Adaira, of the Blood Moon

[Heimdalic_Dreams]

In the forests of Meranthe, locked behind walls of thick bramble branches and red painted totems, lays a colony of Na'hrem far removed from the traditions of the cavern city Nyt'hjem. Gathered around a campfire, casting shadows upon the massive canopy housings where so many of their kind now lived, a group of children surround an elderly woman in a headdress of bioluminescent fronds, needles and leaves, whose smile could not be hidden behind the many wrinkles upon her face. The woman speaks with the same gravity she had always injected within her words this time of the month, hands spread as she waxed poetic of their past. Small solidified paper etched with dried crimson would spread themselves before her with but a flick of her mana, tools to help her tell the tale. How many years, she levied, how many generational gaps had left them away from the Shadowlands, from the City of the Nyt, and from the eyes of the Moons Chosen...? Cast aside by the will of the precious few who were not as maddened by the Moon Worship so many of their kind were inclined towards? Of course, she spoke, they certainly had some... Proclivities. But what family doesn't? At this, the children would laugh, moving closer to the heat of the flame, closer to each other in anticipation. This was where the story really began...

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It was by the grace of Aschea, holy mother of the Teraphim, that their perspectives and prospects changed on a pivot from the perversions offered by the masses. No longer could they bare the weight of accepting the darkness trapped within the egg that orbits their world, the ancient demon locked inside by the Light it reflected - A light of Love, crystalized in chains of beams, wrapped around the fiend who would destroy everything with but a chance if it hatched, so it is said. The children gasp, their little wings flapping with excitement as the tale is told just as it always was, and the Matriarch continued on. The elder woman would continue to speak of the old faith even as she teasingly prolonged the showing of the next stage, her shivering bangles dangling over the dirt. A turned card, outlined with a kindred iron smell would reveal handcrafted pieces of art, showing Camazots, displaying Metstona, her pairing with Ilhicamina, of a Crystal. And from there, the cards would shift, turning first of the Moonfall War so very long ago, and then next of a forest, of caves. One by one, they would flip and tell a story, before a pale woman of golden hair and a matching halo would be shown; Aschea, for all to see. Depictions which illustrated when Aschea gifted her last blessings to the Moonfallen, moving then to the images of people of pale-though-cascading colored skin, brimming with grace and beauty. Teraphim. And from the Teraphim... A human. And from that human, eventually, and after many changing of the cards, a young Bat winged beauty, with familiar bangles upon her wrists.

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The woman spoke then of balance, and all the ways it might lean, abstract as they were; the tales she wove were old, of course, and the children had heard them so many times before. Yet still they whooped and cheered and sighed and frowned with the retelling of the stories and important tenants that leaked from the sharp-toothed mouth of the ancient. Till finally, she spoke of the Change - How the truths they had gained with knees dirtied and hands bloodied were forcefully denied or shifted or rebuttalled over time by those who thought their ways superior. The fleeing of the Shadow Lands, relatively recently, around fifty years ago. Her shaking old hands unfolding cards with fleeting figures once filled with magic and wonder, yet now dirtied. Lead by Malvesta, they tore through the gaping maws of demons, the shattered claws of the Dark, till they founded the City beneath the Earth. The Dark. The City of the Nyt... Nyt'jhem. There they found sanctuary from the Light and its pains, the blinding sun, it was sure - But found fellowship with the Dark in trade, whose pleasant dimness were far easier on their eyes. Believing themselves continuing the old ways, yet stepping on the softest soils that could drop without the slightest hint of a shift, the Na'hrem with would slowly wonder away by the fox fires of power, will-o-whisps of temptation, leaving the city filled with mostly non-magi and the precious few who truly cared.

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Alas, the woman said, it was inevitable; their love of the dark blinded them to the light, and in many ways, the soulless and occultic horrors made their way into the veins of the sanctuary within, without the leaders knowing or caring. She spoke, then, of the Adaira, of their clan. Just as many of their kind in the caves had their tenants and oaths, as did the Adaira. A most matriarchy society, where Blood is the Truth, and Bone is the cradle of Life, they fought to truly straddle the line between the horizon and the moon by worshiping something a little closer to home. The Ichor of Life, that ebbs with the tides, a crimson liquid ruby that made the light of the moon shine a most pleasing color, and how it cascaded, necessitated the birth and life of the next generation to continue the flow. The magic of Blood, of Bio, of Nature. Of Poison, sometimes, even, the toxins of the body made manifest in the most creative of ways. This was done on purpose, both by the nurture of their family, and the nature, the secret of their own blood, as noted by the slight pointing of their ears. But most of all, it was the Intent behind the founding of their people. They were to remain separate as best as they could, withdrawn to watch from afar, judge on the heights of trees. Keeping to themselves as their elders demanded while furthering their understanding of Balance. To do evil with a strike of the palm, and yet good in the same gesture.

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The cards then flipped to another, one of the last. That of the Blood Moon, rising behind the city. There, the woman explained - That it was by the grace of Mother Aschea, of her Teraphim, that they could still feel the love they do today. And it is by simple tenants that they might continue to do these things; to beware the pull of the Dark. Reject the wishes of forces beyond oneself, and keep your soul your own. Beware witches, for they are less themselves than they might think. To take, but also to use, for these things were meant for Us. To Hunt for the ichor in anothers' neck, so that one could become More than whom they were before. Waste little, give more. Care for the Dead, and the memories they leave behind. Tend to their graves as if it were the last bastion of their souls. But most importantly, to keep their kind alive, no matter the cost. Thus the title adorn by one worthy of doing just that, in the times where things were unease. Blood Moon Rising; the old crone would speak of the Light of the Moon, and how sometimes, only the bathing of blood could change the arc of where it descended. Which, of course, is where the Adaira get their proclivities...

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Within the circle of children, a single youth would stare through the flames, his yellow eyes glowing with ambition. He had soaked in all the information she offered, just as he did every month, more so excited for the upcoming 'game' they would all play. To begin the very moment the woman put her bobbles away and flew back to her perch in the middle of their city of trees. And indeed, after several more minutes of loving retellings, she would do exactly that, stopping only to nod at a tall man cloaked with fur. With her permission, he smiles wide, displaying two large pointed teeth glimmering in the fire below, the telltale inheritance of the Adaira. As the children gathered together, they would hear the beacons being lit behind them. Let the Night Hunt Begin!, the tall man bellowed with a jolly knowing gleam, opening up the hidden gates with a pull of hemp rope - Gates to a town far below, where Blood would be offered to those who were gifted enough to draw it. How else would they become closer to their ancestors if not by giving all they had to hunt stronger beings, and siphon their blood for their own? How else could they grow in the strength they needed if one was chosen to become a Blood Moon Rising, if they could not learn to contain anothers' might for their own? The children would scream once merrily before the silent of the night reverberated through the land, each of their eyes lidded by the passion of their indoctrinated hunger.

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The Hidden Blood Woods
Circa Age
2048c

[Heimdalic_Dreams]

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Nine Tenets of the Adaira

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Respect the Dead

Though we do not seek Death for ourselves or others like many of our kin do, the Dead and that which is touched by it should be held in the highest esteem. For without the ability to live in the light of the moon, their memories must be protected by those who do. Tend to their graves, speak to their coffins, pay them their dues. Remember them, and whom they were, in ways which they can no longer convey. Treat Gravestones like their fallen soul, water them with affection, tend to them like a garden ready to sprout. It is the only way to continue their stories after the last page has been turned, and preserve the meaning of their final breaths for all to see and witness. Teach your children this same respect, as from a flicker of a spark to the dust of the aftermath, one must live and breath knowing the beauty of the poetry of life. And die knowing they will be cared for, in memory, and in spirit. That, in the end, is the main difference between the typical follower of the Old Ways, and Adaira; they seek Death in life from the shadows. And we find Life in death from the light.

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Respect your Elders

Common grace and well kept manners are used to treat our elders with the dignity and respect their years have earned from those whom haven't yet felt the joys and sorrows of life to the degree they've enjoyed. Though many outside the woods are often either too busy. or worse, simply dismiss them and their contributions to their community and family, Adairas will never forget the price of every wrinkle upon their faces. For they have been here longer, gained countless experiences, and can most easily pass them down for the next generation with but a smiling question. They are walking holy ghosts, people living a precarious half life between the crux of all they know of this plane, and the world of death which comes after this one. Help them when you can. Make their years as simple and enjoyable as possible. That is our Way.

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Find Balance

This is not the way of extremism; balance can mean many things, but before all, it is a way of life. The light of the moon can be bright or dim, but it is always there regardless, after all, even when all seems pitch. Just as Aschea prescribed, balance should be a general thing. If one is hot, she should find cool air. If a woman is drowning, she should seek to swim upwards. If ones heart is broken, mend it by loving themselves first to fill the shattered gaps. If one is honorable and true, they must find ways to be mischievous and cunning in their own way. Only then can one truly learn to grow in ways a firmly set person simply cannot. Balance, of course, varies on the person. But let that variety both depend on, and lead you.

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Live by Blood

Adaira hold respect to what flows within our veins; the power of our greatest ancestors, the memories of our forebearers, and the love of Aschea all collect into the liquid rubies that fall from ourselves, and can be collected from others, taken to grow our own might, and become all the closer to the next step of Asension. Most all of us are born with pointer ears then most, though it's hardly noticeable for the weakening of our honorable ancestors. All we can do is seek to strengthen that blood, heighten it, grow it with the ways of our people. Do our best, so the best may be gifted to us.

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Take what is Yours

Every Adaira holds Blood Magic - It is a part of who we are, and what we represent. There are no 'lesser' men or women of this world. From nobles to Razuka, all whom hold blood have what is Adairas by right, to be taken by Rite, and fused into their own circuits to bloom themselves ever outward. One must Hunt to ebb ever closer to the glory of Metstona, one of our cherished ancestors, to ring true of the nature of Camazots. As the Emerald vies for, waste nothing, use all one can, and don't be afraid to bath in the hoard of what you reap yourself. However, if one offers their blood, it is customary to deny it. After all, it is the act of Taking, the ritual of Removing By Force, that makes their blood your own. Every Adaira holds Blood Magic - It is a part of who we are, and what we represent. 

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Find Treasure in Nature

Nothing less than the grace of Aschea can compare to the beauty that is Nature. Just as blood flows and ebbs through the veins of animals and man, so too does its own form of emerald vitality writhe throughout the stems of flowers, the leaves of berry bushes, and the ever-stretching branches of trees. In the wilderness of those ever green gardens which protect our people, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect, as balance finds itself, just as they seek it in kind. Trees can be contorted, bent in strange ways, used for the growth of the wild around it after death, and yet they are still beautiful in decompostion. Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet upon its grass, and the winds long to play with your hair as you run in joy. Accept these simple truths; for without Nature, we would hold no Nurture with which to grow ourselves.

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Learn to Commune with Nature

Learning to live off the fat of the land is a major factor of our youths' growth. All children from age five to seven are to be gifted knowledge of the woods by their parents, given their families heirloom dagger and simple cotton clothing, before being pushed into the wilderness to live for anywhere between three to seven months. Those who can make it to six months are usually gifted titles and the potential for ranks in the community later in their life, if their power holds firm, as it proves their Adaira blood runs strong enough to truly Live, and hold the prospcts of perhaps one day becoming a Blood Moon Rising - A Hero of our People, to reap the fel darkness in the hearts of our kin. That being said, one must raise their child to truly -understand- the Balance of the Trees, and the whimsy of the untamed lives wickered by its existence. We must grow -with- the life around us, not against it. Seek to take only what one must, and give away that which we do not need. Look deep into the emerald eyes of Nature, for only there will one find themselves in full. Be humble, and perhaps you might just hear the softest whispers of Mother Aschea through the whims of the forest spirits around you!

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Destroy the Dark

The light has one purpose; to smother and remove the taint of the Dark which threaten the world at large. Witches. Necromancers. Such vile things which pollute our precious lifestream cannot, with precious few exceptions, live under the same moon as Adaira. For their wanton and childish grabs for power and greater fortune through the trade of their and our Future can rarely be excused. This does not always mean the wholesale destruction of any witch to the point of the extremes, but rather, to not accept them, and if one -can-, to defeat them till their will breaks, and they recognize what they have lost. Of course, a Witch of evil should be destroyed, as any evil should. A Soul is more than just the container of potential, but also the collected ability to Feel. Those soulless abominations have given up the entire point of Life to a power most dark, and ought to be dealt with in all due appropriate course. Though the innate Charm of a witch for us Batkin, as with Black Cats, Rats, and Arachnids who find themselves under their sway can be strong, one should strive to ignore the temptations offered by their strange predispositions. Such is a weakness of our people. We will not forget the Moonfall.

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The Purpose of the Adaira

Death to those who seek our destruction - Especially our own kind. Though we are withdrawn from the rest of the Na'hrem, it is not for its own sake, but rather to see to it that the Light will always shine, no matter what foul darkness might take hold of those who are not our own, and those whom are. This is so we might gift our kin with Heroes they need, people willing to give up everything for the sake of our collective future - Especially if the main clans fall too deep into the madness of the void. No Adaira would even think of gifting the location of our sanctuary away, and with the use of mastered Blood magics and rituals most pure by the elders on their way out, captured Adaira couldn't even if they wished to. Even if an Adaira is swept away, killed, her spirit destroyed, her bone cracking, they will perish knowing the Light of the moon still beams proudly over the Hidden Blood Woods of our people. For the purpose of Adaira, is the pave the way to the future, no matter the tint of the color of the red moon.

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[Asztal]

Once upon a time, there was the moon. The moon was lonely.


It whispered to the night. 
It called out to blood. 
It waited.
And we answered.

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There was a time when the name Adaira carried weight, 
when the Blood Moon rose and kingdoms shuddered beneath its glow. 
They said we were gone. Extinct. 
A name spoken only in half-remembered warnings and old war songs.
But they were wrong.
Lucienne Adaira walks again beneath the crimson sky. 
Not batkin, no — not what we were. 
What we are... is something else. 
Something sharper. Stronger. Hungrier.



We still worship the End. 
We still bow to Death Herself.
But necromancers — the carrion-feeders, 
those who defile what should be beautifully still — 
They will know what it is to be hunted.
The moon is no longer lonely.
We have returned.


— The Blood Moon rises once more —