Work Text:
1813, Hearths 1
[unintelligible scribbles]
Guy told me to write, so I’m writing. Says we better write good so we’re useful. Sounds like the old fop schoolmaster from fore I left Caulkenny. Says he’ll beat us good we don’t learn right, so I gotta.
1813, Songs 19
[a reasonably detailed sketch of Daud takes up a quarter of the page]
Told the old man he’s our schoolmaster today. That was funny. He got all serious about letters and maths so I doubled down and made it so Rulf and all the guys and Nunna too calls him Master Daud now. He ain’t been out of his room all day and I take the free day where I can get it. Sides, master ain’t so far from the truth of it, like the philosophers say. He’s the brain and mind of all this, and we’re keeping house and such, so he’s master of the place, I see it.
1814, Wind 28
The class has been made to watch the sky tonight. Master Daud says if we stay alert and are watchful, a miracle will happen. Only miracle will be getting to sleep in after this is done. Ain’t nothings worth losing sleep over.
1814, Darkness 1
[the page is entirely covered in compact script]
…I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong. I can admit when I’m wrong…
1816, Earth 2
I was allowed to attend the Fugue Feast this year, as Daud has decreed at fifteen, one is old enough to make their own decisions. When I questioned this, he responded by asking how old I think he is and I left without a proper answer.
I picked several pockets, listened to music for an entire day outside the Academy of Natural Philosophy, and the less said about my time in the shadows of the streets of Dunwall and who I was there with, the better. I was even allowed to sleep off the hangover until I was woken by Daud this morning. It only hurt a little, whereas I remember as little of yesterday as I do of the feast for spending it in bed. Rulf did me the kindness of supplying me with water, but also spent the day reading to me aloud of a particularly bad work of romantic fiction gifted to him by a girl from the city he claims to have had intimate relations with and intends on finding again.
1816, Darkness 4
I never realized before, but my entire way of speaking moulded around Master Daud’s patterns. I found the man officious even before I knew he’d attended the Academy for a season at about my age, and overly formal even with children younger than me… Rulf pointed it out, that when I’m organizing and giving out orders, I sound like the Master. I cannot say I am displeased with the comparison. Though, I sometimes wish the lessons and schooling that got me here didn’t come with the rather unpleasant number of laps I’ve been made to run around the compound over the years. Listen to me, reminiscing like an old man. Hell, just because I’m the oldest of the boys doesn’t make me old man Daud’s age!
1816, Darkness 5
Daud is only 21. Fucking Outsider’s eye-teeth, he’s only barely old enough to join the Watch. He always sounds like he’s an old man and he’s got that face scar, so I just thought he was older than my worthless dad. Will I be as much of a pain in the asshole in six years?
1817, Ice 13
I have been ordered to conduct a raid on a Watch outpost on the edge of the city of Dunwall. I’m to believe this is to bring in superior supplies for Master Daud’s work, but I don’t. The purpose is… perhaps to test if I can accomplish what he does. His ability to shift into and out of the shadows, appear where he’s least expected, is astounding to say the least. Without making a sound, nor drawing any attention where it doesn’t belong, I am meant to sneak in, arm myself with the Watch’s weapons, rations, tools, and even a uniform if I’m able, and return to base.
Suffice it to say, if I do not make it back, please burn my journal and share my personal effects amongst yourselves, for I shall have no use for them any longer.
1817, Ice 18
I slept in those rafters three days while the Watch worked, never once looking up into the inky dark. I do not know if this is a testament to the skills Daud has instilled in me, or the lax standards of the Watch under the current regime. Perhaps if they had a Captain as competent as our Master, or even as competent as Rulfio, I would not have returned to mock them in writing thusly.
I collected quite the assortment of items: all of my assigned targets, the personal comfort items of no fewer than six noisy Watchmen (whiskey, cigars, dried meats and such), and a fine silver pocket watch belonging to a man who bragged of his coerced conquests of women in the slums in exchange for paltry protection and coin. I have given his name to Daud and requested I be allowed to interrogate and stab the man multiple times.
It is under review, however, myself and six others, quite viscously convinced that his victims could have as easily been one of ours, or even ourselves, under different circumstances, have made silent pledges to take care of things if Daud does not.
1817, Ice 20
I needn't have worried. Master Daud is a man of honor. The Watchman I observed was found this morning impaled on a high iron fence post in a most profane way. The Abbey would not approve of his state of undress, nor his position, even if he was still in possession of what little manhood he once claimed. When I attempted to give Daud one of the treasured flavored cigars I’ve been hoarding, he turned it away saying that I earned it. I am not sure how, but I took the order or what it is and rather enjoyed the tobacco mixed with fruit rind. I have found that the occasional mildly sour taste in my vices to be of some enjoyment.
1820, Clans, 11
Master Daud has been… distant today. I attempted to dig into what has troubled him so, only to be rebuffed on each of three sequential instances at each of the day’s meal times. Each time, I left food at his door, and an hour later, one of the boys reported to me that his food had been eaten, so there’s that at least. Perhaps I can get him to confide in me tomorrow or the day after that.
1820, Songs 3
Daud has intimated to me that he has been… noted by the Outsider. I am told of his black eyes and stilted manner of speech. I wish to both meet and never meet this being at the same time. It sounds quite… harrowing.
At first, I was skeptical. I, like many, am aware of the Abbey’s hatred and hateful rhetoric about the Outsider and the old ways. I have never believed that the being exists, even in my darkest moments of fear and need. But when he showed me, flitting around the room in a way faster, more silent, than even his skill allows; to actually vanish in a dark cloud and reappear elsewhere… I was left speechless, reimagining my own beliefs as though I was blessed with a season at the Academy like my Master.
When he offered me a share in his power, a bond of arcane magics, I was rendered speechless a second time and Daud doubled down with a shot of twice-distilled whiskey to calm my nerves. I accepted shakily and muttered an acceptance somewhere between sips.
1820, Songs 5
Transversals across buildings are quite a bit more frightening than simply leaping across the same rooftops. I am assured I will get used to it, but I have to question how Daud, Master of these powers or not, knows such a thing when he has scarcely been a marked of the Outsider longer than months. I do not voice these objections, and simply continue to train in this magic.
1823, Hearths 1
When Daud took me from the home of my worthless, philandering, wasteful excuse of a father, when he took the fat aristocrat's life, I was afraid. Afraid for my life, afraid of the future, and afraid of the scarred man (a boy, really, at that time, but who was I to know that?).
After a year, I was well-read, if not well-spoken. After five, I was trusted with the well-being of our base and the Whalers as we’d taken to calling ourselves. Now, ten years away from being that frightened little boy: I am happy.
1829, Timber 14
Master Daud has taken on a rather interesting student. By my estimation, she’s somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen, give or take a year, and one of the most ferocious fighters I’ve ever seen. I’m to understand she’s the street urchin responsible for killing the misbegotten son of the visiting Duke of Serkonos. As far as I believe, such a fate couldn’t have come to a better man. However, professionally, taking in this child whose face and name are known to the Watch is dangerous. I have spoken to Daud, who assures me and the men that she will either be cut loose or in a mask before the end of the year.
1831, High Cold 5
Four jobs on the books to be assigned over the next month. One job in progress (Javier, Quinn, and Rinaldo near Poolwick). Morale is high, and the supply situation is positive on everything except River Krust (plans to import are in progress).
The Whalers took in a stray today - the fifth this year. Perhaps it’s more honest to say I took in a stray today. Maybe I’m going soft. Times are strange, to be sure. The man is Serkonan, in his middle thirties at a glance, and missing an arm. It appears a pair of dock hands took it from him. No fewer than three of our number have been heard planning bloody retribution on behalf of the newest member of our group. It is sweet in its own way, the sense of community in a gang of killers. I wonder who planned it this way.
1831, High Cold 8
Two fewer dock hands out and about today. Shame that.
1833, Ice 20
Cook killed three men in Dunwall today. Surprising, given that the man isn’t cleared for field duties. It appears he was out shopping when he was accosted. I have recommended Master Daud offer him a bond for his protection. Daud laughed at the idea and did so anyway. I must say, the man finds amusement in the oddest places.
1834, Darkness 14
Thorpe propositioned me today. Can’t say I was offended. No one has to know what my answer was, either.
1835, Clans 24
Master Daud has commanded the base be put into lockdown. I do not know for what reason as yet, but I am sure he will make me aware soon enough.
Addendum: there is a plague spreading rapidly in the city of Dunwall. The lockdown is a voluntary quarantine on the part of the Whalers in response to the emergency mandatory quarantine being imposed on parts of the capital city.
1837, Earth 17
Today or tomorrow, we are to be on high alert for attack or retribution. Master Daud has explained why, but I dare not put such words to ink and paper for fear of where such a record may end up in the course of events. Regardless, this all ends before week’s end.
1837, Harvest 15
It is, perhaps, the most troublesome issue that has arisen within our cadre of Whalers that our leader, Daud, has grown distant these past weeks. Before the raid and the Empress, he was the tireless man I’ve known for nearly as many years as I’ve been alive; however, he is… diminished in these dark times. I fear his torpor will result in his loss all too soon.
1837, Timber 7
With the ascension of the new Empress came many changes for us; not the least of which is the draining and reclamation of the flooded district we currently call home.
I no longer know what to believe in. Daud has announced, to the shock of many including myself, that he intends the Whalers to disband before the beginning of the Empress’ intended reconstruction. Does he wish us to vanish, to take his gifts back and leave us adrift? I do not want to question the man I have called Master for so long, but his words have seeded doubt in my heart. He curses the ‘Black-eyed Bastard’ when he is stressed, and my curses have begun to sound much the same in recent days, as only the Outsider could have foreseen this turn and warded us against it.
1838, Nets 26
The Crown has declared the plague over with the development and distribution of a cure. I’ve been putting off a decision for how the Whalers will continue moving forward for some time now, and with the quarantine being lifted, I really must move quickly if I intend for us to remain together.
I can only hope that Master Daud does not put a stop to my plans.
1838, Wind 3
I do not know what whim Daud mustered to agree, but he has allowed me to execute on our relocation. He appeared pleased when I mentioned Serkonos, but tempered my exuberance with the requirement that I find a disused farm on which to place our group. I can see the appeal. Out of the way, don’t want to draw the eye.
1838, High Cold 26
I was… incorrect in assuming we could be forgotten and live out our days silently. Perhaps it was never really something I believed in after all. Master Daud has taken to teaching us the art of agriculture (truly, the mysteries of the man never cease) and he, himself, has taken over an acre against the hills for the purpose of cultivating grapes. He believes, so he has said, that there is possibility in the making of fine wine using the arcane magics of the Void.
I imagine the Outsider is there, standing on a leviathan, laughing at me.
1840, Harvest 6
Month of Harvest, indeed. We have produced, somehow, enough food to both live on and sell, and Daud has personally seen to such grape production to keep us eating and mashing for the year to come.
Honestly, I am looking forward to his Void-damned wine. I have certainly sweated enough over it, both during working hours and not, that I am invested in the results.
1840, Nets 15
Outsider’s Eyes… this wine, a drink I have been made to labor over since 1838, is the greatest I have ever tasted. Is this what they say about the fruits of one’s own labor? Just shy of four decades to my life and I find out I have yet to live in certain respects.
1843, Hearths 1
The sun is relentless, the work is tireless, the fields are humid and growing in all manner of fruit and vegetables. After thirty years at Daud’s side, I never expected I would work under him as a cultivationist, rather than as an assassin.
It is a balm against my mind that rather than wanted posters, the Isles know the Whalers as the finest new wine they’ve seen in generations - we use the name and dressings of our days as assassins to perform while selling wine. The towns we frequent express nearly universal enjoyment of the macabre show, especially as we top each with a short memorial for the late Empress and a show of fealty for Emily the First.
All the rich flavor of a proper vintage with none of the costly drawbacks. Our operation has even been openly threatened by old money concerning our work. It’s truly a wondrous time to be here.
1843, Hearths 23
Forget what I said before. This is a cursed time. Daud has been… ordered back to Dunwall by Her Imperial Majesty, Emily the First. He is being permitted an entourage, but to what end I do not know. I am unsure of the wisdom of accepting the summons, but Daud has already decided. He will go, and the rest will prepare to close up and move on in the event he does not return. The Tower, and more frighteningly the Lord Protector, know where we are well enough to send a courier directly to Master Daud’s personal home behind the vineyard.
What would we do without him? Sell off the wine and food at the lowest possible price, sell the land, all scatter into the wind? Perhaps we would simply scatter first, leaving the land for some enterprising soul to take over as we did five years ago.
Maybe I’d return to contract killing, or find work in a schoolhouse, or who knows? It’s been so long since I’ve wanted anything but a life with these people that I don’t know what being on my own again would look like.
1843, Seeds 14
Daud, along with myself, Rulfio, Fisher, Rapha, Yuri, and Morgan, arrive in Dunwall later today. The Empress, or at least communication addressed to Daud in her name, has instructed us to meet an escort of Watch on a dock within sight of Dunwall Tower. I feel the bond thrumming with anticipation. Knowing I and my fellows have the power to escape if this is a trap is comforting in and of itself. For the first time, I feel as if I am getting too old for his line of work, despite my excitement and restless energy.
1843, Seeds 15
A general pardon. Her Impe– Empress Emily, this slip of a girl I haven’t seen since we kidnapped her and murdered her mother, has pardoned all crimes committed by anyone living under the quarantine as part of general amnesty concerning difficult times. I read the notice three times in baffled silence, standing before Her Majesty in the throne room.
I have had to ask Rulf several times in an attempt to prove I’m not hallucinating in an Abbey torture cell right now… she’s– the Empress has pardoned Daud explicitly for his role in the assassination of the former Empress, and pardoned the Whalers as a whole, for having been the mere pawns of the former Lord Regent and his conspiracy to control the empire through Lady Emily.
What in the Void?
I believed we were in hiding. Certainly no one believed our cadre of winemakers and farmers was the infamous Whalers, and especially not the Knife of Dunwall himself. We were merely an interesting bunch who sold tasty wine using the names of killers to drum up business, and it was working.
The townsfolk loved the idea and even showed up in paper and wooden masks to buy our wares. The children loved the so-called stage magic we called on for their entertainment, and got sly whispers from their elders about how they clearly saw through such nonsense for the stage-craft it most certainly wasn’t.
Pardons? For all? To what end?
1843, Seeds 19
Daud has been offered a job. The Empress desires his services as Spymaster and he has accepted, given some time to tie up his affairs back at the vineyard and farm. I have not been so far from Daud in years, but I will stay and do as I am told to prepare for the next big job for him and his Whalers. Perhaps, the world will turn once more and this will be good for us all.
1843, Seeds 23
As it turns out, it was our success in crafting fine wine coupled with the insistence to keep using Whalers as our name that brought us to the attention of the Crown after six years of relative convalescence.
A minor noble in Serkonos, in a blatant attempt to climb socially, if only slightly, sent a bottle of our wine along with several other gifts to Empress Emily along with an open invitation to visit his estate in Cullero to enjoy the warmth and the ocean.
Lord Attano noted the label along with rumors that we’d gone into hiding in the south and dispatched a spy to look into the matter, one of the few men at his disposal trained in espionage well enough to avoid even a Whaler if they weren’t looking properly.
The whole thing is a convoluted mess. This presented the Crown with a chance to fill several long-empty spots in their intelligence network with, frankly, the best the Empire can muster, and gave the most restless of us Whalers a chance to stretch our legs again.
I can’t say I’m disappointed all told.
Perhaps even happy with how everything turned out.