Riel's upbringing was practically nailed into isolation. Staying true to the traditional structure of submerged living, his family took to shelter within the caves, far from any traces of life, a cave system carved for them, them alone, not a neighbor, not another soul, it was maddening really. Making due day-by-day with whatever resources they had at their disposal. Heading out onto the surface to forage for food was not all that uncommon, truthfully it was something Riel took particular liking to. The lush warm rays of the sun were always a blessing to him, pity that his family chose to live out their life within darkened caverns where even light became scarce. The traditional foundations of the Dark Elves were practically hammered into his mind, from the wide history to the numerous taboos his parents would often remind him of. Staying true to tradition, the martial arts had been rigorously taught to him by his father despite his apparent dislike towards combative teachings. Not once had he wasted a moment to make his dislike audible, not that it mattered in the end, like it or hate it he had to continue down the path his parents had carved out for him. He made his aspiration towards the arts known, several times in fact, though his parents viewed it as useless, completely disregarding his wishes, in exchange for a traditionalist lifestyle, focusing on the martial arts alongside basic menial knowledge, enough to survive within the wilderness. His love for literature was tossed aside. Truly, there was no escape to the arduous lifestyle that was laid ahead of him. Well, there was one way. The clock struck midnight as came his eighteenth birthday. Bearing nothing more than scarce resources, a book, and the clothes on his back, he set off. Adopting a nomadic lifestyle, Riel took to wandering the lands. Having abandoned his previous life, he now threads the grounds, recording the stories of people he encounters, hoping to one day tell their tale as a poet of noteworthy reputation.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
Worn boots dragged themselves across the flooring of the shack leaving behind muddied prints. His attention was occupied by the subtle candlelight for a flicker of a moment before shifting over towards the individual. A brief pause caught in the dead of his step as he flicked his gaze up and down the hag allowing his lips to thin into a straight line before picking his pace back up "Already coming with the heavy questions . . ." An exhausted sigh slipped past his lips as he dragged the chair back allowing himself some room to take a seat. His right arm slouched lazily over the back of the chair as he leaned his weight into the backing. "Where i come from is of little concern to you." His tone carried a bitter undertone marking the question as one he was unwilling to answer. "A nomad, a wanderer, call me what you will." His right hand moved up offering a dismissive wave as his gaze ran astray across the dimly lit wooden walls. "I carry no home and no true place of origin. I travel the roads i find fit and find shelter when its needed. I've yet to find a place that truly strikes me as worthy. Does that answer your question?" His gaze shifted back onto the person, head tilting lightly to the side almost as if truly questioning the hag, although his tone told contradictory tales indicating the fact that he was not willing to expand further on the topic. A bitter silence came to linger upon the two before being abruptly broken by Riel as he spoke up once more. "I am trying to wander more. I am trying to breathe more, to love my lostness. I wander to find myself, to find people and to one day tell their tale as a notable poet. No two people share the same tale and no two literary works will ever be the same. Through literature i leave my mark upon this world. I hope that answer was fulfilling enough for your second question." His arms came to a cross over her chest as he replied, gaze coming to a narrow settle upon the individual. Despite his shallow nature she was still willing to open up about his aspirations. Not that it was worth hiding, he took pride in his wishes and he made that evident.
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