History

Born thirty or so years before the invasion of Azeroth by the Orc hordes of Outland, Anthias grew up in tranquil Eversong Forest, where the only threat to the Elven kingdom was the local Forest Trolls. While growing up he was trained in basic swordsmanship, and a bit of arcane magic. His true calling within society showed up not in his fighting skills, but for his love of archaeology. In his late teens he enrolled into an archaeology school, in hopes to join the Reliquary. He stayed with this school for five years before earning a membership into the Reliquary as a low ranking member. During his time as a low ranking member he mainly assisted at dig sites, documenting and storing artifacts found, and working in various galleries the Reliquary owned to hold the artifacts found. Once in a while, while on dig sites, Anthias would sneak off to conduct some of his own investigations in the area. Most of the time Anthias wouldn't find anything of importance, if anything he mainly found aggressive wildlife and trolls.

This was Anthias' lifestyle up until the fall of his home, Quel'Thalas. Anthias was lucky he was out on a survey with his boss and team in a remote part of Amani territory, at the time Arthas had invaded the elves' homeland. A large portion of Anthias' high leveled coworkers were caught in Arthas' slaughter of the city. Due to a reduced amount of members, many of the lower ranks were promoted, and Anthias could now lead his own surveys. In hopes to rebuild their dwindling population, destroyed home, and the rise of crippling magic addiction, Anthias led a survey into the Amani territory in the now desecrated southern portion of Eversong Forest. While leading his team, he reverted back into his old style of life and snuck off to explore an Amani tomb by himself. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't as empty as he had thought it was before entering. In one of the deeper chambers he had run into an old Amani witch doctor who wasn't at all pleased that they had an elf visitor. Without a chance to turn and run, the Troll had cast a hefty hex upon Anthias. The spell itself made Anthias' mouth and insides burn, the pain almost brought him to his knees. Knowing that if he didn't get out of the crypt now, Anthias was sure he would not be alive to see the next sun.

Anthias had managed to stumble his way out of the tomb without the witch doctor following him, and back to his team's camp where they immediately called over a medic upon seeing him collapse at the edge of the camp. Through a daze, Anthias awoken during the night blinded by his starvation. He staggered out of the medic tent into a sleeping campsite with an elf still stoking the fire in the center of it all. An almost feral instinct kicked in, and he lunged for the elf by the fire. With no chance to make a noise, Anthias tore into their neck with sharp tusks, chewing on their flesh and drinking their blood. It took draining the elf of almost all of their blood before the feral instinct that had kicked in only minutes before drained away, and Anthias was faced with what he had done and who he became. Below him a dead elf, and their blood coating his bandages and body.

Desperate to hide the murder of his coworker Anthias grabbed their body and brought it to a lake nearby camp, tied rocks to the legs and sunk the body to the bottom of the lake. Next was him, a deep wash and new bandages. After scrubbing his body of blood, he went to wash his face, but what had greeted him when he looked into the water wasn't his face anymore. The first thing he noticed was he had grown a pair of small Troll tusks from his lower jaw, sharp incisors that could cut through hide. The next was his eyes, sullen and darker than normal as if something was lurking behind them. And finally the feeling of fullness, which he had not felt since before the Sunwell was destroyed by the Scourge. Whatever happened in the tomb seemed to have changed him into something different than his Sin'dorei brethren.

When he got back to camp, it was still before dawn, and luckily most of his team liked to sleep well beyond sunrise. He made sure to be quiet as he entered, just in case. He went back to the medical tent to make sure nobody would be suspicious if he was suddenly not where they left him the evening before, and tried to fall back asleep. When he awoke again, the camp outside the tent was in chaos, between the loss of their lookout the night before and finding out about Anthias' new hex mutation, most of his team was in a hot debate about returning back to Silvermoon or continuing the survey. Upon exiting the medical tent, all eyes were drawn to him. Having had overheard the commotion from in the tent, all he did was say to pack up the camp, as he didn't want anybody else getting hurt in the hostile territory, when they were to get back to Silvermoon the report of the missing elf was to be reported to the Knights.

With a short ride back north, thanks to the local flight master's dragonhawks, Anthias and his team made it to Silvermoon. He instructed his team to return to the Reliquary main offices as he went to his bosses to report what had happened. Before entering the main city, Anthias made sure to tie a white scrap of cloth to his face. Just because his team was understanding of what he looked like, it doesn't mean the common folk would be. Luckily since the rise in adventuring folk, most people didn't care about his new mask as he made his way to his bosses' office. After almost a day of filing reports, and documenting what had happened, as his bosses were rather interested in the hex placed upon him, Anthias made his way back to his home, puzzling as to how to cure himself. For now he would wait to see if it were to wear off in a week or so before turning to more drastic pursuits.

The weeks came and went, but he still had the tusks. While disappointed he was still hexed, he did however find that he seemingly lacked hunger and thirst for the weeks following the survey's disaster, but upon his third week it was back. It started as a dull thirst, and a want for more meatier meals. Of course meat, even cooked the rarest chefs would go, didn't stave it off for long. He found himself craving the flesh and blood of his people, just like the night he was hexed. Fearing he may become feral once again in broad daylight, Anthias snuck off to secluded alleys in the city and targeted the poor and destitute, the ones society wouldn't notice missing. This filled his needs once again, until the next three weeks when it would be back.

Meanwhile, he began to visit the libraries, the mages, the healers, and even the Blood Knights for any hint on how to cure his hex. None held the answer to his needs, the books only told of the best ways to kill a troll, and the spells they casted merely cured old scars, or fixed his hair. He was still stuck with his troll tusks at the end of the day. Still stuck with a need for blood. Still stuck looking at his neighbors as a food source. Finding options in the more righteous path exhausted, Anthias turned to Murder's Row, shady potion dealers, to cult magics, Anthias investigated it all. Of course some choices can't be revoked, especially when it comes to learning the secrets of fel magic. As a last ditch effort, Anthias learned the secrets of being a warlock. Even making it as far as a Netherlord, but none of his demons he contracted with knew the secret of removing his hex.

Void Form

Having exhausted all of his paths, including venturing to Orgrimmar to visit a Darkspear witch doctor only to be told that he'd live too long with the hex and that it's pretty much a part of his being, he almost debated about just dealing with the hex for the rest of his life. Until that is he caught wind of some elves researching into the void. Deciding to give it one last shot, Anthias went to join the group looking into the volatile source of power. Only within months of joining the group, those included in the project were exiled from Quel'Thalas. A crushing blow to Anthias as he still respected and loved his homeland, but if it meant fixing his hex, he would accept this banishment.

Despite losing his home, he continued his research and when paired with his warlock studies he helped create the portal to the Rift where they all now called home. Of course this excursion into the unknown would cost the entire group as they had attracted the attention of a Nether-Prince. If it were not for the aid of Alleria and her champion, Anthias and the rest of the group would have been lost to the Void.

Cultist of N'zoth

While exploring Kul'Tiras for the Alliance, Anthias was also always on the lookout for new paths to try and cure his affliction. This led to some rather fateful encounters, like the cult located within Autumnvale who was headed by a power-crazed human. Of course when that path led to absolutely nothing of interest - all but a power grab - Anthias quickly disposed of the cult's head and ran them off. Upon journeying to the northern side of Kul'Tiras, Stormsong Valley, he heard rumors surrounding the Tidesages' fall into odd and dark magics. Interested to see what sort of magic they were performing, Anthias made his way to the Shrine of Storms where he found nothing, but despair and fear festering on the island. Unfortunately, this made him unable to venture too far into the island, and his lead was cut short. Turning his back on this lead, he went about exploring even more of Kul'Tiras, but something new itched at the back of his skull, something that began to call.

The call became increasingly loud once Anthias looted a suspicious medallion from a Naga, and once again he found himself on the banks of the Shrine. How he managed to get there was a blur, a fogged memory, he didn't remember picking up the odd sword he now held in his hands, or the various powerful artifacts that now reside in his bag. One moment he was on the banks, the next deep in a cave, placing the various artifacts down in front of him as a being to his left called upon a power in various tongues. He didn't remember her, but her voice was familiar to him, like a guide. He didn't have time to contemplate as he was bound by massive power and raised up into the middle of the chamber. A purple haze came about the cave, obscuring the newest entity that spoke to him, the same voice that has been in the back of his head for months. The same voice who spoke syllables Anthias could never figure out. The same voice that belonged to N'zoth, an Old God that was only known in passing whispers. A voice that claimed, no, showed Anthias that it could cure him from all that afflicted him, only if he were to serve the old one faithfully.

Freedom and the Isles

Even though the old god had died at the hands of adventurers with the aid of Wrathion, his influence never really faded from Anthias. The next five years, Anthias moved in a haze, simply going with the motions. Sometimes his vision seemed to go black and when it returned he had no hazy memories of what may have transpired during such moments. Suddenly, just like how the call began, it disappeared without warning. His consciousness hurtled forward into the present and he was suddenly vividly aware of the world.

With little to no memories of the last few years, Anthias frankly was lost, but he knew the first thing he had to do was seek out a priest to confirm N'zoth's influence over him really was gone since he still had his tusks, unlike what the Old God had promised.