Nothau is a story I decided to do almost a year or two ago. Nothau is actually a role-playing character I created for an RPG called Half-Realm, now dead. Nothau was such a blast to play and so calm, collected and beautifully done that I had to write a story about his life. So, the result is this. These are small fragments I have written for the book during various stages. Some will make it to the final cut, some will not.
Segments I have written but not added here:
Nothau defends Neyané against an inconsiderate bridegroom.
Segments you will likely see in the future:
The Final Battle and Nothau awakens from his flashback. Blacken advances on Nothau's village
Argent's death and Cogga the Rilanté protects Neyané from Kakeil the Sorcerer.
With that over:
Awakened to Harsh Reality
In this segment, Nothau awakes after the harsh battle with Blacken. Written during the wee hours of the morning when the idea slammed me against a wall.
He opened his eyes. The wind was whistling mournfully over the darkened field, rousing tattered banners and torn crests that waved like half-hearted soldiers. The grass round about was drenched in the dark blood of the fallen; the plains were strewn with bodies. Spears and swords, axes and bows, sheilds and maces lay beside their dead companions, all of them were stained, most were shattered.
Nothau, despite the dull throbbing pain of his many wounds and the taste of blood and dirt in his mouth, got to his feet and dragged behind him his soiled blade. The destruction of both land and flesh was truly devastating; its effect wasn't lost on the once proud warrior. He stepped carefully to avoid tripping or impaling his feet on upturned arrows and spearheads. So awe-struck was he that he wandered that way for several minutes, oblivious to anything but the sounds and smell of death around him, checking over the corpses for any left alive. There were none. He reached a large grassy hill, whose plantlife had been scorched and trampled into a putrid mat of slippery mud, and looked out on the battlefield. The sight was sickening.
Only things the wind touched with her icy fingers dared to stir. Not even a vulture circled the air; even a creature so vile as that feared the place. The sky was an eerie gray, sending shivers up Nothau's spine as he surveyed the desolated field. In a fit of sudden anger and sorrow, he fell to the ground and began to sob uncontrollably. Blacken had conquered and destroyed everything he held dear. All of his companions lay mauled and broken in that field: the field of the Final Battle. He lifted his muzzle to the heavens and let out a loud cry that echoed over the plains until it seemed the dead themselves were crying in agony. Then, exhausted and weak from the loss of blood and spirit, Nothau fell on his stomach and cried himself into a fitful slumber.
A Meeting of Brothers
In this segment, Nothau meets his training partner, Argent, who is also the brother of Neyané, his future mate. Written probably in summer school, though I can't be certain.
Xile pointed to him and Nothau looked him over. Half-Tail, as he was called was training against a wooden pole, two swords in his hands. From the distance he was standing, Nothau could see his cruelly shortened tail and his rather thin stature. He was not at all like the other warriors. With a shrug, he approached the other male and waved slightly.
"Greetings," he said. "I am Nothau. I was sent to be your training partner." Half-Tail paused and grinned at him, a mocking and genuine expression of friendship. Nothau could now see the alternately-colored eyes: green and blue, and the well lined face. His fur was silvery gray with black markings around his eyes, muzzle and tail (what was left of it).
"'Ello, then," he said, his voice heavily covered in a strange accent and rather brazen. "I'm Argent, but ev'yone calls me ''alf-Tail' or ''alfie' so you may as well too." He stuck one of the swords into the ground and offered a handshake. Nothau took it, surprised at the firm jerk he recieved. Argent was surprisingly strong for his size. He grinned wider and picked up the sword, indicating Nothau's blade with a flick of his wrist. "You useful with that thing?" Nothau drew it from its beautifully-carved sheathe.
"Let's find out," he said with a half-smirk.
In this segment, Yateh, a lizard-like creature, insults Xile, leader of Nothau's army. Argent leaps in to difuse the situation. Written in Theater, finished in Independant Reading.
Yateh flicked his tongue again, letting out a barely audible hiss through his nostrils. Xile didn't flinch and a nasty grin split the serpent's scaley face.
"Whutsa mattar?" he taunted. "Scai-uhd?" Xile's lip involuntarily quivered angrily, exposing the gleaming fangs beneath. Nothau watched the encounter silently. "S'right," Yateh added with a drunken slur. "A li'l chickun ball o' fur." He laughed scornfully. Milau shoved back his chair as he leaped to his feet, knocking it over with a clatter.
"Bite your forked tongue, rat-killer," he roared, grabbing his sword, "or I shall make sure you lose it!" Yateh whipped his head around in Milau's direction, tongue whipping like a cord. He opened his mouth and let out a loud, scornful hiss.
"Is yer 'fearless leadar' too cowardly ta stan' up fer 'imself?" he growled, slamming his jaws shut with a snap. Milau took a menacing step forward, eyes burning with a murderous fire. Yateh whipped his long tail tauntingly, enjoying every minute of this game. Nothau stood up and stepped between them. He held up a hand to the advancing Milau, glaring at him sternly. Milau paused.
"There will be no bloodshed tonight," he said in a low voice. Milau didn't acquiesce.
"Stand aside!" he ordered. Nothau didn't move. Yateh laughed again.
"Let 'im come!" he boomed, waving his clawed hand. Milau growled and pushed past Nothau, aimed for the boistrous reptilian offender. Nothau moved to stop him by force, but Xile grabbed his arm and forcefully threw him back towards his table.
"Leave him," he snarled, glaring at Nothau. Nothau was about to rebel. Things were looking ugly, but he scarcely had time to reach for his sword when Argent intervened. With a loud whoop, he leaped in between Yateh and Milau and began to dance like one gone mad.
"Let us drink and be merry," he shouted in full force, "for tomorrow we can do it again!" Both challengers looked perplexed. Argent grinned widely and scooped a pint off of the countertop, holding it aloft. "A toast!" he bellowed. "To all lizards and vagabonds that shout insults at Xile. May your bravery and insults live forevermore!" Yateh was too confused (and too drunk) to reply as Argent downed the glass in three monstrous gulps. Milau, however, reacted violently, leaping at Argent with an enraged roar. In a display of mind-boggling agility and skill, Argent flipped himself over the top of the bar and ducked on the other side as Milau's sword split the air where he had been standing. He popped up his head and grinned.
"You can do better!" he taunted. Milau jabbed at his face but missed as Argent ducked again. Milau snarled in frustration and slammed his sword downwards, hoping to pin Argent with it. However, his sword buried itself deep in the wooden floorboards for Argent was no longer there.
This is some random blurb and bad attempt at poetry I did in the wee hours of the morning:
The Battle Song of the Hyak'Nal
Though weak and weary thy limbs shall be
And thy mind troubled with trials of time
Though strong and large be the Enemy
New strength and courage ye must find!
Look up, my men, for battle in nigh!
Pick up thy sword, shout out thy name
For though in battle ye may die
I say ye shall not die in vain!
Through rain and snow and wind so fierce
And thunder and fire and further woe
Thy cry to be heard, they sword to pierce
With courage may ye smite thy foe!
To battle! To battle!