Dishonored

There was a younger brother. An artist: sensitive, soft. Taken at nine by a fever. Havelock loved him truly.

Admiral Havelock has seen more corpses than all the rest put together.

He has killed whales and men for profit - and pleasure.

Look at him. Admiral Havelock grows restless on land.

He has the bloodlust. He tried to seize control of the military after the Empress... after she? The Empress was murdered.

Each time he kills he sees her face. He can never undo what he did.

Unless he dies tonight, he will kill twice more before ending his own life.

He seems fine now. But soon the symptoms will start to show.

This one has kept a lock of hair from everyone he's ever killed.

The need for drink outweighs all else for this one.

He misses the days he spent at sea.

He taught himself how to read.

He has a woman friend, as brutish and ugly as he. But they are kind to each other.

The floods took is home and family.

There are few men who can drink as heartily as this one.

This one thinks only of whores.

He was raised in the orphanage. There was only bread and river crab.

His father beat him. Now it is his turn to beat his son.

His mother fed him whiskey to stop his tears.

When not at his post, he searches for his sister, missing a week now.

He was born in the Month of Earth, and never knew his father.

He eats rat to keep up his strength.

The officers of the Watch made him cut his hair.

He stinks of river mud and beer.

Always he has such hunger in his belly.

He has already spilled much blood today.

Miserable work. But still preferable to prison.

If there were work on the ships, there would be fewer men volunteering for the City Watch.

Beneath that uniform is a brute.

Few live after crossing the City Watch.

What a disgusting brute!

Few dare a confrontation with the Watch.

Best to avoid the City Watch, when possible.

Careful, he is armed.

He follows orders.

He's not fast, but his sword has taken many lives.

Only fools and weepers openly confront the Watch.

He is a clumsy fool, but still, take care.

Beware that sword!

What he lacks under the helmet, he makes up for with that sword.

He has no more brains than a bluejawed hagfish.

So vulgar!

Strong of body, but not of the mind.

See how thick he is about the neck and shoulders.

He wears the uniform of the City Watch.

He uses his position of power for personal gain and the pursuit of pleasure.

Campbell breaks all Seven Strictures each day. It's his own little joke.

He angers easily, and takes revenge without mercy.

The High Overseer - Thaddeus Campbell.

Don't let the talk of faith fool you. Campbell is vain, lustful, decadent - and completely corrupt.

Pendleton ships come back from the Pandyssian continent crowded with poor frightened captives.

For one so steeped in courtly manners, his thoughts do linger long on revenge and murder.

The younger Pendleton. Jealous little Treavor. Always in the shadow.

He is prone to skin infections. His eyes are sensitive to the light.

To think, Lord Pendleton is the son of nobility.

He has spied upon Callista as she bathes. More than once.

He is Piero Joplin. Even now he visualizes the next invention - astonishing. I wish you could see it too.

Poor Piero. His elixirs have cured so much for so many. But they cannot cure his brain fevers.

The youngest ever to pass through the Academy of Natural Sciences. Sokolov will never forgive him that!

Each and every night the black-eyed Outsider visits upon Piero's dreams.

Samuel was once eager to hear Havelock's stories of the sea. But perhaps the Admiral is not what he expected.

The boatman has a good heart. And respects you.

Samuel is a simple man, but he knows the River Wrenhaven and all its tributaries, down to the smallest inlet.

He has many scars. Some from the phlegm of the river krusts, some from the nameless monsters of the deeper ocean.

Samuel Beechworth went to sea to forget a hopeless love. He succeeded.

Violence. Desperation. Depravity.

His mother's dying words to him were: Give us a whiskey, darling.

He murders for coin.

He is a cutthroat and thug. He answers to a man named Slackjaw.

A predator. He's part of a gang.

He is from the Bottle Street Gang.

One of Slackjaw's men.

A street thug. A knife for hire.

His father was one of the first to die of the plague.

This one cooks rats over a trash fire when he can't find anyone to rob.

He is paid in whiskey and sleeps on the floor of the distillery.

His mother still walks the streets of this district.

He looked after his brother the best he could. But the boy died of thick lung at the age of six.

A mud lark until 12, sifting through the filth until he could use a knife.

He feeds a stray dog every night. He named her Billy.

A brutal thief.

His sword is in poor condition, but it will still cut.

His mother never cared for him the way she cared for the bottle.

They sometimes work for coin, but are often paid by the bottle.

Without that torn uniform, he would have nothing.

He is unfit for any vocation. That's why he's in the low guard.

The Lower Guard find their recruits in prison cells.

He is like a feral dog. Hungry, mean, and mangy.

The Lower Guard: Drunkards and thieves in shoddy uniform.

The pain in his head drives him to do unspeakable things.

He once killed a man just for a change of boots.

He was in prison, but they needed more men for the guard.

This one's thoughts are indistinguishable from those of an Overseer's hound.

He's bathed but four times in all his life. The times he's fallen drunk into the Wrenhaven waters.

The orders confuse him, so he follows what the others do.

Once he found a turtle by the Rudshore Waterfront. He fed it lettuce leaves and horse flies.

Filthy, cowardly. You smell the Lower Guard before you see them.

The house help is treated poorly. But there are worse ways to earn a coin.

There is not a day that goes by she does not consider taking her own life.

For all the hard work, there is little reward for her.

Do not pity the servant. There is pride in the job well done.

Work is never done for the lowly servant.

The pain in her back is constant. Nothing helps.

Her servant wages will not be enough to fix her father's debts.

If she lives until tomorrow, her day off, she will be mauled by Weepers and left for dead.

The other servants don't like her.

Disease and death and murder, that is what Hiram Burrows - the Lord Regent - has brought us.

How I misplaced my trust! Now that I see so well, I know how truly blind I was.

He is driven by obsession, like a madness. Order, he must have all things, in order.

It was he who brought the rats, the rats brought the plague. There is no man more accursed.

This is him, the Lord Regent. Before that the Royal Spymaster. And before that still, Hiram Burrows. What secrets he knows!

His temper as a child was vile. They would find the family pets dead.

He was born into wealth on Endoria Street, and grew large and strong. But his brain shrunk and shriveled, like bad fruit.

Morris has heard the final pleas and guilt-ridden confessions of a hundred condemned men. But he felt nothing.

The family feared diluting their blood with outsiders, so cousin married cousin. For generations.

Morris Sullivan. Executioner and torturer.

If they find out what he's done, he'll be executed.

These are the sons of rich and powerful families.

Discipline, pride, and courage. A dangerous combination.

They act quickly, harshly. And without mercy.

Careful. The Officers of the City Watch are well trained.

They've been known to mock their victims before striking.

An Officer of the City Watch.

He will follow his orders to the end.

See how proudly the Officers hold themselves.

They are loyal to the Lord Regent.

Careful. This is no dim-witted Sergeant of the Watch!

Few can best their swordsmanship.

He has a pistol and has used it on children before!

They are the Lord Regent's most trusted men.

They are chosen for their advanced skills.

His entire family was taken by the plague. It is just him now.

He murdered a nobleman, then framed a friend for the deed.

Madness runs in his family. And he is the worst of them all.

When his cousin refused his advances, he sent a Watch patrol to beat her to death.

He has ambitions well past the City Watch.

Not once has he lost a sword fight.

He received a letter from his sister. He can never go home, the plague is there.

No one ever mentioned the missing boys. He feels confident he's gotten away with it.

Twice today he has coughed up blood. He's told no one.

He is worried. It's been four days since he's had word from her.

What he ate last night isn't settling well with his stomach.

He is only two merits away from another medal. He hopes to earn them today.

His visits his father in the asylum, though the man no longer remembers him.

He thinks exercise and discipline will keep the plague away.

Arrogant. Corrupt. And fiercely loyal to the Lord Regent.

The common folk, simple-minded, selfish. But they can be kind.

She can hold her drink as well as any man.

There is nothing common about the work she does every day.

The fabric of the city is made of stuff such as she.

She hides her hands. They are raw and scarred from the washing.

She is a seamstress in a shop frequented by the wealthy.

All she wants is to lay herself down in the middle of Framling Street, and await death.

She starves so that her children can have bread.

She has only one dress, and wears it to tatters.

If only she had a coin for every time she stubbed her toe.

Now the littlest one is sick.

The common woman. She fears the Abbey and the plague.

He is tired.

It is in the common man that the Abbey finds its most faithful.

Some men can still find work along the waterfront.

A man is only as common as his dreams.

He spies on his neighbors and reports to the Overseers.

He always eats very well, even as his wife and child grow thin.

He steals from his business partner. A little every day.

He didn't tend to that cut, and now it festers.

All that he had was lost in the flood.

He used to admire the Overseers. Now he fears them.

That work was the best he could do. And still they weren't satisfied.

Only after a long day of work will he return to his home and family.

Someday this place will devour all the lights in the sky.

This is the place from which those who dabble in the black arts draw their power. And this place is their doom.

All of time is meaningless here. Neither seconds nor centuries.

The one who walks here is all things. Cradle songs of comfort and bones gnawed by teeth.

This place is the end of all things. And the beginning.

They top off the wine with river water. But eventually someone swoons, then fresh bottles are fetched from the cellars.

Fortunes have been won here, and lives have been lost.

Such laughter! And they are singing the old songs, linking arms. But that was from a happier time.

Deals are made here, sometimes under the influence of wine. And sometimes the influence is the point of a knife.

Before the sun rises they toss any casualties into the river. Men or hound - they all go in.

Somewhere in the basements below, hound kills hound, and money changes hands.

The old man claimed a dark corner and drank himself into oblivion. The hounds were the first to find him.

They stood in a circle around the candles, and cut their hands to form their alliance. The blood hissed as it touched the flames.

The conspirators have found a safe home here. They take great care that they are not followed.

The ale here is sweetened with honey to hide the taste of river brine.

The sober speak in whispers. The drunk bellow.

Their fate rests on your effort. On the strength of your hands, and of your heart.