Ederin was always small. Standing at 5'4", the only time he's ever felt large was among the smaller races, even then, it was only a physical feeling. When you grow up in the Rotgut District the sense of insignificance is almost a birth right. It creeps into your bones, and stays there, an unwanted visitor, but also your only friend. He learned that bravado and swagger kept anyone from noticing, and that's the armor he built for him self as he grew up on the streets of Riddleport.
When his father died, shanked by a quickwife in the local brothel, Ederin's brother Stan took over the beatings. Stammer they called him, for his stutter, he'd learned early that bruisin' folks got him feared 'stead of laughed at. All good 'innit? Unless you're the little dog biter his mother died giving birth to. Then he just beats you cause that's all he's got left. Ederin still admired him in a way only little brothers could.
As they grew up, Stammer stayed rough, but he shared the wealth and some of his skills too. Father had been a hunter, went out into the wilds to bring food back, made his money selling to butchers. He taught Stammer, who used it to shoot rats and little dogs and do the same thing. Stammer taught Ederin, and together they learned how to shoot people.
It was simple work, an old cow named Jack would swing by their shack with a piece of paper had a name on it. The brothers would go out, rough the person up, and if need be, shoot them in the leg, or arm. Maim 'em, so they wouldn't soon forget that they owed money to the cities better men. By the time they got home there would be money in the usual spot. Stammer would get 95% and Ederin would go to sleep on the floor. Than one morning, Ederin woke up, and Stammer wasn't there any more. Pretty soon after came a knock at the door, that's when Ederin got his first kiss. Shard blade right the stomach.
Tis a favor I'm doing you. Old Jack said as he pulled the knife out. You're brother has run off with a handsome sum of my bosses money. Been workin' on the side see, didn't want you cuttin' in on his profits. Jack took the old blade and kissed him again for good measure, blood was pooling faster then Ederin had ever seen. But, see, the boss is fond of not losing his assets. So he's decided to give you a chance. If you can crawl to the edge of the block with them wounds in your belly, we'll have a proper job for you. Good luck kid.
Ederin made it. The healer waiting for him at the corner looked about as surprised as anyone else, but he healed the boy up and once Ederin was ready for work, he took him to an old house on the edge of Rotgut where Ederin met with Bibs. A scruffy look woman who was twice his size and built like a rock. Bibs sized him up and made him an offer, he'd be a hushman, a hired killer, working by Proxy for Clegg Zincher. Anyone who escaped the Arena was his quarry. For every confirmed kill he'd get paid, for anyone that got away and stayed away for too long he'd owe money.
The job was easy. Men didn't escape the Arena very often, and when they did it was always the scummiest of them. Killers, rapers, unsavory folk. Ederin didn't mind removing Riddleport of the worst of his kind, but sometimes the kindest people got sent to the arena when they couldn't pay their dues. Somewhere along the line Ederins conscious finally developed, and using the skills his bastard brother had taught him, he started helping those rare folks escape. Of course, that meant owing Zincher money, which meant he'd eventually be one of them men in the arena, but that was a long way off. At least he hoped so.
