Willy was a strange man. A man who had ticks and seemed to go in an out of lucidity. He relied on simple writing to communicate, as he had lost his tongue as a child. He had taken to fighting monsters and undead throughout the Obisidian Islands, as none would employ him in trade or labor. One day, while searching around the Chaos Temple, he found a strange altar that was on no map and had no indication of use for many years. There he found a mysterious book and a bottle of strange oil. Although none know what happened that day, Willy's actions drastically changed. No longer did he hunt monsters. He began to hunt in a different way.
The First Kill
Willy had traveled far. From the mainland of the Obsidian Islands, through the wasteland islands, and through the heart of Perdan he had journeyed in search of the monster. Many monsters had been felled by his battered short sword...but not the one who had taken his tongue. The monster that had been in every dream, every waking memory. The only clear memory he had, really. He couldn't remember his childhood in Perdan. He scarcely remembered his adolescence in the Obsidian Islands. Yet the memory of THAT day was clear and always present. The day he lost his mother, his tongue, and his mind.
His mother was having one of her worse days. Raving on about one of the men that had frequented her bed. This one she claimed was his father. Not the only one, but the one that made her most delusional. Even at the age of 10 he knew that a noble would never take him and his mother in. She was a mad whore and he was nothing more than a street urchin. Actually going to see this man she called his father only emphasized her madness. Her madness only emphasized little Willy's dread.
She dragged him to Eldoret. Quite far from the slums of Partora where they scraped by. Babbling and screeching about a handsome and noble man who had paid her promptly and said she was the finest women he had ever taken. A man she had seen only once but knew would remember her. He doubted any memory of his mother would be found in a noble, especially a decade old memory of a night with a whore. None of her other patrons (or fathers, as she liked to call them) remembered her, but he dared not say it. Her wrath could lay him up for weeks, and serious injury this far from there hovel could end up very bad for him. If this had been a journey with one of his orphan friends, or even by himself, he probably would have liked it. Yet it was when they reached the manor of House Dishman that he knew there could be no joy.
It had all happened so fast. His mother had cooed at the retainers patrolling the land. The head of the house, a man called Eoman, had been called out by the friendly servants. He strode out smelling of wine and harder spirits. When his mother had proclaimed that she was his wife and that this was their son, Willy hadn't been surprised to see him strike her. He hadn't even been surprised when his mother started cursing the noble. It had surprised him, though, when Eoman drew his sword and struck her down.
Splattered with his mothers blood, all Willy had been able to do was cry. His mother had been hard to deal with, but seeing her slain had broken him worse than she could have done herself. He picked up where his mothers tongue had left off, cursing the cruel noble like a sailor. Eoman beat him to the ground but couldn't stop him from cursing. Willy was sure he would die, but instead Eoman kneeled down and took out a dagger. Grabbing Willy's tongue, Eoman had cut it off in one drunken swipe. It was then that Willy had gathered enough sense (or shock) to run.
With the memory of that night, Willy hung in a tree outside the Dishman manor. Willy would take down a monster this night. The only monster that really mattered.
Once lights began to flicker out, Willy slunk down a creek towards the house. Quietly he waited each time he heard the near presence of a guard or retainer to pass. The patrols seemed pitiful. Distracted by monster hordes in neighboring regions, or short handed by their sons military pursuits, Willy had no clue. It was enough that the gods blessed madmen with good fortune for one night.
It was hard climbing to the master bedroom. Slow waits in the shadows when any noise was within earshot, as well as futile peeks into windows of servants quarters. It was when he reached the top floor, hanging by sharp edges of the masonry that Willy saw what he sought. Eoman, old and fat after the 10 years since Willy had seen him, was sleeping alone. Alone....the monster was alone!
Willy broke the latches on the window slowly. Eoman didn't even stir. Nor did he stir when Willy slinked across the floor, stood above his bed, and plunged his short sword into the hold mans chest. Eoman's eyes did open, shocked as a cut pig, but no breath could escape the pierced lung. It was when Willy removed the sword and proceeded to cut out Eoman's tongue that Eoman gurgled his last efforts.
His monster was dead. Willy would have laughed if the cold rage didn't still beat in his heart. Now all that was left was to flee. Flee before any other monsters caught whiff of him.
