Thayr

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
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"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
_{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}
"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.

Dark Space - A Mecha-Focused Space Opera 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.

Fenix Tear [Invite | Ask Only]

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.

Hogwarts: The New Professors

I'll be honest, been waiting on other players so I'm not just clogging things up...and because I don't know what Kennedy will show off...

Dark Space - A Mecha-Focused Space Opera RP

Character Sheet

Name: Peter (Charlie 18)
Age: 63
Sex: Male
Species: Human (Tarman-Herring Model 7-C “Helpful Charlie” Cybernetic)
Appearance:

Standing at 4’6”, fairly compact for a full cybernetic conversion, Peter looks to be a small humanoid with a mismatch of parts comprising the plating for his head, the recycler system, his optics, his hands. Some components are rusted, others still relatively new, and his hands stiff and crude with but four digits. Blue optics and a protrusion - often interpreted by others as a circular muzzle - are the only details for his head. Peter prefers to simply wear a heavy, rough-cut coat.

Personality:

Quiet, observant, restrained, a statue in the room whose luminous eyes see everything, Peter’s outwards personality masks a deep-seated, conflicted little soul. Other people are strange to him, their actions strange, their motivations strange, the effects of those three pills still rooted down within Peter, and as such he often instead simply does not engage with others whatsoever. As such, he is uncomfortably, desperately lonely, often developing little stories and ideas and journeys in his head divorced from most of reality save for the barest, slightest details, the rest drawn from books he’d read, ideas he’d picked up. That quiet nature masks a violent, infantile rage, too, a rage at being seen as something other than a person, a rage at being seen as a toy, a rage at being seen as property. Murderous fantasies often plague Peter when confronted with such things, fantasies he does not act out by virtue of, again, leaving such people entirely. Luckily, he does not often develop such rages as he doesn’t often interact with others at all, preferring instead the comfort of his mech, a game of Rout against the computer.

History:

Born beyond the UEC on the far-flung outpost of Thiel-3, long before their entry into the Confederation, from his first breath Peter was living on the company dime. The station was owned by Tarman Manufacturing, the air owned by NeuLife, and the food by Monarch Supplements, and by being born he’d already had that debt. Of course, his birth wasn’t an accident by employees, either; gene-wrought workers was something Tarman paid a good price for, and in a good few legal respects Peter wasn’t exactly human. His name wasn’t Peter either though, but Charlie 18. The UEC needed materials from Thiel-3 in those days and, in many ways, they were willing to turn a blind eye to Tarman’s works as long as the shipments kept coming in.

Early life wasn’t a childhood, but a conveyor belt. From clean rooms to clean classrooms to clean cafeterias, that was the routine. There were three pills every meal, too, to grow up good and strong, and through that all Peter felt some senses dull, other senses enhance, and the classroom became a place where he just soaked up every piece of information given. It wasn’t long before he could perform three-dimensional vector calculations on the fly, retrograde burn assessments at the flick of a wrist, sensor pictures by the glance, and it wasn’t long after that when Peter and the others started to go into simulators. He enjoyed those, easy as it always seemed to be, but all the while there were those clean rooms, those clean classrooms, those three pills.

When he turned twenty, a date that meant so very, very little to Peter, the class was shuffled into the cafeteria and given a glass of water and a singular pill. They all took it without a question. They all went unconscious without a struggle. Those three pills at work, he knew afterwards, those same three pills. When they woke up, it was through electronic eyes and he couldn’t feel the recycled air on his skin. Helpful Charlies, that’s what they were, brains in vats in suits. The teachers said it’d been where they’d been going all along, that it’d been where they belonged from the start. Everything was ordained by the company and the company couldn’t be wrong in its plans. Two in the class resisted it all, spiked their own blood pressures through the roof with the stress and pain and overload, lit-up like fireworks on the spot, and though Peter didn’t question it then and there a feeling grew in the back of his head. He didn’t much like the teachers or the doctors, he supposed.

Piloting surveycraft, that’s where Peter was placed, piloting them through the asteroid fields that scattered about Thiel-3 in massed droves, piloting them through and landing on one or the other or the other for testing. It was a good job he thought, good enough considering his debt seemed to slowly go down bit by bit, line by line. Nutrient liquids were cheap and it wasn’t as though Peter needed all that much of it. Every now and again, though, a part of him started to slow. A finger, hand, joint there or valve here, a system needing recalibration or replacement, a repair that set him back again. He started to track these things, curious why a new body would fail like that. The others in his class had the same problems, some losing function while out piloting in the fields, some not coming back. Forced obsolescence was the term, Peter found, forced failures, bad designs. The feeling in the back of his head grew. Peter decided he didn’t much like the company. He kept piloting, though, trying to figure out a way to get better, to stop with the debt, the payments.

Then Thiel-3 stopped existing. A raiding party of the Hegemony, unknown to Tarman, came a-knocking while Peter was out on a mining mission. They struggled at finding the position of the colony, though, even as they bounced a distress signal from three of the encircling satellite stations, and a wait came as the Hegemony ships started to comb through the fields. Peter went radio silent, powering down most systems while hugging an asteroid, waited all the while for that help. It came in the form of a light ISA patrol that quickly dived into the asteroid field, the Hegemony ships rushing in to follow, and some part of Peter clicked away to join in. He powered up the craft, got to work weaving and dancing through the fields in chase. A Hegemony corvette, caught off-guard, was his target as the little survey craft latched onto the outer hull like a leach before lighting-up the mining torch. Cutting through the hull just forward of the engines, all while the corvette ducked between asteroids after the ISA ships, Peter found that reactor. A release just before, clearing that ship as it lit-up, and he disappeared into the field with the rubble. Other company pilots were trying the same here, there, while the ISA patrol slowly got the upper hand in the chaos. The station radioed out, some middle manager calling them to return to station, and a Hegemony torpedo salvo raced through the field after that signal. Peter watched one survey ship take a missile, trying to stop it all, and the station went to dust soon after. So much for the company.

He took-on with the ISA after that, the little surveyor not taking up that much hangar space. The flight deck officer even gave him a free name to boot, just saying he looked like a Peter. A few mechanic visits with them and Peter even had a few replaced components to try and offset Tarman’s bad practices. A little homeless wayfarer, he stuck around with them until one of the next mining stations out there in the ISA. By then, the Shodane business was in full swing, the ISA working overtime to try and keep their business theirs instead of no-one’s, and one of them mentioned that maybe Peter might do some good with it all. There was recruitment going on to fight out in the ISA and he’d shown some real skill in the asteroids after all. The comment stuck well enough that he followed through with it, joining up with a company chartered to provide escort to one of the Confederation military outposts.

The war came and went for Peter, seeing combat here and there. He didn’t particularly care to remember the whole of it, already numb as he was to the problems, to the losses, to the tragedies. The Shodane War was messy and hard, blasted hard, and the company didn’t come out fully intact. In time it ended, though, and in time after that, Peter contracted on with the Confederation itself as a void specialist of sorts. Since then, he’s found niches here, there, salvage work, boarding work, escort jobs. He’s gotten better, too, all the Tarman junk out of his systems. Peter was even recommended for duty aboard the Spirit of Adventure, something he accepted.

Key Facts:

+ Rout (3D ‘board’ game of positional maneuver to trap an opponent piece)
+ Rave Bio-Recordings
+ Fairy Tales
- Corporate Hegemonies
- Social Interaction

Personal Gear:

10mm Confederate Arms Model 14 Survival Carbine
12.7mm LieutArms Model 7 Sidearm
Survival Knife
Heavy Makeshift Coat

Speciality: Support
Anything Else: Hell Broke Luce / Guren no Yumiya on Eight Floppy Drives

Mecha Sheet

Mecha Name: Zuk (Beetle)
Type: Light Transport / Hunter-Killer
Crew: 1 Pilot, 4 Passengers
Stats: Tarman Manufacturing Model 23/9 Light Space Surveyor

Mass: 7,500 kg
Length: 7 m (22 ft 11 in)
Width: 5.3 m (17 ft 4 in)
Height: 4.6 m (15 ft 1 in)
Powerplant: Leuman-Funchs Mk. 2 Mod. 4 Cold Fusion Reactor
Speed (Ground): 40 kph
Speed (Atmospheric): 600 kph
Speed (Space): Mach 4

Weapons:

Turret Hardpoint

1 x 30mm Bredon-Mars Revolver Cannon
or
1 x Trimar Light Particle Beam

Roof Hardpoint

4 x Hydra Light Anti-Mech Guided Missile
6 x Decoy Launcher
or
1 x Harpoon Anti-Mech Guided Missile
6 x Decoy Launcher
or
1 x Pegasi Active Protection System
(AN/SE-742 Air Radar / 10 x Tangit Rocket / RER-94 Radar Jammer / REA-44/7 Dazzler)

Starboard Hull Hardpoint

1 x Tarman-Hughes Continuous Beam Mining Laser
or
3 x Harpoon Anti-Mech Guided Missile
or
2,000 kg Cargo Pod

Equipment:

Bredon-Mars Defensive Screens
Tarman Manufacturing Level 2 Navigation Barriers
Tarman Manufacturing Level 1 Survey Sensors

Other info: