My mother raised me, her and the street on which we lived. She sold her self on this street to feed us. If this was the profession that brought me into this world she has never said.

Despite her profession, chosen of desperation, she is a good women and a loving mother to me. From an early age I scrapped with the locals on the street who mocked me for my lack of a father.

I learned to defend myself and took to fighting to stay a float. As I grew I used this fighting skill and basic street knowledge to earn coin as a guard or thug for merchants or others on the street. I tried to take honest work based on the admonshiment of my mother.

The timing of my growth and earnings could not have been better, for, as my earnings grew, hers decreased. Her profession was not kind to her. Soon finding patrons became more difficult and the patrons more dangerous or dirty.

I began to take more serious and longer term guard duties alongside merchant caravans. I would wait by the gates to the city offering my services as a guide and guard to incoming merchants.

At times I would be away from my mother for a day or two as the merchant went about selling or buying and so concluded his business and paid me my fee.

This I would bring home to my mother to provide for us.

As time went on, I earned a reputation as an honest man with which a merchant may do business and more jobs came my way.

There came to be money in the house and my mother attempted to help to keep other young ladies in the city from the need to enter he past profession.

Ultimately this compassion for the plight of others would prove her undoing. That and my drive to earn more and so be away from her at her need. One of the young ladies, or perphaps a brother or handler, killed my mother and pillaged our house taking the savings that she had stashed there.

I came home to find her in a pool of blood, the house a shambles and all of value taken. It was clear from the foot prints that many had come and gone in my absense. Vultures come to pick the bones of a dead and broken home.

With the pay from my last job in that city I buried my mother in clean clothes outside it's walls. I dug her grace on the edges of the woods, beside a stream that flowed their. A clean grave within the mother earth.

I then waited outside the gate. A merchant knowing me took me in as a guard and I travelled with him abroad.

It was the other guard in his caravan that taught me the way of the blade. I had always used my wit and fists. Maybe a daggar.

I have taken up the use of a hand and a half sword, being large and strong enough to weild it well. I felt that weapon somehow belonged to me.. fated.

To this day I continue to help those I can in the memory of my mother. I strike to my own road and follow my will earning my keep as a guard or adventurer.