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Veral was born and raised in Spain, with his mother and 3 other children. They were a poor family, who's way of money was theft and prostitution. At an early age Veral's mother had grown world weary and would not leave the house, so Veral took in upon himself to raise him, his mother and his 3 siblings. When he wasn't cleaning the house, or doing some odd job or another he was out practising fencing and arts of stealth and grace, to better his pickpocketing skills. Though he was a rogue of sorts, he admired the knights of England who would patrol the streets oh his small village. Though most were cruel and took woman as they would, there were a select few whom stood testament to the knightly oath and code they swore to uphold.
After 16 years Veral's mother had passed away, leaving him with a small gift with her passing. A pair of white gloves that once belonged to his father, a world renown Matador. Veral broke down, and became angry. Confused. What would he do now? The kids? His siblings? What of them? He spent days working to give them a future, and when all hope was lost a wandering nun had taken them, so long as he promised that he would come back.
Veral fell into a deep depression, unsure of what to do. What his purpose was. He was arrested several times for fighting and theft. In his prison he wept, falling to his knees he cried out to the sky " Why!? Why me!!? What's is the purpose of your sick games??" and as if the Gods answering a man with fine silks and a silver armor set opened his cell.
((More later))