He was the second son of a tailor, but was reluctant in his trade. While his brother, Weaver, could make the most delicate of garments, Threader would grow weary of stiches, and in pricking his fingers, would throw the project aside. As the pile of unfinished projects grew large, his fathers temper grew short. He ordered his child to complete the pieces, lest he send him off to monastery. Threader worked long, and though he focused, his fingers would not cooperate, and as he poked and pricked, his anger grew. He grabbed up the shears and began to shred the unfinished clothing. Nothing but scrap remained. His father was furious, and set off the next day to speak with the Prior in taking on the boy to god. On the way to the Church, he breathed deep the smell of fresh bread. He stopped for a moment to make a small purchase, and noted the signage for able bakery workers. This was his chance to give the boy a trade, rather than send him away. He spoke with the head cook, and it was done. Threader was sent to join the cooks the very next day.
The bakery made luscious breads and pastries of all sort, but they were most renowned throughout Germany for their pretzel-making skills. Threader was put to heavy task in the kitchens, but was learning much. He enjoyed the pace and camaraderie, and most of all, the delectable results. He was certainly never hungry. His fellow cooks never hesitated to pass over the labor, though, and much he toiled in scrubbing and washing to be sure the kitchens were clean and ready for the early morning hours. Threader did whatever was asked, and gave all he could to ensure that the finest pretzels were served up. The cooks were much ado about the local royalty, who had taken quite a taste to their wonderful pretzels. Threader was so excited; for rumors spread that all the cooks would be publicly rewarded for their excellent work. This was a wonderful chance for Threader to prove to his father that he was finally a success. In reward for the efforts of the bakery, the royalty called for the cooks, but Threader was not named among them. In the end, they saw him only as a muck-worker, not a culinary artist as themselves. All were presented with the gilded knot but he, and his fellow cooks went off to the local tavern to celebrate. What was simple frustration gave way to rage. Furious with the politics that ruined the joys of breadmaking Threader set the kitchen alight with flame. "Let them eat cake, har har, or not!," he cried, running into the night.
The next day, the townsfolk came in want of their pretzels, and the bakery was in ruins. "Who could have done this!?" They yelled and shook their fists in anger. The cooks were enraged, and soon mounted a sizable mob. "Everyone home to get your pitchforks" they called, and the pretzel-craving masses went to seek revenge. Thus, to escape the approaching Bavarian Hordes, Threader left the country, changing his name to simply "Gregor" so that none would know him.
Now, Gregor channels his anger for the field, and lends his swordarm to his adoptive family, ArgentLupe. We slip him a pretzel every now and then to keep the rage in check.