Return to the Tower

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.

The city owes much to this great mind. Let him drink and find company where he can.

Anton Sokolov. He knew me once. And did much to set me on my path.

Yes, Sokolov's a foreigner - with the looks and manner of a Tyvian Swineherd. But he is also a great genius.

What the aristocracy will pay for a portrait painted by Anton Sokolov! If only they knew how much he detests them!

Not all his knowledge was gleaned from Academy books, some is gained from the maid-servants he beds.

She dreams of freedom, and the decks of whaling ships fast after the beasts of sea! But alas, she is a woman.

Such sadness.

She and her uncle - the last of the Curnow family.

She is Callista Curnow. She has learned to defend herself in this treacherous city.

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.

She was bribed with sweet biscuits and ox milk, calmed with stories of magic and seafaring. All to keep her sane in a time of turmoil.

She clings to her childhood things, but they bring her only brief comfort.

Poor Emily! Her childhood is lost! She has become a pawn in the games of men!

She hides her fears. She seeks someone to trust.

She sees more than she is telling. Young Lady Emily.

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.

Wherever the Overseers go, common folk tremble, and brother accuses brother.

They are experts at extracting confessions, even from the innocent.

They never rest - their grim task is fueled by devotion to the Abbey of the Everyman.

His Wolfhound was injured when they came upon a den of rats. The beast may not recover.

Should Overseers Come to Call, Know your Strictures, One and All.

Some Overseers sleep alongside their hounds in the kennels. Some let the beasts into their bunks.

Overseers. How grimly they set about their tasks, rooting out the influence of the Outsider, whom they hate more than they love men and women.

They are from the Abbey of Everyman. They hunt for heretics.

Woe to those found guilty of using witchcraft.

Few of the Overseers are happy about being joined with the men of the Lord Regent's City Watch.

They blame the plague on the misdeeds of the people. They hunt for any signs of wrongdoing!

The Overseers employ many mysteries to find those they call Heretics.

Even now he whispers the prayer against witchcraft. Can you hear it?

He punishes himself cruelly if he does not extract at least one confession every month.

He has no care if the ones he kills are heretics or innocents.

They made him watch when they tortured his parents for their worship of the Outsider.

He wonders when he will be able to return to the Abbey.

He recites the Seven Strictures. But he is thinking about blood ox steak.

He was asked to perform a wedding. So few lately. It lifted his heavy heart.

He doubts his abilities. The curse was not broken. If anything the woman's warts seemed worse than ever.

He fears the influence of the Outsider.

He is confused by recent events. There is no one he can trust.

He feels poorly, and suspects a witch's curse.

The Overseers are devout, but fanatically so.

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.

What kind of leader would use such against their own people?

He believes the machine he walks on makes him invincible.

They use their height to advantage.

Most of the City Watchmen call them Tallboys.

Keep clear of its legs.

It has other surprises in store - not just height.

They walk about the plague, above the rats, above the flooded streets.

Somewhere atop that contraption - there is a man.

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.

They are as cruel as their masters, but with considerably sharper teeth.

They can sniff out those who are fearful, sick or wounded.

They have no fear. It has been bred out of them.

Magnificent beasts. They know only cruelty and hunger.

They have excellent hearing.

The Wolfhounds are not pets. They are one of the Overseer's most lethal weapons.

Wolfhounds. Massive beasts.

The Overseers bring their hounds to sniff out wrongdoers.

He will protect his master.

This Wolfhound has killed many.

There is a children's rhyme: Do not weep or make a sound, for that will bring the 'seer's hound.

At night, it dreams of chasing rats.

He is a biter, this one.

This beast is a clever one.

This one is no more than a pup. He'll grow into those paws.

This one has acquired a taste for blood.

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.

He always had his sights set on the Abbey's highest office.

Do not be deceived by his talk of Strictures. Martin's crimes weigh heavy on his spirit.

He has been a soldier, a highway robber and a man of faith.

He wonders which is more powerful - the knife or the tongue.

There are few brave enough to laugh in the Outsider's face. But Teague Martin is one.

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.

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.

If the plague were to take the entire city, or flames consume it, Dunwall Tower would be the last to fall.

The Lord Regent resides here. As do those who await their turn with the executioner. Though their apartments differ.

He walks the floor, careful to touch each stone only once, counting. He cannot purge his mind of the thoughts.

We have both been here before.

Dunwall Tower is not so tall that it can rise above the stench of death.