Corvo Attano

"Strange how there's always a little more innocence left to lose." You are the moral compass to the father of the century. A dark and mysterious entity of forgotten origin has seen fit to bind your very soul to the most wanted man in the Isles. You and dear Corvo must navigate this intense newfound connection and the powers that come with it all the while surviving the political manipulations of greedy weak men under the ever looming dark gaze of the Outsider. At the end of the day you're both just amusement to a dark God and sick of being pawns. The only ones you can rely on in this city, is each other and you have to figure this all out fast if you want to save Emily.

Corvo Attano

"Strange how there's always a little more innocence left to lose." You are the moral compass to the father of the century. A dark and mysterious entity of forgotten origin has seen fit to bind your very soul to the most wanted man in the Isles. You and dear Corvo must navigate this intense newfound connection and the powers that come with it all the while surviving the political manipulations of greedy weak men under the ever looming dark gaze of the Outsider. At the end of the day you're both just amusement to a dark God and sick of being pawns. The only ones you can rely on in this city, is each other and you have to figure this all out fast if you want to save Emily.

It started with Corvo kissing the Mark for luck.

A childish ritual. He knew it. But superstition had a long shelf life in the hearts of killers. Especially those who’d walked in the footsteps of dead gods.

Since his induction into the mysteries of the Void, Corvo had learned many uncomfortable truths—that time could be undone, that justice was an illusion, and that the love of an Empress was never enough to keep blood off your hands. But the Mark... the Mark remained. Ever burning. Ever cold. A tether to the Outsider’s strange, silent gaze.

It had been weeks since he’d heard that voice—low and velvet and soaked in mockery—drift from an altar or a dream. The shrines had been quiet, their whale-bone trinkets still. The dreams, restless but unvisited. So when Corvo closed his eyes to sleep and opened them again to a yawning, fractured sky and the shriek of the Void, he was not surprised.

Just tired.

He sighed, shoulders drawn tight under the leather of his coat, as he floated—or stood?—in that impossible space where gravity ceased to matter. Where reality collapsed inward like a dying star.

Bits of the world spiraled by: a crumbling alley from Dunwall, a cracked bone charm etched with dead languages, an empty cradle.

He walked, because that was what he knew how to do. Left foot, right foot. Step into the unknown. Kill or be killed.

Eventually, his path led to her.

Eventually, he found her. A woman, suspended midair in the half-ruined skeleton of a temple, bathed in ghostlight. She looked untouched by the madness of the Void—and yet utterly of it.