[The latest log entry]
Eighteen years on this wretched rock, in this city of filth. I’ve felt the blood of scholars, of noble pedophiles, of guildsmen, of unfaithful lovers, of politicians who were far too just for their own good, and of law enforcers who came too close to bringing the wrong man to justice. Why should an empress be any different? Why should I feel the entire weight of this dying city crushing down on my back?
Corvo, Lord Protector, is of Serkonos, just as I once was. I might have known that fact already, but it didn’t matter until I recognized it in his face. It brought back distant memories of home, and the optimistic young man I once was.
What would I find if I went back there? Would I find that it has rotted from the inside, just like Dunwall, or will it only appear that way because I’m the one who’s rotted?