#saevaindignatio

“A deep and considerate sentiment, for an Overseer.”

An uncommon one, as well. Such a stance was not what he had come to accept from the zealots of the Abbey — no, instead he had expected swift accusation and persecution, murder in the name of a religion based on hate.

The statement threw him, though he was quick to mask his surprise with a scoff.

“You know your brothers do not share that sentiment? There is no grey area within the Abbey, even though most people operate that area every day of their lives out of necessity.”

                    “it’s unfortunate. some of us are like that. but you don’t understand why they are. they have their reasons. good reasons.” 

                   the teachings of the abbey are fresh in his mind. he can recite the strictures by heart, the movements of celestial bodies translate like text to him. perhaps it is youthful naivety. perhaps he still sees the best in people ( whether or not it is there ) but he wants to believe that a person can still be saved. 

                   “i know. i know they don’t. but at least one of them did at one point. or they were close to it. i was saved once. that means people can be saved. and if they can be, why shouldn’t they be. i know that much.” he is grateful. his parents were heretics, or so he was told. he can hardly remember it himself. he was the son of a heretic and they didn’t cleanse him. instead they saved him. 

“You were almost there. You just need a little more experience.” The look on his face is telling though, and he makes no effort to hide the growing smirk that spreads across his lips. Bringing his face close to that of Thomas, he lets his teeth show before he continues to speak, his voice dropping to a quiet rasp.

“But in case you’re wondering, I do.”

                    he  forces  a  quiet  laugh.  he’s  not  entirely  sure  if  he’d  intended  for  it  to  come  out  that  way,  something  of  a  flirt  and  an  accusation  in  one,  but  the  man  doesn’t  deny  it  and  the  confidence  is  off-putting.  nobody  just  admits they  are  a  heretic  unless  they  don’t  think  they’ll  be  punished  for  it.  he’s  either  overconfident  or  skilled.

this is exactly why i loved the low chaos boyle mission ending. its horrendous, and it highlights how sometimes just because you haven’t spilled blood doesn’t mean you did the right thing. I love the moral ambiguousness in some of these missions

deathless   ( accepting !! )

“If that’s a lie then Martin is more easily swayed by the void than he should be. What ever happened to the faith of our virtuous Abbey and its overseers, I wonder?”

Send ♢ and my muse will tell you a pure lie | accepting

@saevaindignatio

The past mocked in vivid splashes of color. White stone; red stains and rivers in the aging rock; blue banners soared proudly in the bleak, cloudless sky. A shadow was cast here and there; here, and there again. Nothing could block the light - the blinding white light. 

                            And the pain. 

With such great imagery, Corvo could not figure whether it was his own or her’s. He spectated this dream, seeing and feeling, and yet having no part of the play. The bodyguard cringed and remembered his feeble response.

“Her own bodyguard. How ironic.”

No.

“What have you done? I’ll see you beheaded for this, Corvo.” 

No.

Amber eyes flashed open, revealing no white stone; no blue sky; no relentless sun. Only darkness. Damp, rancid darkness. Corvo has not realized he had been shouting until he recognized the remnants of his own voice bouncing off the walls.

“You were there, you said,” The Royal Protector’s voice found itself once again and at a lower volume. Rattling chains accompanied him mournfully.

⊰⊰֎⊱⊱ So here he was, the infamous Corvo Attano himself, asleep in the attic of the Hound Pits Pub and there she was: a little rat putting a Bone Charm on the desk before Blinking over to the sleeping assassin. He was another favored, newly branded, a fledgling in the nest of the Void--

    He also had very shiny buttons for a man who had spent six months in prison.

    Rat quietly crawled her way towards one of the more decorative seeming buttons before inspecting it with tiny pink paws. It had the old royal seal on it! Oh it would be a grand entry to her collection! Even grander than all of the Overseer brass she had collected over the last few months, that was for certain. 

    Laying flat on her fuzzy belly, Rat began to quickly gnaw at the threads that connected the button to the rest of the old Royal Protector’s coat. She gave a squeak of annoyance as how well done the stitching was. Sturdy cored thread was her bane. Not that she minded the gnawing, she liked gnawing, but she didn’t want to stick around and get smashed.