Dishonored Review (PlayStation 3)

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Under the murk of a veiled moon, I slipped through the gloom of Dunwall city and darted into a back alley. I made quick work of the pipes and ledges that lead me to the top of a factory billowing thick, black smoke from its spires. After rapidly Blinking from the clattering rooftop to a crooked sign to an overworked lamppost, before leaping up to a balcony and sidling up to a grand windowed doorway, I spotted my target through the spotless glass: A vulgar oaf of a man, lurching about in his room. A feared man, but not respected.

I silently pushed the door open and crept into the bright, kitschly decorated boudoir, blade clutched and ready in my right hand, ready to conjure up some magical mischief with my left. The boor had a female companion, a kind-hearted girl forced into unfortunate circumstances, but she was of no consequence: I was hunting a monster.

Dishonored Screenshot 9

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