♛ Castalla (ANATHEMA)

Castalla's history includes mentions of infertility/difficulty conceiving, torture, decapitation, imprisonment and the destruction of an entire species. Most of these are only hinted but there is semi-detailed description of blood/injuries and disease.

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She slammed into the floor with a frustrated growl, rolling over to narrowly avoid the blunt sword that struck the stones where her head had been only a second ago.

“Again!” The instructor snarled as Castalla clambered to her feet, rubbing dirt from the grazes that now ate into her arms. The child steeled her features, clenching her fists in annoyance as she snatched her sword from the cobbles and faced the sword master. One breath, two breaths, she flung herself forward with far more grace and skill than a child her age should have. It was still not enough though, her tutor deflected every blow with uncanny speed as she danced left and right. Castalla could sense her father watching, feel his intense gaze boring into her back. She wanted to make him proud but each attempt landed her on the flagstones, skin broken and palms aching. One day she would be the best fighter, capable of defeating anyone in Nightfall, or even Alanaris. But that road was long, no matter how quickly her frustration wanted to eat it up. She growled, as once more her face met the flagstones and pain blossomed across her jaw.

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Castalla’s conception was not an easy one- her parents tried for years, desperate and nearly defeated. They ventured to the mystical cities of Elcaria, to the wondrous forests of Silvestris, but their solution lay in the deadly woods of Nequiar, where the lycans hunted and the vampyres roamed. They sought the help of the powerful witch Morgaine and when Malia fell pregnant they did not ask questions, just thanked the goddess Nysa for the immeasurable gift.

When Castalla was born the shapeshifter kingdom rejoiced, for their King and Queen now had an heir and Nightfall now had a princess. And perhaps her upbringing was no different to that of any mortal noble, heir or highborn. Her education was extensive, she devoured knowledge like someone starved. She learnt math and science, history and language, music and dancing and court politics. A wooden sword was thrust in her hand at a young age, then a metal one, then an axe and a dagger and a bow. She was taught to fight until it was much an instinct as breathing, until she bested every sword master in the land. She was a prodigy, far more skilled and capable than those even thrice her age and her desire to become the best only increased that.

It wasn’t just her fighting skills that made her unique even among her kind, but also her ability to change into not just a large wolf, but any creature she desired. To be a multi-shifter was an oddity and a rarity that only set her apart even more as she struggled to understand her place in the Kingdom. She was well liked by her people- for her kindness and her patience- but she was set apart, held to a higher standard and weighed down by pressure few could relate to. Soon her perfectionism outweighed her father’s intentions and when he felt she was trained enough, Castalla continued to push for more. She undertook the trials to become a Kajak Sentinel- the most elite of all Kajak warriors and counted among the strongest warriors of Alanaris. Few ever took the trials for all three paths, but when Castalla completed one she moved onto the other- driven by her determination.

She was as equally skilled in Court as on the battlefield, wielding a tongue as sharp as any sword and a mind as precise as any arrow. Castalla was a force to be reckoned with and well on her way to being and unbeatable and worthy successor to her parents’ throne.

It was unsurprising that she passed her trails at the tender age of 15 (a feat only expected of an 18 year old Kajak) and the ritual to settle her immortality was made when she was 28. Like the rest of her kind she was bathed in the pool of stars before a full moon before she made the climb up Nightfall’s highest peak to commune with the Goddess Nysa. There her immortality would settle and she would no longer age like a mortal.

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Her heart shattered against her ribs, cracking each time it thundered against the bars of its cage. The world was spinning, the ground stolen from beneath her feet as she staggered a step back. She wanted air, open space, her stomach roiling as she breathed hard. Blood fled the deep cut across the corner of her eye, spilling down her face and drawing angry red trails down her ragged shirt. But the pain was overborn by the anger, the shock and the heartbreak as she watched Adrian stand in the docks before the council, before the hatred spewing from the eyes of her people.

Execution.

Her stomach dropped uncomfortably and a wave of sickness washed over her. It was the natural punishment for high treason and attempted regicide and the anger in Castalla’s heart roared with satisfaction. But the pain and sorrow cleaved through the red until she stood from her seat, growing warm as the eyes of her kingdom snapped to her.

“Wait.” She hoped her voice sounded steadier in their ears than in hers. She hoped the desperation was buried behind the authority she attempted to inject.

“Exile him Father, please.” A wave of voices rushed over the courtroom, so loud it filled the cavernous heights.

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Castalla was to be the future Queen of Nightfall, so naturally she caught the eye of many a suitor, but a Kajak only ever has one true Mate in their entire lifespan and thus courting was a far different affair among the shapeshifters. Nevertheless, a young male by the name of Adryan began to court her and the two spent a number of years dancing the dance of lovers. Castalla fell deeply, believing the kind-hearted and honourable man to be her true love, the only person out there to match her heart. But alas, as it would become clear throughout her lifetime, fate had a cruel set of cards for the young warrior. She foiled a plot among her own kind to assassinate her parents, the King and Queen, only to find out that it was her lover behind it. Heartbroken and shocked she battled Adryan in the throne room, coming out the victor by a tiny margin. He left her with a deep cut across her eye that would go on to scar her forever. Yet she desperately believed it wasn’t him, that the man she fell in love with was still a part of him. So she persuaded her father to have him exiled rather than executed him (much to the disapproval of the court).

Following that, Castalla thrust herself into ever more training, determined to never let anyone use her like that again, the scar above her eye serving to remind her what happened the last time she ever let anyone take advantage of her.

It was good while later that she met her true mate, unwilling as she was to believe it at first. But Skender was unlike Adryan and slowly the Wolf fell until she entirely accepted the soul-bond between them.

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His blood congealed in her hands, mingling with the tears that slipped in streams from her face. Her vision blurred but she saw the light leave his warm eyes until the rich brown became murky and dull. Something severed inside of her, a tangible slash that rent open her heart until nothing but sorrow poured forth.

“Such a shame,” a voice droned and Castalla whipped around. The red-stained ends of her hair sent an array of bloody droplets careening for the stones below as the fronds whirled through the air.

“You,” she growled, fixing Adryan with a manic glare. “You’re a monster.” The vehemence left her voice after the first word and the statement cracked upon her tongue despite the adamant belief on her face.

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As was becoming a pattern in her life, fate reared its ugly head and stole her heart from her. Adryan, his mind convoluted by psychosis, believed no one was good enough for Castalla and that if he could not have her, no one could. So he slaughtered Skender in cold blood and watched as he died in Castalla’s arms.

Avoiding dealing with the grief and anger, Castalla dived into work and training. She hunted monsters (the fabled and the mortal kind alike), freed slaves and toppled regimes- anything to avoid her feelings. It was around this time that the Tyrant King assumed control of the mortal realms, enslaving his people and laying waste to his enemies. Many assassins were sent to kill him and the head of each was sent back to their people. Even the Elves and the Fae made such attempts (though they were half-hearted for the Fairfolk were unwilling to risk the lives of their most powerful).

Finally, as the Tyrant King began hunting Kajaks, King Tsaar sent his most powerful Sentinel- Castalla- along with her team. Unbeknownst to them, the cruel King was working with Adryan who’d set a trap he knew Castalla would fall into. She saved a servant’s life and it cost her and her team dearly.

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Pain was always the route back to consciousness these days, a steady onslaught that never let up, drawing her away from the comfort of oblivion. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the darkness of her cell and succumb to whatever fate awaited her in the afterlife. But some part of her clung desperately so life, forcing her to endure the endless torment. The stench of blood and waste was no less sickening, no less suffocating and the sobs of hopelessness and cries of terror from the other prisoners broke the silence.

Castalla had long cried all her tears, screamed her throat raw until not even the daggers sunk into her skin could elicit a sound from her mouth. Now she just waiting for the sweet release of death, praying the Ferryman would come for her soon.

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They were held for nearly a year in the dungeons beneath the Tyrant’s Keep. He treated them with unimaginable cruelty and only Castalla and her father’s Commander, Farun, survived. What was done to the Wolf does not bear words but even years after she is still haunted. She barely escaped with her life but the Tyrant King took from her something that she could never get back. He paid with his own life though, she stood atop his castle with his severed head and proclaimed the kingdom free from his brutality.

But as time betrays all, history became convoluted and in time the mortals began to fear the shifter managed to do what no one else could. Castalla became the villain of their story, a monster to be feared. If she could kill the cruellest, most powerful King in centuries then could she not kill them too? It was justification enough to hunt the Kajaks and the reclusive creatures became even more so. Any who stepped beyond the boundaries of their hidden kingdom found themselves in danger of being hunted like animals and even executed, simply for their abilities.

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Jaws snapped, frothing and manic, teeth burrowed into flesh and fur. Claws tore valleys into skin, savaging limbs and opening bodies. Chaos reigned as the sickness spread like wildfire, violence like nothing before. Pools of blood stained the wood and stones, bodies gushing red but running rampant.

When Castalla came upon the scene she was rendered silent in sheer horror, the disgust a cracked damn against the grief and pain that threatened to overflow. She wanted to scream, to run, to fall to her knees and cry until her throat was raw. But a sneer stole her sorrow, turning instead to anger.

Adryan stood midst the carnage, the satisfied smile on his face was so opposed to the savagery all around.

“You will die for this,” Castalla snarled, her voice icy cold and gaze glowing. There was no forgiveness now, now belief that he might be something other than a monster. Today he would finally die and put an end to the mistake she had made decades earlier.

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In time the fear of the mortals was not the biggest problem the Kajak people face, but rather than enemy from the past reared his head. Adryan had not finished his crusade against his own kind, against Castalla. First he took her parents, slaughtering them in their own Throne room and fleeing before anyone could find him. Castalla became Queen after that, a responsibility she did not want but assumed with a heavy sense of burden. Though grief still dug poisoned claws into her heart she led her people well for a year.

Alas, Fate returned for one last triumph. Adryan had discovered a disease that would turn Kajaks rabid and (after inoculating Castalla against it) it set it loose upon every shifter community across Alanaris. In one fell swoop they were culled by the biological weapon, destroying themselves and each other. Castalla raced home in time to find her people dead and Adryan standing victorious among them. She killed him then and in doing so, sealed her fate as the last of her kind.

The weight of loss was so heavy Castalla nearly drowned and it was over a year before she finally emerged from the deepest depths of Nightfall, half feral and driven mad. Guilt ate away at her heart- for she had been promised to her people as a saviour and instead she had damned them. The guilt with always follow, but she travels now, beyond the borders of Alanaris to kingdoms where perhaps she not feel her sins so constantly.

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A pale dragon slipped across a moonlit sky to the hoarse cries of hunters, a cloak of arrows riding the skies as they sort to bring it down. She was fast and far, skilled and battle-tested. Castalla flew for the edges of Alanaris, for the worlds that lay beyond. Never had she departed Alanaris, never had she considered it. But now freedom so desperately called for her, begged her to find it.

It was not the freedom she longed for- the freedom from pain, from the sorrow and guilt that weighed her down. But it was freedom from the world that held so many dark and dastardly memories. And she was close, so close.

The arrows zipped past her head, her wings, her body. Try as she might to avoid them, she was a large target and she had not the strength to slip into a smaller form. So she sailed on through the sky, feeling the prick of stone shards embed themselves into her scales, her skin.

The sea was so close, so close. She could taste the salt on the air, hear the crashing of waves before her. Then white hot pain ricocheted through her shoulder, a blinding agony that sent her careening for the sand for a moment. She gave a terrible, aching roar and righted herself.

This arrow was different, she could tell.

Finally she made it to the ocean, where the hunters could not follow, and the arrows stopped flying. But the pain did not stop burrowing into up her wing joint.

Castalla could not tell how long she’d been flying, the arrow in her shoulder sapped her strength, her magic, until the shadows of unconsciousness seeped into her vision. The right side of her body was numb besides the hurt, great waves of nothingness that seemed to freeze her limps and render them useless. She would fall from the sky, there was no doubt, but if she could just shift into something smaller, something normal.

She did not get that choice. Her wing gave way, body groaning as she hurtled for the distant ground. She lost the battle with consciousness and by the time she hit the ground she was already out cold. Salty marsh water cocooned her, dragging her down, down, down; yet another victim of the Whispering Sea, prey to the dastardly swamps.

Harrowing pain dragged her back to reality as her bones broke and reformed, as scales became flesh and fur. She gasped for air, having just enough energy left to heave herself from the grip of ashen waters, clinging to a grassy verge before her. There Castalla Taevaris, fallen Queen, last of her kind, lay panting, pierced by a cursed arrow and waiting for death to take her. Would the Whispering Sea be so kind?

Calm yet passionate | Controlled but reckless | Commanding yet playful | Reasonable but stubborn | Proud but humble | Seductive but classy | Respectful yet intimidating | Sarcastic but kind | Tough but broken | Mischievous but mature | Loyal yet suspicious | Intelligent but underestimated | Empathic but aggressive

Castalla is a labyrinth of contradictions and facades, always more than meets the eye but never fully understood. Few scratch the surface of the armour she wears so tightly and fewer still delve deeper into the unknown of her heart. She appears outgoing, despite preferring her own company, easily initiating conversation or getting on with strangers. A smile comes naturally, though trust does not, and she seems energetic and friendly. All the same, Castalla is sarcastic and quick-witted, teasing others but respecting her boundaries. She flirts to keep those around her at arm’s length, never letting them close enough to hurt but craving meaningful connection nonetheless.

A practiced warrior, she carries herself with an air of command, assuming control of a situation with the ease of an experienced leader. All the same, there are often times when the playful grin on her face or the dangerous smirk remind you that she is still so young (compared to her kind).

To her friends she is loyal and willing to give everything (even her life) but she is slow to trust and quick to expect betrayal. Her scars are a reminder of what happens when someone takes advantage and Castalla will never let that happen again. She is controlled, keeping a lid on her emotions and impulses, unwavering and unflappable. Yet she is reckless with her life, throwing herself into danger as though fear holds no sway.

Of course no one is impervious to the sharp bite of fear and although she seems more courageous than most, her demons are forever at the back of mind. More often than not her nights are severed by nightmares so vivid she wakes up thinking they are true. Sheets torn, bloody as she loses control of her magic in the midst of her sleeping hell only to jolt awake with nausea in her gut and fear in her heart. And when darkness closes in and cages trap her she feels the panic in her waking hours, as though she never left the Tyrant King’s dungeon, as though her escape is a dream in the fever of exhaustion and pain. These are the jagged, broken parts of her that she keeps hidden, ashamed of the weakness and fear that still grips her.

Power : 6 || Discipline : 4 || Cost : 2 || Corruption : 5

Castalla, like the rest of her species, is a shapeshifter. Unlike her fellow Kajaks though, she can assume the form of any creature she so desires, rather than just the one alternative appearance. Typically she will shift into a large, white wolf that stands around 17 hands but is also known to assume other forms. She can shift certain parts of her appearance, for example her eyes or nose, to benefit her. This often means she can achieve higher senses that most other equines.

Like all Kajaks her power relies on her energy and also follows a monthly cycle. Once a month she is at the height of her power and once a month she is entirely powerless, something that has colloquially become known as ‘no-moon’ (despite its irrelevance to the cycle of the moon). Similarly using her magic saps her strength- expend too much magic and one can be left exhausted, unconscious or even dead. Moreover, the larger the change the more power it takes and therefore the more tired it leaves her. Due to this, shifting into something like a dragon or a spider can only be done on rare occasions, typically at the height of her power.

Emotions also greatly impact shapeshifting for every shapeshifter has their animalistic side waiting beneath their skin. When angry, upset or scared, the shift can happen beyond the user’s control. Castalla has spent years mastering her control but always struggles to master her emotions. Thus she can sometimes shift without intending to, or react in her second form out or anger. (This has been occurring increasingly more as of late, perhaps due to her higher corruption stat.)

Forms:

Castalla’s favoured alternate form is a large white wolf (about 17hh) with long claws, deep chest, long tail and long legs. In this form she can achieve speeds above that of a natural wolf, has far greater sense of smell and hearing.
The second form you can often find her in is a large, ebony feline that looks like a cross between a cheetah and a panther. It’s about 14 hands tall, lithe like a cheetah with the long tail, able to jump like a serval but bearing the colour and pattern of a melanistic leopard. In Alanaris these cats are considered a myth and are known as shadowcats.
In the event that her powers are strong enough, Castalla can turn into a dragon that stands about 30 hands high. In this form she can fly and breathe blue fire.
She can and will assume other forms (falcon, rodent, insect etc).

 

Cost//

• Magic use is painful for the caster.

Shapeshifting can only be described as the breaking and reforming of one’s body. Consequently it is a painful and difficult process to master. Most weaker shapeshifters can only shift slowly (which is more painful) but some, like Cast are powerful and practiced enough to shift instantaneously. Shifting quickly does not change the amount of pain a shifter experiences, but does mean it is over quicker. Nevertheless if she lacks concentration or energy, her shift is a lot slower and therefore the pain is drawn out. Often shifting into and out of a large form, such as a dragon, takes rather longer and is even more painful that shifting into one’s favourite alternate form. This leaves the shifter gasping for air and incapacitated for a moment after shifting.