Anthrin Cuthlion is a member of House Istharin, a Ranger of the Farstrider order, and an Initiate of The Phoenix Guard.
|Religion||Token Light worshipper|
|Current location:||Eversong Woods|
Anthrin is about 5'6-8, depending on how you want to treat his ego. His blonde hair is roughly pulled into a tie which he wears over his shoulder. His armour is all black and almost silent.
Anthrin Cuthlíon was by no means the best and brightest of his house, nor his family. His house was known for their intellegence gathering, their grace and finesse. The fine Ashfelas for example, known for their skilled assassins, the Cuthlíon's were Rangers, some of the finest there. Known for their Marksmanship, the finest shots of the Elven Armies were made here.
Anthrin was not destined for such.
When training, he was always distracted by something, his bow was too tought, his neck was cramped from the night before. He always had a reason for his short comings, until eventually his Father had had enough of him, and sent him to train as a tanner. This met protests from Anthrin, he knew he could be better but he simply refused to admit it was his own short fallings that lead him astray. His Father would not be convinced, and so Anthrin resigned to a life of a drifter, when the money ran dry (His father's coffers now closed to him) he took up his forced-upon trade, only to discover he held a natural flare for it. He was, by no means, the finest, but with what he could work from poor pieces of leather and hide was amazing. All the training members of his House were soon clad in his works, and he saw pride in the eyes of most of his kin. His Father was deeply ashamed, having once been second to the Ranger General herself, he could not believe his son was such a base 'tanner'. Anthrin, so scourned by his Father, took his coin and fled for the area now known as the Wetlands, he moved about the lands of Dwarf and Human, taking skins from the beasts in search of his perfect armour. As the wars progressed, he heard tales of the wretched undead and began to sell his wears, with a discount, to the armies of Elves nearby and to the allies they held.
Hide, Studded, padded leathers, he made them all and with such grace and finesse that he was soon well known, although never comfortable without the approval of his Father. After the war effort, he saw his kind were shunned, and he was hurt to see his so swiftly-made friends ignore and mock him. Eventually he learned of the events that transpired, and once again was left a nomad. He took a sample of the leathers of the area and headed to his birthplace, disgusted and angered by the ravages the Scourage had taken. Coming to his family home he saw it was nothing more than a few charred bits of wood, partially eaten remains of his family sprawled about the lands, it broke his mind. Taking a few relics not looted, he retreated to an island off the coast of Eversong and became a nomad for a few years, he saw the people come and go, he saw the city but was scared, the blues of his people had been replaced by reds, and he found himself lacking his powers he once commanded, the magics from the weapons seem to sedate him. He could only sleep at night holding his blades in his hands, rocking in restless sleep.
Only when the weapons comforted him no more did he venture back to the lands. He did his best to make his apperance look somewhat dignified, his black armour was tight against his body and his chin recently shaved with the help of his keen skinning knife. Passing the gates he signed up with the Farstriders to earn his keep and bed, and turned his focus to training.
Even if his father was long since dead, he would prove him wrong by being one of the finest Rangers in the Family.
It was only Ithralen Ashfelas, the Black Sheep of the family, who made him know that he was not alone. It was suprising, understandably, that he grew to become the leader of the Phoenix Guard. For a moment it was deeply worrying, that men, and he used the term lightly, like Ithralen could be picked to lead. Over time he saw that Ithralen had matured, the Laughing Fox had changed in a chemical level, but outside he was still the grinning, loveably idiotic fool he had always been.
Anthrin "Snake" Cuthlíon trained all the harder to earn a rank with them, he made sure to make his presence known to them, and took pleasure in being taught by them
" Nyeh! "
A little about the PlayerEdit
Anthrin Cuthlion, AKA Markus Flashheart goes by the name Daniel Hewitt in real life. He is 20 years old, and lives in Oxford, England, United Kingdom. He works as a Client Service Executive in the city, and enjoys his job. He lives with his roommate in a small town 30 minutes drive from the main city. He spends most of his time online, but has been known to spend his time in other activities. Every Wednesday evening he takes part in an online Dungeons & Dragons game, where he plays an Elven Ranger, who at time of writing, is level 15. He also plays Warhammer 40k, as a Space Marine player.
He'd like to describe himself as a Charismatic Stallion, Intellectual and witty. Friends would likely disagree!
Before making Markus, Daniel had a Night Elf Hunter by the name of Dufflious on Earthen Ring. It shames him to say that he was a half Dragon of a non-canonical Flight, but likes to see Flashheart as a clean break from that past.