Neah'tor
'Tor Neah (a.k.a. Otter Child)
Only two groups in Nostvary know the legend of Neah'tor, the Marsh Elf and the Dwarves. The first because she is counted as among the greatest of her people and the second because of the sacrifice she almost made. To the dwarves, she is a hero and because of her Marsh Elves are not just welcomed in their kingdom but celebrated. No other race is welcome within the valleys of the dwarves but for the marsh elves.
The Legend of Neah'tor
One cold spring morning a pair of marsh elves were out among the reeds hunting for fish. An otter led the way, alerting them to the shoals hidden beneath the dark surface, every excited splash drawing the wading pair deeper until the water was up to their chest. They worked with a net between them, hauling it up when they felt a wriggle and popping the little fish into a wicker basket that floated along behind them. Their haul was growing and one of them whistled for the otter to return but instead, it let out a cry much like an injured child. Fish scattered and ducks took to flight as the pair splashed forward, hunting through the reeds for the otter only to find it peering down at them from a coracle. The small round had somehow gotten itself up onto an old swan's nest and the otter scampered over the side eagerly leading the marsh elves to it. When they looked inside they found a swaddled child, small and hungry with eyes that could barely open. Word spread of their discovery but the baby's parents were nowhere to be found. As is the custom with the marsh elves the baby was taken in by the tribe and given the name Neah'tor, 'otter's child'.
Neah'tor grew up on the floating islands of her people as they plied the marshes. She came to know the forests as well as the mighty River Oswine that wound its way through the region known to the humans as Dragsbat. It was a peaceful existence, spent fishing, hunting and exploring the world on her coracle, but it soon came to an end.
Harmon the Brute
The River Oswine originates in the mountains far to the west and then flows for untold miles before emptying into The Lake of Masran. An unremarkable village sat at its mouth, populated by Human fisherfolk, and destined be swallowed up by the shifting river. But Harmon the Brute needed a town befitting his rising might.
Harmon was a warlord and he was rapidly conquering the local tribes of Dragsmund and threatening the people to the south but before he could expand he needed a capital for his new empire. The fishing village was in the perfect spot. He set about cutting the trees and constructing a wall to defend the town but straight away he realised he needed more workers. He sent his army to round up the local populace but gave them strict orders to only take non-humans (he earned the sobriquet 'the brute' for something else entirely). Neah'tor's tribe was split between the water and the land with half of the people living on boats and the other in huts next to their fields. When Harmon's warriors arrived there was little Neah'tor could do but watch from the water and help any of her people that managed to swim beyond the range of the human's arrows (marsh elves are great hunters and experts with the bow but they are not soldiers). Unable to defend themselves, the tribal chief ordered that they row away and retreat into the marsh, telling any that argued that their loved ones were gone and would never be seen again. When the shattered tribe started rowing away Neah'tor refused to join them. The chief tried to order her to leave but Neah'tor wouldn't be swayed, saying that she would free their friends or see herself enslaved. The chief paddled away but a few elves stayed behind to join their boats with Neah'tor's.Neah'tor the Brave
The small band paddled at night, wary of being seen as they passed the human villages and farms along the river bank. Neah'tor led the way, using her skill with The Coracle to find them the safest route through the often fast-flowing channels. It took several days but they tracked the slavers all the way to the bustling town of Dragsmund. As night fell Neah'tor climbed the tallest tree to see over the wooden walls and saw for herself the misery the humans were inflicting on her people. Harmon had enslaved hundreds of them along with a handful of dwarves chained to the forge. They worked by lamplight on weapons for Harmon while the marsh elves stumbled in the dark. Neah'tor retreated to her band and waited with them until the town had fallen asleep and the guards on the walls had grown drowsy.
The coracles slipped under the barriers strung across the shallow streams that crisscrossed the town (the channels still exist in modern Dragsmund but non of the locals remember the legend). With Neah'tor's cunning, they passed unnoticed and made it to where the slaves were kept. Many were in a bad state and unable to walk but Neah'tor had them put in the coracles where they could be pulled along by swimmers. When the weakest were safely beyond the reach of the human guards Neah'tor led the slaves in breaking down the fence and escaping.The way to the river was clear but Neah'tor ran back to rescue the dwarves. Risking her own life she found a hammer and set about breaking their chains. Neah'tor paddled her coracle with two of the wounded dwarves at her feet, using every ounce of her skill to evade the guards. She managed to escape and rejoin her people on the outskirts of the town and together they fled into the marsh. The dwarves recovered and returned to their homes to tell of the bravery of the marsh elves, and the tale of Neah'tor became famous throughout the mountains.
But all heroes meet their end and for Neah'tor it was no different. She was lost at sea while confounding a fleet of ships sent to capture her. Her tribe watched from the rocky shore as the waves roiled around her little boat and swallowed her whole.To the marsh elves, the coracle means freedom and many wear the symbol on their clothes. Most humans mistake it for a shiny button but those that have had the good fortune of befriending a marsh elf know the legend of Neah'tor and the true meaning of the coracle.
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