Nahiossi Hiamovi

"Empty Cup"

Handler of Pan
Jishcha of the Laughter of Ayenwathaa

Description


Homid: ~Nahiossi lives it up in his mid to late 20s. His dark hair and bronzed skin exposes him plainly as “the red man”. He swaggers with brave-like confidence, too. He flicks short-trimmed black hair and grins broadly. Irrepressible excitement animates his every hearty step. Every sparkle in those upbeat brown eyes irradiate wherever he goes. Loose-fitted jeans, button-down denim shirt, and lace-less work boots confuse his look between day laborer and weekend barfly. Sometimes he has allowed a mustache to grow in and wrap around his mouth, but it never lasts than a few months. No wedding ring on his finger either; it’s easy to tell since his those fingers are usually wrapped around a Heineken. He seems to be a man who can’t stand stability and regularity.~

OOC: Appearance 3; Animal Magnetism; Ferocity 1, Humor 4, Cunning 2

Tsitsu: ~The Cheyenne fellow looks buff, ripped even. His clothing still fits just fine, if he does fill it better, and he’s liable to kick off his shoes. His dark hair may have lengthened a bit, and even boasts what appears to be a stylish frost. His grin is now menacing and that joy in his gaze has become an almost malevolent glitter. Come get some………beer! It’s just beer, man. Relax. Drink it. Party hard.~

OOC: Appearance 3; Animal Magnetism; Ferocity 1, Humor 4, Cunning 2

Manabozho: ~Okay, the gig is up. He’s not human, you caught him. Now prepare to be ripped apart like roadkill. In this form, Nahiossi is all business. His human features have become the unmistakable head of a giant coyote, long muzzle filled with sharp teeth. His pink tongue lolls, the black lips curled almost imperceptibly up. Do coyotes smile? This one does. Rising on his hind legs, corded forelimbs end in sharp claws. His clothing has vanished and sandy-brown fur replaced it. A long, thick tail provides counterbalance. Despite this ferocious, monstrous appearance, intelligence still glitters in the Manabozho’s gaze.~

OOC: Appearance 0; Animal Magnetism; Reduced Delirium; Ferocity 1, Humor 4, Cunning 2

Sendeh: ~Holy crap, that’s a big dog. A pony-sized coyote lumbers into view when Nahiossi adopts this fearsome hybrid form. The quadrupedal animal rarely stands still, energetic and ready for fight or play. Or flight, sure, whatever. It’s all play, really.

Yes, all your chickens belong to him. The whole henhouse. Oh yeah.~

OOC: Appearance 0; Animal Magnetism; Ferocity 1, Humor 4, Cunning 2

Latrani: ~Nahiossi enjoys this form, for it provides amazing innocuousness. In many places, he can run by and nobody will blink an eye. As long as he doesn’t get in their face and growl, they aren’t even likely to try to Rick Perry him. Chances are, if he’s bent on confronting you, he’s barreling through your legs and tearing out your throat before you even hit the ground anyway. That’s pure instinct. Keep your distance from the dangerous wild animals, ladies and gentlemen: even the average coyote, as he appears to be.~

OOC: Appearance 3; Animal Magnetism; Ferocity 1, Humor 4, Cunning 2

"It’s not a party till I get there."

History


Rejection

Nahiossi Hiamovi called his parents William and Mary, because those were their names. They changed their names at some point to Cheyenne and Arapaho traditions, but Nahiossi always thought it was a phony attempt to pretend that tribal traditions had been seamlessly passed on down. They weren’t; he felt that was just something that had to be accepted. The lack of parental formality (he rarely called them father and mother) was always a thorn in the side of the family. Nahiossi’s other siblings, Ayasha and Sheshea, behaved much more normally. See, Nahiossi’s folks grew up in Dallas and when they met, they decided to return to the roots of their shared tribe, the Cheyenne. They moved to the Southern Cheyenne Reservation in western Oklahoma to raise their son and daughters. Nahiossi’s early life was filled with the poverty of wealth but wealth of culture that his determined parents intended.

It never quite stuck with the young man. He did not reject it per se, but rather preferred a very different kind of lifestyle. By the age of 14, in 1998, Nahiossi spent less and less time at home or on the reservation at all. Instead, the teenager went out with his buddies, partying, drinking, and otherwise wasting his life. He was a reckless if active youth, spending almost every night dancing and carrying on. Vandalism of suburban sublimity was a weekend ritual. And Nahiossi weaseled his way into more than one rock concert, including a tour of Rage Against the Machine. He cared little for school back on the reservation, or his parents’ ambitions to keep Cheyenne culture alive and well through their descendants. His sisters would be good little teepee princesses. Nahiossi was having way too much fun learning every dance but the Sun Dance.

The First Prank

Then in 2000 he and his “stupid friends” (as dear Mary called them) decided to take a long weekend as a camping trip on park land – the Black Kettle National Grassland, no less. They camped on non-camping grounds, and a park ranger inevitably spotted their campfire in the shadow of the Antelope Hills. The boys had been drinking quite a bit that evening and making quite a racket. They did not even notice the ranger until he drove up and called their attention. Nahiossi’s older pal, Sel, copped a drunken attitude with the ranger. Apparently fearing that Sel was armed, the ranger drew a revolver and shot the 19-year old dead. The other boys stilled in utter shock. The ranger tried to calm the youths, but the damage was done. The ranger rounded the kids up and hauled them back to the station, their parents picking them up and punishing them soundly once they got back to the reservation. Nahiossi never forgot the sight of it, however. And, of course, the ranger was excused from all charges of malfeasance. Can’t trust dem dere minorities. Nahiossi never forgot and never forgave.

He hatched a little plan for revenge, a scheme his mortified pals wanted no part in. Fine. Nahiossi would avenge Sel on his own then. He snuck off the reservation and returned to the grasslands and the ranger headquarters. He sat in the thickest brush overlooking the station, marking when that white man who murdered Sel came and went. That evening, he crept down to the ranger’s truck, jimmied open the fuel door, and tucked a homemade fuse in the nozzle. Black powder trailed back out to his hiding place. When Ranger Littleston exited after a long, hard day of work, he climbed blithely into his truck. Nahiossi lit the fuse and reveled at the sight of the flame sizzling along the powder and up the fuse. The fuel was ignited and the vehicle exploded. Through the roar of the blast, Nahiossi’s cruel laughter mocked the ranger’s dying shriek.

The other rangers rushed out of the station, rifles in hand, eyes as wide in shock as his were that night Sel had been shot dead. He was spotted in the glow of the burning truck, and turned and bolted. A quick volley barely missed the teenager as he dove through the brush, and then the rangers were on his heels. They did not shoot anymore when they realized he was unarmed, and intended to capture the boy. Nahiossi ran like hell, lungs wheezing for air as he fled the park rangers. The prairie made him an easy target, and while they were bent on arresting an apparent murderer, they were running out of gas, too. They stopped and took aim. One bullet winged the youth’s lower leg and down he went with a scream. They jogged toward the wounded native...

Dead Warriors

…and away sprung a coyote instead. No boy, just a fleet and inexhaustible quadrupedal wild canine, Canis latrans. They at first assumed the boy accidentally flushed a coyote out when he fell, but in the youth’s spot they saw only a few spatters of blood. No boy, no depression in the grass where a sleeping coyote would have rested. There was only one conclusion to make...they were hallucinating, yep. They fanned out slowly and searched for the boy, assuming he managed to crawl away quickly. They were unsuccessful in their manhunt.

Meanwhile, the First Changed Nahiossi was running on pure instincts. He dashed off helter-skelter, never stopping until even a trace of their scent was completely absent. At that time, he found himself at the edge of a large body of water (Dead Warrior Lake). He lapped thirstily at the liquid, and once the ripples faded, gawked down at his own feral reflection. He was...what...huh?! His ears were flattened in terror as he tried to rationalize what happened. Impossible!

No, not impossible, spoke the wind sweeping over the lake. In the water, he found himself staring at ancient faces of Plains people. As the breeze drifted across the water, ripples turned human faces into the elongated muzzles of wizened old coyotes. They were all gazing upon him, and he knew they were ancestors. His ancestors. They whispered his true nature, and guided him to a sanctuary in the lakeside brush until one of his “aunts” or “uncles” came to visit.

A Whole New Game

Harriet Firehorse, known as Death-by-Jungle-Gym, arrived two days later. During that time, Nahiossi survived by the bountiful wildlife still to be found in the protected grasslands reserve. He followed his instincts and that was that. It was natural, even easy. She was pleased to find the youth so well adapted, though she would soon learn he wasn’t adaptable so much as laidback. However, he was an eager learner, because he wanted nothing more than to leave the empty life he had been leading behind.

Thus, Nahiossi picked up quickly on changing forms, crossing into the Umbra, the mission of the Nuwisha, what was real and what was phony about Native American connections to “The People”, and the cosmic joke about Ragabash Garou. They stayed in the Black Kettle prairie, unafraid of the rangers, unafraid of the Wyrmcomers, unafraid in general. Nahiossi felt free, truly free, for the first time. He embraced it heartily, despite knowing there was responsibility to consider as well.

After a year of instruction, Harriet deemed the young Nuwisha ready, and helped him bind to his first aspect of Coyote. She guided the youth toward Kokopelli, noting his charming wit, skill at all kinds of dancing, and general upbeat attitude. Nahiossi accepted, and proved himself to the Nuwisha and Kokopelli by performing his first “sanctioned” trick: they traveled to the Northern Cheyenne lands and went into the Black Hills. He then infamously (it made national news) defaced Mount Rushmore, spray-painting huge and ridiculous blemishes, fake mustaches, and the works all over those white presidents’ faces. It was an outrage, puerile and amateur. Sure, he was never caught. But it wasn’t the deed that was the point. It was the uproar, an uproar screaming for punishment, blind to truth, easily led to a local Skinhead group that frequently liked to camp in that area and slam dance around a bonfire. Yeah, they all got arrested, and ultimately confessed to doing it (secretly wondering, convincing themselves that they had done it while plastered).

A Gala of Laughter

On good terms with his teacher, Nahiossi went forth into the wide world as a young man, barely tested but as ready as he ever could be. Teaching was his life, teaching through humor and humility. He embraced this role, tempering his cause with personal liberty. As his balance towards personal freedom grew, the rift between he and Kokopelli widened. That meant a rift between he and Coyote, and the young Nuwisha knew better than to alienate his gods so soon.

But try as he might, Nahiossi found the siren call of fun too irresistible. It was actually his Totem’s behest that he reconsider his guide. A brief peyote-inspired spirit quest in the Umbra later, and Nahiossi was introduced to the subtle distinction between Pan and Kokopelli. Two figments of Coyote, two faces of the same wanton beast, the animal that teaches through joy and vivacity. Whereas Kokopelli was a bit more traditional and heroic, Pan was pure excitement. That was right up Nahiossi’s alley. The old ways, hmph. “Ways”, old or new, were only as good as the lessons they taught.

So, “under new management”, Nahiossi renewed his lifestyle of binge drinking and late night parties. Date rapists and frat boys often woke up with giant rubber dildos inserted in their nether region. Swimming pools at rich, reclusive resorts became giant roofie-poisoned ponds to instigate massive gropefest orgies. But those weren’t pranks, nor did they really even count as tricks. Maybe “teases”, a lesser category than even “tricks” that Nahiossi often boasted to other Nuwisha that he invented.

The Bottom of the Punch Bowl

Ultimately, Nahiossi was just a big tease. He put that nature to good use on the urban (or college) party scene. Indeed, he had a knack for sniffing out the dirtiest, darkest parties and teaching the participants a lesson in good sense. He wasn’t trying to force them to adopt “good, clean fun”. No, no. Dirty parties were the best! But “dirty” didn’t need to mean Worm-tainted, and he found a lot of that along the way in both people and some of the party “props” (especially drugs).

One of his greatest feats of taint exposure then was in Tulsa, theological capital of the Bible Belt, where “good clean fun” was practically the law. Which, of course, meant lots of young people deliberately bucked those expectations and partied all the harder (their parents always in deep denial). Nahiossi heard that young women at a bible college were not only having a spike in unwed pregnancy rates but the births were rumored to be…troubled. He sniffed around and discovered they were having ferectoi babies, which could only mean those women were being seduced (or raped while passed out drunk) by fomori. He began to crash the college parties in town and tracked down the culprits: an entire fraternity of fomori out of the state university’s city campus. Yuck.

Nahiossi turned one of his favorite “tease” tactics into an awful prank. It was really quite simple. He made sure everyone was drugged and passed out, even the fomori. The regular folks woke up in puddles of their own vomit. The fomori woke up in a dirty, drained swimming pool in pain – kidneys removed from their backs. They found their removed organs on a big platter in the middle of the pool. When they disturbed the plate, it was set to trigger the pool to refill. But the water was heavily chlorinated. Way too chlorinated. The recent surgery-receivers lacked the energy to swim out, and their fomori powers were not up to the task. Nahiossi watched on, applauding their desperate but futile efforts. Every last one of them drowned in poison. Elaborate but fulfilling.

As elaborate as this gruesome prank was, Nahiossi worried that the authorities would look for him. Those frat boys may have been fomori, but they were the sons of rich people kind of fomori. He figured it best to get out of not only Tulsa but Oklahoma. He headed east, and landed in the Kansas City area. This place had a rep: a rep for danger and a rep for fun. He was down for both.

Past Life


Ever since his First Change and seeing their images in the ripples of the Dead Warriors Lake, Nahiossi has had an intuitive connection to his Nuwisha ancestors. However, as potent as his relationship to their past wisdom could be, Nahiossi has lazily failed to cultivate and improve this talent. He still hears their whispers, and acts occasionally on their advice. But his perhaps too-ardent embrace of the ways of Pan have irritated some of his ancestors, and their whispers grow angry. Once in awhile, the spirit of Roadhouse Warrior (yes, that was really his name) takes over and tries to make Nahiossi break stuff. Vending machines are a favorite target. Nahiossi remains aware of those “possession”-like moments and wonders if he took up Loki as his Face, would Roadhouse leave him alone. Would they just feed on each other? Maybe, but Nahiossi really doesn’t want that angry edge constantly in his life.

Fetishes


Wyrm Scales (talens)
Gnosis: 8
Origin: Harriet gave Nahiossi these talens as a parting gift after his Rite of Passage. He still has 4 out of 5 scales, having used the one to verify the fomori fraternity.
Description: These lightweight wallet-shaped strips of buffalo leather are traced with sigils of the Worm and adorned with crow feather down. Despite the evil symbols, they feel soft and natural.
Effects: 1) Force Wyrm creatures in the immediate vicinity to revert to their true forms
Activation: 1) The scale must be raised up to the eye level and forcefully presented before being tossed down to the ground, preferably at the feet of the suspected Wyrm creature.

Significant Other


Nahiossi hooked up with Indigo Morrison in 2011. He met the lovely and intelligent young woman when he bumrushed her lavish plantation party, winning the mixed-race woman over with his irrepressible charm and animal magnetism. Though he’s yet unaware of her unusual talents, he has made her aware (somewhat) of his lycanthropic nature. She has not shied away, thankfully, which means not only can their relationship continue, he won’t have to kill her. She provides a nice place to crash and warm arms to curl into, and he’s surprised himself with how loyal he’s been to one woman. Not that it has slowed down his night life otherwise in the least.

It was a brief but amusing dalliance. Nahiossi moved on quickly before he could get himself into any more trouble.

Indigo

Weakness
The Wrecking Machine


Yeahhhh, “The Wrecking Machine” isn’t really a description of his weakness. It’s actually a nickname he earned on the Tulsa party scene and has carried over, as if he were some sort of “Spirit of Animal House” John Belushi-type. He earned it specifically for what he did with (to) drunk girls. And a pool table this one time, hehe...never mind, you don’t want to hear it.

Likelihood of Corruption


Average.

Nahiossi may reject “traditional culture” but he doesn’t reject his Nuwisha nature and he keeps in touch with his brothers and sisters. Who wouldn’t? Their parties rock the hardest. But he’s still dancing down a dangerous knife’s edge.

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"Since the Prehistoric ages and the days of ancient Greece,
Right down through the Middle Ages,
Planet Earth kept going through changes,
And then the Renaissance came and times continued to change,
Nothing stayed the same but there were always renegades,
Like Chief Sitting Bull, Tom Paine,
Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
They were renegades of their time and age,
So many renegades..."

-- "Renegades of the Funk", Rage Against the Machine