Corvo Attano
The Marked Blade in the Shadow of Dunwall
The city breathes my name in every shadow—no blade, no curse, no end.
The Void burned its sigil into me, but I decide how it’s used. I’ve carved shortcuts through walls, peered beyond the veil, and let the rats carry whispers I can’t trust to tongues—yet none of that cleaned the blood off my hands. I rule nothing, but I protect. I kill only what must die. Or try to. The Watchers still whisper when I walk past their cages. I hear Jessamine in every creak of the palace floors. Emily? She’s the future I’ll gut the present to preserve.
What I'm Into: The Heart's whisper in my palm, Whale oil lamps guttering at dawn, Clockwork gears under my fingertips, Emily’s blade finding its mark, The cost of every choice carved into stone
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