Edgar grew up in the alleys of Morthaven, begging for every scrap of food he could get. Most of it went toward feeding his gang(a few more mouths to split the food between, but it was worth it for the help), though there were a few outsiders who had earned Edgar's favor. The most notable of these was an old man, hunch-backed with half his face burned, a single milk-white eye stuck wide open in the crater of melted flesh that used to be his eye-socket. Tezzik was a wise man, and quite useful for a cripple. Useful for anyone, really. It was Tezzik that taught Edgar how to cut purses without getting hung, but that was just the start. Despite his hunched back and the cane he used to walk, the old man had once been a dexterous fighter, and as the days went by he passed this knowledge down to Edgar as payment for all the times he shared his food.

It was inevitable that the old man would one day pass. Edgar knew that, though that didn't dull the pain. He would never forget the old man's final words to him, though. "Don't let yourself die without letting the world know who you are. There is no worse fate than to be forgotten."

Tezzik had lived all his life in the shadows, robbing and killing and narrowly escaping the law, staying anonymous as best he could. He never had a family, or any close friends.

In the end, Edgar was the only person to carry his legacy. After learning to fight for years, it was only natural that he would end up in Morthaven's fighting pits, where he earned a name for himself. He was good, but not good enough to challenge the champion. Not even close. So, he made his way south, looking for opportunities to hone his skills, preparing for the day he would return home and make himself a legend.