Loosing his parents at an early age to one of the many plagues that runs their course in Kaer Maga, Justified grew up on the streets. But rather than the typical street urchin story, his story was more structured, if more violent. He learned to fight instead of steal and he learned young. He was picked up by one of the more martial gangs at the age of 5; almost adopted really as a mascot of the gang. They called him dog. His life was not too bad but at age 12 he did something to displease the gang leader (he still does not know what) and was sold into slavery to work cleaning the stalls of the pit fighters and gladiators. Maybe the gang just needed some coin.
As a slave he worked constantly and he grew and became strong. He became quick to avoid the whip and tough to survive the times he failed to avoid it. He knew how to fight before he became a slave, but with the pit fighters it became an every day occurrence. He was told to fight if he wanted to eat and learned to use his hands as weapons and to judge when an enemy was about to attack. He was never given anything; not food, not clothing, and not even a place to sleep without having someone trying to take it from him. He learned to fight. And when he came of age (16) he started to train as a gladiator.
This existence might have broken him if it were not for friendship. As he was accepted within the group of gladiators he made a few friends. Theopolis, an older fighter with a kind hard and a clean soul was the truest. It was the friendship of this scarred veteran that guided Justified’s conscience and framed his philosophy in life. Theopolis was the man who trained Justified on the use of martial weapons and always encouraged mercy when mercy was due, and a swift death when it was “justified”! This teaching “took” and eventually it resulted in Justified’s gladiatorial name when he was ready to fight in the pit the first time.
Justified won most fights and when he didn’t he did well enough to survive. He liked the feel of the sand in the pit under his feet. He liked to win. He liked the cheers of the crowd. And he liked the recognition from his master when he won. He was making money for his master and life was improving. Then, as fate would have it, he was matched with Theopolis. Always his superior, Theopolis bested him, knocking him out, and trying to save Justified some bruises, did so too quickly. The crowd was not pleased. The verdict for Justified’s poor showing was death. When Theopolis would not deliver a killing stroke he was ordered put down then and there for his disobedience and to appease the disappointed crowd.
When Justified was came to his friend and mentor was dead at the order of his master. The reality of slavery overcame him. Vowing that he would have both vengeance and freedom he made his plan and bided his time. After his next victory he was brought before his master, as was customary. But this time instead of accepting the token of victory on bended knee he struck. Before the guards could act Justified had killed his owner with his bare hands shouting “for Theopolis”. He tried to flee but was overcome by the guard. There was no trial. He was a slave after all. Prison is crewel. There are no cheering crowds and no victories.
