#High Chaos Week 2022

[ferretrix]

Act III

[endrae]

HIGH CHAOS WEEK, HIGH CHAOS WEEK

[eiramew]

Something I couldn’t finish for High Chaos week but oh well...</3

[sphyrne]

of course i was going to draw him for high chaos week 😈

[lapinneok]

these two emily's drawings were the inspiration

[overseermartin]

high chaos week 2022 🖤

[glimmuh]

indirect, indiscriminate killers

[thegoo]

blood moon 🩸

[exalok]

the red still feels weird on this one but /big shrug high chaos week commences!!!

[targarrus]

once again high chaos no mark corvo is the hottest thing in dh2

[hiaennyddei]

Won’t give you the pleasure

[sigilmint]

Happy High Chaos Week! I made this playlist a while back but I have returned to it again and again, whenever I need some of that badgirl energy in my life~ Emily deserves little a high chaos, as a treat <3

[exultedshores]

the animal gets what the animal needs

A little piece I wrote for High Chaos Week 2022! I want to expand on this later so I’m not posting it to AO3 yet, but have this scene featuring Corvo the Black and Thomas in the aftermath of Dishonored 2 ^-^

The auditions for the position of Royal Protector are a farce.

Thomas knows this, knew it from the moment he caught the announcement crackling over one of the few loudspeakers not yet destroyed. Emperor Corvo the Black does not require protection, not with his skills and his Mark and his very legend dissuading any would-be assassins from entertaining the thought of going after him. There is no one who could best him.

Not anymore, at least.

And yet, here he is, waiting outside the throne room with a handful of others to see the Emperor.

Three men went in before them. None have come out.

When the door creaks open and the Emperor’s voice bids the next candidate to enter, no one is eager to step forward. The fear is palpable in the very air; these men are highborn, each and every one of them, flocking here in the hopes of elevating their undoubtedly devastated noble houses through gaining the prestigious rank of Lord Protector. Ridiculous, how they cling to the notion of aristocracy even now. The best anyone can do in Corvo the Black’s rotten carcass of a city is survive.

Thomas shoulders his way past a man he’s almost certain is a Brimsley, and steps through the doors.

It’s dark inside the throne room, the scent of dust and decay heavy in the stale air. Rotting flowers encircle the crumbling pillars, and broken bits of stone and wood are scattered across the floor; the one perfectly intact object is an eerily lifelike statue of the Emperor’s daughter guarding the steps up to the dais. All is overseen by a partially burnt banner of Jessamine Kaldwin hanging proudly above the throne in a mockery of a memorial.

And resting on a throne adorned with corrupted runes, its very fabric steeped in the darkness of the Void, is Emperor Corvo the Black himself.

Thomas halts at the base of the dais and bows stiffly at the waist, as is custom. “Your Majesty.”

The Emperor twirls his infamous folding sword in his hands. Thomas does not fail to note it is coated in what appears to be fresh blood. “Name?”

“Thomas Carmine, Your Majesty.”

The moniker is a lie; Thomas forewent his family name so long ago he can scarce remember it now, and he never was part of the upper echelon of society. But the Carmines are an old noble house, struggling to survive since the days of the rat plague, and Thomas shares their distinctive blond hair and aquiline nose. It makes for a convincing enough ruse.

Better the Emperor believe he is here for the same paltry reasons as the other candidates.

“Do you think you are capable of safeguarding an Empire?” The Emperor’s tone is dull, uninterested; his eyes glisten like onyx in the darkness of the room.

Thomas straightens his back. “I believe I’m better qualified than most.”

The Emperor bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “We’ll see.”

Thomas hits the ground.

The Emperor’s sword strikes air.

He laughs, the sound echoing eerily through the empty throne room. “You dodged,” he says, delighted. “That’s a first.”

He lunges again, and Thomas jumps back with a curse as he fumbles for the sword at his belt. He brought one of the gilded aristocrat’s swords the Whalers claimed as trophies rather than his trusted broad-bladed cleaver, and it ill serves him now. But he was not chosen to serve as the Knife of Dunwall’s second-in-command for nothing – he can adapt. He damn well has to, if he wants to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

The brawl is short but intense, and chaotic. The Emperor holds nothing back, and it is so easy to imagine the young man he used to be, who tore his way through the Blade Verbana with frightening ruthlessness. Age has not slowed him one iota; Thomas ducks and weaves and parries as best he can, but he is always on the defensive, always one step behind.

He blocks another blow, and the Emperor grins. A flicker of golden-green is all the warning Thomas gets before he is slammed into the nearest pillar with a force that steals his breath, and his sword slips from his grip, falling to the ground with a deafening clatter.

The Emperor pins Thomas’ blade under his boot. “A pity,” he drawls, looking down at Thomas as though he, too, belongs at the Emperor’s feet. “I had some hopes for you.”

He brings down his sword.

The clang of metal on metal rings in Thomas’ ears.

The Emperor’s eyes widen, and Thomas uses the surprise to his advantage. With a push of the small dagger he keeps in his boot exactly for situations like this, he has the Emperor unbalanced; Thomas is on his feet immediately, swinging his knife in a wide arch to give himself room to manoeuvre, and –

The Emperor vanishes in a flash of blue and reappears at the foot of his throne. Blood drips down his arm.

Thomas snatches his sword off the floor, but the Emperor does not attack again. He remains where he is, his bloody hand resting on the outstretched arm of his daughter’s statue. His gaze is fixed firmly on Jessamine Kaldwin’s visage.

Thomas retains his combat stance until his muscles begin to ache, and even then he only hesitantly lowers his sword.

When that is not punished, he dares approach.

“Your Majesty?”

The Emperor breathes deeply. When he turns to face Thomas, he looks his age. “You’re hired.”

It is times like this he misses his old mask. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall not disappoint.”

The Emperor waves him off. “Take care of the mess outside.”

Thomas wishes he did not understand exactly what the Emperor means. He hides his distaste by bowing low. “As His Majesty commands.”

He turns on his heel and strides out of the throne room. Four men and one woman are still waiting there for their chance to see the Emperor; only two of them are vigilant enough to notice the blood-stained sword clutched in Thomas’ fist.

“Apologies,” Thomas says pleasantly, “but the position has been filled.”

Three go down before they even know what’s happening; one loses his sword in two strikes, and his head in another; the last puts up a half-decent struggle, for a noble, but she cannot match a trained assassin. The whole confrontation lasts little much more than a minute.

When the Emperor joins him, he looks pleased. “Good work,” he says, and the Mark of the Outsider flares as he waves his hand. Hundreds upon hundreds of rats fill the space, running straight for the fresh corpses.

Thomas understands now why the Emperor’s sword was bloody, yet there were no bodies to be found in the throne room.

He wonders, idly, how long it will take for the rats to feast on his flesh.

When the Emperor flicks his wrist again, the vestibule is empty, cold, and deathly quiet.

“Come on then, Carmine,” he says, not bothering to avoid the blood still staining the expensive carpet. “I have matters to attend to.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Thomas sheathes his sword and falls into step half a pace behind his Emperor.

Every breath he takes sits heavy in his lungs, yet it feels like a twisted sort of victory. He still draws breath, unlike so many others in this decomposing Empire.

Now all he has to do is keep breathing.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

kill them with kindness; dishonored;

title: Kill them with kindness fandom: dishonored description: gen; m rated; high chaos week submission, featuring High Chaos Corvo and a twisted take on his actions in the first game~ also on ao3 aha! almost forgot to post this lol. hope you enjoy! please mind the content!

The Outsider watches his brand new subject through the thin veneer of the Void. His black eyes curiously follow, his ever reaching presence listens. 

He hears them call Corvo Attano the kindest killer you'll ever meet. 

It comes through in subtle motions. The delicate hand that covers a victim's mouth, soothing whispers of embracing the Void before that elaborate blade drinks blood. He weeps for those he has slain, he says they are meant to die, and he spares them the waiting for the butcher's block at the inevitable trial. 

He kills quietly. 

A slip of poison in an inconspicuous glass of wine. A well placed dart, silencing any words that could come out of that bleeding throat. A tightly closed door and the scurrying of rat swarms, leaving nothing but crumbles of bones behind. 

He never kills the innocent. 

But what is innocence and who weighs it on a balancing scale of justice? 

Corvo takes it upon himself to be the bearer of a judgement. For who else could do it as efficiently, when the whole system has rotted, corrupted itself and threw itself into the roaring sea of blood, right after the Empress' corpse. 

Her voice is an accompaniment to all his deeds. Corvo does it for her, of course. She is his gentle companion, a guiding hand of vengeance. How else could he treat his victims after hearing his beloved’s voice, hung up in the Void for eternity. Jessamine has always been a fair ruler, and he would follow her footsteps meticulously. May her resolve be his now.

Another voice whispers to him now, too. Softer, stranger, colder. Enticing his ear and his heart with vague promises, sinful thoughts. To have them, the Abbey of the Everyman must die. Such luck that Corvo has never been a devout man.

He gives them the kindness of exaltation. A brand upon each of those faces, irredeemable. After all, it must be the greatest honour to follow their code to the tee. Restrict the lying tongue.

Without a sound the city of Dunwall cleanses. No cries, no begging, no screaming. Mercy is of a benevolent kind, and it comes in silence. Corvo doesn’t request politeness and doesn't expect their gratitude for the merciful killing. But their faces, splattered with blood, comfort him. In their final moments, they did not have to humiliate themselves on their knees, muttering that they did no harm, that they meant no pain.

That they are very sorry.

Those words he hears only once, from the friends turned foe. Those who stepped on his spine like a carrying bridge to the throne. With a hand so assured Corvo strangles the last of apologies, turning them to whispers, turning them to silence. Their remains he feeds in goodness to the ravenous hagfish in the clashing waves of the sea.

And what of Emily, the daughter, the child, the Empress?

Oh, what a marvellous role model he makes for her. Like father, like daughter, learning her lesson well of killing with kindness. Is it not what they often advise?

[kiwiwinjindouche]

I had this idea stuck in my head for the event and tried something!!

[overseermartin]

HIGH CHAOS WEEK 2022 | 25TH JULY - 31ST JULY

High Chaos Week returns! There hasn’t been a High Chaos Week event in a few years so let’s bring this back for Dishonored’s 10th anniversary year! If all goes well, maybe we’ll even sneak in a Low Chaos Week later on 👀

About: The purpose of this event is to create and share fanfics, fanmixes, artwork, meta, etc. that focuses around the High Chaos theme. This is also a great way to share headcanons, ideas, and concepts, to celebrate the darkest paths in the Dishonored franchise. The grislier the better! 

How To Participate: You can participate by creating: fanmixes, fanfiction, artwork, meta-analysis, GIFs, edits, and other creative mediums. If you want to create something for the High Chaos Week and you’re not sure if it fits, ask me!

How To Submit: Please post all of your work on your own blog and tag it as “high chaos week 2022″ during High Chaos Week (25th July to 31st July)! Remember to have it in one of your first five tags or else it won’t show up when you check out the High Chaos Week 2022 tag! If you’re posting to Ao3, remember to tag your fanfiction as High Chaos Week 2022. And of course, follow the High Chaos Week 2022 tag here on Tumblr!