I've lived all my life in the streets of Iridine. I once had a family. Once. I was born into a harsh world, I was. My father was a ex-legionnaire who was often drunk, my brother was a poor trader, and my mother sold vegetables to poor citizens. My father always believed though, that a son should have a weapon as soon as he could handle it. So on my sixteenth birthday, I was astonished to find, wrapped in parchment, a tin gladius. Engraved upon it, were the words, "Honor prevails over death aand treachery." My father didn't live much longer after that. He was attacked one night in the alleys as he staggered home from Septima's, full of posca and ale. Several thugs jumped him, robbed him, and then stabbed him to death. My mother died from a disease and my brother was killed by bandits as he was walking in the forest. I was orphaned at eighteen and I set off into the city. I am a man of little feeling. I trade and broker deals now and I always feel pain, not just emotional pain, but physical was well. My hand was smashed by a Cinner durin the assualt and I still carry memories of the family I once had. They are there in my heart, locked there forever.

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