#Kinda had to shorten the end cause the longer version was super out of place and a bit unnecessary

[fakeshibe]

i got one of the dishonored comics today, The Peeress and the Price (still waiting for the art book to ship), and it was a really cool short comic run!! i’ve got a couple of mixed feelings on certain parts of it though :/

So, spoilers mini-essay with absolutely no spell checking or proofreading to explain my thoughts and critiques :D

— Spoilers for Dishonored: the Peeress and the Price —

the art was incredible, loved it, such a sick style the really harsh lighting had such a sick effect. really cool use of colours too. For some reason on the version i got Emily’s headshot on the cover was like, super low resolution and visibly png compressed? there were a couple of page spreads of D2 location art on the inside too which were slightly compressed looking with a weird sharpness, no idea what’s going on there lol. it was an official print so, i guess maybe it didn’t get proofed properly before it went to print or there was a tight deadline? the actual comic art looks incredible, it’s just the cover and the art spreads, which makes sense cause they’re pieces i’ve seen other places being re-used for this. bit odd though.

It started out super great, diving straight into Emily being confronted with the demand for democracy from a group of Dunwall citizens, and I love that!! it’s a genuinely good question for Emily to be asked, if she’s always looking to do the best thing for Dunwall, would that include abolishing the monarchy? but then the rest of the comic just feels too short to properly explore that and it concludes in such an unsatisfying way. It feels like it was maybe meant to be a 3 issue thing treat had to be shortened to 2? or maybe it was always 2 issues, and really should’ve been 2. idk.

The action is really great, I really love it!! it’s so cool to see how Corvo and Emily fight side by side, and to get it clarified that Corvo’s mark doesn’t get returned post-Delilah in D2. And the antagonist, Price? the way she’s drawn and framed is so cool and I love it, she’s allowed to be so brutal and i love that. but does she really have a motivation? Unless i missed a panel i couldn’t really tell one other than she just wants to watch the world burn. She kinda fits the description of characters from Morely, so in my mind i’m assuming she’s for the fall of Dunwall and the empire because of how Morely has been constantly revolting against the empire in the background of the games, because that actually is a really cool motivation that brings the wider empire into the story and furthered the question of how much good Emily’s position as empress does when balanced against the damage inherent of it being an empire.

But yeah, the ‘im into chaos because, fuckin idk it’s fun to watch the world burn’ methodology of Price kinda doesn’t work for me. I know Price explains her motivation in more detail while she’s attempting to convince Wainwright to use his position to turn peaceful protest into a violent rebellion, but it still just doesn’t convince me without the mention of Morely or a wider motivation.

Also, the part about the ending being unsatisfying? Emily kills like 10 of the rat gang henchmen without a second though, not in self defence either, she usually starts it. So her sparing the leader of the gang and telling the public ‘it’s not my position to decide who lives or dies’… actual what the fuck are you on about 😭😭 since when?? unless that’s meant to be her separating Empress Emily and assassin Emily, and declaring that publicly she’ll limit her powers, but behind the scenes she’ll still control Dunwall??

Also the people were like having a revolution 10 mins ago, but now that Emily has spared one person from capital punishment they’re all royalists again? idk, i loved the art in the comic and the characters but i think some of the writing just wasn’t for me lol

I’ve still to read the actual books and ik they’re a lot longer than a 36 page comic, so i’m hoping they delve into things a bit deeper.

All in all, I think by nature a short run comic is gonna struggle to go very in depth on any topic, i think it did it pretty well for the format and i’d have loved to see the authors and artists given a longer run to explore the ideas they had further :) I think it’s a nice little follow up to show how things work in Dunwall post-D2, and how Emily and Corvo work together and everything. It’s nice to see that there’s been a thought for the continuation of the series and more spin-off media, even if i have critiques of it i’ll always be glad for more Dishonored related media lmao

[dancing-sword]

Catrina’s Story: Bant

I’ve been wanting to do something with Catrina for a while. I’ve had other stuff written out, but this one struck me earlier in the week and I just had to get it out. 

Big thanks to @foxcoloredcat for helping me with the Isolde’s Bant style of talking!

(Also, I don’t know if this needs a trigger warning or anything, but it be bloody.)

Catrina’s Story: Bant

Destasia beat her wings with fervor, soaring over the rolling green Bant hills with haste. She could smell the ozone of the oncoming rain as dark cloud collected above her, but the winds were in her favor and she would be making good time on her quest. Word had spread of a border town, one that had been too close to the encroaching Grixis lands, under siege from roving bands of zombies and hordes. Bant’s forces had already been spread thin in the countryside for months trying to maintain what order they could as the lands merged together, but the Celebrant angel could not stand with there was suffering in her home. As she crested over a hill, a town came into view. It was a small hamlet, no more than a handful of houses having sprouted up around a crossroads. She wasn’t surprised how often it must have been attacked having little in ways of natural defenses and distant location spelling little in the way of reinforcements.

Gliding down to the open town square, Destasia’s stomach began to sink at the gruesome sight. Bodies were scattered everywhere and blood had been spilled on every surface. She carefully stepped through and around the piles of bodies, her head on a swivel as she scanned the scene. Demon corpses and smote zombies went as far as the eye could see, although by the stench they put off she didn’t really have to look around to know that. As she walked further into the town, she found only more corpses and blood and her heart began to fall. Had she been too late? Were there still survivors to save? Should she continue traveling towards the border to stop any possible oncoming hordes?

As she pondered her situation and mourned the dead, a small seed grew in her mind as her gaze continued to wander. Her head snapped looking back the way she came, her eyes retracing every surface as her head slowly cocked to the side and her brow furrowed. It took her only a moment to notice a detail she hadn’t before. Grixis forces littered the streets, but none from Bant.

Her hand moved to her hip, coming to rest on the hilt of her blade as her muscles tensed for action. It was good that no citizenry had been harmed, or at least as far as she could see, but there were not supposed to be a large fighting force in this village let alone the whole area. Nothing was adding up here. Either the people here were able to rally together, stop an invading force without intervention of the angels, and suffered no casualties or something much more dangerous was at work here. Neither option sat well with Destasia.

Suddenly there was an explosion of sound, a roar of pain, in the distance. Destasia’s head snapped in its direction before she launched into a full sprint down the road. Weaving through the buildings, she followed the trail of bodies as the amount of gore got more concentrated as she moved. She dug her heels into the ground as she entered as small courtyard, skidding to a stop. Surrounded by recently fallen enemies, atop the fresh corpse of a large demon twice her size, was a woman half a head taller than Destasia. Her armor was strange, a mix of leather and what appeared to be iron, and left much of her powerful muscles exposed. She hefted a greatsword, an immaculate blade nearly as tall as herself, out of the corpse as she stepped off of it.

“Hail,” Destasia called out. The woman slowed to a stop, making a half attempt at shaking the blood of her boots. Only after that, lazily taking her time with the task, did she apathetically decide to even regard the angel. A bit put off now, Destasia continued, “I am Destasia. ‘Tis good to see someone else alive. I must ask, how didst thou survive? Was this thy doing?”

She found a mix of contempt and condescension in the woman’s eyes, as if she had heard her and was just tolerating the angel’s presence. Before Destasia could continue her questioning, the woman attempted walk passed her. She held up her hand, stopping the woman’s exit and giving her a stern look.

The woman sighed, meeting the angel’s eyes with a dismissive look. “Move or be moved,” she finally spoke in voice bordering on hoarse from disuse.

“My apologies, sirrah. I understand thy wish to leave, but I yet hath questions for thee. Where art the citizens. Surely thou didst not cause all of this?”

The woman continued to lock eyes with Destasia, unflinching. The long tense seconds they stared, the angel was able to study the woman’s face. The woman may have been past a youthful prime, streaks of gray in her orange hair and her skin gaining wrinkles in places, the wear and tear on her face sung tales of many past battles. Her eyes though, the angel found the longer she stared into them the more she felt uncomfortable. There quality to them that reminded her of the oldest Amesha and the Asura, but there was a growing unnatural element that she could not place.

“A half day’s walk north,” the woman said, breaking the silence, “Large barn. Stone windmill atop a hill. They are there. It would give them a running start if they felt the need to flee. Tell them they are safe. Now move.”

The woman pushed passed Destasia, knocking into her shoulder and caused the angel to grunt. The angel reached up and latched onto her shoulder to stop her, but found herself dragged a foot or two only stopping when the woman noticed the tag-along. Still, Destasia held her ground, speaking in a careful and measured tone, “Listen carefully, mortal. Thou hath mine thanks, but I doth believe thou reach beyond thy caste. I am thine protector, nay, these lands. Dost thou need reminded what respect is?”

Despite the angel’s strength, the woman removed her hand with ease, tossed it aside and returned her gaze, eyes now refusing to mask their irritation. “You are correct. You are a grand representative of your kingdom. Slow and posturing power.” She leaned in close. “You are weak. Bant is weak. These people needed protection from horrors they could not imagine and where were you? Do not call yourself a protector when I was the one to answer their cries. If I had any respect to give, you’d have it by now. I will not tell you to move again, but if you try to stop me once more, it will be your last attempt.”

Destasia held back no longer and gave this wretched woman a much deserved back-handed slap with her armored hand. “Still thy tongue, vile creature. If thy wishes to see the strength of Bant, I would be most happy to oblige.’Twill not be a weight on my conscience, I assure thou.”

She watched the woman slowly turned back to face her, lightly rubbing her jaw. Before she could react, the woman threw out a quick, light jab at her stomach. For a second, she thought of her opponent as a normal human, but quickly learned her mistake when the light punch knocked the wind out of her and almost caused her to double over. She tried to ready herself to attack, but felt the woman hook her fingers under her armor and suddenly the world blurred as she felt herself soar through the air. Flaring out her wings, she flapped frantically to steady and right herself and almost tumbled from the momentum as she landed. She looked around, shaking the disorientation from her head, and found that she had been casually tossed down the street, several houses away.

Drawing her sword, she dug her feet in and prepared for the worst. She could see the reason for the carnage now and she wasn’t going to be caught off guard again. The woman took one step, then a second, and then leapt the rest of the distance, landing next to Destasia in an instant. She watched the woman swing down, bringing her greatsword in a wide and telegraphed arc, and brought her own sword up to deflect the blow, but still found herself driven down to her knee as the blade glanced passed her. Using the lower angle, she slammed her shoulder into the woman’s sternum as she stood up.

The bang of armor against armor shook the street as the woman was sent back from the blow. Destasia lunch forward and swung at the woman’s stomach, hitting only air, but forcing the woman further back. She ducked under another large swing, this time going flat left to right, and countered with a flurry of punches to the ribs. Despite the woman’s fearsome strength, Destasia found her horribly predictable and she was going to exploit that weakness. She returned each missed swing with her own blows, catching her opponent’s exposed limbs and dozens of cuts along them. After hammering her fist into the woman’s nose, she saw her opening and swung her blade, hoping to stop short and command her to yield, but the woman feinted at the wrong time and her neck met the blade.

For a second, the two stood there. Destasia’s breath was heavy from adrenaline and stared at the blade lodged halfway into the woman’s neck. Her eyes flickered between the woman’s flat expression and the wound, and after a couple of breathes, she started to calm.

“’Tis a shame,” she said, relaxing her arms, but still holding her sword.

“Quite.”

There was a blur of motion as the woman’s hand shot up and grabbed a hold of the blade’s edge, squeezing. The metal screeched and Destasia stumbled backwards. Her sword was in ruin, half in her hand and half in the woman’s neck, the once connected ends crunched and bent so finely the blade split. The woman casually flicked at the half still in her. It shot out of her like an arrow and embedded itself almost completely in a nearby wooden wall. The angel watched in horror as arterial blood flowed without issue as esophagus and muscle quickly stitched together. In moments, every wound and every bruise disappeared.

“I had expect much more, honestly,” the woman said, unimpressed.

Dropping her ruined sword, Destasia lunged forward again for another punch. This time however, the woman caught to blow, holding back all of the angel’s might with a single palm. In another blur of motion, the woman gripped hard, spun, and threw her through the nearest wall. Wood splinters exploded around the angel as she flew through a kitchen, bounced off the table, and crashed through a window, landing sprawled on the next street over. She started to pick herself up, getting up to all fours, when the woman burst through the wall and slammed her foot into her. All she could do was scream in pain as she soared in a flightless arc. She crashed down into a tiled roof and slid down, landing in a heap surrounded by shattered shingles.

She braced herself against the house, coughing up blooded and wincing at what was most likely some broken ribs. She started to focus her magic into mending herself while she had the moment of quiet when the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. By instinct, she cast a spell to hasten her step and flew off the wall at a blinding pace. Just as she passed a few feet from the wall, the woman charged through the wall blade first, its tip aimed at where her heart should have been.

With a single beat of her wings, Destasia raised up above the roofs. She needed to heal and keeping her distance was the only way to get this chance. She flew backwards and higher, keeping her eyes on the woman. While she brought one hand to her ribs, a soothing spell flowing into her side, her other went skyward. A light crackled to life in her hand, spreading out into a long bright spear. She hurled one at her foe, and then a second, and then even more. Each brilliant javelin struck true, each one striking the woman without fail.

At first, the woman brought her own arm up to block her face, but as each spell struck her she brought it back down, although her muscles still tensed with each strike. Much to Destasia’s horror, the woman began walking forward. Her steps were slow and the angel hoped she saw her falter when her spears hit, but the woman quickly gained speed. The angel flew frantically back, her spears glowing brighter and hotter as she strained to gather up as much energy in each strike, but the woman would not cease. In a blur of motion, the woman lept again, tackling the angel mid-flight.

The two came crashing down in the middle of the street many houses down the road, the cobblestone path cracking underneath them. The impact let Destasia escape the grapple, but she was too tired now. She attempted another punch, but her pain made her weak and the woman struck back, the quick jab catching her in her shoulder and almost dislocating it. The angel grunted with pain and was thrown to the ground, the woman holding her down by driving a knee into her back.

“A brave attempt,” the woman said, leaning in close. Anger flared in the angel’s chest through the pain. Despite all she did, the woman did not even have the courtesy to even sound tired or pained. “In truth, you actually remind me of another one of your kind. She too stood up to me. She lasted longer, but your courage was much more commendable and for that, I will let you live.”

Destasia wasn’t sure what she felt. Her anger still burned, but some part of her was thankful it was over.

“But...” Destasia’s heart sank as the woman pulled her left arm out, her fingers firmly on her forearm. The angel flailed as the woman grabbed the back of her head, forcing her to look sideways and watch what was about to happen. “There is a lesson here. One that that angel was to carry. One that Bant has seemed to have forgotten. One that will now be your burden.”

Pressure started to build on her arm, each moment dragging on as the woman slowly squeezed. Within seconds, the pain was bordering unbearable and Destasia’s breathing became labored, pain-filled grunts. The woman leaned in even closer, her voice just above a whisper and even, “When those survivors return home, when they see my work, when they find your broken body, and when you are brought before your healers and scholars, they will all ask what sort of monster would cause such a massacre. I want you to talk. I want you to tell them. I want your words to remind them of tales they had hoped were tall, legends they hoped were lies. Because that last one did not speak loud enough.”

Destasia could feel her bones flex, hear them creak inside her. She tried with everything she had to keep her screams down, but tears were streaming down her face as the pain became too much to bear.

“I want them to all know one thing. When Catrina the Slayer says ‘move’...”

The howl that escaped Destasia’s lips was guttural as her forearm shattered. Catrina released her grip, blood dripping from her hand. Her arm was unnaturally mangled in the middle, bent too many time, skin torn from the grip, and blood leaking from it.

“You move.”

Destasia vision blurred as Catrina slammed her face in to stone before going completely black after she did so a second time.

~~~***~~~

Destasia shifted awkwardly in her bed. She was not used to being on this side of the healing house, far more used to traveling the beds and giving her kiss to the brave knights of the land. She had been here for days now, although she wasn’t sure if she should be thankful most had be spent unconscious at first. Not being able to protect her home was far from ideal, but it was better than the onslaught of questions that had seemed to come to her after she first awoke. The details came slow at first, the memories jumbled, but as they came, she spoke.

Thinking back to the battle, she turned to look at a nearby mirror on the wall and stared. She had earned herself a few scars that day. One was a thin line near her hairline, but most were concentrated on her arm. The healers, after many tireless hours mending her arm, said that none of the damage seemed to be too lasting, although she would need to train to recover the full dexterity again.

Her concentration broke as a knock came from the door.

“My apologies, Lady Destasia, but thou has a visitor,” a young attendant apologized as she peered in.

“’Tis not a problem. Please, my Lady, bring them in,” Destasia said, quickly sitting up.

As the attendant stepped aside, a taller angel stepped in. Destasia immediately recognized this angel not only as an Amesha, but a filigree angel, one of the few to travel to Grixis and return with their enlightenment of etherium. Her wings glittered in the light and her metallic feet lightly chiming with each step.

“I am Justina,” the angel bowed, “I wish not to intrude on thy recovery, but… there are details of thine quest I must question.”

Destasia attempted to return the bow from her seat, “Of course, my Lady. Anything.”

Justina looked over her shoulder, contemplating, and quietly closed the door. Turning back, she said, “What do thou knowst of other worlds?”

“...I am sorry, but I do not understand.”

Justina nodded, “Then we have much to discuss.”