Emrys was born to a retired swordsman and a typical housewife on a farm in the middle of nowhere, and thus was never around many people aside from his parents. Though his home life was far from ideal he always managed to keep an optimistic outlook on life the best he could; when he was born his mother very nearly died from the lack of medical assistance, and had seemed to hold a strong resentment to her son due to it. His father tried to quell any quarrels between the young boy and the woman who had rejected him time and time again, but it appeared the relationship would never be mended. The frustration that this awakened in the young Emrys was immense and he began to lash out more and more, as if a rage had begun to overtake him.

Unsure of what else to do his father attempted to tame the rage in his son by giving him an outlet; swordplay. Every day after the farm work was completed the boy and his father would train for hours on end, although he was only ever able to teach his son the basics due to the injury that forced him to retire to begin with. It worked, though, and whenever Emrys felt frustrated he would take to practicing with the wooden blade his father made for him. It wasn't until his early teens that the incredible rage he always had within him showed it's ugly face again. Emrys was practicing behind the barn when he heard shouting from the family home; it wasn't uncommon as his mother's mental health had been steadily going downhill and she had even claimed to see things that weren't there. It wasn't until his father shouted back that he was alarmed; his father had the patience of a saint and had never raised his voice to either of them no matter how frustrated they made him.

After making his way in he was quickly overtaken by the stench of blood; although at the time he wasn't sure what it was. Turning into the kitchen his mother stood over his father's still body on the floor that was covered in the thick red liquid. She was mumbling to herself, barely making sense but the knife that was in her hand spoke all the words Emrys needed to understand what had happened. He gripped the practice blade tightly until his knuckles paled and his fingers cracked from the pressure, that familiar rage from his childhood rearing it's ugly head in a whole new way that he had never felt; and all he could see was red. When he calmed the house was practically torn apart, family photos cracked or torn apart on the floor, the furniture overturned and broken, and his mothers bloody body beside his fathers, bludgeoned to death with the practice sword he'd been using. That was the first time Emrys was ever fully alone, and due to the circumstances he convinced himself that being alone was what was best for him.

He began his travels shortly after this, and was eventually taken in by one of his father's old friends once he explained what happened. This man was still an active swordsman and helped Emrys continue to hone his skills so he could make a life for himself. By the time he was seventeen he left the care of the old swordsman, who gave him supplies and some starting money for his journey. The man had taught him ways to contain his anger for when he couldn't vent it, proper swordsmanship with a true blade, and even how to talk and deal with the many variants of people he would meet along the road. He had actually become quite suave and silver-tongued due to the old man's ways, but he knew it would be useful anyway. Thankfully he'd been given a blade and some daggers to take with him which he couldn't think of how to thank the old swordsman, who had shooed him off before he could.

However this doesn't mean his rage ever truly left, just that he was more capable of controlling it. There has been many times where his anger has come through again, resulting in massacred villages or similar, but they're fewer and less likely than they once were. He had developed into a fine young man who's reputation precedes him as a sword for hire or a hunter for those who can't and he's made many friends and acquaintances along the way-- however he has always traveled alone, until the year he turned twenty six. On that year he met a very unlikely group of people who changed his life completely . . .