Just like before, you keep it down to a light chatter when asked, "Where do you come from?"
You never, and I mean never tell it straight--too many details can slide in the soup of conversation. 
And who wants what happened  before what with the questions from sweaty faced clerics, and the  knights that back them.;
Who wants the taste of being back on the lam  in the rain with nothing but the storm to comfort you?

Not me. 

So I keep the details sparse. Oh, I once served Baron Rightly over the next county or two, and I did him right for five years 
Yes, I make a living hunting down the fell creatures of night with sword. That's right, I once trained with Sensei Yama right after 
service with Rightly, and it does account for my somewhat accented skill with the curved swords. What's that? No, I'm pale from birth;
see, nothing weird or unseemly there. It's just what I told you, now how about that ale? And when it comes to to the shadows of an inn,
and the drowsy faces studying cups of grog, I keep the candle to a tilt so to speak, and keep my eyes down because it's those peepers  
that can tell the true story of leaving time and time again when the jig was up in the middle of the night, just me, a light pack, and the steaming breath of my horse.

But I'd be lying if I said the soft canter of a night run by moonlight was not up my alley. You see so many heart beats out in the wild, so much pretension washed away with the honest notes of 
survival. Where do I live? Why where I can is the obvious question, so why hound me with what temple I pray at, or who my bosom companion is because 
everybody knows to keep it to a dull roar, proved as few dips into the past as possible, and never, never tell about the consuming hunger that 
gnaws every lunar cycle or so. They wont get that, and before long, it's back on the lam with this rattling tale of oblivion and nihilism.