dishonored meme

[wolfofdunwall]

***

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.

Comments

for the outsider.

[veryhuman]

I must be dreaming, but this is not my dream.

[ Mitsuhide has the same dream for countless years. It is one of fire, of blood, and of madness. It is of the night he killed his lord and master. Nobunaga was the one that shattered him into the wretch that he is now. Slowly, viciously, cruelly; his lord wore down the person known as Mitsuhide until he became like broken glass filling a paper-thing bag -- the container is ruined and can never be useful to anyone; the object the glass once was can never reshape itself into anything whole again.

To say that he killed his lord out of hatred would be a shallow understanding. To say that he killed his lord out of love would be a hollow understanding.

But what is known is a piece of himself will never leave that night. A piece of himself will never recover from his choice. And so, he relives it over and over. As punishment? As reward? It is difficult to say, as even he isn't certain. He merely lives the memory in dreams, but now he walks out of his room to see a vast, empty space filled with black.

It feels endless. It feels old. It feels familiar. ]

I had wondered if you would come to speak with me. I had wondered a lot about you, if I am honest, but not the same wondering that they have about you. [ He speaks to the empty space, as his head tilts slightly. He tilts his head back to look up -- his lips curl into a smile at the swirling black above him. As above, so it is below. ] Shall I share my thoughts, even though you may know them?

[ A beat. ] I shall. [ Pulling his gaze from looking above, he looks ahead of him into the black, noting the whale with its bleeding mouth as it swims past with a smile. ] Might this Mitsuhide ask... what is the shape of your hatred? What is the shape of your despair? What is the shape of your love? I am curious as to what it is. But ... do you understand what I mean? Perhaps? Perhaps. I shall use a mutual acquaintance.

[ His eyes narrow on the shadows moving in the dark -- are they shadows? ] When I think of Daud, I can see it. His anger and hatred is burning bright right here. [ He rests his hand over his chest -- and he spreads his fingers. ] It bursts from within him. Violent, sudden, purposeful. He feels more alive in it, and he hates it because all fire burns in ways we don't want.

The shape of his love is here. [ He lifts his hand to touch his own forehead. ] He holds all his thoughts right here. Precious, secure, and unsullied. He keeps it here and ensures no one -- not even himself -- ruins it. Sometimes, it slips. [ His fingers gently touch his mouth. ] It briefly comes here. But only briefly. Because as soon as he says it, it is no longer safe.

His despair ... oh, his despair... [ He holds his hands, rubbing his knuckles as he looks down at his open palms. ] The shape of it is here. In his own hands. Yet he does not recognize it. Unfortunate, so very unfortunate. [ Lowering his hands, he continues: ] And so, now that I tell you... I ask you... where is your happiness? Where is your love? Where is your despair? Can you recognize the shape of it? Can you recognize where it is, anymore?

[ His head tilts. ] I wonder...