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
Her defensive tone told Alexander everything he needed to know. She hated hunters, even the good ones like him. Good ones.. It was a story for another day. Besides, it wasn't like he could ever return to his job as a hunter. Vampires weren't usually on the payroll.
She spoke of her witch roots, Alexander flopped his head backward, on the backrest of the sofa, his eyes focusing on the ceiling. It was unkept for a rental, spider webs spewing from one corner to the other and evident dust trailing across the wooden boards. "Kaltain." He let his voice trail off as if trying to remember, "Can't say I've heard of them. At least not here." The 'here' reference was directed to their location, Russia. He did normally have deep knowledge of supernatural clans and surnames, but outside of Russia, his knowledge was splotchy.
"The Void is a place," Alexander responded to her questioning. He did not move, his eyes still continuing to trace the abandoned spiderwebs in the corner, "It is a species and a faction." Maybe he wasn't explaining this that well, but he didn't know all that much either after all. Then again, there was something he wouldn't tell her. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he continued, "The Void's magic consumes, It is always hungry, it's people gluttons for power. It is pure chaos."
Alexander ignored her prods at nicknames, his mind returning back to her offer. He didn't need her, did he? "The Void is a dangerous thing for a witch." Was his response. "You're too susceptible." What did that even mean? "If it's a quest for knowledge you want, fine. I won't stop you from tagging along, but don't become a burden."
"The last time I saw them was with Ryan. He's a human — at least I believe him to be — who runs a museum, or so he told me. He was interested in collecting unusual and rare artifacts to display in his museum. I think it's called…” Her eyebrows drew down as she tried to remember. She really should have committed it to memory. “Mysticum Arcanaeum, I think. Yes, that was it. I did look into it; it has its own website, ticket prices and everything, so it looked legit. They claim to have magical artifacts, but I suspect they're displayed as mere trinkets to the mortals. They have artifacts from the Salem Witch Trials, for example. It's likely that the "magical" artifacts aren't actually magical at all. He sort of…caused an explosion at the bar where we met. So, he's working for Agatha, no doubt." She sighed. Nascha's words had hurt, but this time she didn't become upset. "I thought I was simply helping a museum curator, not some backstabbing mastermind, okay? And before you ask, no, I don't know where he is. He disappeared after causing an explotion in our meeting place. And no, no one got hurt."
Her brown eyes widened slightly when she mentioned how she was a talented student. “Truly? So you really were gifted? A fast learner? I was a rather gifted Clan cat, many, many years ago. I was quite the hunter and fierce in warrior training.” Clan cat? Warrior training? The words were likely lost on Nascha.
“As a witch, however, I was never taught. Since I owed Agatha several years of servitude, I thought she would still accept me as her apprentice. I didn't fully realize the depth of darkness in her right then. At first, she taught me a few basic spells, but she was always obsessed with the darker forms of magic. Things like black magic, blood magic…she spent hours studying it. Recently, I discovered that she was part demon; I'm unsure of the extent. Many years ago, her ancestors were torn apart when a witch cheated on his wife and had children with a demon. I believe that might be part of her overall plan: revenge. Although I'm unsure why she would care about something that likely occurred hundreds of years ago, I cannot tell you." She was baffled about it. Why take revenge on someone who no longer existed? Legacy assumed the original demon could still live, but what would Agatha do with her? Kill her? That seemed dull. No, Legacy guessed that her plans were far darker and more complex.
"At any rate, I know few spells and even fewer incantations." Hence all the potions and concoctions for sale. "I can cast fire, as well as a little ice and electricity. I can also cast a magical barrier with ease." But likely not as sturdy as that of a well-trained witch. "Other than that," Legacy offered with a shrug. She couldn't change it; nearly all of her magic had been self-taught. "Are you still close with your coven? Do they accept outsiders?" It was a tentative question. Legacy was unsure how she would fit in with a coven. She was quiet, a bookworm at heart, and she wasn't keen on being thrown together with strangers. But Nascha had been right; an untrained witch was a danger. Of course, she had tried to search for covens herself, but they lived in the shadows. Unless you were connected, you couldn't find them. Could this be her chance to try? She wouldn't know unless she asked. If not, she would continue on as she had, practicing in the woods, out of sight. She may never develop into her true potential, but she would not endanger anyone.
Of course, love. Thank you for accepting. Pretty profile :)
Roger & Nascha
One completely unexpected revelation followed the other, and hardly without much in the way of a pause in between them. Roger was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he had been healed by a real witch. A user of actual magic that truly worked! He was getting there but too slowly to be fully prepared to hear her next claim that she was lycanthropic. "You're part werewolf?" He blurted out, letting out a nervous chuckle afterwards. Though he wanted to take a defensive step back, he held his ground. His initial reaction had probably offensive enough on its own.
"I'm sorry," Roger admitted after a short but awkward pause. His eyes softened, partly to show that his apology was sincere. The second, less flattering reason being that he was a little scared. "I've just...never met one before. I didn't know these things were possible." He suddenly felt so small, naive and inexperienced.
All the same, he was a working man and he was supposed to make a report on that missing person whom he hadn't pick up a single clue on. The presence of the lady werewolf was something to strongly consider. "Erm..." he stuttered, reluctant at first. This seemed a bit like treading on egg shells that might nip at his heels if he wasn't too careful. "I actually came here on a job. I work for the papers. There's this woman who's gone missing, I meant to interview her husband, but then I got lost." Roger gave a slight shrug. "I thought you were her. But clearly, you're not. Erm, you wouldn't've happened to see anyone else 'round these parts?"
The werewolf was right – he did stick out. Part of that was through no fault of his own: pale skin and inky black hair and features slightly too angular to be quite normal. But the black clothing certainly didn’t help, and neither did the black shades hiding his eyes from the rest of the world. Legion honestly was used to being stared at, or at least glanced at, and so his odd appearance didn’t really make his life too difficult.
He was not, however, expecting to be approached. It was the wolfish scent that hit his nose first. If he had been keeping his pointy ears visible, they would have perked in slight interest. Instead, though. He only tilted his head slightly, almost catlike, as he turned to look at Nascha. He regarded her before she even spoke to him. He wore a blank and apathetic face well.
But when she did finally speak, the demon couldn’t help but laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Isn’t it a little rude to comment on people’s appearance?” He countered the question, raising an eyebrow behind those dark shades. “If I were blind, that would have been very insensitive of you.” He spoke with an accent, some kind of mix of one of the British accents – or maybe many of them – and something else, something much more distinct and hard to pinpoint. A Hellish accent he had never learned to drop, despite having not lived in Hell for centuries.
Behind those frames, he gave Nascha another once over. “I wear them for the comfort of other people, little dog.” He said coolly, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Humans are awfully sensitive. They don’t tend to appreciate things that are different.”
Alexander didn't respond to any of her prods until they were inside the cabin. He moved toward the door, pushing it closed behind her. It creaked just as it had when he opened it. With a click, he flipped the top deadbolt, locking the two in, and more importantly, keeping others out. It wasn’t meant to be an intimidating gesture. He wasn’t holding her here. However, it could easily be misinterpreted.
The vampire let out a sigh, as if he could finally relax. His dark eyes appeared almost tired at a glance. It was true; he was exhausted, even in his undead state. He had been on what seemed to be a wild goose chase for a long while now, all in hopes of gathering information about his former lover. While the two had indeed rekindled what once was, the feel was off. The vibe wasn't there, and in its place, something sinister seemed to stir. With the minimal knowledge Alexander had, he knew he could unearth something.
The cabin was bare, at least as far as one could see. It was small, appearing to consist of a single entrance room where they stood. To the right was a kitchenette, and to the left a small seating area. A small wooden table and two wooden chairs sat in the center of the seating area with a basic tan sofa bordering the wall. A window was centered behind the sofa. A small hallway split the cabin; to the left lay a small washroom and to the right an equally tiny bedroom with a single bed. There were no personal items, no dirty dishes in the kitchen, not so much as an item out of place. It appeared as though the vampire had traveled light.
"I do often do what others expect," Alexander finally broke the silence, moving toward the small kitchen area and flipping the handle on the sink, turning on the water. He gave his hands a thorough washing, trailing up his arms to remove any glass shards and filth that today had brought. Turning off the water, Alexander shook his hands a couple of times to rid them of excess water. "I am a vampire. I will always drink blood as people expect, I will always be hunted as people expect. I will always be the creature people expect." His tone changed, indicating his distaste for the words he had just spoken. "I used to be a hunter in my past life; for this very country." He had told himself many times he wouldn't return to Russia, yet here he was.
"If you're a half-mutt, what is the other half?" the vampire asked, fanning his fingers through his hair before moving over toward the rickety sofa and tossing himself backward. His arms rested on the backrest, one on either side. "I needed that informant for information about a location known as the Void. I need to know everything—its essence, its physical location, its capabilities. What it even is." Alexander shifted his gaze over his shoulder, a hand flicking at the taupe curtain that covered the window behind the sofa. He peered out of it for a few moments before continuing, "I returned to Russia to speak with some other outcast hunters that still have connections to the Hunter Society. That witch was supposed to be able to give me information."
Alexander let the curtain fall back into place, his eyebrow raising as his attention fell back to her. He finally replied to her last question, the angst of seriousness starting to disperse with his next words, "I don't know, Mutt seems suiting to me." His dark orbs panned her up and down; her bare body hidden only by his shirt. This did explain the scent of canine dispersing so quickly after her transformation. She was only part she-wolf, after all.
She didn't reveal as much as she thought. Legacy bore no knowledge of the Kaltain family or coven. She was rather bookish though; her thirst for knowledge could never be quenched. She filed the name away for later.
Legacy's face darkened at Nascha's scolding. “Watch yourself; you know nothing of what you speak of. You know nothing about me or my life. You cannot even fathom the trials I have gone through. Are you so perfect that you've never known the harsh whisper of regret? I thank you for the unnecessary lesson.” She had not known the depth of trouble she was getting herself into. The deal was explained in riddles she did not completely unravel. Until it was too late.
She didn't respond when she asked how she came across the artifacts. Did it matter now? She felt it was more pertinent that she somehow got them back. She couldn't help but fear the darkness Agatha hoped to unleash. She had only uncovered part of her story. Well, her ancestor's story at least. There was still so much she had yet to learn, especially when it came to Agatha herself. What sort of childhood led her to become the monster she is today?
Legacy made an unhappy grumble when the witch noted the inefficiency of her locks. She knew that, but it made her feel more secure, damn it. Like an old security blanket children clutched at night.
When Nascha demonstrated her point, Legacy felt ready to launch something at her head. Maybe one of those heavy paper weights she had on the counter…
At least the topic of spirits was safe. “I can only see the ghosts of the unrested. I can summon a spirit, if I must, but I usually need to have made direct contact with them once before, have a worldly object of theirs, or use a friend or family member as a focal point. I dislike it though; it just seems uncouth to drag a soul away from where they'd been. Rude, I should think!”
Legacy understood that she was…odd. Most witches longed to cast spells of fire and ice, not commune with the dead. “It is not something I take lightly. I don't use them in spells or anything like that.” Raising the dead or using spirits for one's personal gain was an unspeakable act in Legacy's opinion. Ghosts deserved the same respect and freedoms as the living.
“Well, what do you specialize in?” The question might have caught Nascha off guard. Why would Legacy inquire about it? There were many possible reasons; was it simple curiosity or more nefarious reasons?
The truth was the latter; she was intrigued by the witch who had come from seemingly nowhere. What sorts of power did other witches have? What was it like to live in a coven? She didn't voice those questions; they seemed too personal.
Roger & Nascha
Even though it was already evident, the woman's claims that she truly had used magic still sent a current of shock through him. Roger gulped and licked his lips, finding that they had suddenly gone dry. That of which was something that he could have easily equated with a magical side effect if the young lady hadn't brushed off the idea with a laugh. For once, he was thankful for being laughed at. "W-well in that case, I have to thank you," Roger expressed his gratitude, albeit with some hesitation and anxiety in his tone. For despite her having helped him, she was a witch and such women were dangerous.
Weren't they?
This one in particular didn't appear to be. She had healed him with no prompt to, after all. However, Roger was clearly able to tell that she was sort of beating around the bush about the quadripedal figure which she suggested had been her. The only reasoning he could come up with was as mundane as it came. "No use talking in riddles," he said, fortunately getting back onto his feet without discovering any sprains or worse. "If what you're saying is my mind tricked me into thinking you were a wolf, I won't be bothered." Roger shrugged nonchalantly. "Makes more sense than some woman actually turning herself into an animal. I have a tendency to see things, you know."
Alexander didn’t bother turning to answer her question, letting out a huff that was more of a chuckle. “Have you lived under a rock your whole life, mutt?” he asked rhetorically. Surely his scent would have given away to anyone supernatural that he was a vampire. Yet she didn’t know? Granted, to most humans and non-humans without a keen sense of smell, he might just carry the faint hint of whatever cologne he had lying around, or even the occasional scent of liquor.
“I’m a vampire,” he said, his tone laced with distaste at the necessity of the admission. The distaste wasn’t just for her question but also for the fact that he had to acknowledge it to himself as the words left his tongue. “You know, the kind that drinks blood?”
“We’re not supposed to get along,” he continued, answering her question. “I am a vampire; you’re a Lycan. A shifter. A werewolf.” He reiterated it in several ways, knowing one would resonate. “By human standards, and even some non-human standards, we are enemies.” Alexander paused as they entered the city he had been calling home for the last few weeks. It wasn’t much—the buildings were worn wood, the roads were dirt. Luckily, he’d been staying in a rental cabin right on the outskirts. “By their standards,” he added, his head shifting upwards and over his shoulder, so his side-eyed gaze could connect with her. “I should flay you alive..” His hand ran through his raven hair as if to shield it from the shallow breeze that swept through the streets.
“My name is Alexander, Nascha,” he said matter-of-factly. “And yes, I am eager to rid myself of a puppy I never ordered. However, I’d like to know why my informant was shot soon after you arrived. That, and you have my shirt..” Alexander’s attention returned to the dirt road ahead. In the distance, a short row of cabins came into view. They were worn but still functional, several porch lights glowing dimly. It took no time to trek up the steps to one of the nearer cabins. The porch light was off and would remain so.
Alexander pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges echoing the cabin’s age. His hand searched the wall for a moment, slender fingers flicking on the second furthest light switch. A dim light ignited from the ceiling further back in the cabin, a soft glow he preferred over the much brighter first switch.
His hand grasped the doorframe as he leaned out to check on his unexpected companion. “Coming, mutt?”
It was not typical for demons to wander out during the day. In fact, for this demon, it was very unusual indeed. While it did happen, he much preferred being nocturnal. The sun irritated his eyes, and his skin, unusually pale with a hunt of an olive undertone, tended to burn easily. There were also less people wandering around during the night, which he also preferred. But here he was, a little after noon, slipping out of an old pub and inn.
Small English villages, at least, had their charm. Buildings were often rustic and old, held years worth of life in them and were generally well kempt if not cluttered. England itself wasn’t too bad during the day, either, the weather cooler, the sun often hidden behind clouds or fog. It put Legion at ease somewhat.
It was hard to say what a man like him was doing there. He did not dress like the few locals around, opting for black jeans and black boots, a black button down shirt and a black denim jacket. He wore all long sleeves, which hid much of his true appearance, as did the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes. He made no move, however, to explain himself to locals, or anyone, really.
The truth was, he was only here to satisfy his manager’s desperate plea of him leaving town for a few days. Nothing too serious, only a murder taking place outside of his apartment building. Nothing to fear, except Anna was worried – always worried – about the possibility of Legion being a suspect. It wasn’t that he was not liked. In fact, many people really seemed to like him. But he was quiet and reclusive, and his propensity for sleeping during the day and lurking about during the night made him come across as suspicious.
Legion would never be so bold and stupid as to murder someone right outside of the place he lived, and if he did kill someone there would not have been a body left behind as evidence of his crime. Authorities didn’t know that, though, and Anna had been hellbent on sending Legion away for a week or two, with the hopes of keeping him safe from questioning. She was banking on the case being solved or blowing over before the reclusive demon returned home. She did not want him involved. It would only garner too much negative attention.
So then, there he was, making his way from the little building overgrown with pretty ivy to the high street. If he was to be here, and to be awake, he might as well make the best of his visit to a new town. First, there was coffee to stop for. Then something sweet. It curbed the cravings of a more human nature that he had. They were the two things that made the otherwise apathetic and somewhat grumpy demon see the daytime as worthwhile.
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