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
With a heavy heart, Legacy emitted a heavy sigh. It seemed she couldn't shake her visitor just yet. "It appears you are familiar with decent witches," Legacy observed as they plodded their way back to her home. Nascha's outburst suggested as much. "Some witches make pacts. There's no such thing as a free lunch. I was aware of the cost when I consented." The specifics of the evening remained vague; undoubtedly intentionally. "I'd gladly accept a century of servitude if I could take it back." Legacy refused to elaborate. In any case, they had reached the house.
Legacy knew that her array of locks would garner extra attention. She opened her mouth to offer an explanation, but emitted a frustrated sigh instead. "Perhaps I entrusted some...artefacts...to someone I mistakenly considered reliable in exchange for knowledge. Three artefacts, to be exact. I have certain...associates, investigating two of the artefacts." Two. What about the third? "One pertains to demons, another to vampires...the third likely involves witches." Three items. A mocking of the trinity. Powerful artefacts are frequently employed in rituals. If Legacy had delivered the talismans into the wrong hands, what catastrophe had she brought upon the world?
Legacy had already taken a risk by seeking help with the other two. What was an additional risk in this perilous wager? Let the other witch know. Perhaps she could be useful.
"The magic won't deter anyone for long," Legacy explained, freely jumping to the next topic. "I hope the locks will at least impede them." It seemed contradictory; would a sorcerer of such power truly be baffled by locks?
Legacy's expression brightened at the mention of spirits. "Not the most vibrant group, understandably, but spirits have little else to do but roam, invisible and inaudible. Upon finding someone with whom they can communicate, they never stop talking! They can become fast friends. Though it's always beneficial to help them find peace. It's unjust to be trapped here indefinitely."
Would it be that bad? Traveling the world, free to go anywhere...no, it must be lonely. To be imperceptible. To observe as loved ones continued on without you. To witness a fully engaging world yet have no tangible influence on it. Yes, being a ghost would be a solitary existence. "Some enjoy it here, Some are benevolent and merely desire to peacefully coexist in the world. Others are malevolent and instigate hauntings, taking pleasure in the terror they inspire." How many books, folklore, TV shows, and movies would have never existed without such hauntings? “If I hear about nefarious spirits, I never vanquish them unless they cause harm to the living. Some of the more powerful beings have that kind of power. They are easily dealt with."
It seemed like Legacy was not as novice as she appeared. At least when it comes to spirits, she must be a powerful force. Necromancy was an unusual specialization when it came to witchcraft.
Roger & Nascha
Roger blinked not once but twice as the woman claimed she wasn't in fact married to anybody. "Oh." With that revelation, it was highly unlikely that she was the one who'd gone missing in this forest full of hungry wolves. He felt a little embarrassed for making the assumption, but he supposed that in doing so he'd not harmed a soul. The next step for his investigation would have been to ask her if she'd seen any sign of another lady, but he was sidetracked by what she claimed next.
"S-surely, you don't mean actual magic?" Roger asked, his question phrased on the verge of rhetorically. "Like witchcraft?" Again his hand moved back up to his cheek, where the bleeding gash had once been but was no longer. It seemed impossible, and yet the signs that she had successfully performed a spell were there. The odd chant she'd muttered under her breath, for one.
She must have really done it!
He stared at the woman for a good while, struggling to find the right words to say. "There won't be any side effects from it, will there?" It was probably a silly question, but he had to know just in case. That wouldn't be his only query, either. He took in a breath before bringing up another. "And I'm sorry if this sounds completely ridiculous but, that wolf I saw...it wouldn't have anything to do with your abilities?"
Perhaps he was being vague, but he was entirely unsure of how else to ask if she'd used witchcraft to assume the form of a wolf without coming off as completely off his rocker.
The cracking of bones pulled his attention to her, attention he'd been trying so hard not to give. Her form rose, hands landing on her hips in a defiant manner. Alexander's nostrils flared again for a swift moment; the unpleasant scent of mutt had started to fade. After his feral instincts had finished their once-over of her, his more human side returned. Dark hues blinked once, twice, then a third, realizing she was completely naked. "Jesus..." he huffed, turning his attention from her and upwards in the other direction. Maybe that wasn't a very vampire-like thing to say, but Alexander was human once, after all.
He stopped, a patch of sand kicking up by his heel as he did so. Slender pale fingers worked at the buttons on his dress shirt that hadn't already been opened, undoing each one in a swift motion. Underneath lay a simple black men's tank top. Clutching the shirt in his right hand for a moment before tossing it in the female's direction. "Here," he spoke, his attention still fixated on anything other than the creature he'd reluctantly been stuck with.
Whatever she was doing back there he couldn't be bothered with anymore. The vampire pushed his hands into his pockets and continued forward, the dim light of the city now starting to come into view. Even though it was the most obvious spot for the hunters to hit after they'd finished their joyride through the mansion, Alexander doubted they'd make any moves in public. Once a hunter, he often thought like one, which only helped enforce his lax nature through the chaos that had ensued earlier this evening.
The city lights flickered in the distance, casting an ethereal glow against the night sky. The streets ahead were a mix of shadows and faint luminescence, a testament to the city's perpetual twilight. Alexander's footsteps were soft against the pavement, his mind wandering through the events that had led them here. The chaos of the mansion, the frantic escape—it all seemed like a distant memory now, though it had only been a mere hour if that.
"You gonna at least give me your name, mutt?" Alexander's voice cut through the silence, a sharp edge to his tone. He didn't slow down or turn around, his gaze fixed ahead.
Awesome. I tend to play my character as an older lycan who has been around a long time. Are there any stories or plot lines you'd like to go through?
Legacy let out a delicate snort. She knew what Nascha had been about to say. She didn't question why Nascha had abruptly cut herself off. She could keep her secrets. For now, Legacy had her own mystery to solve, no need to involve a stranger.
“I'm afraid my family is unreachable.” Were they dead, or was she merely estranged? She didn't elaborate, her steely gaze revealing nothing.
Though it rankled, Legacy knew in her heart that the woman was right. She was inexperienced, a novice. She closed her eyes and with a whisper of her power, her body shifted. Unlike a werewolf's harsh transformation, her bones and flesh didn't snap or stretch. Instead, a brief gray mist shrouded her before dissipating. In the cat's place was a woman. Her beauty was subtle; prominent cheekbones framed her face, complementing her lightly tanned skin. Her eyes, a mundane brown punctuated by gold flecks, held a quiet intensity. A pale shirt hid her figure. Long brown hair cascaded down her back in a dark wave, its length brushing the ground as she sat.
“With my family unreachable, I'm afraid kin can't help me. The only other witch I knew kept me as an indentured servant. She taught me almost nothing.” She had only been taught things that would benefit the other witch. “And she branded me to ensure my obedience.” Her shoulder twitched at the haunting memory. This was her only reaction to her tale. Her expression remained neutral.
Why was Legacy telling Nascha this? She couldn't say. Perhaps she secretly yearned for familiarity, for refuge. She didn't deserve it. She had only herself to blame. Legacy slowly rose, her 5'8" frame unfolding. A few leaves stuck to her clothing which she brushed aside with a flick of her wrist.
Without uttering another word, she turned and began to walk away. The direction led back to her home. If Nascha followed, Legacy would cast an annoyed glance behind her shoulder, but otherwise stayed silent.
She produced a key from her pocket once she arrived at the front door. The lock opened with a soft snick. Inside, it was almost like a step back in time. Glass bottles dotted the shelves, organized by remedies; tonics that claimed to aid arthritis, pain, headache, and stomach aches, to name a few.
There were also creams that claimed to have healing properties and topical pain relief. Ingredients were readily listed on every product; meticulously written by hand. Such ingredients were true in their promise, although actual scientific study on herbal remedies were limited. At least Legacy was not in the business of selling snake oil. Indeed, nearly her entire inventory was geared towards medicinal use. The rustic wooden floors were clean but had long lost their shine. From the ceiling hung fans that cooled the air. The dull light bulbs gave the entire shop a low lit, almost relaxing atmosphere.
Dried herbs were available on a rack to the left of the shop, sold in bundles. Next to that hummed a large refrigerator. Organic eggs took up the space here. At the center of the shop stood a produce cart; for sale were tomatoes, cucumbers, watermelon, cantaloupe, broccoli, and apples. The eggs, vegetables, and fruit were priced lower than at the grocery store.
A few oddities for sale were focused around witchcraft; various history books, tarot cards, spirit balls, to name a few. They were displayed at various places, likely to catch the curious eyes of customers and draw them in.
There was nothing nefarious to be found. Now that Nascha had seen the inside of her shop, perhaps she would be satiated now.
Indeed, the only odd thing was the front door itself. While the deadbolt could be easily explained, the array of orher locks could not. There was a chain lock at the top, an eye hook beneath that, and another chain lock near the bottom. Clearly she wasn't concerned about anyone breaking in, rather, she was focused on keeping something out.
“Happy now?" she grumbled. “Nothing diabolical to be found here."
Alexander turned his head, his gaze sweeping over his right shoulder. His nostrils flared so faintly it was doubtful that it was seen. His attention fixated solely on the wolf behind him. It was docile, not aggressive like most, almost like a puppy. "Shitty hunters. Not even securing the perimeter," he muttered, his tone flat and devoid of any warmth. His accent was mostly American now, but traces of his Russian origins still lingered, slipping through in certain words.
A loud crash from the mansion they'd escaped pulled his attention but not enough to make him turn around. As his gaze panned upwards towards the broken window, a beam of the night's moonlight caught in Alexander's eyes, igniting the crimson red that hid beneath their normally much darker hue. As soon as it came, it went. He turned his attention back to the narrow path that led in one of two ways: into the mansion's garden or out towards the main road.
The vampire started walking, noticing that the wolf was eager to follow. "You know we're supposed to hate each other," he said with a sigh of annoyance. It wasn't really true. He'd met plenty of lycans in his time that he got along with fine. That was just human folklore, but it was enough to attempt to shake the mutt.
As he continued down the path leading to the end of the mansion, he looked left, then right. He wasn't lost, but he wasn't familiar with the area either. It had been a long time, after all. He'd done his best to steer clear of Russia for his own reasons. Yet here he was, on a lead that had led him to a dead end. The chaos of the party seemed further away now. Alexander couldn't help but wonder why none of the hunters had stayed back to secure the exterior of the home. Either way, judging by their positioning, he wasn't in much of a hurry to flee. The town wasn't far away, but it would be a decent ten-minute walk. Granted, the duo could get there faster, but Alexander chose to stroll.
"Going into town like that?" he sarcastically prodded, not turning back or giving her much attention at all. The vampire ran his fingers through his black strands, still finding shards of glass to shake loose.
"What did you want with my informant, anyway?" His tone was monotone and more serious than a standard conversation, demanding even. Alexander had a serious nature. Perhaps it was all the years of solitude or the years before that of being strictly business. He did have a playful, compassionate side at one point in time. Now, even those precious memories were beginning to fade. Even now, he'd yet to crack a smile throughout the whole interaction.
"Right.." the vampire looked down and to his side, realizing she'd yet to say a word in this form, "You're a dog.."
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."
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