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
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.
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.
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