_Nahiro_

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

((How do you respond?))

I scuff at her gesture, mimicking typical high elven pride, living among humans for most my life has left few, if any of elven customs in me, I face the crooked hag down with disdain.* "Spare me the pleasantries, I did not come here to chat with withered trees. Do you have the herb or not?" I try to remain calm but the shift in her gaze tests my resolve. Her warm greeting and friendly smile suddenly turns into a cold dead look, she turns away and grabs a pouch, sighs and tosses it to me. "I did give a promise. You High Elves are all the same." She gestures at the tent entrance. I catch the herb pouch and leave the tent. "At last." I mumble, as I distance myself further and further from the gloomy place.
My parents were pure Mali'thill, but for some unexplainable reason I was born with violet hair. Father blamed mother for having an affair and chased her off along with her "un-pure bastard". Mother knew we will not be welcome in the Silver Citadel anymore. Father made sure of that as he chased us away. So she decided to live among humans, for whom I´d be nothing but a slight oddity. We were lucky enough to get job with a traveling merchant. He needed a few extra pairs of hands to manage his growing business. All seemed well, until my mother fell ill. She was quite young for an Elf, so her illness came out of nowhere. Merchant tried bringing her to a few doctors, but none were the wiser. By sheer chance a human mage noticed her condition and suggested we seek out an old "witch". She might know where the problem lies. As we were ready to embark on the journey, with merchants blessing. Mothers condition worsened. Pressed on time I went asking around until I managed to meet the hags "apprentice" for the first time. He needed some odd jobs done around the place. And promised to get me a herb that should help. Now after a few days. I finally met with the "witch". "I hope mother is alright." I said to myself before, traveling back home.
As I got closer to our camp, I noticed a gloomy mood has set-in. "It can´t be." I gasped and ran towards our tent. Sure enough, old merchant only put his hand on my shoulder. "You were too late boy." He looked towards the ground and walked away. I trembled as I moved into the tent. Mother lying in her bed with a peaceful expression. I could not hold my tears in. The only one dear to me gone. I was too late. It was my fault. No, it was fathers fault. If only he trusted his own wife. Consumed by the pain I sat motionless over my mothers body. As my rage towards father boiled within I noticed a slight pulling from somewhere as if within. Something wanted to come out. "This is Unfair!" I shouted so loud that, strong wind gusts blew the tent cover apart as that "something within" was released. 
Without mother alive I had no reason to stay. I decided to buy a grave for her from a portion of our earnings in local church, I collected remaining pay from old merchant, and embarked on a new journey.
My destination? Unknown. My goal? Simple, to step on my fathers neck and make him feel half of our suffering. If I have to practice with sword for a hundred years, learn the darkest of magic, or spend decades learning the art of Animatii. I will get father to say sorry in front of mothers grave.

(I think my hair colour mutation could be because of a strong connection to void plane, "rare" magic talent that still needs hard work to shine trough, and yes I will want to get my hands on magic use permit if I am admitted in. I can even adjust some parts of backstory if they don´t fit in properly)