Jethro was laying in bed, slowly drifting into sleep despite the extremely uncomfortable bed he was sleeping in. Springs were sticking out of it, and there were several hard lumps in the mattress. He hated it. But he was stuck with it, after what that bastard Harrington did. He wanted nothing more than to get his old life back, but he was stuck here. For now, at least.

Eventually he fell asleep, dreaming of nothing and everything at the same time. He soon woke up, or at least felt that he woke up, and noticed that something was... Off about the room. It was darker than he remembered, and the little light that was there gave off a purplish hue. He stood up, looking around warily. He walked slowly to his balcony door, peeking through the keyhole. The streets were gone, giving way to a vast, empty void.

Jethro gasped in shock and jumped back, falling on his ass. There was nothing out there. Was this a dream? It couldn't be, it felt so real... He needed answers. The only way to go was outside. He quickly grabbed his coat and trousers, sliding the trousers on and throwing the coat over his bare chest and buttoning it up. He slowly walked down the stairs and to the front door. He opened it.

He would've stepped forward, but, before he could, he noticed that there was no ground there. He looked up at the balcony. There were platforms there, floating in mid-air as if to spite gravity. Looks like that was the only way he could go. Quickly, he ran back up the stairs and out the balcony. He climbed up on the railing, then leaped to the platform. It was smooth yet rocky, rock hard yet soft as a baby's tush. The texture was indescribable; as if all synonyms and antonyms of the proper word for it had clashed together, trying hard to overthrow each other, though none won and were forced to compromise, leading to this odd surface.

Jethro continued leaping from platform to platform, until he came across what appeared to be an island. He jumped onto it, looking about. It looked similar to his home... As in, his old home, the mansion. He was awed by it. Then, a person appeared, looking to be a young man wearing a brown coat. His hair was pitch black and cut in a boyish way... but what really captivated Jethro was the man's eyes. They were almost pitch black, as if he was staring into an empty void, emptier than the one here. He was floating a foot or so off the ground. He spoke:

"My dear Jethro. What a sad fate hand has dealt you... Your home and life and work, all taken from you by an imposter. Your friends have turned on you for a bit of coin, and have left you to rot in the slums of Dunwall. Don't you want revenge?" The man asked, his voice a bored monotone as if this conversation meant nothing.

"I want nothing but revenge." Jethro answered. At this, the man's lips twisted into something of a faint smile. "Hm. That's what I expected." The man said, crossing his arms. He rose his head slightly, as if he was about to ask Jethro if there was something up his nose, when he nodded slightly. Jethro felt a burning sensation in his left hand, and he yelped in pain. He looked there. A mark was being burnt into it, steam rising from it. It felt like he was being branded... Finally, it stopped. On his hand was a black mark, like a tattoo.

"I am the Outsider, and this is my mark. This is the place you call The Void. I have given to you what I have given to many. What you do with it lies with you. Only a handful of people have been gifted with my mark, some you may know, such as Corvo Attano and his daughter, Empress Emily Kaldwin." The man, no, The Outsider said to Jethro. Jethro nodded, rather shocked at this new revelation. "What does your mark do?" He asked.

"It gives you the powers you need to take back what's yours. Because, if there's one thing I've learned from the people I've gifted with my mark... It's that revenge solves everything." The Outsider replied. "Now, you must leave. What you do with my mark is up to you, but know this: I will be watching you with great interest. Farewell." And with that, the man vanished, and Jethro jolted awake. It was just a dream, thankfully. He laughed it off, then got up.

Jethro was still getting used to how he went from the brightest inventor and artist in all of Dunwall to a filthy peasant. A month ago, he was living in a large, beautiful mansion with rooms dedicated just to his art. Now he lived in a small apartment that could barely fit a bed and easel, much less any of the luxuries he was used to. With a sigh, he walked back into his home from the balcony and turned on the sink, cold water flowing from the faucet. 

He splashed the water on his face, looking in the mirror. A month ago, his hair was cut nice and neat and he was cleanly shaven. Now, his hair draped his face and he was starting to grow a rather bushy beard. He was also noticeably scrawnier, as switching from large feasts to stale bread and cheap wine should leave him. He reached to shut the faucet off, this time with his left hand rather than his right... When he noticed something.

The mark was still there.

The dream was true. It actually happened. He had been gifted with... Something. He just needed to know what. Jethro closed his hand, trying to flex just the muscles there. Soon enough, a blue tint began to emit from his closed palm, and the mark glowed bright. He then let it go, and appeared on the other side of his apartment. "What in the Void...?" He asked himself. He did it again, and flew out the balcony door and onto the balcony.

"Some sort of... Teleportation?" He asked, pulling himself up. "[i]This[/i] is what I need to get my revenge? What a load of bullshit." He scoffed. The Outside gave him the ability to teleport. Yeah, like that'll be of any use. Nonetheless, the weight of this new revelation weighed heavy on him. Of all the people in Dunwall, the Outsider chose him. He needed a drink to get it out of his mind. He began to walk down the street, pondering his predicament, when he came across a pub. The Hound Pits. Well, it's a start.

Taking a deep breath, Jethro walked through the door.