I grew up in Parcines with my uncle. He owned a small tin shop in a small town at the bottom of the Blackroot mountains. He never spoke much about my parents (unless he was berating my father). All my uncle ever told me about them was that they were gypsies. They traveled around city to city, country to country, entertaining people. I don't where my mother was from. I must get my looks from her, after all how many tall blue-eyed Parcines do you see...
My uncle was funny. He never married and was a meticulous man. He often went on about how bad of a person my father was and how bad the Republic was. We didn't get much business in his shop. But the little we made was enough for us.
When I was around 16 we got in a fight. He was going off at my father as usually, and I got sick of it. I left the house and wandered the from town to town begging for the little food I needed. After a few nights I went back to my own town. I broke into my uncle's shop and grabbed the one tin gladius inside. I decided I would go to the one place my uncle told me never to go to - Iridine.