Pascal hadn't always been an orphan, no... Just six years ago he had a loving mother with a small but warm home.
However all good things must come to an end. On his fifth birthday his mother had succumbed to the plague. He still remembered her soft pale skin as she lay sickly upon her bed. The last trickle of the golden sun's rays creeping into the small window of their small home. Her pale skin basking in the sun's warm glow, her eyes still full of life and as bright as the sky. Those were Pascal's last memory of his mother as those blue eyes of hers were closed for an eternity.
The funeral was short, and sweet. No words of comfort were spoken, neither was there family to take the young broken boy in. Nothing but words of strangers who never visited his dying mother but yet so calmly speaking of words of comfort.
Hypocrites all.
Pascal learnt of the world at this time, from a small comfortable home in Hilvers Poor district he had become an orphan out on the streets. Not the nice ones too. From being poor to having nothing, he had had to move to the dark seedy underside of Hilvers also known as Gastra Hallow, a meeting ground of beggars, street urchins, murderers, thieves, and much much worse.
Surprisingly though, the hard gruelling life of being a beggar to learning how to speak, walk, fight and steal came naturally to young Pascal. On the seventh winter of the young man's life he had earned accolades from very important people of Gastra Hallow.
He gained a following of young thieves and street urchins who worked as his eyes and ears. And finally on his tenth birthday he gained the respect of the most important man of the Hallows gaining the title of, Guttersnipe.