Dishonored
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'You have time. Mother's busy talking to that nasty old spymaster.' | 'You have time. Mother's busy talking to that nasty old spymaster.' | ||
| - | Perhaps he did have time. Hyram Burrows usually kept | + | Perhaps he did have time. Hyram Burrows usually kept one occupied for hours on end preaching quarantine. |
What do you do? | What do you do? | ||
Current revision as of 16:35, 1 July 2014
AU: Based on, well, completely copying, the 2012 Game of the Year Dishonored by Bethesda and Arkane Studios.
The Please-Do-Not-Sue-Me Part: 'Sigh,' I don't own Dishonored. 'Breaks out into tears as Bethesda gloats in the background'. As I can't figure out how to properly code stats, you have practically unlimited mana, and I've taken out runes; your gain in powers comes automatically as you make progress through Dunwall. You will be expected to remember certain code-words and chaos ratings, and write them down whenever asked. Now, on with the story!
Prologue - Wrong Place at The Right Time
Dunwall Tower is a defiant fist to the tides that seek, every day, to bring it down. After six months, even the grey, dull metal that reinforces its walls is a sight for sore eyes. After six months fruitlessly seeking a cure, Corvo Attano had come home.
'Steady hand! Watch it!' The man next to him yells.
He stands upon the deck of a small boat five meters above the Wrenhaven river as it is lowered from the deck of a larger vessel. This is everything wrong with Dunwall; at this distance, he could practically smell the plague. A sickening stench, of rotting bodies in the waters, river kursts and hagfish snarling but doing nothing as his boat landed on the river surface.
A voice yelled from the craft above him. 'Take him straight to Dunwall Tower. Lord Corvo has news for the Empress, and he's come a long way.'
The craft began its journey; the helmsman turns his head to look at you.
'A long way to bring bad news,' he says. 'The sailors say there's a curse on us. Black magic.'
The other man on board replies. 'Superstition. For all we know there's a cure for the plague by now.'
'Maybe, we live in strange times. Sending the Empress's bodyguard away for six months is unusual.'
'But this is important. We need help with the Rat Plague.' The Maw of the Tower opens up before you; a hundred meter tall pit, one which contains only half a meter of water at the bottom.
'Ho there! We're going up!' The Helmsman yelled.
Tunnels leading to the sea were opened, and it flowed in rivers, gently raising the boat. 'Lock is open!' A voice came down from above; as if it were necessary, the gently rising boat was enough evidence.
At the top, Corvo stepped off, then walked to the open Royal Gardens. Grey oak and pine were flanked by rose and strawberry bushes, every patch of dirt not covered by stone pavement blanketed by grass. This was the smell of Dunwall, or at least how it used to be; before the plague kicked in. This was how things should be.
'Corvo! You're back!'
And all was right with the world. After six months, the voice had deepened, though not by much; and it was still distinct. Emily Kaldwin, Heir to Dunwall, stood at the end of the path.
She ran the ten meters distance that kept the two apart; the child leaped and embraced Corvo, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Still, he maintained a solid steel exterior in that instance.
'Will you tell me about your trip? Were there any whales?'
'All in good time, Emily. I've missed you too, but there'll be plenty of time for this later.' The message was urgent; Jessamine Kaldwin might take her time in forgiving if he wandered off on the way to bring vital information.
'Wait, why don't we play hide and seek first? I'll cover my eyes and you hide.'
You try to think of ways to let the child down gently.
'You have time. Mother's busy talking to that nasty old spymaster.'
Perhaps he did have time. Hyram Burrows usually kept one occupied for hours on end preaching quarantine.
What do you do?
