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.)
------------------------
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
You're welcome. Would you care to rp
“Well, I haven't set my jacket on fire in at least three weeks. I'd call that a success." She spoke with amusement. Though Nascha did not speak of the oddity of Legacy's name, the fact was never lost on her. One day she may tell the back story of her name. That day was not today. In truth, Legacy loved the uniqueness of her name.
Amusement lightened her amber gaze, though she tried to control it to avoid irritating the wolf further. Legacy even dared to lie down on the soft earth; a picture of confidence.
“Perhaps," Legacy agreed. “But you came to my home, did you not?" She couldn't quite keep the purr of amusement from her voice. “I should think the only reason a lone witch would be seeking her own kind would be because she is lonely. And I know werewolves from personal experience; they rarely live in solitude, even if their packs include other species. Animal instinct is strong, no matter how diluted the blood." A thoughtful expression flickered across her face "I suppose I'd be more suspicious had you arrived with a coven or pack."
Legacy blinked kindly. “I did not ask because I expected you to divulge your private affairs. Your secrets are your own, just as mine are. We both know my point stands."
Nascha's next words ignited a spark of sudden agitation. Legacy sprang to her paws. Her claws slid out and scratched into the dirt; it seemed to be the only thing that kept her from launching herself at her.
“You have some nerve." She spat, hackles rising along her spine. “Not everyone possesses natural talent. Not all of us have the luxury of a support system to guide us. Unless there's a school for witches I'm unaware of, what did you anticipate?" She jutted out her chin. “I am doing the best that I can. I would never hurt anyone ag—." The words died on Legacy's lips. She ducked her head, tongue soothing her ruffled chest fur.
The scent of the woman's nerves was clear to Legacy. After all, Legacy's existence before this had relied on her keen senses. She didn't voice her concerns. She had already said too much.
“It seems we are at an impasse. You came here out of curiosity; it should be satiated now. Whatever hopes led you here, I'm sorry to disappoint you." She had gathered her emotions and now spoke with calm, concise clarity.
Roger & Nascha
The woman's advice was something he wish he had heeded well before he had to hear it from her. Odd as she was for her apparent lack of caution, of course. Roger did find it funny that she was meandering about in the woods at all, let alone at the time of day where predatory animals tended to rise from their slumber. It seemed to him that she was without a care in the world for what might happen to her.
As she touched his cheek he began to see why.
There was a warm, almost tingling sensation in his face as she brushed a hand over his injury. Roger flinched for a moment, unsure of why she had done such a thing. And, was she muttering words in a another language? It could have just as easily been English, but she kept her voice hushed well enough not to make it obvious. One thing was for certain though, and it was that the pain in his cheek had vanished.
Roger moved his own hand to touch the affected area. "I-it's gone," he remarked, still weakened from his spell of panic he'd suffered but fairly less so. Slowly, he sat upright to stare cluelessly at the one who'd helped him. "Why wouldn't you...?"
It took him a moment for an idea to hit him. "You're the lost woman everyone's looking for," he mused aloud. "Your husband's worried sick, you know." Was she the same woman? Perhaps he was making too quick a judgement. Just the same, he still had no answer on how she'd mended his wound.
"How'd you do it?" Roger finally asked, patting his once scratched up cheek. "Without a kit? That sort of miracle working doesn't happen every day."
Legacy lowered her head. Her eyes narrowed to slits, allowing only a sliver of amber to show. The tip of her tail twitched. She seemed both irritated and chastened. She wouldn't admit it out loud though.
When the woman introduced herself, Legacy greeted in turn, “Legacy." . When Nascha mentioned the rumors, Legacy let out a snort.
“Rumors of the witch of the woods, I presume? Humans are so superstitious. Concoct some ginger and white willow and suddenly you're enchanting the townfolk with evil hexes. Little imagination with that lot. If you've come to search out a powerful witch, you're mistaken. The townspeople have nothing to fear from me. They have no problem purchasing my remedies. Mind you, it's good medicine. You don't have to rely on magic to heal." It sounded like she was speaking of experience. She realized too late that she might have been too outspoken about her lackluster abilities. She quickly added, “But I can still take care of myself." She again deponstrated the qualities of courage.
“Don't witches like to stick together?" Her whiskers quivered. “What are you doing out here, alone? Wolves too, like to travel in packs. More than even witches, I suspect."
She could ask you the same thing.
Yes, she could, couldn't she? Legacy preempted her. “Before you ask; I've never been in a coven. Nor is it especially my desire to. I'm figuring this out as I go along." A witch without control was a danger to all.
At least Legacy seemed resolute in her belief that she would cause no undue harm.
“Do you need supplies? I can provide them. Or are you seeking books? Potions, perhaps?" Legacy found it hard to believe it was only the rumors that brought her here, which clearly made her nervous. She'd never met with another of her kind. Well, other than the very witch she'd made a deal with. Since gaining her freedom, she had kept to the shadows, observing but not meddling. After her personal ordeals, trust was not readily given.
Alexander was a loner. It wasn't for any reason other than his own refusal to make an effort in forming friendships. It was a form of self-torture, a penance he imposed upon himself. The concept of deserving companionship, whether friends or family, had slipped from his grasp years ago. Yet, here someone was, speaking to him amid the chaos. The Vampire turned his gaze to the newcomer. She was much shorter than he, with auburn locks that framed her face in loose waves. Her choice of clothing was strikingly out of place, leading him to suspect she might have entered through the front doors with the hunters. But as he pondered further, he questioned why she would attempt to flee with him instead of claiming her bounty.
His gaze, a dark red hue that could easily be mistaken for brown, swept over his informant once more. It was a dead end. The realization caused his upper lip to curl slightly in agitation. Turning towards the large glass windows on his left, his attention shifted back to the woman who had approached him moments before. "Right," he replied tersely. He despised parties, people, and quite literally everything. It was a bleak existence, but that was Alexander's reality.
The Vampire gave her one last look, silently acknowledging that she should follow. With a sudden burst of movement, Alexander crashed through the window, shielding his face with his hands from the shower of glass shards. He fell two stories with the grace of a predatory feline, landing lightly on his feet. The sidewalk's rough texture was a welcome contrast to the smooth marble floors inside. Shaking his head, small pieces of glass cascaded to the ground. Alexander continued, dusting off his semi-casual dress shirt with deliberate motions before examining his hands. Meticulously, he plucked glass fragments from the back of his hands. Trails of blood began to form but quickly vanished as his minor injuries healed, the skin closing and repairing itself before one's eyes.
The night air was cool against his skin, a stark reminder of his undead nature. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his senses alert for any signs of pursuit.
Roger & Nascha
The shape he witnessed meandering about in the woodland was four-legged so far as he could tell, and that observation alone frightened him deeply. This was the hour those carnivorous creatures began to stir, was it not? It was a gamble either to force himself up or stay very still and hope not to be noticed, but he chose to take his chances on the latter. Roger wasn't exactly feeling up to the task of making a break for it anyway. Not with what he suspected, albeit erroneously, was a concussion and with the treacherous environment up against him.
He remained as motionless as a corpse all while hoping to to be mistaken for one and kept a watchful eye on the quadripedal being. It was nearing him, no doubt, but there was something rather off about it as it closed in. Perhaps it was the haze in his head preventing him from seeing straight but the creature seemed to grow taller and change with every step it took towards him. And then, when it had presumably finished growing, it was gone in a flash. Only moments later it returned in the form of a bare-footed, but otherwise fully clothed woman.
If he hadn't the excuse of dizziness and the potential to hallucinate, Roger would have panicked. But, he had to be seeing things. He just had to. Maybe he'd envisioned a wolf out of paranoia when the entire time there was only ever the woman. And there was indeed truly a woman, for she had touched his shoulder in a gentle manner and he had certainly felt it. Roger let out a soft groan and shifted his position slightly so he could see her face. "Mm. Dunno." His head wasn't throbbing terribly which was a good sign, but the side of his face did sting quite a bit.
"I must have slipped on the godforsaken dirt," he went on, moving a hand to touch his injury and then check it afterwards. Sure enough, there was blood. "Ah. You wouldn't have a first-aid kit on you, would ya? What are you doing out here on your own, anyhow?"
Alexander moved silently through the crowded ballroom, his eyes scanning the throngs of supernatural beings. Dressed in a stylish yet slightly relaxed manner for the supernatural gathering, he wore a dark, well-fitted dress shirt with his sleeves unbuttoned, allowing the cuffs to break messily below his elbows. The collar of his shirt was also open, giving him a more laid-back yet refined look. His hair, though slightly tamed, still retained its natural, tousled charm, framing his chiseled features. The overall effect was one of effortless elegance, blending into the opulent surroundings while hinting at his enigmatic nature.
The mansion was a labyrinth of opulence, each room more extravagant than the last, but Alexander had no time for distractions. He was here for one reason: to find information that could help him unravel the mysteries he'd been sensing about a specific woman from his past. His contacts had told him that a powerful witch with knowledge of ancient blood magic would be present tonight.
The glittering chandeliers overhead cast a golden glow, highlighting the diversity of creatures in attendance—vampires, witches, werewolves, and beings of even more obscure origins. The air buzzed with quiet conversations and the hum of magic.
He slipped into a shadowed alcove, waiting for his contact to appear. Moments later, the witch he was seeking emerged from a side door, a middle-aged woman with an air of authority and secrets. But before Alexander could approach, a commotion erupted at the entrance of the mansion. A group of vampire hunters, heavily armed and clearly prepared for a fight, had breached the gathering.
The room descended into chaos as supernatural beings scrambled to defend themselves or flee. Alexander instinctively moved towards the blood witch he had come to meet. "We need to get out of here," Alexander said urgently, his voice low but commanding. "Those hunters won’t spare anyone." His final words had barely finished when a silver-tipped arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing Alexander's left side. His dark gaze followed its trajectory, widening in alarm.
The blood witch had been hit, a silver-tipped arrow piercing her chest. She fell to the ground, her lips moving silently as she reached out to Alexander, pleading for help. Crimson poured from her wound, staining her brown patterned dress a dark, bloody hue. It was clear now that he wouldn't be getting the information he needed from her after all. The metallic scent of her blood filled the air, tempting his senses.
Kneeling beside her, Alexander's fingers dipped into the pool of blood forming around her. He glanced at the liquid on his fingertips before meeting her gaze. Her silent pleas appealed to him briefly, but he knew he couldn't save her; or more so, he wouldn't save her. Standing up and turning his attention to the chaos around them, he spoke, his voice steady, yet a sense of urgency still hung. "Looks like it's time to get out of here..."
The voice startled her more than it should have.
The cat spun around with a fierce hiss. Her quick movements disturbed the vegetation beneath her paws. Her fur fluffed out, making her appear larger than she was. Her back arched defensivley. A low growled rumbled in her throat.
A heartbeat later, she realized the human was talking to her.
This again?
No, that wasn't quite right
Okay, first of all, access the danger.
The woman did not appear to be a threat. At least, if she did, she hid it well. The casual stance, the friendly banter...her fur began to lie flat, though she remained on her toes.
Don't toy with your food. Legacy blinked. She'd once lectured another about playing with prey. Fierce amber eyes narrowed slightly as a pang struck her heart. The tip of her tail twitched.
She caught the scent of something familiar. Legacy dropped out of her defensive pose. Her upper lip curled back as she inhaled deeply. Yes. She knew that scent well. Another thorn pricked her heart. Wolf. The grimace fell from her face as she took in the woman and her words. No, not a woman. A wolf. No, not just a wolf either! At last she seemed to take note of her own energy. She reached out, only to shrink it back. She's a witch, too. The cat blinked, bewildered. How odd! But a werewolf and witch pairing was not the strangest one she had seen in her long life.
One thing was most obvious; this woman, whomever she may be, was a force to be reckoned with. She was simply no match and conceded so with a polite dip of her head.
“I have not tasted a mouse in a very long time." When she spoke at last, her voice held a mellifluous quality that was pleasing to listen to; the kind of voice that could carry over and calm an angered crowd or soothe a small child.
“And yet," she continued. “I have not lost the desire to hunt. There is little harm to it." Her ears swerved towards the hole where the mouse had taken refuge. “Besides causing fear, I suppose." Now she sat straight up with her tail tucked neatly over her paws. Power coiled around her like a heavy cloak. The sparks of nervousness could be detected. She might not be masking her own insecurity, but she at least had the spine enough to hold her ground.
“Who are you? And why have you come here?"
Stonebrooke was a quaint town with a small population. It was built around a centralized commercial area that touted dining, shopping, and leisure. An urban residential area surrounded that. The outskirts of the town featured rustic multigenerational farmlands. It seems this town prided itself on being relatively self sufficient when it came to the supply of fresh food. The people here were tight-knit, which meant rumors about strangers spread wildly amongst the population.
// Yes, of course :)
-
2
-
3
-
4
-
5
-
6
of 6 Next