A notorious drunkard, a reliable bodyguard, a good friend, and the worst person to ask to pay back his tab. Ricoh spent many years spoiled by the comforts of the drink, funded by the profits his father made selling spoils of war. When his father passed, the money dried up, but Ricoh spent what was left keeping his throat lubricated, drowning his sorrows in drink and brawls.

Sensing a lack of direction in the young Ricoh's life, the bartender of his local haunt (a close friend of his father) slapped the drink out of his hands and decided it was necessary to give Ricoh some direction and discipline. She enrolled him into her fighting schola and honed his rough pub brawler skills into martial prowess. But old habits are stubborn drunks, and Ricoh joined them at the table. His mentor kicked him out of the bar and the schola, chastising him for squandering his pedigree and potential.

Ricoh found himself transient, and offering his services to whoever was in need of a body to throw into the deadly fray; it was a least, some sort of direction.