[Backstory, OOC unless told IC]
Vent was the son of a farmer whom lacked a green thumb. Childeren bore by his mother before him lay on the far side of the acreage, below tombstones that were set at an angle- a symptom of his father's lack of detail, and patience. He felt lucky enough to make it this far, a ripe pre-pubescent boy. When the local noble came making his rounds, as some do every decade or so- the catastrophy had been noted, and Vent was whisked away to become a guard, defender of the people. Other more talented farmers had also been charged with teaching that old fool a thing or two about moving a rake.
Eventually, Vent became a wandering vagrant, sick and tired of his mediocore town, and so he retired from the guard in his late twenties, and went on his way.
[IC observations you may make]
You see a particularly stout young fellow before you. His dress is usually nothing short of bland, but it looks to keep him warm. His facial features do not provoke lust nor disgust. He looks quite healthy, though.