Rhistel Perynore is the bastard son of a High-Elven social pariah and a Heartlander mother, who before his conception was a wench at a tavern in Providence.
The story goes that his birth father was exiled from Lareh'thilln for engaging in too much polite conversation with the lesser races. Although by "polite conversation" one might actually say he had formed a small gathering of like minded individuals who happened to meet every once in a while upon his bed. For polite conversation, of course. Naturally these indiscretions with impure blooded resulted in a prompt disowning by his relatives and a no-expenses paid relocation from the city grounds with the Citadel to his back.
The man had become something of a vagabond, one that refused to set up roots anywhere in particular. This did of course lead to his momentary stop in Providence, where his beaming charm (as much as a staunch Mali'aheral flirt can have) resulted in an ill-advised one night stand with his mother, Samantha Perynore, who was a simple but endearing commoner (and a bit of a looker herself).
After a night of conversation, both genuine and implied, she awoke to an empty bed and a missing suitor. Although she was left a parting present.
It took nine months for the consequences of that night to be officially given a name. Rhistel's life was simple growing up as an only child. As the Tavern belonged to a family friend he ended up helping to tend to the services, to alleviate his mothers burden. During his early years he found great pleasure in entertaining guests at the tavern, however successful the attempt might have been. Anything would beat the callous cleaning and mopping he was forced into on a nightly basis. As his passion for attention grew, so too did his boldness.
When one night he stumbled upon a glowing spec in the night, he attempted a jesting rhyme towards it. No offence was truly meant, after all it was but a firefly. But he had material to try and a mocking joke was seemingly a popular contrivance. Little did he know that creature was in fact a Sprite, one that had a vicious temper. Having apparently wounding it with his puerile mocking of its 'glowing butt' it had decided to retaliate by picking up a blade of grass and somehow managing to stab him in the thigh with it, causing him to yelp in fright.
This pleased it greatly, apparently. Because it stuck around.
Gradually over time this little creatures pranks grew more mean spirited and less inconspicuous. Dishes dropped off the counter. Venom blended into tavern meals. Fires erupting in the dead of night with evidence to blame left in his room. Rhistel had gained a reputation for being bad luck, if not outright malicious. Even still, he maintained his innocence with questionable effectiveness. He must have killed that Sprite at least a dozen opportune times over the years, but it always seemed to return. Albeit, always looking and acting a bit different.
With each quiet respite came a focus on his personal growth, however fleeting that might have been. Most of what he learned was taught to him by those around him, or self-studied. That is to say if it did not interest him then he does not know it, as he lacked a formal education. Of single mind, Rhistel decided it was his destiny to become famous. Surrounded by the Holy Orenian Empire's culture and lacking any stable elven influences, Rhistel developed into a very unserious half high-elf who is known to shirk his duties and obligations when it concerns his own whims.
That is to say he always chooses the easiest option.
