NAM FO ENAB

[Hollow]

'the end is near,
[ Nam fo Enab ]

~it's the beginning of the end~

full name ,, Nam fo Enab
nickname ,, Na’en.
gender ,, Female.
age ,, Four.
species ,, Nikushoku Dobutsu
rank ,, Ridohanta.

~and there are no heroes here~

powers ,, Vision & Shout Out.
weaknesses ,,
Vision.
The ability to see ahead, to locate people, items, and prey that is off in the distance beyond the sight of the normal wolf or creature. Na’en is well-practiced in this basic art, and is capable of viewing a good few miles ahead of her location. The draw back however, is that, really, one has to know what one’s looking for to ‘pin-point’ it. It’s very easy to use the ability of vision, and see nothing but trees and landscape instead of anything truly useful.

Shout Out.
Such a beautiful voice Nam has, and a powerful one as well. She is capable of being heard for miles and miles beyond the normal range, and this ability to communicate is useful in the hunting that she does. The fault in this, however, is the fault in most howls and audible communications. She can’t deign who may listen and who may not. She, and those like her, have been tracked many times through the audible trail they leave over countless miles.

~deep down, you know it's true~

likes ,,
I. The Hunt.
II. Dominance.
III. Competition.
IV. The Hunter’s participation in more things than the hunt -
Such as in bounties placed on wolves and during war times.
V. Blood and Murder.
dislikes ,,
I. Being followed.
II. Conniving.
III. Being touch.
IV. Distractions.
V. Misery.
fears ,,
I. Her family.
II. Becoming a wife.
III. Motherhood.

personality ,, To say she was born to a traditional pack is very much a lie. She was born to a somewhat unique tribe far off in one direction or another, far from the Kingdom, and there she learned quite a thing or two. She learned how to be a killer, a murderer, a cutthroat bitch who’d just as soon as taste blood, her own or her companion’s, than any other substance on the earth. She was born to a family of rough men and vile women, and she straddled the line as someone like her might. She played with the boys but, with a realization that she was a woman, played the game with a woman’s intellect and spirit. From her family Nam learned to be smart on her feet, crafty, bold, and aggressive. She learned that if you want something, you must take it and that nothing - absolutely nothing - in life is given. She enjoyed being on top, enjoyed being dominant and for that reason, fine-tuned that ability with her family and brothers. Though she was never a high-ranked official anywhere or anytime in her life, Nam has been in places and situations where she’s called the shots - particularly on hunting and tracking expeditions.

Hunting became her talent and her passion. The competition there, the drive, the focus, the war between predator and prey quickly became Na’en’s calling by the time she was old enough to provide a service to her pack. Not only did she like it (it stimulated her, excited her, satisfied her like very few other things could) but she was good at it. And in the same way she excelled in hunting the pack’s quarry, she excelled in hunting her pack’s outlaws and miscreants. It soon replaced the enjoyment she felt for hunting deer. Hunting a prey animal is nothing like hunting a living, thinking wolf. It was harder, more challenging… and consequently, tracking them down, hunting them, was much more satisfying and soothing for her. Challenge and competition, whether she wins or loses, quenches Nam, it makes her relax. Even though winning is all she aims to do, of course.

The gal can be surprisingly focused and devoted to her cause, and often than not that is what leads to her victories. She sticks with things if she pledges herself to it, and regardless of the time and effort she has to sink into it, is hell-bent on success. Knowingly or not, Na’en rides those subordinate to her harshly and relentlessly - she expects flawless perfection from them the same way it was expected from her. Her disappointment or disagreement is always apparent and blatant, and her anger, if she ever experiences it (which is rare, despite it all, she’s a very collected, controlled individual most of the time) is both violent and explosive. Nam doesn’t hesitate to hurt other people. She simply doesn’t. Then again, hesitation itself was never in her person.

Surprisingly smart and crafty, and surprisingly serious and devoted, and surprisingly dominate and aggressive… Yet surprisingly not particularly violent or sadistic. Despite her origins Nam is not a psychopath. She is not a senseless killer (though she admits she enjoys it) and has restraint and respect for the orders of others. Though naturally she is challenging and competitive (and if she believes her superior is not worthy of being so, she’ll make her complaint clear) she was born to the pack she was, and knows how to bow her head to those who can beat her ass raw. As well, she was a relatively clear head on her shoulders, and despite all her drive and ambition, is not a crazed killer. But she is a killer by trade, and can be as callous and heartless as she needs to be to fulfill her role.

~on the surface, all is well~

eye color ,,Hazel. The majority of her eyes are a very intense amber, full of haunting yellow and burning reddish orange. Yet, around her pupils is a flecked ring of pale blue.
markings ,, Click
appearance ,, She appears like most women of this era do. Slender and wholesome, if not for a good layer of lean, hard muscle beneath an appearance of gracefulness. Nam has a set of long, muscled legs accompanied by a long, muscled body. She is a bit tall and she is a bit lengthy, but her body suits her and gives an imagine of fluidity of movement and a clear huntress’ prowess. Her eyes are sharp an predatory, her ears are attentive and keen. She moves with a sure confidence and holds herself in a position of certainty and self-assurement. Her colors are earthy and somewhat dark, which leads to contrast with her eyes being so bright, but nonetheless she has her scars and wounds, both from battle and brawls, and also dangerous hunting expeditions. Her base color is a simple, medium brown, with grey and a darker brown giving her marks and design. Grey is located on Na’en’s face, sides, legs, and the base of her tail. The darker brown is located on the back of her ears, the tips of the fur along her back, along the underneath of her chest and stomach, and in thin bands capping the grey of her legs.

~but the past rips the curtain off of your lies~

birthplace ,, In the plains of the farther West.
mother ,, Hcnew Eht
father ,, Dratsab Eht
siblings ,, Many, but to list them is useless. Nam holds very little affinity with her siblings or any of her relations, except for one - Nem fo Reredrum, or Nem’re, as he is often called.
history ,, Nam was born to a pack located pleasantly in the Western plains. They were not particularly a blissful sort, in fact, they could have been named in so few ways, a cultist sect. They practiced and believed something contrary to the orthodox views of the region and terrorized their neighbors beyond repute. The clan that Nam was born of were not known for their loving, nurturing ways, but instead for their cruel and malicious deeds. Or so was the picture painted of the clan. To Nam they were family, albeit it a warrior-type family, but a family nonetheless. There was hierarchy and rules and ways to do things. Pushing out neighboring packs to expand was… well, natural, wasn’t it? Nam learned much from her pack of origins. She learned to be the majority of what she, today, is. Though at three years old she left her family under less-than-loving circumstances and has hence never returned… That doesn’t make them any less her creators who nurtured not weakness, but forged instead strength and merciless victory.

With the gifts given to her by her beloved family Na’en set out on her own. Three years of age she found herself in a traveling band and ultimately left the West all together. By the age of four she arrived at the steps of the Kingdom. By four she bowed her head, spoke her vows, and went into service for the ‘greater good’. As a hunter she excelled, and by the time she was five, though after only one year of service (but excellent service), Na’en was promoted to the honorable rank of Ridohanta. Which she has since undoubtedly enjoyed.

~who we are doesn't matter anymore~

name ,, Hollow.
experience ,, Muy.
sample ,, Flattery could get a man anywhere, or nearly anywhere, if he put some effort and lies into it. After all deep down, who didn’t enjoy being fawned over and romanced? Even if someone did so with false intentions and for their own benefit alone. Yet, a silver tongue was never necessary to coax her into being a good companion. She didn’t need prompting, she didn’t require the person to work for her interest, attention, or friendliness. After all they had already worked for the money they were paying her. No need to put any more effort into it - what she did was a service, simply a service, and they had already paid the fee. And the rich enjoyed that concept. The rich enjoyed the fact that money could buy anything, that with enough wealth (which they had) they needed want for nothing else. They did not need to have looks, or intellect, or charm. They did not need to persuade her or keep her satisfied so she might stay. Regardless of what they did, how they acted, how they spoke… she was theirs. Ever and always. For a time.

Outside of her profession she didn’t visit clubs or fine restaurants. She didn’t go out of her way to seduce or entrance. She did not partake in relationships (after all, how could someone like her, with a job like hers, have a lover? Or even just a friend?) nor did she revel at parties and events like the escort she was when she was working did. When she was outside of her occupation love, affection, sexuality… it was no longer a forerunner in how she presented herself. When she was not on the job, what was she doing? What did she do with her life? She could smile wryly and admit she mostly lingered at home, or enjoyed the city, or partook in things that were much more… shameless. Her life outside of her career was hollow and unfulfilling. It was bland. There were pieces of her that wanted other things, that wanted more than what she had. Sometimes she even desired to be something other than what she was. Sometimes. But she never entertained the thought for long. This was what she knew, this was what she was good at, and could anyone name an occupation as wonderful as this? Could anyone name something worthy of giving this life she led up for? She could think of nothing. Her life was bliss. Her career was magic. Her existence was dazzling. … So why didn’t it feel that way?

Luana was never a drinker. She never gulped the booze down in an earnest attempt to drown her worries and sorrows. Liquor was never her thing, but her father’s. She recalled times when he stumbled home drunk. She remembered times when he was mocked and thrown into filth and mud by the upper class boys whenever they found the ‘useless, repulsive bum’ staggering his way through the streets. She remembered being hungry because he spent money on booze. She remembered that, even as she sipped away and lingered at the bar, her presence far from matching the energetic level of those around her. Beside her were men and women who snapped and crackled with excitement and stimulation. Beside her was a man who spoke to her with anxiety and earnest. The mixture of scent was as intoxicating as the drink, but one she sifted through with methodic ease. She was relaxed and comfortable despite the animation and enthusiasm around her, nearly to a point that she could lull herself to sleep. With the thudding of the music, with the sizzling of the lights, with the heavy aromas, with the warmth… She could drift off into a well deserved slumber. Could, anyway. Not that she should. No sir. Not when so much was going on and how easy something vital could be missed in a second’s lack of concentration.

Startlingly enough, something did change. Something occurred and the baseline of the room suddenly flickered. As a candle would with a sudden draft of wind, the change was noticeable, telling, and obviously a ’note’ to notice. She felt the change in the atmosphere, sensed it in an unreal, yet utterly precise way. Her senses? These senses? She could nearly smile with malice. Very little got past her. Very little.

The scent of a demon was what hit her. It was potent and distinct, and she often realized the level, or in the very least the power of the demon could be discerned from how heavy the scent was. The higher the demon the more blaring and blatant the aroma of burning brimstone was… though even the weakest demon held the pungent air of sulfur. Demons were never a favorite of hers, they always had this ability to make her quite… wary. Demons, you see, had over a hundred reasons for doing any possible thing… and very little of those reasons were for a positive cause. They were dangerous and unpredictable and varied in their might and strength as well as sheer stability. Some demons, she admitted, had been her favorite partners. Others, however, had not. And yet this demon was not alone, though his scent dominated the room, there was also the fragrance of magic skirting the edges of the air. It was light, yet… stark. It did not hold the heaviness of an old warlock, but it did have this… rigidness, prickliness, sharpness… It was distinct.

Working off her nose she became intrigued and as a result came to perk up. First she paid heed to scent, then to what her eyes could see. She eyed the crowd as it moved and parted, as a group moseyed through the thick mass of bodies to the rear portion of the club. They were nearer to her now, nearer to the bar, as they took up home in the private booths that were located at the back of the establishment. Fascinating, wasn’t it? The aroma of magic user and magic slave, the sudden spark and change in the air? She felt a tinge of interest and captivation, curiosity and wonderment. Her client was suppose to have arrived very soon… Could this troupe be it? The idea was bounced back and forth in her mind as she debated the possibility. All she knew was his photograph… and the only way she could possibly know if it was him or not would to be obviously go see herself…

She was lost in her own realm of contemplation when the man who she had been speaking with drew her out of it, “So what do you think? Mustangs or Camaros?” He asked and to be utterly honest… She hadn’t been paying attention. Blinking, Luana offered a soft smile before settling her glass back on the bar top and providing her excuse, the normal and ever often used ‘I’m sorry, but…’ that crushed all the dreams and aspirations that something might have blossomed from the twenty minute conversation that had been cultivated from the time she had hit the bar, to the time she now abandoned it.

Leaving the young man with his stories of muscle cars and hunting expeditions (which she had discerned early on were more or less impressive lies, crafted to woo and awe) Luana moved through the crowd with her own surprising grace. The waves did not part for her as they had for the demon and his master, but she waded through the waters with such a seamless ease nonetheless. Making her way to the back she wondered if her client truly was a warlock, why it wasn’t mentioned but… understood lack of information and all the rest better than most. Very few times was she told anything and everything. Often she knew only what the client themselves felt as if they should tell her, or, as was more accurate, desired to tell her. Sometimes they gave her secrets. Sometimes they only gave her idle chatter. Regardless, she had a memory for it all and was more than capable of being friendly and charming with even the most hostile and aggressive sorts. It was a talent Cooper himself had taught her after being in his intimidating and commanding presence for so very long.

“I was going to welcome you to Cabal…” When she arrived at the table she was aware instantly that this young man was not her client and it was doubtful that he ever would be. She noted the demon in his burly form with eyes quite a piercing color of blue as she drew near… and paid him a wary glance (while doing her very best to keep her distance from him) before returning her attention to the boy (so very young he appeared, she contemplated if he had reached manhood, but kept such thoughts to herself. She knew better than to be sassy with a man of wealth and therefore, consequently, power.) who lounged so casually between two women. She offered a bit of a smile before she spoke, her voice one that had been trained to lie about her British origins, and one that was as smooth and glossy as she could undoubtedly appear, “But it seems like you’ve already had a bit of the hospitality.” She eyed the young man curiously, her voice implying words without the words. Luana was never fond of competing for attention, and truth be known, she never would. Sure as hell not when she didn’t have to. Miss Contri had a feeling she could be more interesting than either young woman he had on his arm. Quite a feeling. Perhaps it was the fact she rarely burst into such silly giggles that made her so confident, or simply her own pride in her own abilities. Regardless, little Conny Loo eyed the young man with a cool edginess all her own that suited and extended the luring appeal she tended to have. What would he do?

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