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
Legion nodded as if he understood her plight. This was not the first time someone had said something like that to him, and he couldn’t say he was surprised or that he didn’t understand. Most people never did see that side of humanity. Even creatures as old as he was often saw humans and scoffed at the idea of them, bitter because of the things they had done, or because they were weak, or for a multitude of other reasons that Legion couldn’t often dismiss.
“I get it.” He said easily, giving a nod. “I don’t think many people who aren’t human have… I’d say it comes with age, but that’s not always the case either. I can’t say I work closely with humans, either. I’m not very close to them at all, actually. I have no human friends I spend time with.” He paused, as if he were trying to think about this for a moment. But the truth was, he really didn’t have any human friends. He distanced himself from humans, but not because he hated them. He just knew that humans could be impassioned and intense, could love so deeply, and that they died. They died so quickly, their existence was like a blip in the universe, one right after the other, and Legion didn’t like the feeling of heartbreak when they did go.
It also, for all intents and purposes, was not exactly safe for humans to be around him. Although he himself might not have been dangerous – though given his aura, it was likely that that danger was real and it was there, only suppressed and hidden, his power either drained or just not used very much – he ran in circles of people who cared much less than he did, and were much more willing to kill a human for nothing than he was. He had taken his fair share of lives, to be clear. After all, didn’t demons eat humans? But he was careful and strategic.
“Yes.” He added, as if backtracking, to the comment about his name. “It is interesting. I picked it myself, in the throws of drama.” He said it like a joke, but it was fully true; the name was chosen after coming back from a brutal death that had lasted him years. A little damaged for his own good. “It felt fitting, if not a little too biblical and on the nose.” He tried not to play too into the stereotypes, but given his dress and the strangeness of his aura, that might not have been the easiest thing for him.
Roger & Nascha
The more that Nascha talked to him, the less fond Roger thought she seemed of him. It was understandable, he supposed. She'd gone through the trouble to save him from his clumsy misstep and in return for it, all he given her was a load of grief over her existence as a werewolf. At the same time, he wished that if she found herself with a grudge then she'd be kind enough to let go of it later on. Before meeting Nascha, he'd been misinformed about her kin and if he was going to make a better effort regarding an openness to the supernatural, he hoped she'd do the same with mundane folk like himself.
She still seemed a bit terse, but it wasn't as if she was acting downright cruel. Quite the opposite, in fact. Nascha had chosen to help him, even if it was through a fair amount of snark. But regardless of any impatience, she was also considerate to ask him whether or not he was ill, a question which ended up dismissed with the easiest possible answer as a response. "N-no. Not ill. I was just...thinking. That's all." Roger forced a more neutral expression upon speaking in an attempt to show that he was perfectly fine.
As for what he was thinking about, it was for the best not to open that can of worms.
He followed Nascha's lead, silently debating with himself whether he should ask if she'd had a specifically bad encounter with a human. Silence on the topic was, as he ultimately decided, probably for the best. The impression had been given, and perhaps that alone was worth a thousand words. Instead of prying, he moved on to the subject of the missing woman, Mrs. Ward. "So she isn't a wolf." Thankfully, he added to that in thought alone. He didn't think he could take on another lupine right now. One was hard enough to get along with.
As for what else the two of them had a chance of meeting up with out here...
"How specific do you think I ought to be?" Roger questioned Nascha in a tone as cautious and polite as he could muster. "Erm, anything that might relate to our missing person. Anything that might...be her, I guess. Another witch or...maybe something not as human." He trailed off for a moment before blurting out an additional question. "D-do vampires exist?"
Legacy tilted her head, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Scream?” she suggested, her voice laced with amusement. “It’s a bar, not exactly the most reputable establishment. But scream loud enough and someone will take notice. I'm not exactly helpless, you know. I can defend myself if I have to.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “And if I did get kidnapped, well, it wouldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened to me. They'd probably just take me back to Agatha. I'm sure she's still got a taste for revenge after my escape all those years ago. Let's just say we didn't part on good terms.” She left it at that, the details of her past escape left unspoken.
A knowing glint lit up her eyes as Natscha pieced together her history. “That's right. I was born to a beautiful gray she-cat named Rain, later known as Rainstorm. I've got a sister out there somewhere, Speckletail, if she's still alive. My brother, Stormkit, never made it out of kittenhood. And my sister, Fernsong... she didn't survive a cough. Lost my mother to battle injuries too.” Legacy shrugged, her gaze drifting away, a hint of old pain in her eyes. “Don't know who my father is. Not exactly uncommon for she-cats; depends on the circumstances. Clan cats often find a mate for life — that love is often very genuine. Likewise for loners who find a mate they spend the rest of their lives traveling or living with. When I lived with my owners, I had a mate, Knox, who was a stray who visited my home often. It wasn't love, not the way you humans think of it, but we had a good thing. We enjoyed each other's company. If he's still alive, he's probably an old tom by now.”
She knew how unbelievable her story sounded, especially coming from human lips. It was so wild, so unbelievable, but it was her truth. “Spent six years in the Clan before I left after my mother died. Alex found me a few months later and took me home. I stayed with him for three years, until he died. Went back to the Clan after that, but it wasn't the same for me. Left after six months. Lived on my own for a while, until Agatha found me and turned me. Went from being a twelve year old cat to a twenty year old woman overnight, roughly speaking, anyway. Spent five years with her, but I don't really know my birthday, just that it's sometime in the summer. I just assume that once the leaves start changing color, I’ve turned a year older. Haven't really kept track, to be honest. I seem to be aging... differently. My cat form still looks as young as ever. I briefly returned to the Clan, just to see how they were fairing, but I was immediately shunned. The patrol wouldn’t even let me pass the border; they could scent the change in me and rightly did not trust it. So I’ve been on my own since. It hasn’t been that bad. Plenty of spirits to befriend.”
A soft smile played on her lips, a faraway look in her eyes. “He had a heart of gold, that one. Loved animals, peaceful soul. Never had a pack, but I've never been happier, never felt like I belonged more. Don't know if I'll ever find that again.” Her voice trailed off, lost in memory.
“I always assumed witch hunting was a thing of the past, based on false accusations and religious hysteria. I mean, the last of the witch trials was in 1944.” She'd studied it, delved into the history of it all. She'd assumed that particular brand of fear and ignorance had faded into obscurity.
“I suppose Agatha kept me safe, in that regard. Haven't run into any hunters myself, but maybe I should rein in the more... obvious displays of my nature. Don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention.” She frowned, thoughtful. She'd always embraced what made her different, but if the rumors of the potion brewing, spirit talking woman kept spreading... that could be a problem. She'd been lucky so far, but that kind of luck never held forever.
“You know, there’s a huge witch’s counsel to the West. Colorado, to be exact. They call it the Witches’ Conclave. They are the ones who got me on my feet after my escape, gave me the funds to start my life anew. They protect all witches. So, if there are witch hunters about, they would most definitely want to know about it. They could help you track them down and give you the means to eliminate them. If anyone could, it’s them.” Where did that tidbit of information come from? She must have decided Natcha was trustworthy enough for it. “And before you ask, no, I have not asked them for further help with Agatha. I don’t want to waste their time until I know her true plan.”
Roger & Nascha
It didn't take all too long for Roger to realize that he'd made quite a great mistake in the way he'd expressed his thoughts. Both on her condition, if one could properly call it that, as well as his concerns about the fabled hazard of wolves. The woman, who was apparently called Nascha, appeared to catch onto his reluctance and almost certainly took it to heart. In particular, she both looked and sounded bothered in regards to his pairing wolves with danger. It was understandable, and he'd regretted speaking that way the moment he'd done so. All the same, watching her attempt to hold back a feral burst of anger was unnerving.
Particularly when her eyes flashed gold.
"S-so long as nobody's been hurt, it's fine." Roger said, flashing his teeth in a nervous smile. "And you helped me. I've got no reason to be worried now, do I?" His shoulders slacked a little, more apologetically than out of than actual relaxation. "I'm sorry. I feel like I just don't know enough. About you, or your people. And I'm getting the feeling that..." his voice went a bit quieter, softer, "...you might feel the same way. About me."
She'd looked anything but happy about the idea of announcing her kind's existence to the public. And it made perfect sense to him. Even a man like himself who tried to have others' best interest at heart kept flubbing up in their conversation. He hated to imagine what truly rotten people would try.
Like him. Like Gwilliam.
The notion of that name alone had the expression on his face going sour, and he found himself licking his lips to try and suppress the queasy feeling he'd just experienced. The urge to change the subject was strong. So, Roger cleared his throat and made his best attempt. "I'm beginning to wonder if you might be right, you know," he said more casually, looking ahead of where they both stood. "Do you smell anything, erm, anyone who's not human? Other wolves? Maybe...another werewolf?" He thought he could be beginning to put two and two together, that the lost Mrs. Ward may have had a secret of her own.
"And that'd be great if you could show me the way out," Roger added abruptly, kindly acknowledging Nascha's offer to help him find his way out of the woods. "Though I think if you catch a whiff of something unusual, we might want to have a mosey around here a little longer." He wasn't about to abandon his field work, after all. If Nascha had any more input or theories about the missing lady, he was interested in hearing.
It would not have been the first time Legion let his tongue slip and he said something regrettable. He was frankly just lucky that Nascha’s temper seemed to cool easily, and she wasn’t the violent type. Or, well, she didn’t seem like she was from this interaction. She didn’t jump down his throat immediately, even if she had snapped at him. Justifiably so. Legion would never take offense to someone defending themselves.
“It won’t happen again.” Legion assured her, in a tone that was oddly warm and gentle. He offered a smile in return to the werewolf’s amused smirk. It was better this way; Legion preferred when things remained calm. Perhaps he was strong enough to take on a werewolf, but that did not mean he wanted to. Not without reason.
“Please, Nascha. You may call me Legion.” He was the kind of creature to use his words carefully when speaking about himself, it seemed, despite how he had put his foot in his mouth earlier. That kind of thing came with practice, and Legion was well versed in the practice of talking about himself in a very specific kind of way.
“I suppose you aren’t their biggest fan.” He continued the train of thought himself. Legion didn’t have anything necessarily horrible to say about humans. They hated his species, or what people thought of to be his species, but in its own way Legion felt that that was justified. Most humans took him for being human, unable to smell his sulfuric scent or clock the way his features were just a bit too angular. The sunglasses did throw people off, but the view of his eyes would have certainly done more so.
“They aren’t kind to things they don’t understand,” Legion admittedly knowingly. “But they aren’t all horrible. They are as selfish and destructive as they are caring and affectionate. They don’t make much sense to me, but I suppose they don’t have to.” All creatures were like that, in a way. Legion couldn’t say that was entirely a human trait.
"A massacre." Alexander echoed her words, a trace of curiosity lacing his tone. But when the topic seemed to end there, he didn’t push further. It was just a fragment of information he could store away for later, a piece of the puzzle that might come in handy down the road.
"Yes, maybe so," he responded noncommittally to her mention of the Void. The truth was, in recent years, he had learned more about the Void than he ever thought he would. But it was like chasing shadows—no matter how much he uncovered, the answers he sought remained elusive.
His gaze shifted back to her, his interest rekindled. "Your grimoires might prove helpful," he mused, watching her fingers absentmindedly trace the patterns etched into the wooden table. After a beat, he added, "You’re a witch." The reluctance in his voice was almost palpable. "You may very well pledge your allegiance to the Void."
He offered just enough information to hint at something deeper, yet left much unsaid. "From what I’ve heard—though I’ve never seen it firsthand—most Void creatures are magic casters. Their magic consumes them, taints them. Some are born that way, but most... they were infected by the chaotic magic the Void exudes. Why or how it happens, I can’t say. Whether it’s a disease or if there’s a cure, that’s still a mystery."
Standing, Alexander rolled his neck, easing the tension in his muscles with a series of sharp pops. "The best advice I can give you," he said, his voice dropping into something more serious, "is don’t let your quest for knowledge lead you into the unknown without a plan."
He turned his gaze down the dimly lit hallway, the shadows stretching long in the faint light. "We’ll rest here," he informed her, "Room’s down that way." He gestured to the room he had been using, a silent offer for her to take it. He wasn’t planning on sleeping just yet, anyway. "Tomorrow, we’ll start our search."
Two years earlier
Panic, fear and helplessness- those emotions can be felt in this so called prison. They were gathered, tortured and burned to death, their fellow kin watched as they screamed and begged the end as they burned alive. Some prayed to the Goddess for protection while also praying to those who done harm to them for they do not know what they are doing. But their were three who remained who did not pray to the Goddess, who did not pray for the fool. Instead once it was their turn to burn they prayed for the damnation of their murderers.
"We pray for their end, and may they never know rest. Here us Quetzalcoatl, Mighty Feathered Serpent. Bring those who damn us into never ending suffering!" They chanted to there last breath as they were burned alive. They were not able to see what happened next; The slaughter of their murderers. by one lone avenger that lost everything and saw nothing but red. But this story was just the beginning, for the wicked never did know rest.
Present day
In a library, a female libriarian would be putting away books that were returned. It was a heavy stack and alot of work, the sweat on her brow said it all; she was beginning to tire but the thought of finishing drove her forward. However her concentration soon ceased when hearing the sound of a bell ringing. She peeked through the aisle to see the front door of the library but was unable to for being so far in the back. "I'm sorry but we are closed for the night, please comeback tomorrow!"
After that she would continue her work only to be interrupted with another ring of the bell. She took a deep breath as she would place the remainning books down and walked to the main hall expecting to find who ever it was that came in during closing hours. But when she got there no one was there to greet which made her become more cautious. She looked around the library while standing still-then she heard it; the sound of cracking bones, the sound someones footsteps. "Hello...I told you before the Library is closed!"
The silence was deafening, it was starting to make her go over the edge. She didn't realize that the ones that entered the library was right behind her until. "Filthy witch." A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the floor causing her to scream. She tried to crawl toward the exit only to have her foot grabbed and started to get dragged deeper into the library. Hands grabbed onto her body lifting her up on her feet, she managed to claw her finger nails onto one of the attackers cheek only to feel something in her hands.
She would take one look at her hands before her breath hitched; in her hands were blood and decaying skin. She finally glanced at her attacked and saw that the skin on their faces was rotting and decaying and the one that she had scratched...was missing his jaw. She screamed once again before everything went black.
The next day the police and firefighters arrived after receiving reports of a fire in the local library. In the center of the library a burned corpse was found bound to a wooden post with books surrounding the body.; most likely used as firewood to keep the body burning. As the police looked around they found out that the books that were used as firewood where books involving witchcraft and history books. Whats even weirder is the fact that 'Kaltain' was written on the walls, no one didn't understand why this happened, but one did; a person who would be reading a book while standing in front of what remains off the corpse as they put her in a gurney, one of the officers walked up behind him and asked.
"Who could have done this and why?" Then the man would close the book before answering question without blinking an eye.. "Because she was a witch, or so they believed. Not only that, that they are looking for someone specific. This isn't a unplanned kill officer, this was just the beginning..." After that the man would throw the book aside and walk out of the library. He could hear the officer call out his name trying to get him to stop.
'Detective Rockwood!- Beginning of WHAT!?'
[Thank you! Your page and character are great.]
Roger & Nascha
He wouldn't dare to admit it, but Roger was a bit weirded out by the way the were-witch took in a sudden deep breath for reasons he couldn't exactly identify. It wasn't that he disliked those who were different and he certainly didn't want to feel that way on any level. But still, being blindsided by the existence of actual witches and werewolves did nothing to soothe him. Let alone a combination of both in one woman.
But here she was in his presence as living proof, and she was willing to answer his question but not without posing one herself. "N-no, it shouldn't be a problem," he answered her query first, though he was unconvinced by his own words. "I don't think." It seemed a little suspicious that she hadn't caught sight nor scent of the missing person. Or claimed not to, at least. However, that may have been unintentional prejudice. That notion alone reminded him that he really ought to try and act more open and trusting towards her.
"You haven't seen her, then?" His tone was steadier now. "That's a right shame. Hope she hasn't gotten herself into a spot of trouble." Roger smiled slightly at her quip relating to his career, patting the pocket in his jacket where he kept his notepad and pen. "Yeah, sometimes there's field work. But I'll be keeping our meeting off the record. I don't think putting in a mention of werewolves in the paper would be such a smart idea. Cause it's like you said. Just about everyone out there thinks you lot exist only in stories." It'd make him look mad and he knew it.
"I'm Roger, by the way." Introductions were probably necessary at this point. "And I understand the secrecy. Wolves have a bad reputation, especially 'round these parts. Mr. Ward, that's our missing person's husband, seemed to think they might've tried to hurt her or something. Animals tend to act on instinct, you know. And if they're hungry..."
He trailed off, realizing he might offend her. "Ah, never you mind. I could use a bite to eat myself but all I've brought along are stale crisps. You wouldn't happen to know the fastest route to a pub or a restaurant?" It was practically a joke, what with with how far from civilization they appeared to be.
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