Crisbin was born in Timaran to two half-elven parents who ran a very successful haberdashery. The worksmanship of their products wasn't the highest quality but somehow the two hat-makers were very adept sales- people. In the evenings while the parents made the next day's hats, they would exchange stories and sing songs. Crisbin would sit on the floor sewing random ribbons together and listen to their tales. The stories would tell of great heroes past who accomplished feats of courage and bravery. Crisbin's favorite was about the dwarf warrior Trogm who did not need to rely on a rare sword or shield to vanquish his foes. As Crisbin grew older, he began to invent stories himself. First about Trogm, then about his own future exploits.
A tall, lithe figure, Crisbin carries himself as if each step might be a punch line. His bright brown eyes reflect the light and shimmer with a quick wit. Two sparkling rows of white teeth flash mischievously behind a pair of thin pinkish lips. His hands are delicate, yet firm. When he speaks, the birds stop to listen.