Name: Nascha Kaltain.
Nicknames: N/A Currently.
Gender: Female.
Age: Twenty-Two.
Species: Witch-Werewolf Hybrid.
Orientation: Pansexual.
Affiliation: Between Pack's. (Formerly Kaltain Coven.)
𝕬𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊
Height: 5'2.
Figure: Slender, Toned Athletic Figure. Curves in Correct Places.
Hair: Dark Brown - Almost Black. (Black Fur in Wolf Form.)
Eyes: Blue. (Golden in Wolf Form.)
Skin Tone: Creamy Tanned Skin.
Tattoos/Markings: Small Birthmark in the Shape of two crossed Athame, on her left shoulder. (Symbol of The Kaltain Bloodline.)
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𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖙
Magic has always run heavy in the Kaltain Bloodline, but not are more naturally gifted than Nascha Kaltain. Technically the sole survivor of a witch hunt that wiped out her entire coven, Nascha has a secret, one that quite possibly saved her life. She's not entirely a witch. Whether or not it was widely known amongst the coven, her mother fell in love with a stranger. A man just passing through. One that was later discovered to be a lone wolf, always on the move, never settling in one place as per pack law.
None of this had mattered to Nascha's mother, love was love. It didn't matter what you were. But the elders of the coven had been fearful of what a witch could do if she also had the savagery of a wolf on her side. They decided simply not to find out. Nascha was never told about her dual heritage, whenever she asked whom her father was her mother would reply with the same thing: Just a stranger who was passing through.
She'd heard the wistfulness in her mother's tone and come to the conclusion that she'd wished that he'd stayed, that she missed him. But other than that she didn't question the story told to her.
Nascha was discovered to be naturally talented, magic came easy to her in a wide range of different applications. From defensive to offensive, healing and nurturing. She could do it all. Might have even continued to believe she was nothing more than an extraordinarily talented witch if not for the witch hunters that rolled into town.
One by one her loved ones were rounded up, judged and condemned to death. Burned alive. Because witch hunters it turned out were barbaric. When they came for Nascha's mother, the young witch was overcome with fury. The likes of which she'd never felt before. That fury triggered her first Change. The hunters hadn't been expecting a werewolf, they were severely outmatched and whilst it hadn't been enough to save her mother, it did spare her the flames.
In anguish, she fled the one place that she'd always called home. A sorrowful howl rending the air. For days she couldn't figure out how to shift back and once she did, she couldn't figure out where to go next. It was then that she met Eris, the werewolf whom took her in and explained her more wolven nature to her. Everything she'd never been told.
𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙
Since that fateful day, for a time she'd found her place amongst Eris' pack, the Warmheart Pack. Not only as a loyal follower of her new Alpha, whom she has a hefty dose of affection and respect for, but also as an added layer of security for her new family. The magic she'd learned during her days with her coven being lent towards magical wards which protect the hotel her new family resides within. That isn't to say she doesn't still miss her mother, her grandmother, the rest of the witches of her late coven, she does. Every day. Even on days she resents them for lying to her, for keeping from her an entire half of who she was.
She sometimes catches herself wondering about her father too, who was it? Is he still alive? Would he want anything to do with her even if he was? These were questions that she often asked herself and just as often dismissed. It didn't do to dwell on those thoughts. It wasn't likely she was ever going to meet the man.
Besides, she had far more interesting things to wonder about. Like, whilst watching her packmates each pair up, some bringing youngsters into the world, catching herself wondering. Wondering if she would remain the only wolf whom didn't have a mate...not even a prospective one.
Of course some things are not meant to last, her place amongst the Warmheart Pack ended up being only a temporary one and so she wanders, searching for a true place to belong.
Comments
Legacy tilted her head, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Scream?” she suggested, her voice laced with amusement. “It’s a bar, not exactly the most reputable establishment. But scream loud enough and someone will take notice. I'm not exactly helpless, you know. I can defend myself if I have to.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “And if I did get kidnapped, well, it wouldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened to me. They'd probably just take me back to Agatha. I'm sure she's still got a taste for revenge after my escape all those years ago. Let's just say we didn't part on good terms.” She left it at that, the details of her past escape left unspoken.
A knowing glint lit up her eyes as Natscha pieced together her history. “That's right. I was born to a beautiful gray she-cat named Rain, later known as Rainstorm. I've got a sister out there somewhere, Speckletail, if she's still alive. My brother, Stormkit, never made it out of kittenhood. And my sister, Fernsong... she didn't survive a cough. Lost my mother to battle injuries too.” Legacy shrugged, her gaze drifting away, a hint of old pain in her eyes. “Don't know who my father is. Not exactly uncommon for she-cats; depends on the circumstances. Clan cats often find a mate for life — that love is often very genuine. Likewise for loners who find a mate they spend the rest of their lives traveling or living with. When I lived with my owners, I had a mate, Knox, who was a stray who visited my home often. It wasn't love, not the way you humans think of it, but we had a good thing. We enjoyed each other's company. If he's still alive, he's probably an old tom by now.”
She knew how unbelievable her story sounded, especially coming from human lips. It was so wild, so unbelievable, but it was her truth. “Spent six years in the Clan before I left after my mother died. Alex found me a few months later and took me home. I stayed with him for three years, until he died. Went back to the Clan after that, but it wasn't the same for me. Left after six months. Lived on my own for a while, until Agatha found me and turned me. Went from being a twelve year old cat to a twenty year old woman overnight, roughly speaking, anyway. Spent five years with her, but I don't really know my birthday, just that it's sometime in the summer. I just assume that once the leaves start changing color, I’ve turned a year older. Haven't really kept track, to be honest. I seem to be aging... differently. My cat form still looks as young as ever. I briefly returned to the Clan, just to see how they were fairing, but I was immediately shunned. The patrol wouldn’t even let me pass the border; they could scent the change in me and rightly did not trust it. So I’ve been on my own since. It hasn’t been that bad. Plenty of spirits to befriend.”
A soft smile played on her lips, a faraway look in her eyes. “He had a heart of gold, that one. Loved animals, peaceful soul. Never had a pack, but I've never been happier, never felt like I belonged more. Don't know if I'll ever find that again.” Her voice trailed off, lost in memory.
“I always assumed witch hunting was a thing of the past, based on false accusations and religious hysteria. I mean, the last of the witch trials was in 1944.” She'd studied it, delved into the history of it all. She'd assumed that particular brand of fear and ignorance had faded into obscurity.
“I suppose Agatha kept me safe, in that regard. Haven't run into any hunters myself, but maybe I should rein in the more... obvious displays of my nature. Don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention.” She frowned, thoughtful. She'd always embraced what made her different, but if the rumors of the potion brewing, spirit talking woman kept spreading... that could be a problem. She'd been lucky so far, but that kind of luck never held forever.
“You know, there’s a huge witch’s counsel to the West. Colorado, to be exact. They call it the Witches’ Conclave. They are the ones who got me on my feet after my escape, gave me the funds to start my life anew. They protect all witches. So, if there are witch hunters about, they would most definitely want to know about it. They could help you track them down and give you the means to eliminate them. If anyone could, it’s them.” Where did that tidbit of information come from? She must have decided Natcha was trustworthy enough for it. “And before you ask, no, I have not asked them for further help with Agatha. I don’t want to waste their time until I know her true plan.”
Roger & Nascha
It didn't take all too long for Roger to realize that he'd made quite a great mistake in the way he'd expressed his thoughts. Both on her condition, if one could properly call it that, as well as his concerns about the fabled hazard of wolves. The woman, who was apparently called Nascha, appeared to catch onto his reluctance and almost certainly took it to heart. In particular, she both looked and sounded bothered in regards to his pairing wolves with danger. It was understandable, and he'd regretted speaking that way the moment he'd done so. All the same, watching her attempt to hold back a feral burst of anger was unnerving.
Particularly when her eyes flashed gold.
"S-so long as nobody's been hurt, it's fine." Roger said, flashing his teeth in a nervous smile. "And you helped me. I've got no reason to be worried now, do I?" His shoulders slacked a little, more apologetically than out of than actual relaxation. "I'm sorry. I feel like I just don't know enough. About you, or your people. And I'm getting the feeling that..." his voice went a bit quieter, softer, "...you might feel the same way. About me."
She'd looked anything but happy about the idea of announcing her kind's existence to the public. And it made perfect sense to him. Even a man like himself who tried to have others' best interest at heart kept flubbing up in their conversation. He hated to imagine what truly rotten people would try.
Like him. Like Gwilliam.
The notion of that name alone had the expression on his face going sour, and he found himself licking his lips to try and suppress the queasy feeling he'd just experienced. The urge to change the subject was strong. So, Roger cleared his throat and made his best attempt. "I'm beginning to wonder if you might be right, you know," he said more casually, looking ahead of where they both stood. "Do you smell anything, erm, anyone who's not human? Other wolves? Maybe...another werewolf?" He thought he could be beginning to put two and two together, that the lost Mrs. Ward may have had a secret of her own.
"And that'd be great if you could show me the way out," Roger added abruptly, kindly acknowledging Nascha's offer to help him find his way out of the woods. "Though I think if you catch a whiff of something unusual, we might want to have a mosey around here a little longer." He wasn't about to abandon his field work, after all. If Nascha had any more input or theories about the missing lady, he was interested in hearing.
It would not have been the first time Legion let his tongue slip and he said something regrettable. He was frankly just lucky that Nascha’s temper seemed to cool easily, and she wasn’t the violent type. Or, well, she didn’t seem like she was from this interaction. She didn’t jump down his throat immediately, even if she had snapped at him. Justifiably so. Legion would never take offense to someone defending themselves.
“It won’t happen again.” Legion assured her, in a tone that was oddly warm and gentle. He offered a smile in return to the werewolf’s amused smirk. It was better this way; Legion preferred when things remained calm. Perhaps he was strong enough to take on a werewolf, but that did not mean he wanted to. Not without reason.
“Please, Nascha. You may call me Legion.” He was the kind of creature to use his words carefully when speaking about himself, it seemed, despite how he had put his foot in his mouth earlier. That kind of thing came with practice, and Legion was well versed in the practice of talking about himself in a very specific kind of way.
“I suppose you aren’t their biggest fan.” He continued the train of thought himself. Legion didn’t have anything necessarily horrible to say about humans. They hated his species, or what people thought of to be his species, but in its own way Legion felt that that was justified. Most humans took him for being human, unable to smell his sulfuric scent or clock the way his features were just a bit too angular. The sunglasses did throw people off, but the view of his eyes would have certainly done more so.
“They aren’t kind to things they don’t understand,” Legion admittedly knowingly. “But they aren’t all horrible. They are as selfish and destructive as they are caring and affectionate. They don’t make much sense to me, but I suppose they don’t have to.” All creatures were like that, in a way. Legion couldn’t say that was entirely a human trait.
"A massacre." Alexander echoed her words, a trace of curiosity lacing his tone. But when the topic seemed to end there, he didn’t push further. It was just a fragment of information he could store away for later, a piece of the puzzle that might come in handy down the road.
"Yes, maybe so," he responded noncommittally to her mention of the Void. The truth was, in recent years, he had learned more about the Void than he ever thought he would. But it was like chasing shadows—no matter how much he uncovered, the answers he sought remained elusive.
His gaze shifted back to her, his interest rekindled. "Your grimoires might prove helpful," he mused, watching her fingers absentmindedly trace the patterns etched into the wooden table. After a beat, he added, "You’re a witch." The reluctance in his voice was almost palpable. "You may very well pledge your allegiance to the Void."
He offered just enough information to hint at something deeper, yet left much unsaid. "From what I’ve heard—though I’ve never seen it firsthand—most Void creatures are magic casters. Their magic consumes them, taints them. Some are born that way, but most... they were infected by the chaotic magic the Void exudes. Why or how it happens, I can’t say. Whether it’s a disease or if there’s a cure, that’s still a mystery."
Standing, Alexander rolled his neck, easing the tension in his muscles with a series of sharp pops. "The best advice I can give you," he said, his voice dropping into something more serious, "is don’t let your quest for knowledge lead you into the unknown without a plan."
He turned his gaze down the dimly lit hallway, the shadows stretching long in the faint light. "We’ll rest here," he informed her, "Room’s down that way." He gestured to the room he had been using, a silent offer for her to take it. He wasn’t planning on sleeping just yet, anyway. "Tomorrow, we’ll start our search."
Two years earlier
Panic, fear and helplessness- those emotions can be felt in this so called prison. They were gathered, tortured and burned to death, their fellow kin watched as they screamed and begged the end as they burned alive. Some prayed to the Goddess for protection while also praying to those who done harm to them for they do not know what they are doing. But their were three who remained who did not pray to the Goddess, who did not pray for the fool. Instead once it was their turn to burn they prayed for the damnation of their murderers.
"We pray for their end, and may they never know rest. Here us Quetzalcoatl, Mighty Feathered Serpent. Bring those who damn us into never ending suffering!" They chanted to there last breath as they were burned alive. They were not able to see what happened next; The slaughter of their murderers. by one lone avenger that lost everything and saw nothing but red. But this story was just the beginning, for the wicked never did know rest.
Present day
In a library, a female libriarian would be putting away books that were returned. It was a heavy stack and alot of work, the sweat on her brow said it all; she was beginning to tire but the thought of finishing drove her forward. However her concentration soon ceased when hearing the sound of a bell ringing. She peeked through the aisle to see the front door of the library but was unable to for being so far in the back. "I'm sorry but we are closed for the night, please comeback tomorrow!"
After that she would continue her work only to be interrupted with another ring of the bell. She took a deep breath as she would place the remainning books down and walked to the main hall expecting to find who ever it was that came in during closing hours. But when she got there no one was there to greet which made her become more cautious. She looked around the library while standing still-then she heard it; the sound of cracking bones, the sound someones footsteps. "Hello...I told you before the Library is closed!"
The silence was deafening, it was starting to make her go over the edge. She didn't realize that the ones that entered the library was right behind her until. "Filthy witch." A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the floor causing her to scream. She tried to crawl toward the exit only to have her foot grabbed and started to get dragged deeper into the library. Hands grabbed onto her body lifting her up on her feet, she managed to claw her finger nails onto one of the attackers cheek only to feel something in her hands.
She would take one look at her hands before her breath hitched; in her hands were blood and decaying skin. She finally glanced at her attacked and saw that the skin on their faces was rotting and decaying and the one that she had scratched...was missing his jaw. She screamed once again before everything went black.
The next day the police and firefighters arrived after receiving reports of a fire in the local library. In the center of the library a burned corpse was found bound to a wooden post with books surrounding the body.; most likely used as firewood to keep the body burning. As the police looked around they found out that the books that were used as firewood where books involving witchcraft and history books. Whats even weirder is the fact that 'Kaltain' was written on the walls, no one didn't understand why this happened, but one did; a person who would be reading a book while standing in front of what remains off the corpse as they put her in a gurney, one of the officers walked up behind him and asked.
"Who could have done this and why?" Then the man would close the book before answering question without blinking an eye.. "Because she was a witch, or so they believed. Not only that, that they are looking for someone specific. This isn't a unplanned kill officer, this was just the beginning..." After that the man would throw the book aside and walk out of the library. He could hear the officer call out his name trying to get him to stop.
'Detective Rockwood!- Beginning of WHAT!?'
[Thank you! Your page and character are great.]
Roger & Nascha
He wouldn't dare to admit it, but Roger was a bit weirded out by the way the were-witch took in a sudden deep breath for reasons he couldn't exactly identify. It wasn't that he disliked those who were different and he certainly didn't want to feel that way on any level. But still, being blindsided by the existence of actual witches and werewolves did nothing to soothe him. Let alone a combination of both in one woman.
But here she was in his presence as living proof, and she was willing to answer his question but not without posing one herself. "N-no, it shouldn't be a problem," he answered her query first, though he was unconvinced by his own words. "I don't think." It seemed a little suspicious that she hadn't caught sight nor scent of the missing person. Or claimed not to, at least. However, that may have been unintentional prejudice. That notion alone reminded him that he really ought to try and act more open and trusting towards her.
"You haven't seen her, then?" His tone was steadier now. "That's a right shame. Hope she hasn't gotten herself into a spot of trouble." Roger smiled slightly at her quip relating to his career, patting the pocket in his jacket where he kept his notepad and pen. "Yeah, sometimes there's field work. But I'll be keeping our meeting off the record. I don't think putting in a mention of werewolves in the paper would be such a smart idea. Cause it's like you said. Just about everyone out there thinks you lot exist only in stories." It'd make him look mad and he knew it.
"I'm Roger, by the way." Introductions were probably necessary at this point. "And I understand the secrecy. Wolves have a bad reputation, especially 'round these parts. Mr. Ward, that's our missing person's husband, seemed to think they might've tried to hurt her or something. Animals tend to act on instinct, you know. And if they're hungry..."
He trailed off, realizing he might offend her. "Ah, never you mind. I could use a bite to eat myself but all I've brought along are stale crisps. You wouldn't happen to know the fastest route to a pub or a restaurant?" It was practically a joke, what with with how far from civilization they appeared to be.
Legion kept his gaze steady and settled on Nascha, and when she spoke, he crossed his arms almost indignantly. Her sniff test would yield that he was certainly not human. He smelled of lilies and dark chocolate, of smoke and just the smallest hint of sulfur. Like his accent, it was another piece of him taken from living in Hell that he could not get rid of, no matter how long he spent away. At least he didn’t notice it in himself, though, and so the scent didn’t really bother him.
Her comment only made him smirk in return, even if Nascha tried to hide hers. “I guess.” He said a bit dismissively, and shrugged a little. No, he wasn’t blind, and he wouldn’t pretend like he was. He could see just fine. Better than one might expect even when he wore the glasses at night or inside buildings.
Upon Nascha getting defensive, though, Legion put his hands up in a show of innocence. The comment had been made carelessly without really thinking. If he had been thinking, he might not have been so flippant with a stranger. Still, Nascha did smell like a werewolf, mixed with something else. The term had just come out naturally to him.
“Sorry, sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” At least he didn’t sound annoyed at her anger or defensive. “What’s your name? I know humans can… be that way.” He liked humanity all right, for the most part, but he’d agree that they had a tendency to be cruel toward things they didn’t understand. Other supernaturals could be that way too, but it happened much less often with them in his experience.
"Ah…No, I didn't. I merely assumed that if it was advertised, it must be legitimate. They have a phone number and everything. I suppose if I had to, I could call and confirm that." Legacy was not well-versed on the internet. She much preferred a quiet, book-filled library to the tablets and smartphones the kids today used. Hell, she didn't even have a smartphone; just a crappy little flip phone — the kind where you had to add minutes from prepaid cards. Without a doubt, she was decades behind when it came to electronics. That's not to say she didn't know how to use them, only that she preferred not to. At any rate, she could not afford it. The shop made a decent earning — enough to pay the bills and have a little extra, but she was far from living a lavish lifestyle.
"At a bar — pub, I guess it's called, in London. Or near the city. I don't really know." And now here she was, back in the United States. So it must have happened a little while ago. "It probably made the paper. Er, you're more than welcome to go and look for yourself, but you couldn't pay me enough to get back on a plane." Though it was possible the witch could teleport. Now that was a spell she was dying to learn. How convenient it would be to simply pop in and out, wherever you needed to go. Sigh. A witch could dream. Despite her earlier ire and caution, it seemed that Legacy was relaxing, perhaps finding comfort in another witch. That sort of bond was clearly lacking. One could call her foolish — and Legacy was very much foolish — but at least it meant she could adapt quickly. She wouldn't admit it, not to herself or to another, but she was lonely. The chickens were fine, feathered company, but they couldn't hold a conversation. Her shop assistant — a young teen who managed the shop when she was gone — was nice to be around but she always had her nose in her phone. She couldn't exactly be herself around the mortal either.
Legacy blinked, realizing the slip. Mouse-dung. She hadn't meant to be that obvious. But it was too late, so she went on with her explanation. Legacy thrummed her fingers over the counter; a nervous tic. One she quickly halted because of how annoying it was.
Shame burned through Legacy at her thoughtless words. A shadow of sadness spread over Nascha's face when she confirmed what Legacy thought. Clearly something had happened, because Nascha was here, not with her Coven. Mouse-brain! Where some might have tried to needle for more information, Legacy did not. She minded her own business. "Apologies. I should not have brought it up."
She wasn't sure what sparked Nascha to be so blatantly honest with her, but she blinked her sympathy before lowering her head. "When I was a cat, I had an owner named Alex, and later, his girlfriend. They died in a fire. I tried to wake them, tried to warm them, but the flames and smoke were too much." She sometimes wondered if a true, loyal companion should have died there with her owners. But she had another responsibility then. "I waited for them, hoping they'd climb out the windows to safety, but they never did. So I understand loss. Perhaps not to the grand extent that you have, of course, but I do understand it."
Her lips twitched a little, as if a fond memory had come to mind. "He was a werewolf too." And wasn't that something? A werewolf with a pet cat? Strange indeed. "My sister still lives." She frowned. "Or at least I think she does. I suppose she could be dead. I would have no way of knowing." So she understood the hesitance of the unknown, as well.
Her eyes widened As realization dawned. "Witch hunters are a thing? I've read about them, but thought they had all faded into obscurity." Supernaturals had eons to learn how to blend in. Legacy guessed maybe she gave the mortals too little credit. They could learn to blend in too.
"That’s…pretty sick." To kill an entire coven? Of witches? With powers and spells? "How is that even —" Legacy cut herself off. Her inquisive nature was getting the best of her. She had no reason to bring up the horror and misery of that day. She just…found it hard to believe humans could kill multiple witches. She'd never come up against a hunter, so there was no way she could understand the threat they posed.
"I’m sorry." And she meant it. The sincerity rung true in her voice. What else could she say? She wanted to ask if she was sure the hunters had killed everyone, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel. Sensing the sensitive nature of the topic, she quickly switched to something else.
"So you…what? Travel town to town? Are you looking for other witches? Trying to start your own Coven? Or just looking for the like-minded? You don't have to answer," she was quick to add. "It’s none of my business. I'm sorry if your search led you here. I'm sure there are others out there. Maybe look to the cities? There are a lot of nightclubs out there geared towards the supernatural. The mortals just don't know how real it is. I bet you can find witches there or at least, gather information about any." It was as much help as she could offer.
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