[From a street pamphlet containing a sensationalized sighting of the assassin Daud]
Gentle reader, be assured that your coin is well spent today. What you read here may one day preserve your life, and your sanity. No one has seen the Knife of Dunwall and lived to tell of it. Until now.
[The sun was setting, a bloody stain against the sky, silhouetting the charred ribcage of the slaughterhouse. The stench of burned meat - the flesh of men and whales - soured the air. Daud erupted from the ashes and timbers, his body wreathed in flame and rent with injuries that no mortal man could have survived.] [The sun was setting, a bloody stain against the sky, silhouetting the noble contours of Rothwild's Slaughterhouse. The stench of blood - the flesh of men and whales - soured the air. Daud slithered from the sewers, his body slick with gore and crawling with vermin that no mortal man could have tolerated.] His shadow stretched out before him on the ground, and it revealed his true nature - a horned thing warped by heresy. A shape too terrible to put into words, my gentle readers. A sorcerer from the Void, without question. I could hear the moans of the dying workers he left in his wake, but he did not even pause to acknowledge their plight, for his heart is colder than Tyvian ice.
Instead, he let out a guttural howl of victory, the shock of which snuffed out the life of those poor dying workers, and then he bounded away, moving from roof to roof back toward the streets. And this was where I thought this chapter would end until I heard the music. The grinding metal music of the Overseers echoed from the nearby alleyways, and I knew there would soon be a fight. With only my sense of duty to the fallen citizens of Dunwall to keep my fear from overtaking me, I inched closer to the mouth of the alley for a better vantage.
A brave contingent of Overseers had captured one of Daud's lieutenants lurking in the alley. He or she - for I could not tell beneath the thick leather of the industrial whaler suit - was prone and tied with sturdy ropes, surrounded (by) Overseers. But their fixation was ultimately their undoing.
Daud fell from above, moving through the air as easily as a falcon, I swear it upon my spirit. Without sound, he glided down among them, and the music maker was the first to die as Daud tore the man's head from his shoulders. The wretched song faded in a discordant wail. Then I watched as the most notorious assassin of our time became a flurry of leather, metal and blood, deflecting bullets and sword blades with ease. The last Overseer, no doubt consumed with terror at seeing his brothers fall so easily, sank to his knees and begged for mercy. Daud spoke a single word that made my entrails squirm in my belly upon hearing it. The Overseer shrieked like a madman until his mask split in two, as though struck by some hammer and chisel, and a stream of blood gushed forth from the crack, bathing Daud's boots.
I closed my eyes at that point, too overwhelmed to witness any further atrocity. I could only hope that if that foul heretic discovered me next, my life would end swiftly. But when I opened my eyes, Daud was nowhere to be seen. That was the last I ever saw of the Knife of Dunwall.
So, heed my warning gentle reader. Should you or anyone you love witness some misshapen shadow fall across your path, or should you hear the slightest rumor of dark words whispered from rooftops, then flee. Flee with all haste.