The son of a mariner from Tissvile in the Sea of Katarn, Mettarion grew up on the free isle alongside three older sisters. Being the only son, Mettarion’s father treasured him dearly. Life was not peaceful on the isle though, the constant threat of Alimrothi raiders loomed above. Sky Pirates, as many came to call them. Tissvile was a centre for international trade, an independent realm that saw the mix of many different merchants that could freely trade with one another in the sanctity of neutral territory.
Such a vast richness was the envy of the Alimrothi, and though they often eyed the city’s vast influx of trade, they were too afraid to lead a frontal assault despite their technological advantage. The High Elf merchants of Leacianus were often powerful spellcasters as well, and the few attempts the Alimrothi had made against them saw entire Airships set aflame in an instant, only doused when they were swallowed by the sea. Instead the Alimrothi sent their own trade ships by sea, an archaic and outdated travel method for them, but at least a way they could still engage with the happenings and items within the town, feigning that they had given up their desire to sack the town from decades past. In these years Mettarion learned much from the Alimrothi merchants, constantly fascinated by their intricate power armour and weapons. So too did he learn of magic from the Leacianans, and how Minera’s Breath flowed through all the waters of Tharador.
Though when the Liturium War began, the Leacianans were called home – every able bodied Elf was needed to fight for their homeland. Those did still remained as merchants were ones completely ungifted in magics. Realising this, the Alimrothi finally began their raids against Tissvile. The first raid saw Mettarion’s mother and eldest sister killed. In a following raid, a Shock Trooper attempted to abduct his two elder sisters. Fearing no worse fate could come for them, Mettarion charged the trooper, plunging a rusty sword into the metal core of the soldier’s power suit. Violent energy surged through Mettarion, though inside the suit of armour before him the soldier’s body had liquified.
The power armour lay open, and Mettarion took hold of it. The Arcane Core he had destroyed leaked through the armour, infusing him with knowledge and power that he felt was always innately held in his mind, locked away behind a door that he now had the key to open. He destroyed the raiding fleet in minutes after, setting them ablaze and dragging them beneath the sea. With his same knowledge he built defenses for Tissvile in a few months: towers fueled by water and magic that could automatically set fire to any Alimrothi ship that dared venture too close.
Then he left. A thirst for knowledge drove him to Greypeak. He knew not why, or how. But that land called to him. The ruins of the Colossals from two ages past held secrets that he wished to uncover, but did not know why or how he knew of them. It was as if an instinct had awoken within him. There Mettarion put himself in the service of Greypeak’s King in Vanlund, his skills and knowledge proving invaluable for the court, who in turn provided him with locations of Colossal Ruins throughout Greypeak.