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Edlin Socorro was an evil man who liked to be called Eddy because he thought it made him more approachable. Eddy was not a good man, but he was a genius. The sort of genius who struggled to get along with others, who found everyone around him to be dull and stupid. He didn't care about being an outcast; he hadn't since he was thirteen. He let his mousy brown hair grow long and stringy, didn't care when he started losing hair and didn't make an effort to hide it. His eyes would only look down when he walked, shouldering past women and children as if he were a bull they should all be wary of.
Eddy Socorro was a bad man with a good self-inflicted mission: to study the Blight that afflicted the woods near his village. Now and then, a wild animal would become ill, mushrooms sprouting from its eyes, and its fur would begin to turn into leaves. The forest always had to take one life every year, during the harvest solstice. One year, it had taken Eddy's mother when he was young and still cared about what was thought of him. Everyone knew it was the Blight. Everyone knew it wasn't Eddy's fault; he was just a boy, after all.
The baron did nothing, every year letting the forest get its way. The baron's men, bloody Bellamys, never offered any real protection, though they taxed like they did. They left Eddy alone, didn't care that a boy had to be on his own. They focused on enforcing the rules, burning the remains of those who had gone softly in the night, doling out punishments for late payments, and keeping outsiders away from the Burrow. Someone important was buried there, and the Baron protected that mound of rock, dirt, and grass better than anyone living.
Of course, Eddy knew something significant had to be in there, not a person put to rest. He thought the Blight came from there, something beneath the earth that gave way to the mushrooms that seemed to be on all the Blighted beasts. He had been collecting the mushrooms, studying them in his damp, dilapidated home. Testing them, growing them, and using them to create a paste to feed to mice and rats that he caught. When they mutated, it was easy to kill them. When they didn't, he gave them more until they did.
But rats and mice weren't like the wild boars filled with worms that came from the forest. They weren't like the decaying wolves without fur, or even the badgers that grew to be the size of a herding dog. Deep down, Eddy knew what he needed to do. He continued growing the mushrooms, hiding away. Villagers started checking in on him, complaining about the smell, thinking he was dead. Even the men hired to protect them came by once or twice, threatening him for payment. They took his skinny livestock, a mule and three chickens, and left him alone for a while.
He didn't care. Soon, he'd get inside that Burrow. Soon, he'd find the source of the Blight. Eddy thought it might be an old elven relic or maybe a chalice from the Deva Empire. Something with cursed magic, evil magic. He dreamed of it every night. He would walk down a dark hallway, collecting bugs on the floor, moths along the wall. He'd eat them until he turned into a beast so terrifying, he'd wake up in a cold sweat. He only went outside to collect water from the well, making sure to go early in the morning when the Bellamys were sleeping off their drink.
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Before the Harvest Solstice, Eddy made use of all the mushrooms. He turned it into the same fine paste with woodland herbs. At the witching hour, he snuck about, a bucket of glowing blue mush, and threw it all down the well. He then returned home, barricaded the door, and waited for three days and three nights. He heard the villagers turn into monsters, far worse than any of the animals, their blood saturated with it, red leaves crinkling in the cold breeze, breath heavy with agony. On the Harvest Solstice, he left, heading straight to the Burrow and getting the answers he needed. And there, oh, within that silent grave, did he find answers, alright.
"I really don't care for your sob story." Solitude said. "You killed everyone." Eddy looked shocked that she had interrupted him, that she gave him no sympathy. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at the maniac who paced back and forth, retelling the same story over and over again. This was about the tenth time she had heard it. Every time it was different. Sometimes it started with his mother beating him, other times he had no mother at all and was an orphan who the villagers beat for being too smart for them. Sometimes, Eddy even spoke about what he did to the little girl found cut up and experimented on, the strange Blight mushrooms, and the weird flowers growing out from her open ribcage. "You paid to be protected until this airship lands in Crorefell, that's all."
The Baron and the Bellamy patriarch wanted this man dead. Two bad men who wanted this bad man gone, but only after they taught him a long lesson. If Eddy hadn't found the Cosmo Ciborium of Creation in that burrow he kept talking about, he never would have convinced the Church to protect him from two people who had made contracts with them before. But Eddy had gotten to the Church first; his contract gave him an annuity from any assassin associated with it. Didn't mean that other assassins and sellswords couldn't be found elsewhere. Didn't mean that they weren't already here on this airship, waiting for the right time to strike. Didn't mean one of her own could be waiting for him in Crorefell, for him to take that first step onto Arshaken dirt.
"You don't believe me. You think I'm crazy." Eddy accused, saying each word with a different tone, spitting out every syllable like a musician learning the flute for the first time.
"No. I think you're a fucking monster." But she was bound by blood to protect him. Even as he charged at her, screaming like a wild animal with a raised fist. It felt good to stop him in his pursuit, having him stuck to his shadow, unable even to move a finger. She closed her pigeon-blood red eyes, remembering the monsters that crawled around the village. The airship met some turbulence, jostling Solitude. That was when she released Eddy, letting him fall on his side and roll into the wall. He groaned and cursed about breaking his neck. Solitude wished she had. "Stay in the fucking room." She got up, leaving the small living compartment, slamming the door shut behind her. She made sure to lock it, slipping the key back into one of her many hidden pockets.
Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest again. She brought one knee up until her leg made a ninety-degree angle, the sharp point of her knee contrasting with her slumping shoulders. The bottom of the boot shook along with the door. The stupid walls were thin. Solitude wanted to leave, to fail this mission and face the consequences. It felt worth it. But this would be her third failed mission in a row, and every assassin of the Caliginous Church knew what that meant. No, she couldn't throw this contract away, even if looking at Eddy Socerro made her want to beat him bloody.
Edlin Socorro was an evil man who liked to be called Eddy because he thought it made him more approachable. Eddy was not a good man, but he was a genius. The sort of genius who struggled to get along with others, who found everyone around him to be dull and stupid. He didn't care about being an outcast; he hadn't since he was thirteen. He let his mousy brown hair grow long and stringy, didn't care when he started losing hair and didn't make an effort to hide it. His eyes would only look down when he walked, shouldering past women and children as if he were a bull they should all be wary of.
Eddy Socorro was a bad man with a good self-inflicted mission: to study the Blight that afflicted the woods near his village. Now and then, a wild animal would become ill, mushrooms sprouting from its eyes, and its fur would begin to turn into leaves. The forest always had to take one life every year, during the harvest solstice. One year, it had taken Eddy's mother when he was young and still cared about what was thought of him. Everyone knew it was the Blight. Everyone knew it wasn't Eddy's fault; he was just a boy, after all.
The baron did nothing, every year letting the forest get its way. The baron's men, bloody Bellamys, never offered any real protection, though they taxed like they did. They left Eddy alone, didn't care that a boy had to be on his own. They focused on enforcing the rules, burning the remains of those who had gone softly in the night, doling out punishments for late payments, and keeping outsiders away from the Burrow. Someone important was buried there, and the Baron protected that mound of rock, dirt, and grass better than anyone living.
Of course, Eddy knew something significant had to be in there, not a person put to rest. He thought the Blight came from there, something beneath the earth that gave way to the mushrooms that seemed to be on all the Blighted beasts. He had been collecting the mushrooms, studying them in his damp, dilapidated home. Testing them, growing them, and using them to create a paste to feed to mice and rats that he caught. When they mutated, it was easy to kill them. When they didn't, he gave them more until they did.
But rats and mice weren't like the wild boars filled with worms that came from the forest. They weren't like the decaying wolves without fur, or even the badgers that grew to be the size of a herding dog. Deep down, Eddy knew what he needed to do. He continued growing the mushrooms, hiding away. Villagers started checking in on him, complaining about the smell, thinking he was dead. Even the men hired to protect them came by once or twice, threatening him for payment. They took his skinny livestock, a mule and three chickens, and left him alone for a while.
He didn't care. Soon, he'd get inside that Burrow. Soon, he'd find the source of the Blight. Eddy thought it might be an old elven relic or maybe a chalice from the Deva Empire. Something with cursed magic, evil magic. He dreamed of it every night. He would walk down a dark hallway, collecting bugs on the floor, moths along the wall. He'd eat them until he turned into a beast so terrifying, he'd wake up in a cold sweat. He only went outside to collect water from the well, making sure to go early in the morning when the Bellamys were sleeping off their drink.
View attachment 860
Before the Harvest Solstice, Eddy made use of all the mushrooms. He turned it into the same fine paste with woodland herbs. At the witching hour, he snuck about, a bucket of glowing blue mush, and threw it all down the well. He then returned home, barricaded the door, and waited for three days and three nights. He heard the villagers turn into monsters, far worse than any of the animals, their blood saturated with it, red leaves crinkling in the cold breeze, breath heavy with agony. On the Harvest Solstice, he left, heading straight to the Burrow and getting the answers he needed. And there, oh, within that silent grave, did he find answers, alright.
"I really don't care for your sob story." Solitude said. "You killed everyone." Eddy looked shocked that she had interrupted him, that she gave him no sympathy. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at the maniac who paced back and forth, retelling the same story over and over again. This was about the tenth time she had heard it. Every time it was different. Sometimes it started with his mother beating him, other times he had no mother at all and was an orphan who the villagers beat for being too smart for them. Sometimes, Eddy even spoke about what he did to the little girl found cut up and experimented on, the strange Blight mushrooms, and the weird flowers growing out from her open ribcage. "You paid to be protected until this airship lands in Crorefell, that's all."
The Baron and the Bellamy patriarch wanted this man dead. Two bad men who wanted this bad man gone, but only after they taught him a long lesson. If Eddy hadn't found the Cosmo Ciborium of Creation in that burrow he kept talking about, he never would have convinced the Church to protect him from two people who had made contracts with them before. But Eddy had gotten to the Church first; his contract gave him an annuity from any assassin associated with it. Didn't mean that other assassins and sellswords couldn't be found elsewhere. Didn't mean that they weren't already here on this airship, waiting for the right time to strike. Didn't mean one of her own could be waiting for him in Crorefell, for him to take that first step onto Arshaken dirt.
"You don't believe me. You think I'm crazy." Eddy accused, saying each word with a different tone, spitting out every syllable like a musician learning the flute for the first time.
"No. I think you're a fucking monster." But she was bound by blood to protect him. Even as he charged at her, screaming like a wild animal with a raised fist. It felt good to stop him in his pursuit, having him stuck to his shadow, unable even to move a finger. She closed her pigeon-blood red eyes, remembering the monsters that crawled around the village. The airship met some turbulence, jostling Solitude. That was when she released Eddy, letting him fall on his side and roll into the wall. He groaned and cursed about breaking his neck. Solitude wished she had. "Stay in the fucking room." She got up, leaving the small living compartment, slamming the door shut behind her. She made sure to lock it, slipping the key back into one of her many hidden pockets.
Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest again. She brought one knee up until her leg made a ninety-degree angle, the sharp point of her knee contrasting with her slumping shoulders. The bottom of the boot shook along with the door. The stupid walls were thin. Solitude wanted to leave, to fail this mission and face the consequences. It felt worth it. But this would be her third failed mission in a row, and every assassin of the Caliginous Church knew what that meant. No, she couldn't throw this contract away, even if looking at Eddy Socerro made her want to beat him bloody.
