Thayr

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

Well, Lukas Moss is complete.

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

<Snipped quote by Thayr>

Nothing too excessive or out-there. For example, no man-portable miniguns or suchlike; no archaic weapons like WW2 or such. And nothing 'memey' or too 'video game' ish. I will mock you relentlessly if you take a Desert Eagle, for example.

@Rhona W

I also mean as far as "Can we take equipment not normally issued or issued by allied powers?"

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

How restrictive are you planning on primary weapons / gear being?

Spearhead: A modern/near future Special Forces RP (ON HIATUS)

Moss, Lukas - Medic, Communications

NAME

Moss, Lukas

AGE

33

GENDER

Male

NATIONALITY

United States of America

PRIMARY ROLE

Medic

SECONDARY ROLE

Communications Specialist

APPEARANCE

Appearance

Standing at 5’4”, fairly middling as far as height, Lukas’s physique can be described as musculature, well-built, with a little bit of bulk about the midriff. His skin is very well tanned while black hair is kept at a very un-military length with a full beard. A number of sharp cracks and lines form the man’s face, making him seem a good bit older than he really is.

His sense of clothing doesn’t change much between operations and normal attire, with a common line of collared shirts, cargo pants in black or olive green, and black dull boots. A dull mechanical watch is the only outward sign of any degree of wealth, though the item is definitely plain. His helmet bears a Joker on the side.

---

BIOGRAPHY

Born 1992 in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Moss would really get a direction of life at the age of nine through a television. Always interested in a military life, he decided from early on that there was really only a few places to properly be. Going though his options while in High School, as a freshman Lukas focused in to study Arabic through whatever possible resources he could get his hands on as well as joining JROTC as a junior. He jumped feet-first into the US Air Force, trying his hand through being qualified as a Parajumper there.

The training, as could be expected for anything of that sort, was as grueling as could be. Lukas worked through it, though, broke down and put back together as it was. There was nothing else to it but developing a mindset that there was that set tasks before him, that set of orders that needed to be fulfilled, and that all which was asked of him was within his capability. The schools were long, sending him across the country, and by the time he’d graduated Lukas had already been enlisted for two years.

He would be assigned to the 24th Special Tactics Squadron, a year later deploying in support of hunter-killer operations in the Middle East against Taliban and Al-Qaeda leadership, and two years after that deployed again for Operation Freedom’s Sentinel. Lukas’s time with the 24th STS would be rewarding, he found, between helping to expedite “family reunions”, saving lives, and a continuous training. He’d even help support the ad-hoc resources deployed to save Malaysia Airlines Flight 830 when it crashed in Afghanistan in 2016, something the man found a special amount of pride in. Two years later, as his contract came to a close, Moss joined with The Activity. His participation with numerous intelligence gathering taskings would lead to several successful “family reunions” - the most public of which being the removal of Ayman al-Zawahiri.

Dry, acidic humor marked with a distinct, continuous use of euphemisms is the eternal dialogue of Lukas Moss. He’s not an airman, really, but a family reunions organizer whether that’s on earth or in hell. He just makes the conditions come together so that the reunion might be perfect, truly perfect. When in certain situations, stressful ones, Lukas looses the humor in exchange for razor sharp focus, a professionalism where everything is just the thing, no baggage attached, and everything is suddenly, emphatically within his capacity to change, to do, to remove.

SERVICE HISTORY

- 2008: Joined JROTC
- 2010: Enlisted USAF, Parajumper. Received FLPB for Arabic. Graduated Basic Training as Airman (E-2)
- 2010: Promotion to Airman 1st Class (E-3)
- 2012: Promotion to Senior airman (E-4)
- 2012: Graduated from Pararescue Apprentice Course, certified PJ. Assigned to 24th STS
- 2013: Deployed in support of Task Force 145 to Iraq, Afghanistan, 6 months
- 2015: Promotion to Staff sergeant (E-5). Deployed in support of Operation Freedom's Sentinel, 2 years
- 2016: Extended Contract by 2 Years. Deployed in response to Malaysia Airlines Flight 830 crash, Afghanistan
- 2018: Joined Intelligence Service Activity
- 2022: Aided in the elimination strike of Ayman al-Zawahiri. Active in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan
- 2025: Assigned to Spearhead Unit

---

PRIMARY WEAPON

M27 IAR

KAC NT4 QDSS Suppressor
M27RWK
Vertical Foregrip
AN/PEQ-16A
Trijicon ACOG
60 Round Magpul D-60 Magazines

M89SR sniper rifle

B&T Suppressor
Bipod
AN/PEQ-15
M8541 Scout Sniper Day Scope
Fully Automatic

SIDEARM

Beretta 93R

Suppressor
18 Round Magazines

OTHER GEAR/WEAPONS/EQUIPMENT

USMC Mark 2 combat knife
2 x M67 fragmentation grenade
2 x M14 TH3 incendiary grenade

Trauma kit
AN/PSQ-22
Flipper Zero
1 x Military-use Encrypted Cellphone
5 x Prepaid Flip Phone
Leatherman Wave
French Press

IHPS helmet w/ AN/PSQ-42 ENVG-B
JSGPM/51 gas mask
MBSS vest w/ SAPI, pouches, black
Backpack, black

---

OTHER INFORMATION

Hobbies

Chess
Coin Collecting
Cycling
Yoga

Likes

Airport Food
French Press Coffee
People “with large veins”
Dark Chocolate

Dislikes

Alcoholics
Chatterboxes
People “with big feet”
Smokers

Recollections: Primal Sinister

┤ Idles-In-Shade ├

---

┤ Location: Berny Park, Lower District, Cloverfield
┤ Date: 20:00 EST 23 November 2024 (Sunday)
┤ Mentions: N/A

Three men nearer to the eastern entrance - they had only just crossed the precipice, the crow said - dressed in tattered coats and ragged shoes with a shopping cart. He could hear the squeal of one wheel as it doubtless trundled further into the park since they’d first been seen, a high-pitched cry. They weren’t loud, though, not yelling, not cheering one-another, not upsetting the park. Another would be watching them still, he knew. He’d told them to.

Glass eyes stared into the distance as he listened. Little hands clutched a dull-shine needle as it passed in and out of the weave, a green-red fabric picked by the offerings of one old-time resident. Coarse fur, no longer the great sheen that it had been before, stood on-end here, there. The crow paid no attention to such strangeness. It had no need to do so, just as it had no need to be referred to as a he or she. It was a tool created for the purposes of the fortress, just the same as the winding trails were both the walls of that fortress and its courtyards. In and out that needle dove, hands working without his concentration upon them.

The branch gently swayed, both by the cold breeze and by the little motions of his hands. They were known to the crow, for he’d seen them before just four weeks prior. Old time residents who came and went when there was no other choice. Old time residents who knew the rules they had to follow and the safety that was promised. Old time residents who weren’t going to make a mess as they left. They were acceptable, he felt. They didn’t impose themselves often after all, didn’t try to turn the park into their own, didn’t try to trash the trails. The crow continued its report. There was more.

A couple walking through the south end…they didn’t sound familiar. Humans were strange to look to a park for their privacy, to do their strangeness, and these two sounded like a pair. Well, as much as a pair as humans deigned to be at any given time. He had never taken much care to learn, in one way or another, how they came to be, how they settled to be, how such had differences. Some were pairs for a moment, a passing of cash between, some pairs for a month, some pairs for a life. It wasn’t something he’d had much experience in, back before. The creator had broken the normal rules in pairings, had been seen as more to those who followed him for the brief times. In any case…they were not violators of the rules as he considered them. They well could be, though. Something to be continued to be watched, that’s what they were.

Others in the park, here and there. Not many. Not many that he recognized, either, compared to the first three. A long exhale, cold and rattling, as yelling broke through the air in the close distance. People were always yelling now and again at such hours, yelling about things that never did seem to matter, yelling about things that did. Ears pricked up, small little coarse hairs falling from his ears as the hands finally ceased their incessant knitting. Which was it? Would it even really matter? Curiosity was the excuse, of course, that inward excuse he used to comfort his own conscience about the idea of meddling about with the city surrounding his fortress, curiosity and a need to know the situations beyond his walls for safety and security. Only fools believed that the conditions beyond one's defenses didn't matter. And yet…and yet it was coupled with something else. That second component was a strange feeling, an uncomfortable feeling, one of a small desire to know if it did or didn't matter, one to interfere if too serious. He could shake it away, true enough, shake it away and consider the whole matter closed. If he chanced the idea of help then the fortress itself might be compromised. And yet, yet still despite all that, some portion…

Glassy eyes were still open, watching as the branch that once stretched out before him normally turn…strange. The end seemed to curved and turn as leaves once well out of the way began to grow out and away, curving in against itself. The ground seemed further away, the dark sky still a ceiling, as the question asked again and again inside of his mind. The crow was long forgotten amid all this, flying away through a hole in the branches that hadn’t been there before.

And then…the inward conflict died away with the yelling. The question no longer needed to be asked. The branch kept to its impossible, betrayed shape as he repeated mantras to himself, words of comfort, words of duty. The pounding of a still heart died in his ears.

He looked about. No one was there on the still branch with him.

Did he want…no. He did not want another there with him. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be good. He breathed, in and out, in and out, and eventually Idles-In-Shade allowed himself to pass into sleep.

Recollections: Primal Sinister

Idles-In-Shade

Idles-In-Shade

"This is my place, visitor."

_______________________________________________ Idles-In-Shade He/Him | ~200 | Squirrel | 12 in | ~2.2 lb _______________________________________________ Territorial _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Don’t ask why I know these things." ___________________________________ [+] Knitting ⫻ During his relatively brief time in Glare, between periods of attempting perfection, Idles-In-Shade became in a way somewhat bored. Hobbies, frowned on as they were, were scarce and he garnered one of the few that appealed to a meticulous nature. These days, the Aberration makes scarfs, socks, and little mittens for his own bemusement. Unnatural Arrogance ⫻ Confidence unbounding towards his superiority to Blinds and even to a degree Adepts, he can be considered supremely lacking in most forms of fear against them. A failure to prepare is the only fault in Idles-In-Shade’s mind which could undo him.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "It’s not a perfect fit, I admit, but not much is." Once a common enough American Red Squirrel, he has entirely kept the veneer of being a common enough American Red Squirrel. Measuring in total just 12 in, to include the tail, and having a normative weight of around 2.2 lbs, Idles-In-Shade is of the complete opinion that altering this arrangement would generally also defeat the purpose of the arrangement. Only a few markers might differentiate him from another, that being a number of small enough scars about the back as well as, at times, a small enough scarf about his neck. A minor concession to pride as it is, the Aberration remains quick enough to put such an item away before a Blind might take any measure of notice.

---

_{Psychology
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Why do you ask?"

MAIN GOAL ⫻

His ultimate goal in life is to create the fortress that he was made to build and maintain, yet failed to before. After this, in an odd enough way, he would have found his independence entirely despite having been intended to make the fortress for another.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻

To survive is to succeed, to retain oneself despite the pressures of all against you is to flourish, and every inch towards a goal is an inch worth fighting to keep: these are the creeds which Idles-In-Shade values, holds close, and cherishes despite lacking any of importance to share them with. Entirely self-concerned - because, after all, no-one truly matters in a life than the life being lived - the Aberration finds some passing amount of pride in the casual helping of another, some minor degree of joy in that, but finds his true reward in building that which he’d been tasked to, in the hedgerows, in the trenches no one could see until they ensnared them. He finds some joy in doling out what could perhaps be called justice, too, the enforcement of his own law in his own domain.

SECRETS ⫻

Everything. Nothing. Idles-In-Shade has everything to hide, no one to pry against him, a perfect creation of that fortress in his own self. He hides from himself why he came to Dazzle in the first place, why he strode between those worlds, hides from himself that deep shame of creating an incomplete fortress, a failed fortress, a broken thing. He hides from himself that his maker is dead by his own failure, his own inaction. He hides from himself the question that, perhaps, he might have had the opportunity to have prevented that failure if he had done more than watch when the fortress burned. Idles-In-Shade has so many things he would hide to the world if the world ever thought to ask.

SEXUALITY ⫻

Asexual

FEARS ⫻

What if the fortress was built for no one? What if there was never a point to it, an answer to the question of who would sit in that seat when the walls were finally complete? It is a question the Aberration has no answer to despite his deep-seated, irreconcilable urge to create that fortress. It is a question that haunts him in the still nights.

What if the urge to speak to another was something more? He watches them from the trees, from the ground, watches and listens and knows. Some little part of that soul wants to reach out to them, speak to them, interact in some way. What if he did? What if that would compromise the fortress?

WHAT DID THEY DO DURING THE CATACLYSM? ⫻

When the Cataclysm came, he was in Berny Park in Cloverfield and throughout the Cataclysm, Idles-In-Shade remained in Berny Park. Protecting it, hiding it, applying his Abstraction against it to defend the fortress against the thing that raged against the city, that’s all the Aberration did during that period.

FLAWS ⫻

Idles-In-Shade’s deep-seated, psychological inclination to be shut-in from that world at large gives him a great, grand pause to actually ever interact with that world. He is internally conflicted, divided as a soul ever could be, between that fortress mentality and a soulful wish to join the world.

_{Backstory
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"They screamed then, and I wasn’t sure if I should weep or laugh."

Made in the universe known hereafter as Glare, Idles-In-Shade was created as an Apparition by an Adept, Charles Cain, in a great gambit to secure a fortress Cain had been building in the Appalachian Mountains. Once a coven leader of other Adepts in that region before slowly, painfully, secretly consuming them, Cain had begun several campaigns to effectively perform the same process to cults of the Blind. Endeavoring with the consumption of souls to elevate himself to the position of an Apparition, immortal in all ways, in an effort to achieve this Cain deigned to create a fortress, let leak to the great many groups of Adepts who find themselves wanting to lay down their law, and in a grand ritual ultimately die. Through this, he planned to become what he believed to be an Angel, a creature of undying and eternal power, and to achieve this fortress the Adept summoned forth an Apparition.

He was born into service, morality not touching his being as Idles-In-Shade labored to bring about his creator’s vision. Years passed by as he did so, the Abstraction of his power formed by the demands of Cain, yet eventually his master grew impatient. The hounds of the Brotherhood, far-flung as they were from their European haunts, had begun to smell the heretical foundations in the Appalachians while the numerous mass deaths - each conducted by Cain with the terrible magician’s flair of feigning his own demise - had begun to attract Blind law enforcement as well as the Adepts who played at that same game. He felt walls close in that may have been only imagined, felt that his fortress had been perfected far enough as any would wish, and thus began his plan.

The endeavor failed. The endeavor succeeded. Cain died, the fortress ensnaring so many of the Adepts, of the Brotherhood, of Blind caught in the play who thought they were simply enforcing Federal laws, and then the fortress erupted in fire. Souls caught by Cain’s magic flowed like rivers, some of these Cain consumed in his death-throes, the magic in the air rending the fortress open to the space between realms. Glare bled out into that space while the space itself flooded in. As chaos grasped hold of all, a question appeared in Idles-In-Shade’s mind, a curiosity, and he indulged in it. He consumed some of the souls, too, and slipped out through the cut in Glare into that space between. Glare ended, Cain dead, but he, he was free.

Idles-In-Shade would land in Dazzle, though he wouldn’t know its name, and set about achieving that fortress which he had once been commissioned to make. A grand misunderstanding - and a grand built-in urge - had resulted in this as Cain had never truly divulged his plans to the Apparition he had created and the demands which he had made upon his creation left the deepest of imprints. He took the guise of a squirrel, a creature few even batted an eye against and fewer still took the great times to interact with in any way, and took residence in an old, disused park in a place known by the Blind as Cloverfield. It was to be the foundation of that fortress, Berny Park in the lower district, a citadel that none would suspect to be a citadel and none would be capable of breaching.

Then the Cataclysm came and then the Cataclysm went. He took to ground, like so many others, focusing his magic such that the park itself became impossible to traverse, such that every shard of Nyrah’s power which ever would cut against it, every stray belch of acid, every coincidental cut of talon, could make little headway. It was taxing and hard, brutally hard, but through it all he and the fortress survived. Through that fact that the fortress had never been seen as a fortress, all remained unnoticed, unfocused by those who would seek to destroy, and the Idles-In-Shade found it all to have been tested satisfactorily…though never tested to completion. There was still work to be done. There was still work to be built. The itch in the back of his mind would not be satisfied by the mere fact of survival, especially when others had survived it by their mere force of will.

He has since become a coincidental, partially benevolent spirit of Berny Park. Though humanity at times baffles him, at times confounds him, the Aberration has taken some degree of pleasure in using his creation towards more present goals. Teenagers who wish privacy might find it in the park where a trail becomes cloistered from even the most prying of eyes, thieves might run from their targets through its trails to become just another face in the crowd, though he takes some degree of satisfaction in giving particular attention to certain individuals. Those who do harm in his fortress, or seek to use his fortress to conceal their deed, do so at their own peril. Idles-In-Shade finds that to be the critical line before the limits of his charity, the obligations of the host, are broken.

_{Abstraction
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Power is what you hold, what you control, what you claim."

TYPE ⫻

Aberration (Abscised)

ABSTRACTION ⫻

Where The Hedgerows Start
A twisting of paths one should know and the warping of a region such that the ways there no longer make sense

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻

The affliction of this Abstraction causes the area about the user to become twisted, winding, and generally unable to be navigated by any save for the user. This twisting is not based on geography or distance; paths between two points twenty feet away may then take eighty feet to traverse while incorporating many more turns, blind corners, and alternate pathways which would lead to dead-ends.

Constant Application

The constant affliction of this Abstraction on a space will cause that area to continue to retain these qualities for some time after the affliction ends, though at a far lesser degree and only for a month. The degree of severity for the affliction in that area is dependent on the amount of energy placed into it at a time, normally through meditation over a period of hours, though the Abstraction’s effects themselves feed on negative emotions generated while traversing the afflicted area such as fear and panic.

Entity Creation

Much as when one pours water into a cup, some will slosh away or evaporate into the air, with the application of this power some portion will necessarily not be placed within the land itself. This overflow or spillage manifests itself as the normal land might otherwise dictate in animals or insects, beings that would normally inhabit such places, but with connections to the Abstraction and by extension the Aberration which created them in the first place. More capable than their normal counterparts with few markings that would distinguish them apart, they remain linked with Idles-In-Shade throughout their existence. He may command them, garner information from them, and otherwise utilize them for the defense of his fortress.

Immunity

Idles-In-Shade himself can travel his own afflicted areas, though only with strong, markedly focused concentration upon forcing the effects of his Abstraction to give way to normal reality, much as one might work to shovel snow to create a path. Such concentration is subject, of course, to his own mental states and possible panics.

LIMITS ⫻

Range

The affliction of this Abstraction is centered about the user and can only affect a radius of two hundred feet at a time. If such affliction overlaps from uncultivated land to afflicted land, the latter simply has greater severity developed.

Detection

Its existence can be detected by Paranormal beings, though the required sensitivity is tied to the severity of the effect in that area. Generally speaking, such individuals must concentrate in order to detect the affliction if it is not being actively applied.

Teleportation

The Abstraction hampers but does not completely deny the use of teleportation, allowing individuals to enter and leave but severely altering the accuracy of such if the exit point is within the afflicted area. The hampering of teleportation accuracy is generally dependent on the severity of the afflicted area, with less severe regions being subject to differences of up to a dozen feet while the most severe afflictions actively attempt to shift teleporting individuals into solid objects. Teleportation which holds exit points at least five feet above the ground is unaffected.

Different Minds

Created entities hold the same intellectual capacities as their normal counterparts and thus may struggle with more complex commands or instructions. They may also not venture more than a hundred feet outside the radius of an afflicted area; should they do so, spontaneous combustion occurs with the release of magic.

WEAKNESSES ⫻

All White Lux Adepts have an innate ability to navigate the abstraction. They will be able to find the correct path without any effort due to their Lux. As well, once an area has been afflicted it is very difficult to pick up and move to a new location. He will need to either pick the best spot right away, or prepare for a prolonged ordeal to move.

Entity Creation

Idles-In-Shade will have a strong psychic connection with these entities. As such, if something were to happen to them he will experience a psychic backlash that will bring pain and discomfort. The level of which has two factors. First, the backlash will be based on the size of the creature. A single mosquito will bring only a small discomfort, whereas a creature his size could cause him to be in pain for many moments. Second, it will depend on how many creatures have perished. The more of these connections that get severed the greater the impact it will have on him. Thus, he will need to be careful to not put those who call his park home at risk.

^{Other
_{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"There's never much."

Recollections: Primal Sinister

Idles-In-Shade

Idles-In-Shade

"This is my place, visitor."

_______________________________________________ Idles-In-Shade He/Him | ~200 | Squirrel | 12 in | ~2.2 lb _______________________________________________ Territorial _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Don’t ask why I know these things." ___________________________________ [+] Knitting ⫻ During his relatively brief time in Glare, between periods of attempting perfection, Idles-In-Shade became in a way somewhat bored. Hobbies, frowned on as they were, were scarce and he garnered one of the few that appealed to a meticulous nature. These days, the Aberration makes scarfs, socks, and little mittens for his own bemusement. Unnatural Arrogance ⫻ Confidence unbounding towards his superiority to Blinds and even to a degree Adepts, he can be considered supremely lacking in most forms of fear against them. A failure to prepare is the only fault in Idles-In-Shade’s mind which could undo him.

Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "It’s not a perfect fit, I admit, but not much is." Once a common enough American Red Squirrel, he has entirely kept the veneer of being a common enough American Red Squirrel. Measuring in total just 12 in, to include the tail, and having a normative weight of around 2.2 lbs, Idles-In-Shade is of the complete opinion that altering this arrangement would generally also defeat the purpose of the arrangement. Only a few markers might differentiate him from another, that being a number of small enough scars about the back as well as, at times, a small enough scarf about his neck. A minor concession to pride as it is, the Aberration remains quick enough to put such an item away before a Blind might take any measure of notice.

---

_{Psychology
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"Why do you ask?"

MAIN GOAL ⫻

His ultimate goal in life is to create the fortress that he was made to build and maintain, yet failed to before. After this, in an odd enough way, he would have found his independence entirely despite having been intended to make the fortress for another.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻

To survive is to succeed, to retain oneself despite the pressures of all against you is to flourish, and every inch towards a goal is an inch worth fighting to keep: these are the creeds which Idles-In-Shade values, holds close, and cherishes despite lacking any of importance to share them with. Entirely self-concerned - because, after all, no-one truly matters in a life than the life being lived - the Aberration finds some passing amount of pride in the casual helping of another, some minor degree of joy in that, but finds his true reward in building that which he’d been tasked to, in the hedgerows, in the trenches no one could see until they ensnared them. He finds some joy in doling out what could perhaps be called justice, too, the enforcement of his own law in his own domain.

SECRETS ⫻

Everything. Nothing. Idles-In-Shade has everything to hide, no one to pry against him, a perfect creation of that fortress in his own self. He hides from himself why he came to Dazzle in the first place, why he strode between those worlds, hides from himself that deep shame of creating an incomplete fortress, a failed fortress, a broken thing. He hides from himself that his maker is dead by his own failure, his own inaction. He hides from himself the question that, perhaps, he might have had the opportunity to have prevented that failure if he had done more than watch when the fortress burned. Idles-In-Shade has so many things he would hide to the world if the world ever thought to ask.

SEXUALITY ⫻

Asexual

FEARS ⫻

What if the fortress was built for no one? What if there was never a point to it, an answer to the question of who would sit in that seat when the walls were finally complete? It is a question the Aberration has no answer to despite his deep-seated, irreconcilable urge to create that fortress. It is a question that haunts him in the still nights.

What if the urge to speak to another was something more? He watches them from the trees, from the ground, watches and listens and knows. Some little part of that soul wants to reach out to them, speak to them, interact in some way. What if he did? What if that would compromise the fortress?

WHAT DID THEY DO DURING THE CATACLYSM? ⫻

When the Cataclysm came, he was in Berny Park in Cloverfield and throughout the Cataclysm, Idles-In-Shade remained in Berny Park. Protecting it, hiding it, applying his Abstraction against it to defend the fortress against the thing that raged against the city, that’s all the Aberration did during that period.

FLAWS ⫻

Idles-In-Shade’s deep-seated, psychological inclination to be shut-in from that world at large gives him a great, grand pause to actually ever interact with that world. He is internally conflicted, divided as a soul ever could be, between that fortress mentality and a soulful wish to join the world.

_{Backstory
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"They screamed then, and I wasn’t sure if I should weep or laugh."

Made in the universe known hereafter as Glare, Idles-In-Shade was created as an Apparition by an Adept, Charles Cain, in a great gambit to secure a fortress Cain had been building in the Appalachian Mountains. Once a coven leader of other Adepts in that region before slowly, painfully, secretly consuming them, Cain had begun several campaigns to effectively perform the same process to cults of the Blind. Endeavoring with the consumption of souls to elevate himself to the position of an Apparition, immortal in all ways, in an effort to achieve this Cain deigned to create a fortress, let leak to the great many groups of Adepts who find themselves wanting to lay down their law, and in a grand ritual ultimately die. Through this, he planned to become what he believed to be an Angel, a creature of undying and eternal power, and to achieve this fortress the Adept summoned forth an Apparition.

He was born into service, morality not touching his being as Idles-In-Shade labored to bring about his creator’s vision. Years passed by as he did so, the Abstraction of his power formed by the demands of Cain, yet eventually his master grew impatient. The hounds of the Brotherhood, far-flung as they were from their European haunts, had begun to smell the heretical foundations in the Appalachians while the numerous mass deaths - each conducted by Cain with the terrible magician’s flair of feigning his own demise - had begun to attract Blind law enforcement as well as the Adepts who played at that same game. He felt walls close in that may have been only imagined, felt that his fortress had been perfected far enough as any would wish, and thus began his plan.

The endeavor failed. The endeavor succeeded. Cain died, the fortress ensnaring so many of the Adepts, of the Brotherhood, of Blind caught in the play who thought they were simply enforcing Federal laws, and then the fortress erupted in fire. Souls caught by Cain’s magic flowed like rivers, some of these Cain consumed in his death-throes, the magic in the air rending the fortress open to the space between realms. Glare bled out into that space while the space itself flooded in. As chaos grasped hold of all, a question appeared in Idles-In-Shade’s mind, a curiosity, and he indulged in it. He consumed some of the souls, too, and slipped out through the cut in Glare into that space between. Glare ended, Cain dead, but he, he was free.

Idles-In-Shade would land in Dazzle, though he wouldn’t know its name, and set about achieving that fortress which he had once been commissioned to make. A grand misunderstanding - and a grand built-in urge - had resulted in this as Cain had never truly divulged his plans to the Apparition he had created and the demands which he had made upon his creation left the deepest of imprints. He took the guise of a squirrel, a creature few even batted an eye against and fewer still took the great times to interact with in any way, and took residence in an old, disused park in a place known by the Blind as Cloverfield. It was to be the foundation of that fortress, Berny Park in the lower district, a citadel that none would suspect to be a citadel and none would be capable of breaching.

Then the Cataclysm came and then the Cataclysm went. He took to ground, like so many others, focusing his magic such that the park itself became impossible to traverse, such that every shard of Nyrah’s power which ever would cut against it, every stray belch of acid, every coincidental cut of talon, could make little headway. It was taxing and hard, brutally hard, but through it all he and the fortress survived. Through that fact that the fortress had never been seen as a fortress, all remained unnoticed, unfocused by those who would seek to destroy, and the Idles-In-Shade found it all to have been tested satisfactorily…though never tested to completion. There was still work to be done. There was still work to be built. The itch in the back of his mind would not be satisfied by the mere fact of survival, especially when others had survived it by their mere force of will.

He has since become a coincidental, partially benevolent spirit of Berny Park. Though humanity at times baffles him, at times confounds him, the Aberration has taken some degree of pleasure in using his creation towards more present goals. Teenagers who wish privacy might find it in the park where a trail becomes cloistered from even the most prying of eyes, thieves might run from their targets through its trails to become just another face in the crowd, though he takes some degree of satisfaction in giving particular attention to certain individuals. Those who do harm in his fortress, or seek to use his fortress to conceal their deed, do so at their own peril. Idles-In-Shade finds that to be the critical line before the limits of his charity, the obligations of the host, are broken.

_{Abstraction
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"Power is what you hold, what you control, what you claim."

TYPE ⫻

Aberration (Abscised)

ABSTRACTION ⫻

Where The Hedgerows Start
A twisting of paths one should know and the warping of a region such that the ways there no longer make sense

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻

The affliction of this Abstraction causes the area about the user to become twisted, winding, and generally unable to be navigated by any save for the user. This twisting is not based on geography or distance; paths between two points twenty feet away may then take eighty feet to traverse while incorporating many more turns, blind corners, and alternate pathways which would lead to dead-ends.

Constant Application

The constant affliction of this Abstraction on a space will cause that area to continue to retain these qualities for some time after the affliction ends, though at a far lesser degree and only for a month. The degree of severity for the affliction in that area is dependent on the amount of energy placed into it at a time, normally through meditation over a period of hours, though the Abstraction’s effects themselves feed on negative emotions generated while traversing the afflicted area such as fear and panic.

Entity Creation

Much as when one pours water into a cup, some will slosh away or evaporate into the air, with the application of this power some portion will necessarily not be placed within the land itself. This overflow or spillage manifests itself as the normal land might otherwise dictate in animals or insects, beings that would normally inhabit such places, but with connections to the Abstraction and by extension the Aberration which created them in the first place. More capable than their normal counterparts with few markings that would distinguish them apart, they remain linked with Idles-In-Shade throughout their existence. He may command them, garner information from them, and otherwise utilize them for the defense of his fortress.

Immunity

Idles-In-Shade himself can travel his own afflicted areas, though only with strong, markedly focused concentration upon forcing the effects of his Abstraction to give way to normal reality, much as one might work to shovel snow to create a path. Such concentration is subject, of course, to his own mental states and possible panics.

LIMITS ⫻

Range

The affliction of this Abstraction is centered about the user and can only affect a radius of two hundred feet at a time. If such affliction overlaps from uncultivated land to afflicted land, the latter simply has greater severity developed.

Detection

Its existence can be detected by Paranormal beings, though the required sensitivity is tied to the severity of the effect in that area. Generally speaking, such individuals must concentrate in order to detect the affliction if it is not being actively applied.

Teleportation

The Abstraction hampers but does not completely deny the use of teleportation, allowing individuals to enter and leave but severely altering the accuracy of such if the exit point is within the afflicted area. The hampering of teleportation accuracy is generally dependent on the severity of the afflicted area, with less severe regions being subject to differences of up to a dozen feet while the most severe afflictions actively attempt to shift teleporting individuals into solid objects. Teleportation which holds exit points at least five feet above the ground is unaffected.

Different Minds

Created entities hold the same intellectual capacities as their normal counterparts and thus may struggle with more complex commands or instructions. They may also not venture more than a hundred feet outside the radius of an afflicted area; should they do so, spontaneous combustion occurs with the release of magic.

WEAKNESSES ⫻

(DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

^{Other
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"There's never much."

Berny Park

Berny.Park
............................................................ "Normal people just don’t go to Berny Park."	Seated in the lower district of Cloverfield and encompassing just a little over a square mile of the dilapidated area, Berny Park is a fixture from decades past that’s maintained its existence through the fact that it wasn’t maintained at all. These days, the lights never work, the singular pair of bathrooms are always locked, and the foliage is eternally overgrown. It was, after all, one of the first things to be cut in funding by the city commission in the lower district. The park kept its survival, politically speaking, by both the advocacy of certain unofficial police opinions who feel it to be a good trap for the criminal element in the region and the advocacy of certain less-than-official groups who feel it to be a good place for their people to disappear into the night. A small population of homeless have camped there several times, though the most experienced find it to be a poor place to stay long. Camps within the park are abandoned in less than a week, more often than not, and those who leave behind their belongings or trash often find their way back to the site to clean up the mess. Berny Park, for its part, has gained a reputation in recent years for a place one can easily get lost in, though for the most part people attribute this to drunkenness or the fact that not a singular lightpost works. Those who get lost there are often blamed for their own lack of direction.

Warhammer 40K: His Angels of Death

As the individual fleets of Astartes vessels began their translations into realspace, the bleeding wounds of the Immaterium closing behind them, so too did a different breed of warship. Lance and macro batteries bristling about their broadsides, warships of the Imperial Navy slipped from the Warp as squadrons of escorts began to form up alongside them. These hulls of Battlefleet Charadon bore signs of battle, deep scars and patched armor plate, while one cruiser soon began venting atmosphere from one of her far lower decks. It closed as quickly as it was made, a leak of gas into the void, as the warships formed up with their larger brethren. Transports came behind, each slowing to a crawl with their precious cargoes of Astra Militarum regiments, their own hulls wearied and worn.

To all ships at the point, and indeed reaching to the ships that lay before them engaged against the xenos, a hail came. Audio only, the voice ground with age and tinted with vox-aids, to reach every bridge in the fleet he spoke.

“To all vessels, this is Solar Admiral Draysius, Battlefleet Charadon. By the grace of the Emperor we know this is our duty. All warships, make battle speed, form with Battlefleet Trecentis and engage the xenos. This foe bleeds - this foe can die. Target their exhaust ports if able and be wary of their spawn. All escorts shall provide for the defensive screen. Hold your strike kraft launches and concentrate your fire. Keep it bleeding. Keep its attentions clear of our transports. Once it is rendered ineffective, we shall begin planetary landings. Astartes vessels - your orders are no different. Make landfall if you desire. I shall not deny Angels their blood. Solar Admiral Draysius, out.”

The Imperial Navy squadrons began their rallied charge to join their damaged Trecentis brothers, the warships yet firing again and again into the creature. A dozen swarms cut through the defensive screen, blanketing one of the lagging cruisers in a swarm before pulling away to reveal her hull breached in a dozen places, venting atmosphere, coolants, and personnel. The massive xenos craft, however, remained implacable in orbit, the scaled hull resisting the fire from the fleet.

---

Gulf Marchers III Company
Strike Cruiser Rulior Braeces Tagates
Karia System Mandeville Point

The door to the bridge opened, two more joining the Fleetmaster upon the bridge. He did not need to turn to see who; the smells of burnt Promethium yet lingered on the Fleet Librarian’s armor where he had anointed it and only one other would be so inclined to come to the bridge at such a time. Their twin boot-steps and clamor of armor shifting seemed to fill the space, though it was nothing new to the bridge-crews. They, too, remained concentrated upon their tasks. For the Fleetmaster, his eyes remained fixed on the hololithic display of the battle, of the singular xenos threat that hung in the center while one group of Imperial warships, Battlefleet Trecentis, was huddled between it and the planet. To them, directly against the xenos, sped Charadon with all haste. They were to join their brother in the corner and die bleeding.

He chafed against it, yet only through such a way could there be any chance for the Trecentis ships to survive. Otherwise, they would be the sacrificial lamb.

“Fleetmaster, the Third stands ready to embark the drop-pods and landing craft.”

“We have no need for the landing. Not yet. The only targets as yet are scattered, flies about the hive city. Sahas, your Tarot. What has it said.”

“Nothing and everything. Every card is drawn and reversed. Another’s hand guards against His providence; I have never seen such interference.”

“Then we have no need for the landing. Not as yet. Sound General Quarters, prepare port batteries for sustained fires. Helmsman, alter course fifteen degrees starboard of Battlefleet Charadon, maximum burn. Voxmaster, hail the Astartes fleets, close-band.”

As the alarm for General Quarters sounded throughout the ship, and indeed across the Gulf Marcher’s fleet as they turned with engines flaring like grand torches in the night, a voice cut-across the bridge. “The channel is open, Fleetmaster.”

“This is Fleetmaster Amocis of the Gulf Marchers. We sail for the creature’s flanks as it feasts against the Imperial Navy, in the Emperor’s Name. You may join them in their butchering or join us in cleansing this creature of life’s burden. The choice is yours.”

Hogwarts: The New Professors

Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.