The Flooded District

When Daud commands them, they obey.

Such power. If only it could be harnessed for something other than death.

Daud's men. Secrets so well kept - even I cannot discern the truth.

They are sick with treachery. From within - and from without.

He has taken a life - but I can't be sure of anything else.

Some mystery fuels their steps.

They are assassins, that much I know.

They are like puppets. They do not act of their own will.

He is loyal to Daud, yes, but there is something else. Something - no, I cannot see.

One of Daud's assassins. They are everywhere, and nowhere.

There is something about this one. A memory? From before?

Death. I feel only death from this one.

It is as if there is a cloak around him, and I cannot see through it.

I do feel something, but it's distant, like a memory.

It is the same with all of Daud's men. They exist in the place of fog.

A haze surrounds them - I cannot see through it.

Why have you brought me here? Am I meant to forgive this man for what he did?

No! There is no turning back from the path he has chosen!

Paid assassin. Daud. The last thing the… Empress felt was his blade.

His hands do violence. But there is a different dream in his heart.

In the schoolyard, the other children would marvel at his quick hands. One day, a man came for young Daud, and led him away.

She has given herself fully to the Outsider.

In her mind's eye she is fancy trimmed in velvet, fresh and young, on her way to an evening of romance.

Careful. She treads with purpose. And is not as frail as she seems.

The children sometimes circle Granny Rags, following along and taunting.

Long ago Granny Rags danced at court. Men begged to marry her.

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.

If ever in doubt, which is often, he uses the knife.

Slackjaw. Whores raised him. He'll never know his father was a prince.

He deals in flesh, weapons, strong drink. They've always called him Slackjaw.

He and his thugs started in Treavers Alley. Now his influence is felt over the entire Island of Gristol.

He knows the streets of Dunwall, especially its dark alleys, as well as any man.

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.

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.

They are called Weepers. They can languish like this for many weeks.

Hear her terrible moans! The disease is both painful and disfiguring.

Have pity for those afflicted. But a warning - pity them from afar.

You cannot help her. The finest elixirs in Dunwall cannot help her now.

This weeper got the disease from attending to her sick children.

She intends to spread the plague to others, if she gets the opportunity.

Soon this weeper will be too ill to eat or drink. She will not suffer much longer.

She does not remember her former life. All she has now is this.

She still has some awareness - and strength. Do not provoke her.

The Overseer told her it was her own misdeeds that brought the plague to her.

She bought the finest elixirs. Perhaps she did not take them in time.

They sheltered her for a time, but when the blood came from her eyes, they sent her out. Called her a weeper.

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 sickness attacks the breathing, eyes, and ears. And lays waste to the brain.

He is very ill, but be warned - he still has much strength.

The Weepers. They live in constant misery, until death finally releases them.

There is nothing you can do for him, but keep your distance.

The sick spread more than disease - they spread panic.

Weepers may look helpless, but they are not!

Whoever they were before, now they are victims of the contagion. Weepers.

They suffer from the plague.

Was he a nobleman or commoner? Whatever he was, that life is over now.

He watched his wife and daughter die of it. Now the plague takes him.

There is nothing left of the man he used to be.

He was a harpooner on a great ship. But then he began to fall ill.

He pleaded with her to leave. Begged her not to help him. But now she is sick too.

He was fond of taking in stray animals. But that was before.

Look at him! Yet he believes this malady will pass and he will soon be well.

He hopes his wife is suffering somewhere, just as much as him.

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 first saw her when he was nine. She'd somehow got her foot stuck in the wheel.

He is very rich and powerful.

The job of an aristocrat is to stay an aristocrat.

His family controls a large estate with many servants.

He plots to take the whole inheritance for himself.

He is low born. He has killed more than once to keep it a secret.

Soon the money will run out. And when it does, things will not go well for him.

He enjoys tormenting the help.

He might wear the blue jacket tomorrow. The grey doesn't bring out his eyes.

They never shine up his shoes as much as he likes.

He really did care for her once.

He is wealthy and wears fine clothing, but underneath, all men look the same.

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 bring the bodies here. With rough hands. Rough hands and cages. Some of them are still breathing. The water is so cold and it is the last thing they feel.

Even the terrible floods were not enough to wash away the sorrows of Dunwall.

When the sea wall broke, many strange things were drowned and forgotten.

These waters are greedy. They will never give back what they have taken.

They butchered the deep ones here, breathing in the rich stink of their enchanted flesh.

You are like the rivermen. They spread their nets wide, and pull up all manner of things. The sweet, the deadly, the poisonous, all together in one catch.

Callista tried to protect her, but they pulled the child from her arms. Oh, the curses she spat at them!

Emily banged her head in the confusion. They dragged her crying into the waiting boat. She called your name.

Your usefulness is spent. They long for news of your death!

They left in great haste. Scattering like insects, eager to bore into the nests you made for them.