Rarkun always knew he was different. When he walked out of his childhood nursery before the Dusk Hag entered and destroyed what little family he had; the Town Elder called him lucky. The first time his mentor brought him to their ancestral orchard and he was denied a spiritual guide; he was gifted in "other ways". When he packed up his meager belongings and moved to Arcanix with the caravan that came through he was "odd, but nice enough".

For what kind of aspiring Artifcer has a name like Ferntree after all? That was what the forge master told him, a grizzly man who Rarkun had sat down next to in a small pub outside of Arcanix. He had hopped off the caravan on a whim, feeling up for the relatively short walk the rest of the way their in the morning. The man was an old Artificer "tricksters of nature" the Town Elder had described them as. But he was kind enough and they shared stories through the night, the old man laughed at Rarkun's "moral sense", saying that everyone had one but few chose to listen to it. They drank through the night and started traveling together the next morning to Arcanix. It wasn't long down the path until Rarkun's "moral sense" had made him "lucky" and "sharp-witted" as the old Artificer put it. Standing over the shattered, twisted remains of the caravan and it's unfortunate passengers, Rarkun's "moral sense" told him that It didn't think either of those words were It's real name.