Opulence was born to nobodies of no particular status. His parentage is not even well known. Surrendered to the orphanage before he could even open his eyes, he learned quickly to be self sufficient once he became old enough to reason and care for himself. He was like many of the other children in the Underhaven, save for this one aspect of his life. His parents were likely alive and well, he knew this, but he did not care to find out who they were. It did not matter to him. The name they gave him, dead to him. It was no secret, but it was no longer his.

In his youth, he would listen to the stories of Windsor, stories of rich men who started from little to nothing were that of his favorite. Tales of gangs, of thugs that would somehow benefit their community inspired him. From this, he gave himself a new name. A new identity for him. Opulence Vashtova.

He took an apprenticeship at the local butcher's in his young adult life, looking for a means to spend his time, develop skills, and make some coin. In his spare time, he would spend his coin at the Big Top, to watch the acrobats and performers. Something about their daringness and sheer athleticism drew him to them. This is where he met Marcus Might, and through several shows that he had watched, he managed to form a loose connection with him, finding him after the shows often to speak, or simply shoot the breeze.

Over the course of some years, after Windsor's passing, Opulence would try to carve a place in this world for himself. With a few friends and loose contacts, he created a small gang known as the "Vashtova Family". Their operations included smuggling, illicit goods, and the common rackets. He quarreled with the other groups relatively harmlessly until one fateful encounter.

He returned to his little base of operations. A small brewery long abandoned by its previous owner. Inside, he found an eerie silence, and none of the yammering of his friends. Shortly, he discovered something grisly, the bodies of those within his gang, those he started it with, left for him. A competitor no doubt, that which he may never know whom, had decided to raise the stakes.

This night had changed him forever, he never witnessed anything so brutal, or cruel, he never anticipated things would come to this. He, however, did not back down, or grow disheartened. He took their deaths as a lesson, and sought to prepare himself.

He went to the pits then to fight, and loose his anger into someone willing. He was not much of a scrapper, not at first, but over time he grew quicker and wiser, and soon found himself winning more often than not. He made his coin there, and became a man amidst strikes, dust, and the dirt of the ring.