Past Honor

Even here the Outsider watched.

The Place Seemed Forgotten

Gerald River glanced at the house once more. The weary siege of a long forgotten shrine to the Outsider had dragged on for months. He sighed and sat down. He wondered if he served the Abbey of the Everyman, the Church he was supposed to be serving, or if he was serving more Hadrian Whitcombe. He wondered which servitor served the people of Dunwall more. If either. 

Gerard scowled, as he almost always did, as he thought about such topics. It made him look angry, almost ugly. A reverse of the beautiful care he put into thinking philosophically. Not that he ever came to any answers, more as he built gothic cathedrals of morality in his mind. Twisting and being added to. Flying buttresses and ornamental spires with no real care for the functionality of the argument he was building for himself.

"You're thinking again Gerard – there are some Overseers who would consider that a poor attribute of yours."

"Overseer Whitcombe." Gerard stood and provided what was expected of him. A firm salute and a slight bow.

"Sit River, what were you thinking of?"

"This siege."

Whitcombe nodded softly. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"I can't say I understand what's happening here."

Whitcombe nodded softly. Again. "Would you like to?"

"Yes."

Whitcombe laughed softly, "most of our soldiers would have said no. Knowing makes the heresy real, makes us make a choice. Blind all we do is follow the voice telling us where to go. Given any amount of sight... and you must make that choice to take each next step."

"If you didn't want to tell me why ask." Gerard said gruffly.

"Have you ever heard of being polite River?"

"I have."

Overseer Whitcombe looked back, for a moment he looked stunned. Then he chuckled softly. That soft nod. "You know..."

"I most likely already know or do not need to know what tangent you will provide. I'd beg you provide the answer you offered."

Whitcombe nodded, not as softly now. Less careful. "Correct again River. We're holed up here because that cult. The bodies in there, they were a cult known as the Restorers. They sought a way to open the void in people. Sending the plague there without destroying the body afflicted. Whoever killed them...could not have killed them all. Someone will come back. They have to."

"Why? It's a graveyard."

"Never visited your father's grave eh, River?"

"No. And if I did, I doubt he'd provide me a cure for the plague."

"Fair... yet, the dead man at the base of the shrine was Dunwall's best physician. He had a daughter. His notes were not found. She must have them. She will come back. We will find her. We will get those notes – and then..."

"Finish his work?"

"Yes."

"Even though it is heresy of the highest degree?"

Whitcombe looked off at the sick city he had been born in, and grew up in.

"The abbey did not allow this, did they?"

"They did not ask my goals. Even they too enjoy being blind."

"What if this daughter doesn't have those notes, or doesn't come, or is already dead? A million things could have gone wrong. Rats could have eaten the notes."