[Excerpt from a pamphlet, published in response to the plague]
Dunwall, the seat of power in the known civilized world, the Empire of the Isles. It is our great capital. And it has been brought low by vermin. The very thought galls.
We are faced with the reality that our once great city is in a state of shambles, and the few remaining domiciles in any habitable condition are the estates of those wealthy enough to ward themselves against that reality. A city cannot continue to thrive, populated by only the upper classes and their cloistered sycophants.
Even if the plague were gone tomorrow, in its present state Dunwall doesn't have enough hardy people of working age to return the city to everyday function. We must find a way to attract more residents, which requires removing the cloud of fear brought about by the current regime. The Lord Regent and his lackeys are bad for business, my friends.
So it falls on us - a plague and a tyrant must be overcome. And after that we must undertake a third miracle, turning the screws on the obscenely wealthy, forcing them to pay back into the place that has given them their privileged lives; it is the powerful and fortunate who must pay for the rebuilding of Dunwall, even if the poorest will bear the stones and timbers of reconstruction on their backs.
All this must happen for the dormant machine of commerce to restart. Without that, we are all forfeit, and the greatest city of our age will be lost.