Nothus Vita

APPEARANCE:

A dancing flame. Fire decorates him, cloaking his back in warm-kissed tints of cinnamon and rose. A gift from his mother, who had been named for such royal and unique colors. Lighter tints of creamy white touch his belly and chin, decorating the delicate furs of his cheeks and inner  ears ... tracing speckles along his back. Light colors a gift from his mother ... Darker notes of deep ebony decorate his back, tail, ears, and paws. Darker hues a curse from his father ...

 The boy is large, powerful with his presence alone ... something that has come from his royal genes. And yet the way he holds himself is light, passive, sneaking - for he has learned to move like the serpent he has become. Coiling and sinister. His slender frame bubbles with a hidden sense of power. Power was gifted to him by his father and quickly taken away by the very same man.

 Eyes sparkle a unique hue of royal purple, rimmed with cool silver. 

PERSONALITY:

• Guarded • Unpredictable • Fearless • Independent • Caustic •

HISTORY:

Born to Basilius Cato IV x Cassia Vita

Born a bastard to a royal father ... 

 His mother was a loyalist and a soldier, loyal to House Cato. She was a  servant to the family and dedicated her life and her will to Basilius  IV, as well as the Crown. For her fever, he would bless her with a  child, a bastard who took a name that was as vile as what he was. 'He is nothing but a bastard - a Nothus. Nothing.' And he would never be looked at by the royal again. His mother would  keep the name for her son, knowing it to be a jarring title, and yet one  that perhaps her son could overcome. For despite being Nothus ... he  was half-royal. Half-god. 

 What a blessing to his mother to have borne a piece of the great  Basilius ... for she was a woman who strove only to perpetuate the  royals, the Crown. Her fealty knew no bounds. Yet she was a good mother;  kind, patient, loving. She was tender to her only son. She told him  that he was worth more than what the world offered him - that the blood  of gods touched his veins, and that the world would see him, someday. 

 But his mother's loyalty came with a fault. The army would take her  life, a life that she guarded so intently for the crown and for her son.  And as a sick joke, his father threw the boy into the pits as well, to  sulk in the shadow of his mother and to revel in his sullen name.