Balbeen grew up lower middle class in the settlement of Fahkr Oasis. Ever since he could remember the farfolk has been fending for himself, whether finding snacks or even tutelage; nothing in life was ever handed to him. His parents worked tirelessly to keep the family afloat - constantly working. With such little time for him and his sister, Abara, the two eventually found themselves doing more and more rampant activities together, initially starting with graffiti to moving onto more advanced techniques like petty theft. as the two got older they naturally drifted apart, Abara did her thing as a tailor and Balbeen joined a traveling caravan to get away from the life that was so desperately trying to escape. During this time Balbeen hauled exotic goods and materials from town to town, settlement to settlement, accompanied by his posse. The farfolk did that for about 6 years or so before 'hanging up his garbs' after bandits nearly left him scarred for life. From there the man used the coinage that he had been saving up to open his own smithy. Balbeen was less-than preferred as his shaping was rudimentary and his cooling subpar. After almost a year of doing that, finances caught up to him; it appeared the smithy was more expensive to keep open than to close. From there the descent of Balbeen was just beginning. The man, now almost poor, resorted to wrestling and fighting in arenas to scrape by. Of course, the man never one because of his small stature (5'7, 136lbs). Now starting his mental descent the farfolk resorted to hookah and any other drugs he could get his hands on to ease his pain. For the most part, those years were long-forgotten, a drunken haze and a few faint memories. Eventually, the man was taken pity on, offered a job, and housing. But, the man had to work all of it off - the only catch, he had to become sober. Balbeen eventually did become abstemious from substances of any kind, not even nearing alcohol. His story picks up shortly after his boss, Grengor perished due to heart failure - now with the odds stacked against him, the jobless farfolk has to see what's next in his life.
*Stepping off of the boat's hull, Balbeen, a traveling farfolk could be seen taking a deep breath, seemingly taking in the scenery.* [!] The port reeked of fish, booze, and smoke, seemingly coming from inside the city's walls. *Balbeen walked forwards towards the marketplace, the man wanted to admire this new city which he should now call home for the next foreseeable future. [!] Walking forward as to venturing towards the marketplace, A rather well-off gentlemen steps in front of the farfolk, cutting him off. "Welcome!" The man said, shooting Balbeen a smile. taking a breath he continued, "What brings you to this lovely city? Adventure? Wealth? Or some grand aspirations to elevate your place in society?”. *Taken aback slightly, the farfolk looked the man up and downed, and thought about his rather rude mannerism and lack of social space. "I'm here to make some coin, and if eih' make some friends along de way then great." [!] Pausing a second, the man finally spoke once more. "I can help with that stranger, I run the local tavern, 'The Scheming Elf' *Balbeen paused a second before speaking, seemingly trying to think of the right things to say. "That's a strange name." [!] The well-dressed gentleman addressed Balbeen "Speaking of names I'm Patrick, Patrick Eroine." "Its a pleasure to meet you, Patrick. De' names Balbeen." "Nice to meet yew as well, now let me show you around." [!] The two men ventured forward into the city, a sense of wonder filled the air.
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