[IC] The Marked (Dishonored Roleplay.)

[Apollosarcher]

Adrian sat on the ruined tower, staring out over the river rifle in his lap. He'd procured the weapon and a pistol while escaping confines of Coldridge prison. Gristol believed him a traitor and the people of Morley called traitor to there isle as well. He no longer had home, or a people among either of them until the war was brought to an end with death of the new king of Morley, of Adrian would also need a new ruler to put on the throne afterwords.

He thought he would be alone in this endeavor yet when arrived at the hound pits he'd found a black market inventor and former natural philosopher, Alexei Gregori. He owned the pub now and more importantly set up a workshop here, he claimed that hear on this land he could almost feel the void. He claimed the outsider for told that a meeting of damned and great in hound pits would change the course of empire forever.

Adrian didn't care, he knew his target Albert Crowley the king of Morley would pay for the death of honor guard, pay for the death of the king, of course he knew he would need to discover the other who carried out his will. Morley would be remade and a new ruler would take the throne, whether in a river of blood or not would be up to Adrian.

He stared out over the water, waiting to see if the madman who called himself was prophet of Outsider would be right, if others were coming. If they were Adrian would bargain for there help, the isle's would be ruled once more by there rightful owner, the empire. He lifted his rifle slowly taking aim at passing whaling ship, acting is if the rifle was loaded. "Bang." He said, picturing the whale oil tanks exploding loudly as ship erupted into flame, it was only a quarter mile away, he could have made the shot.

Heading down into the bar, he began to pour himself a pint thinking of the cigars he had stashed under the table. He wondered if he would ever get a chance to smoke them, or if the other Alexei had predicted would ever truly come to the hound pits. Sitting on the bar spinning his pistol around his trigger finger he stared sipped his beer, they had to come he couldn't do this with just the Outsider at his back.

[Burning Kitty]

The true ruler of Sekonos, Esmeralda, found herself wearing rags behind bars in a prison where she had been responsible for so many calling home. She was not treated well. She fought back killing any who dared to insult her. After one of those fights she laid on her pile of straw sleeping. She woke up in her cell but it wasn't her cell at the same time. She opened the door to a strange land. She explored as best as she could and was confronted by the Outsider. He gave her the ability to take back everything was taken from her. She wondered what the price would be later. No matter what as long as she got her revenge she would gladly pay it.

The next morning when she was brought her extremely meager breakfast. She did what now came naturally to her, she grabbed the arm and pulled it through she started to drain the guard dry. Just before he would pass out she demanded he release her. He complied believing it would save his life. She snapped his neck as soon as she was out. She fought her way out killing everyone who got in her way. These traitors didn't deserve to live if they served false Duke. Before she left the prison she broke into the armory. She liberated her swords, The Blades of Sekonos, along with a pistol and ammo. On her way out she came across a prostitute. She stole her clothes and left the prostitute with the rags. She also liberated all the coins the prostitue had made that night.

She snuck aboard a boat departing, she jumped off the first time the boat came close enough to land for her to swim to. She came across a pub, The Hound Pit, and walked in.

[Simple Unicycle]

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. "This 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.

[Burning Kitty]

Inside the pub she sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. While she sipped her drink a patron came up and propositioned her. She grabbed his hand and broke his wrist. As he crumpled to the floor in pain one of his buddies attacked her, she dodged she flipped the left blade out and put to his throat. "Take your buddy and go see a medical professional or you will be needing a grave digger." She punctuated digger by pressing just a little bit harder causing her sword to puncture the skin. She moved the tip of her blade to her mouth. She licked the blood off. Before she could decide whether or not to drain him he took off with his buddy. She finished off her drink and ordered another. She turned around and surveyed the rest of the people in the pub. She wondered how many of these people would end up dead before this would be all over.