❝ 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; blood has too long a 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲. [ ... ] but you can get down on your knees if you think it still means something. [ ... ] you can look 𝐆𝐎𝐃 in the eyes from your hollow in the earth, & 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

# 𝐕𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐌       ────ㅤ  𝐯𝐢𝐧ˈ𝐝𝐢𝐤.𝐭𝐚𝐦  | latin accusative singular of vindicta | punishment, 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄. || a private, independent, & highly selective interpretation of the infamous 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐕𝐎 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎, twice made LORD PROTECTOR TO THE EMPRESS, newly made ROYAL SPYMASTER, and always, secretly, HAND OF THE EMPRESS, extracted from ARKANE STUDIO'S DISHONORED by kidu 「 enkidu    .   30+    .   they/them 」 

                  ɪ ᴄᴀʀʀᴅ ɪɪ ᴠɪꜱᴜᴀʟᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴇꜱ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ɪᴠ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ

❝ 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 ❞

                  𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐓 [ ... ] masked figure with knives for teeth. an empty grave. the gallows calling yet none to hang. none to answer. the call of the void, like whale song, rap-tap-tapping on the walls, luring wayward soul aside. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭. the faithless gifted god's gift, not for kindness, but for survival. a walking ruin. a man possessed. the hunted turned hunter; the hunter turned hunted. a sword right between the ribs: does it not ache, does it not bleed? the heart, an empty tomb. 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, a name for executioner. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑, gasoline on the pyre, match in hand. ( 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ) echoed prayers at altars to the void.

EMILY KALDWIN, called @ofvoidx, sent a missive:

No one wants to know what's in his head.

──── Richard Siken | War of the Foxes / accepting

"Are you sure? I'm fairly sure that Sokolov would enjoy a look at what's left of Ramsey." The attempt at humor is genuine, much like the subtle pat Corvo gives Emily's shoulder as he circles around her. One might find it disconcerting, the Royal Protector's movement more akin to the stalking of prey than how a man ought to conduct himself. Sizing up the scene before them, Corvo finally inclined his head.

"You did well." If he hadn't been paying such close attention, her arrival might have gone unnoticed. If he'd been a regular man, perhaps. Focusing inward, feeling the prickle of cool needles across the Mark on the back of his hand, Corvo's vision shifted towards sepia tones and darkened accordingly - only the most important things stood out from the street around them: the lumbering figures of gravehounds cast in bright yellow hues as they unsteadily shuffled across the ruined Tower gardens, and scattered supplies that may prove useful if either of them needed to quickly restock. From his vantage point, Corvo could make out the box-like case of pistol ammunition lying unguarded on an abandoned shipping crate, two grenades nestled together by a surprisingly upright table set for tea.

Deliah's witches could be amazingly careless, he'd come to learn. But for someone to try and make their last stand so close to the Tower was beyond foolish. It was desperate.

"Two below near the waterlock." Blinking away the Void-touched world of Dark Vision, Corvo turned his head to regard Emily. "One more is circling the main grounds. No sign of the witch yet, but she can't be far."

A faint smile passed across his face - what should be a familiar invitation to the young woman beside him. "So, higher or lower?"

GUIFANG, called @spekiosus, sent a missive:

❛ they tell you “there is nothing to fear but fear itself,” but you have seen yourself in the mirror. ❜

──── Shitty Horoscopes Part 1 / accepting

His head turned, regarding her from his peripheral vision. Anything else, particularly direct eye contact in that moment, felt as though it might be too much. Like he might unintentionally give away something that he couldn't truly stand to lose -- or that was only his own suspicious mind, whispering warnings when the path ahead seemed too clear of shadows, thorns, or obstacles. Even if it were, there was a... strangeness about her that raised the small hairs on the nape of his neck.

A faint click disturbed the silence, one of the lenses of his mask rotating accordingly so that his vision might be sharpened. Yet she remained exactly as she appeared: a stranger, lovely to look upon, yes, but no clear enemy or ally.

"...you know a bit about this, they, you're referring to?" He inquired, not really expecting a response. Certainly not for free, he'd imagine. Although he couldn't place where exactly he was, there was a... disturbing familiarity to the black pillars and leaden gray sky around them.

It wasn't quite fear that he was feeling yet, but it might become such a thing eventually, if no recourse presented itself.

Finally, he surrendered and turned himself to face her properly. There was no way forward in this not-quite Void. Not without asking, he supposed. "Are you a spirit, or another god of this place?"

He knew a couple of men during his time in the Navy - tall, broad fellows who were dexterous with their hands and weren't afraid to wrestle and bite. Under Emperor Euhorn, Corvo kept to a brothel or two as an outlet; as the people of Gristol weren't so open or accepting about theirs or others' tastes. There were a couple of lovelies that had his attention, and while he never made them any promises, he enjoyed the company they offered between silk sheets and embroidered pillows.

When he and Jessamine became lovers, however, she was his one and only unless there was someone else they both fancied and they didn't mind sharing. But Jessamine had his heart, and after her death, Corvo didn't have much time, energy, or interest in companship until almost a year after he broke out of Coldridge Prison.

Among the Loyalists, there was a serving girl named Cecelia. She, like him, came from common blood and knew the bite of poverty growing up. But where he'd forgotten about it while being at the Empress' side in Dunwall Tower, it was Cecelia's day to day reality. It may not have been love the same way that he loved Jessamine - not when he was almost half-mad from isolation, starvation and torture, but Corvo did develop, and still holds, a very tender feeling towards Cecelia even after helping Emily take back her throne. So much so that, once the opportunity presented itself after Emily was crowned Empress, Corvo purchased the Hounds Pit Pub and signed the deed over to Cecelia once back taxes and repairs had been finished - helping her fulfill her dream of owning it and making it her own.

They never got around to anything official with one another - Corvo being Emily's Royal Protector and making himself Royal Spymaster on top of it keeps him in the Tower for much of the year, and Cecelia - quiet, unobtrusive, nervous, kind Cecelia - never asked for anything but the occasional visit when time allowed.

Corvo's only taken partners in passing since then - brief moments when he wants to get out of his own head and remind himself that he's still human, that he can be touched and touch someone else and it doesn't always have to end in violence. Though violence has its own appeal, sometimes. But these times are rare, and occasionally he may wait all the way up until the Fugue Feast - that nebulous period when society says that time doesn't really matter and what happens during the Fugue Feast can't be acknowledged or punished by the law, until the High Overseer rings the bells in the Abbey to announce the start of a new year.

As for his taste in partners...

GUIFANG, called @spekiosus, sent a missive:

❛ please practice blinking as others can be unsettled by your inhuman ability to maintain an unbreakable stare during casual conversation. ❜

──── Shitty Horoscopes Part 1 / accepting

"That sounds like a them problem." He rejoins with an almost borderline cheerfulness at odds with the situation, raising his glass in a toast to the sweet-faced woman who'd spoken. Taking a sip of the deep red liquid inside, Corvo felt his nose wrinkle for a second as subtler flavors were briefly lost under the wave of tannins that initially overtook his palate. After a slightly careful swallow, he added, "As I remember it, some may have said the same about you. But your gaze stretches further than mine."

And with good reason. But he wasn't out to measure himself against someone of her caliber. Not currently, at least. Still, it was impressive that this place called Mythag had managed to lure one such as herself.

"Do you teach here as well?" That a good bit of the staff were actually Awakeners had been a surprise, once he'd wrapped his head around the concept of the institution itself. Now, however, could be time for useful conversation. "Or are you here for something else?"

CLAIRE REDFIELD, called @ofvoidx, sent a missive:

But truth doesn't count in law, only proof.

──── Richard Siken | War of the Foxes / accepting

"That's the rub, isn't it?" One scarred hand lifts, brushing over tired eyes and jaw, seeking to alleviate an ache that's almost become permanent for how often he feels it. "Maybe once the truth counted for something, whether it came from one voice or many. Now it almost doesn't matter how much proof you have."

Heaps of paper bound in leather, plastic, or rings of metal; digital media preserved in sticks barely as long as his pinky finger or flat, square-shaped discs a little smaller than his spread hand. So many of them, all with something precious and dangerous stored inside, but still the courts of the world might claim that it wasn't enough for justice to be done.

Thankfully, it seemed as though that hadn't completely deterred some people. Justice might bear a different name when taken into the hands of an individual, but in the wake of mass infection and losses across the board, perhaps beggars couldn't be choosers.

Or rather, he'd made his choice years ago. It continued to stand, even if no one else agrees.

"You've got a reputation, Ms Redfield. It's an honor." A brief flicker of humor softens his eyes, turns the corners of his mouth ever so subtly upward for a second before Corvo returns, as ever, to seriousness. "I came across a series of names while on a job that you might find familiar. Oswald E. Spencer. Wesker. TriCell and WilPharma. There's a few details I'd like to confirm with you personally, if you're willing. And you can rest assured it's only my ears listening."