“The way elven kings rule their people, I may as well sit and wait for them to destroy themselves.”

Shairën is the former spiritual leader of the
, though he has, at times, taken on a more direct leadership role. Under Shairën’s command, the lands of
 almost saw the extinction of the free elves, making his name feared and despised throughout Haran almost as much as the god Arkayë. He is ancient, and claims to have been the firstborn to the new world. Whether that is true or not, he is indeed very old. Much of elven history has been shaped by his actions.

He died near the end of the Great War, but mysteriously returned one day. Necromancy, some say, others believe Arkayë brought him back. Shairën himself has little interest in sharing the truth, no doubt enjoying the enigma. Either way, some say death changed him for the better. He is no longer interested in politics or conquest. At least not in any obvious way. This could be much due to the flesh and blood presence of Arkayë in the world. Shairën, as one of the most vocal against gods in general, would do well to keep his head low unless he intends to challenge him.

Precious few would know that Shairën's idleness would simply mean he has not found a way to get what he wants, or that he is only waiting for the perfect moment to strike. With or without him, tension between the races is growing and neutrality becomes less and less of a viable option. As someone who would never be ruled by anyone, Shairën is bound to bring on another era of violence sooner rather than later.


"I'm not destroying the land. I'm making space for things to grow."

Shairën never speaks of a childhood, parents, or struggles growing up. He says his first memories being only of ash, fire and hunger. A shadow born from the ashes of the old world that clawed its way to life, feeding from the few living things still left in the Ashlands. Such a fantastical origin suits someone with such a legendary life. But like with many other things in his life, the truth is a grey area.

He defies the gods' natural order. They did not give him life, yet he still exists. He knows much, even of the time before elves. Intricate details how the world itself works and how to manipulate life. For a long time, he wielded magic and weapons elves could not even imagine—to them—he might as well have been a god himself.

His first encounter with elves was a bloody one. Scouts would vanish in the Ashlands, partially eaten and tortured. While his first choice should have been diplomacy, the hunger was simply too strong. And he trusted no one. Especially of a race made to be servants. They made good food, and he grew strong on their blood.

Much like himself, the first of the nevaari—his people—were raised from the ashes of the land, a feat that pretty much screams necromancy, but he would never admit it. Blood magic, perhaps. With a people of his own, a barren land where all life would eventually be corrupted from within would not be enough to sustain them and thus, the elves had to be thought of as less of food, and more as neighbors.

Shairën attempted a smooth move to gain permission for his people to live on elven lands, but it did not quite go as planned. His people saw themselves as superior and the clash of culture had devastating effects that saw him and his own, banished back to the Ashlands.

It was a frustrating setback, but the time spent amongst elves had not been in vain. Shairën's way with words, magic and skill with a sword brought him much attention and once he had it, sowing seeds of disdain for gods and kings was easy. Shairën spoke of individual value, the unfairness of their laws, and the unreasonable demands of invisible gods. Things no one would dare speak of but might secretly have thought. The promise of almost unlimited freedom was a bait many elves swallowed whole and they would not hesitate to follow him into exile. Any elves who would follow him would be known as morgëthri, though the term would include pretty much anyone who opposed kings and gods.

Shairën used his growing influence and numbers to slowly but certainly infiltrate the minds of kingdoms to reach some kind of coexistence. It somewhat worked and a shaky truce persisted for generations until Shairen arranged for 
 and the High Lord's only daughter to be married. The princess died tragically, and the morgëthri were blamed for her death. Shairën used the fact that the princess had been pregnant with Fëarandir's child to rally the morgëthri to an all out war. The conduit for the bloody conflict might have been political, but it was only an excuse for an invasion. The morgëthri and nevaari were starving, and Shairën would give them what they needed, even if it meant genocide. Whoever wanted to could join him, others would be forced to leave or die.

In a way, Shairën succeeded as the war drove all the kings and their people from Jeerwithuën, but he would not be there to send them off in person. Shairën was disappointed in Fëarandir's skills and leadership and nearly killed him in a fit of rage. The young Lord fought back and slew his master.

That should have been his end. Shairën's heart had stopped beating. His body was put to rest in a crypt deep in the Ashlands, where it was meant to remain. By luck or fate, his spirit was roused back from whatever state it remained in when a certain
Jillian Issayë
 trashed his grave. Jillian believed he was looking for his own demise, while the
 inside him was looking for allies.

Issayë and Shairën were old friends, and by circumstance they both seemed to need each-other again. Jillian wanted death, Shairën wanted life. It could have been an easy trade. Despite their friendship in the past, Shairën despised Issayë a little more than he respected him, and the price turned out to be too steep. They reached a compromise eventually, and through those drawn out times of negotiation, Jillian and Shairën became close friends themselves.