees him watching and commenting -- like an aristocrat waiting to say they hate his painting.
Stefano smiles at hearing Daud agree with him. That's right. The Knife must have known him for a long time. Poor man. He offers no real insight into anything that we're doing and so I can only imagine how useless he has been in helping to craft a new future for Dunwall out of the corpses of the corrupt. ]
It is. Though, I must say that it is also a lot more ... rudimentary than my other works. I fear, as I said, I was growing a bit desperate. I was thinking you might have thought my previous works of art as a challenge, or threat against your life! [ His hand once more rests upon his chest as he lets out a pained sigh. ] But I was certain that you would understand that it was not... when I left your Whalers alive.
They're quite endearing pieces of art that you've made. [ He leans forward with his hands clasped behind his back. ] They carry with them a vision and a beauty in their kills that only you could have given them. I noticed them following me... and looking into what I was doing. I was worried that they'd attempt to do something foolish, but glad that they did not.
If I killed one, it would feel the same as someone stabbing one of my paintings. It would have to be answered in blood. And I could only accept your anger. [ In short, he is relieved that they never drew too closer or gave off the air that they were itching for a fight with him. ] But I've gone on about your works of art.
Please... tell me what you think of mine!
this icon is what's up
Not all of the phrases the stranger spews are so well-received.
Daud could point out that he has known the Outsider for years. That before the little shit went silent, there had been frequent visits, conversations held beyond the realm of dreams. But Daud prefers to think that none of that matters. Reminds himself once again that he's better of without the bastard.
He could point out that if he'd read the man's bloody messages as death threats, the man wouldn't be standing right now. Mark or not, he'd be dead in the gutter, a feast for rats.
And... Is the man asking for feedback?
For fuck's sake. ]
I'm no critic.
[ He takes another draw on the cigarette, releases the smoke. ]
And I don't have your name.
how amazingly accurate!!
[ He is positively beaming as he agrees wholeheartedly that Daud is no critic, no fool. ]
I am Stefano. Stefano Valentini. [ For a second, he thinks he should give a bow but he decides against it. ] It's unfortunate that you do not have my name ... I suppose I shall never be as famous as the Knife of Dunwall. This... I have come to accept. Even if I were to kill you, I would only be known as the man who killed Daud. [ His arms open as he drops his head down in surrender. He admits completely that he cannot step out of the shadow that the assassin has created. ]
What good is that? You're truly a master and I am still an apprentice at this business of murder. No matter how glamorous I present my art, they always compare it to yours. [ Whether or not that is true is up for debate; it's true to Stefano. ] But I still have a vision for this world. A vision where we can learn to live with the horrors that we have endured and suffered. [ He takes a sweeping step backwards, opening his arms to the sky, to Dunwall. ]
Within these horrors, we can come to find the beauty that is our life! Within the pain that we are constantly in, we learn to see the glory of what we have been given. [ Pivoting, he faces Daud before he lifts his bangs to show his eye. A broken piece of a knife still embedded in the socket. ] Behold ... the pain of this injury still chases after me during every waking and sleeping moment.
But even so, I am ... ignited with inspiration to create. [ He throws his hand out toward the corpse he's mutilated for his art. ] Even so, I feel a desire to give back to this city and to have them walk this path with me. And that is why, yes, that's why I wanted to talk about a collaborative piece.
no subject
Well.
Daud doesn't tense at the absurd way this man speaks so lightly of killing him, those his gaze sharpens, and he feels a burning pulse of irritation. As if this man could. As if he so easily could. It's a ridiculous notion, and one that Daud decides is scarcely worth addressing.
Nor does he shift at the sight of the man's ruined eye. He's seen worse, after all. Has inflicted greater waste on others. True, it's strange to see someone walking around in this fashion. Strange to see somebody survive such a wound, let alone set it out for brief display. And though Daud mostly assumes that the blade remains embedded because moving it would kill the man, there's a part of him that wonders whether Stefano left it there - or planted the blade himself - for the sake of appearances. (It'd fit, somehow. It wouldn't be surprising, dramatic as this bastard is.)
He doesn't point out that he's seen no mention of Stefano's so-called work compared with his own assassinations. Doesn't see why anyone would draw the connections. Daud's work is at once graceful and practical, subtle, and he kills for show only (mostly) when the clients ask for it. While Daud won't deny that there's been a certain grace to Stefano's displays, the overall affect is much more grandiose, and he seems to kill for (does he truly kill for?) the sake of the display itself, and for the sake of his name.
He'd ask about the wound, but he isn't interested. Doesn't need to know more than what's he's already gleaned. And what it tells him - it, combined with the way Stefano speaks of his art, of presenting the world with his vision - is that this man possesses a powerful strength of will. Which is why Daud remains where he is. Which is why he shows no signs of retreat. Which is why this man continues to hold his attention. ]
I don't work well with others.
And I'm not interested in walking with the wretches of this city.
[ Daud's always been more concerned with moving beyond the city. Stepping out from its bounds, twining it into his grasp. ]
no subject
[ Stefano dismisses the comment that he does not work well with others and ignores the rest -- which is one whole sentence more. ]
If that was true, you would not have your works of art. [ His shoulders drop as it seems like he has not done enough to impress Daud with his own masterpieces. Clicking his tongue, the artist understands the reason why. He rests his hand over his good eye as he lets out a suffering sigh. ] I understand ... yes, I understand completely.
I have been far too ... desperate for your approval that I have ended up causing you to doubt my abilities. [ His hand slides away. He decides to change gears in order to appeal to the man with his insight. ] This city ... is the heart of everything. It's where his attention is, you know. As much as I dislike the Outsider for doing no more than watching, I understand that he sees Dunwall as important. [ He turns his gaze away from Daud to look toward the corpse he has put on display. ]
Why do you think that is? [ A beat. He can't contain himself -- and he spins back around. Stefano takes one-two-three quick steps to draw back into Daud's space. His expression reads of someone who wants to say something but he holds himself back. Like an eager schoolboy, he believes he knows the answer but waits to hear the assassin's answer first. ]