Elpreties

Shirren never knew his High Elf mother. His (highlander) father [Godric Ironwood] was the local blacksmith of a small (mostly human) village just south of Haense, and adamantly refused to speak of his elven heritage. 

Shirren's father was an Armsman in the Royal Army of Hanseti-Ruska, with over 15 years of service behind him, but when Shirren's mother eventually gave birth to him, Godric deserted the army, taking his son to live alone in a small forestall village, away from the militant culture. Thus Shirren has grown up away from the traditional culture of Haense, but his father made sure to teach him all about it. This discipline that his father instilled in him will go to serve him well in times of pressure, and maybe act as a check to some of the more risky conclusions Shirren oft finds himself coming to. 

Shirren has a reoccurring dream. One that seems so vivid in his dreams yet so foggy in his waking moments. In his slumber, Shirren finds himself standing alone in a tall forest, with shadows looming between the trees. He wanders for what seems like hours, yet never grows weary. And then, a flash of red in the corner of his eyes, and leaping up to greet him, a red fox with the most piercing, intelligent eyes. Shirren's eyes are affixed, in awe. The fox always leans in close, opening his mouth as if to speak, before Shirren bolts upright, alone in the cold hours of the night. Everytime he finds himself in that dream, he always wakes before he hears what the fox can say. But sometimes, if Shirren listens veeery close, he can catch the faintest whisper, as if the words from the dream still echo in his ear.  "Ellaurir' Vulnan" they say. As he cannot speak elvish, Shirren does not know what this means, or that his spirit has been touched by the mani Sonnos, Prince of Foxes. 

Shirren grew with not only the crafts of his father, but also his father himself, and thus is relatively adept with the use of traditional Haense armor and weaponry. He spent his days learning his father's craft, as well as roving the woods with his best friend, Alarah, the daughter of the local priest. One day, they had climbed up the tallest tree they could find (seventy, no, eighty feet tall at least), and Alarah walked out upon one large branch near the top. It protruded out much further than the others in such a way that looked quite funny. She laughed and twirled around, nimbly balancing on the tip of the branch. Shirren smiled at her, but that grin turned to a look of horror when an audible crack was made by the branch starting to give way to the weight. Alarah look up in fear, but Shirren was already thinking. He told Alarah to jump into his arms. If she jumped fast enough, her feet would leave the branch before it fell, and she would not fall with it. It seemed logical enough, and Shirren felt quite confident in his plan. Sure it was simple, but it made sense in his head. Shirren's logic had never failed him before. He was known for his smart decision making by the people of the village. 

Unfortunately, Newton's First and Second laws of motion begged to disagree. When Alarah pushed upon the branch with her legs, it gave way, barely propelling her forward at all. Shirren watched in shocked as his friend plummeted to her death, her broken body laying amongst the broken branches far below. He was stunned. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He just sat there, up in that tree, for what must have been hours and hours. Soon the sun set and the land was cloaked in darkness, but still Shirren was frozen. Just staring blankly down at Alarah's beaten corpse. 

By morning, Shirren was gone. He had fled, not knowing what to do or what to say. He killed her. He had told her what to do and it killed her. Shirren would never forget that moment until the day he died, and ever since then, his every action had been tinged with self-doubt. 

It has been four years since that fateful day, and the pain has faded to a dull murmur. But the fear. That lives on.

Shirren laughs and smiles and fights with bravado, but he tries to avoid positions of responsibility. For when the time comes, he may not hold the strength or the wisdom to save anybody at all. 

For the past four years Shirren had been wandering aimlessly as an adventurer, helping those he can, avoiding those he can't. But at last a new sense of purpose has filled him, derived from some twisted desire to repent, and Shirren finds himself ready to strike forth and make a difference. He mostly likely will head for Haense first, as that is the place he has heard most about in his father's stories. Perhaps he will eventually find himself in the Haelun'or (although he currently knows not of it's existence), searching for clues to his elven heritage. Maybe he will finally find answers about what  "Ellaurir' Vulnan" means, and discover the lore of Sonnos. We shall see. 

p.s. I have read the forum post on hybrids and understand the rulings about the curses and physiology and such