Meascán (M'ask-awn)

Meascáns are the living embodiment of contradiction, forged from the unlikely union between mortal and supernatural forces. Born of both blood and magic, their presence is an uneasy harmony of worlds that seldom mingle without friction. They walk through the mortal realm with the weight of otherworldly echoes stitched into their skin, often leaving a trail of uncertainty, awe, or wariness behind them. Though they may resemble humans, there is always something just slightly askew—a glint in the eye, a resonance in their voice, a power they do not fully understand but instinctively command.   These beings are not born by accident but by consequence—of unions forged in desire, manipulation, or cosmic chance. Each Meascán is a singular mystery, shaped by the nature of their supernatural parent and the circumstances of their conception. Their lives are often marked by dualities: rage and serenity, pride and shame, connection and isolation. Some hide their nature behind glamours or retreat from society, while others wield their identity like a weapon or a crown, commanding attention and sometimes fear.   Their existence gives rise to a multitude of paths. A Meascán might seek solitude in forgotten forests, guard borderlands between the mundane and magical, or walk openly among humans as emissaries, protectors, or outcasts. They are shaped as much by rejection as by wonder—mortal kin who treat them as anomalies, and magical beings who see them as diluted.   Despite this, many Meascáns seek meaning in mortal lives. They become healers, scholars, warriors, or even entertainers—adopting roles that allow them to explore their humanity or suppress it. Their powerful gifts are not always visible, but they pulse just under the surface, like embers waiting to flare. And when threatened, few beings can match the raw, instinctive ferocity they summon from both halves of their blood.   Legends often paint Meascáns as agents of temptation or doom, yet such stories barely scratch the surface. The truth is more nuanced. They are not inherently cursed or gifted, good or evil, but shaped by how they are received, raised, and remembered. And in their quiet moments—watching stars, singing old lullabies, tracing runes no human remembers—they too wonder what might have been had they been fully one thing, or the other.   In the Real, the Meascáns have long since cast aside the burden of judgment. Here, their presence is neither aberration nor anomaly, but a celebrated facet of the tapestry of being. Freed from the prejudices of bloodlines and myths, they serve not as symbols of division but as bridges across it—living proof that duality does not demand conflict.  

Aetherkin

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