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Raised near a small dairy farm, his parents harvested hay for the dairy and provided manual labor in calving season.

Orion grew up on tales told around a flickering hearthfire of attack ships on fire off the shores of Orion's home, and sea beams glittering in the darkness at Tanhauser gate.

Oh but the swashbuckling and daring-do of fearless freebooters and merciless sky-privateers!

Over time it became apparent that his hands were much too cold to milk the cows; and then after he was caught one time too many, lurking high up in the tree limbs outside the farmer's daughter's window (warming his hands, one might say), it was made clear that Orion, now a lanky young man, had best seek his fortune on the road.

A sharp lad, he agreed, favoring his chances elsewhere over remaining here and watching the girl of his fancy swell up like a heifer.
 

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