Antia

Information

Player: hiddengecko

Character Full Name: Anchorite Antia

Character In-Game Name: Antia

Nickname(s): Anti, Flirtyhooves

Association(s): Neutral

Race: Draenei

Class: Priest

Age: 2184

Sex: Female

Hair: Black

Eyes: Silver

Weight: 185

Height: 6'9

Appearance

Antia shows a rather inconsistent favoritism towards somber, if elegant monochrome shades--particularly black. She often wears jewelry of the same fashion, simple, streamlined, yet flattering; elegant gemstones and other assorted adornments tasteful or extravagant. At times, her taste seems to shift, and she can be seen wearing elaborate, colorful, and sometimes revealing clothing--often with little care payed as to their culture of origin.

Regardless of her seemingly fickle tastes, she nearly always wears black, elbow-length gloves. These are black velvet, yet oddly resilient--to a trained eye clearly enchanted, both against normal wear and tear and (for no clear reason) against flame.

Other: She often carries a metallic staff, and a rather unremarkable spell focus at her hip. A dagger is generally concealed somewhere on her person.

Personality

A blithely sardonic woman, Antia is possessed of a dry wit and sharp intellect. She expects others to share these qualities--particularly the latter; those she deems intelligent are most often treated with respect and courtesy, while those who she does not are met with biting sarcasm and, when she no longer finds them entertaining, chilly indifference. Antia avoids fighting when possible, preferring to bargain or manipulate a violent situation into diffusion. She will fight, if necessary, but prefers diplomacy and simple kindness.

To her friends, Antia is affectionate; while prone to prodding and occasional patronizing mockery, she is equally so to coquettish teasing and coy banter. A protective woman at heart, she places great value in her companions--sometimes excessively so: Antia has no compunctions about simply scrying a friend she is worried about to assure herself of their well being, and is more than prepared to go to hell and back to deliver consolation or assistance if needed.

Despite a typically cheery (if bitter) exterior, Antia is prone to troublesome swings in disposition. She will often vanish from social gatherings, or retire and flee to solitude without apparent cause. She is often caught staring blankly into space; particularly close friends may have espied her repeating sentences in her native language, or weeping when she believes herself to be alone. At other times, she seems suddenly and inexplicably terrified of desertion and will procure excuses to prolong a visit. If asked about these episodes, she may become apologetic or dismissively self-deprecating. Regardless, she seems to recover quickly from these bouts, be they from what she has witnessed or whatever it is that infects her mind.

History

Antia's tale begins, as most do, with a union--specifically, one between an Anchorite Novelhaan and a father whose presence is markedly absent from this tale and so has no relevancy to this record. Born aboard the dimensional ship Oshu'gun en route between the countless planets visited by the Exiles, Antia suffered many of the maladies which affected many of the newer generations of Draenei: ship life often took a toll of the health of developing children. She was a pale, thin girl in her earliest years, not sickly by any means, but a far cry from the more robust elder generations. Even so, she possessed far too much energy to make the cramped living spaces even remotely comfortable, and was an incorrigible mischief-maker in her childhood (although none of her pranks were particularly unkind).

Antia had long been fascinated with faith, philosophy, and magic. She was an inquisitive young woman and a quick learner, despite her flaws. The girl was accepted into the training regimen of the priestly order at an early age, and while she was not terribly ill-behaved, she often questioned the thinking of her teachers in an almost impudent fashion. Despite this, she had clear potential; her oft-stubborn demeanor betrayed a confidence that might be forged into a strong faith in the Light with time. Her frailty faded with maturation, of course; regular exercise and simply growing up improved her condition remarkably—although it did nothing for her smaller stature and sometimes unnervingly pale complexion, and little for her bad habits. Still, her mother doted on the young woman; occasional mischief aside, she was an intelligent and generally well-behaved girl—and an only child besides. She would listen over tea to Antia's excited narrations of the day's happenings, comfort her when she had been hurt, and chastise her when word of the girl's misdeeds inevitably found its way to her. Novelhaan was never too busy to listen to Antia, never to engaged to critique her artwork or dutifully endure her attempts at poetry.

Antia trained and studied, questioning her tutors with a stubbornness that only served to fuel her resolve when at last the answers were brought to the light. She studied philosophy, she studied history, she drilled in martial arts and perused the secrets of jewelcrafting; she meditated, contemplated, and also slept a great deal more than was arguably necessary. Years slipped by like days, then centuries; Antia at last was raised to the position of Anchorite. While maturation had been kind indeed to her, she displayed little interest in potential suitors and instead cast herself fully into her work; mending the sick and injured, she said, was her calling--or such was her excuse.

In time, the Exiles settled upon Draenor--not entirely by choice; K'ure's Light waned, and D'ore's shone no more. A great mausoleum was built to contain the naaru's remains, and those of their own dead. When a new order of priests were called to oversee the remnants of D'ore, Antia readily gave herself to the cause; the naaru had borne them through the cosmos, and she saw fit to ease the passing of one who had given everything to her people. So then did Antia join the Auchenai sect. For a time, all seemed favorable; Antia continued as she always had, performing her tasks with mindful resolve, and a certain dutiful pride in being honored with so noble a task.

Yet, gradually, things began to change. News reached them of growing unease in the orcish tribes in Nagrand, turmoil and mistrust where there once had been harmony. A shade seemed to fall over Auchindoun, a somber mist that brought ill dreams and creeping paranoia. Her sect began to summon a darker magic, channeling a blackness which was all-too-similar to the form of the waning naaru they protected.

Antia was fascinated by these energies, so similar to the Light, yet different in so many ways. As with the others, she began to study, and to practice. In time, the Auchenai began to acquire strange new abilities; a stronger affinity to the souls of the lost, permitting them to better shelter and protect, an influence over the minds of the living that allowed a healer to force away pain, or to bring peace to an addled mind. While intrigued, Antia made public a document positing that greater care be taken in pioneering this new source of power: care, she claimed, should be taken in light of the recent changes to the area surrounding the crypt. Quite suddenly, the Anchorite found herself demoted--pressed into silence. She was not alone, but those of her mindset were few and even more confused than she. The change was not entirely unnoticed by the rest of their people; the moniker 'death priest' was becoming all-to-accurate. Their leaders, it seemed, had a vision--and for the first time, Antia had to question if the banner she had taken up truly stood in the Light.

And then, with far too little warning, the massacre began. The orcs had been swayed by the Legion, and they swept through outlying communities with a heartless savagery that had been so unexpected from their peaceful neighbors. When news of this reached Auchindoun, the Death Priests committed themselves to a magic which had until then had not found use outside the Legion: Necromancy. No longer content to simply commune with the spirits of the dead, they had begun to summon and forcibly bind them to corpses; an act of blasphemy which twisted the natures of its victims and imposed the will of the casters upon them. Antia had seen enough. Her duty had been the safeguarding of the dead so that one day they could rise against the Legion--but in the Light, not bent and corrupted by the magic of demons.

Horrified, fearing for her life and for her salvation, Antia fled Auchindoun at last. She left for Shattrath, begging forgiveness and clemency, offering penance and swearing never again to use the shadow. To her surprise, she was accepted; while by no means considered trustworthy by now, her people desperately needed healers. While elated to be useful once again, and overjoyed to be reunited with her mother, Antia was not free of Auchindoun. She had expected the phantom voices, the icy grip in the back of her mind to fade as she passed from the gloom about the city--yet it remained: nightmares haunted her sleep still, cajoling whispers working through her psyche with viprous subtlety. What little happiness she had regained was short-lived. The Draenei were to flee the City of the Light, seeking the refuge of the eastern marshes. Some gave themselves up to stay behind, holding the orcs back and convincing them that their slaughter had succeeded--a pittance for the damned. Novelhaan was one of them.

Antia tried everything she could manage; demanding, reasoning, even begging did nothing. An oath had been taken, her word had been given, and her time had come. Antia could not bear to leave Novelhan to die, and so, panicked, she chose to stay behind in an attempt to convince her mother to see reason. It was in fruitless--and while Antia would not leave her, she came to realize she was by no means prepared to stay and die with her. However, the Anchorite perceived a solution. The influence of the void had corrupted her, this she knew--yet it let her see more clearly, allowed her to make decisions with expedience and impartiality. Novelhaan was everything to her, mother, comforter, friend. Even through the desperate fear of losing a cherished one, Antia saw what had to be done. A distasteful thing, yet necessary.

And so, she made one simple request: to share tea one last time. Her mother, of course, accepted. Antia, of course, had drugged it; Novelhaan was sleeping in minutes. However, the window of opportunity to flee the city had passed; the orcs would soon encroach upon the walls of Shattrath. She was not about to permit this obstacle to stop her. Hounded by a deep shame, Antia gathered her comatose mother and fled, hoping to overtake the Draenei who departed for the marshes. However, her progress was slow, and the path dangerous: Antia was no huntress, and had little understanding of how to move unseen. Her attempts at concealing her trail were poor, and she made not even one full night away from the city before she was attacked by a lone orcish warlock. To the Anchorite's horror, the Light would not answer her pleas for defense, and she and her mother were both injured--her mother severely so. Desperate, Antia broke her oath and tapped into the shadow; her assault on the creature's fel-addled mind did no real harm by itself, but it did grant her opening enough to put a knife in the base of its skull.

However, the damage was done; Antia hesitated too long in turning to the darkness she had taken, and Novelhaan lay bleeding and on the brink of death. Try as she might, her guilt had forced the Light beyond Antia's reach; The Gift healed too little, and came too late. Her mother died in her arms.

When at last she was found by the remnants of the Zangarmarsh refugees, Antia seemed a broken woman. She was safe, and her injuries were healed, but Novelhaan's death and her own cowardice weighed heavily upon her--her cowardice in fleeing the city, and in not breaking her oath sooner to protect a loved one. It was months until she was willing to accept forgiveness and penance, and even then only with firm council. Yet, as her people hid in the marshes, anger began to gnaw at Antia. She knew what she had been done was logical, knew it had been forgivable, understandable. Why then had the Light abandoned her? She knew the answer, of course. The Light was not to blame, but her guilt had betrayed her; her overreliance upon it and blind trust in it had been arrogant and short-sighted.

And so, a certainty came upon Antia. Her faith took on an icy, logical conviction; a faith in reason and in the truth of what was. The Light answered her call yet again, yet it came harshly, seeming almost reluctant; healings she performed was sometimes painful, and rarely soothing. Yet, the shadow answered her call still; it was steadfast and reliable, it came to her readily and was dictated as she willed. A resolve came upon the Anchorite: one way or another, she would learn the secrets of this power, and appropriate it to her own ends whatever its origin.

In time, Draenei reclaimed the Exodar under the leadership of the Prophet Velen. Antia partook in the battle, but kept away from the front lines. She supported her allies as best she could, and weakened or twisted the resolve of those they fought. The vessel was reclaimed, and in a crash more violent than that of Oshu'gun's, the Exiles found themselves on Azeroth. Antia simply vanished, leaving with nary a farewell to seek refuge and knowledge in the human kingdoms. She learned of their customs, their language; their primitive yet somehow expedient faith in the Light itself rather than the naaru. Years passed, and fate led her to a teacher: A Kal'dorei exile, a fallen Priestess of the Moon. Therai Nightglade found an eager and adaptive student, and while the Anchorite did not trust her new preceptor, her knowledge was useful and her approach reasoned. And so, she learned.

Some time has passed then, and Antia's enigmatic teacher has left or vanished. Time and introspection have calmed the woman, and she presses her lingering madness away with a practiced discipline. Guilt and pain she struggles with still, but they will not stand in her way. She comes seeking purpose, and a purpose she shall have.

Skills and Abilities

The Auchenai rites of initiation Antia has undertaken grant her the dubious gift of sight into the world of the dead, and the void energies to which she was exposed afford her a certain attunement with the shadow realm--yet at a terrible price. She is a woman haunted by visions of the dead, by the seeping whispers of phantom voices that prey upon her guilt, and a black madness that claws at the deeper parts of her mind.

This sacrifice, however, is not entirely in vain. While Antia must grapple with her own subconscious, this constant exercise of will has keened her perceptions and sharpened her resolve. She may perceive illusive and domination magic with a chilly, logical perception--yet as her madness fluctuates, so does a preternatural resistance to both schools. At her most insane, she is all but immune. The void has tainted her, but it grants her an intuitive and powerful control over Divine Shadow. This can be temporarily augmented by succumbing to her maddening visions, but at obvious cost.

She is also passably skilled at origami.