Brigade
- Enhanced strength, speed, endurance, agility, durability, reflexes, and senses
EQUIPMENT:
- Liberty's Edge - Enchanted sword
Jackson Carter grew up in the kind of rural Colorado town where everyone knew each other. He was the guy who ran toward trouble not because he wanted to, but because someone had to. His father, a former veteran, taught him that patriotism wasn’t loud—real loyalty meant helping the people standing next to you, no matter who they were. He enlisted right out of high school and two tours later, he was carved into someone fiercely protective, someone who valued life even more because he’d seen how quickly it could slip away.
After his final deployment, he returned home, unsure of what exactly to do until one of his buddies gave him a suggestion. He trained as a flight paramedic, eventually becoming certified. He spent most of his nights in a helicopter seat, harness clipped, eyes scanning for lost hikers, crash victims, and anyone whose survival hinged on the speed of his team. One night, they got a call about an injured hiker, stranded in the Rockies. What seemed like a typical airlift turned out to be anything but. After the hiker was lifted, Jack lost his footing and his harness snapped, sending him plummeting downward.
He landed in a cavern, mildly injured, but lucky to be alive. As he searched for a way out, he settled his flashlight on one of the last things he expected to find; the skeletal remains of a Civil War soldier. And next to him, hanging from the low ceiling was an odd formation, a stalactite with words roughly carved into it:
“Hold fast to the light. Let no darkness claim this land.”
The second he ran his fingertips over the words, the formation fell, fracturing the rock beneath it. Within the shattered pieces lay an immaculate saber. Inscribed along the blade were the words Liberty's Edge. The instant Jackson touched the ornate hilt, the cavern flared with a soft, blinding radiance. Strength flooded back into his exhausted limbs as he felt his wounds healed, his broken bones healed. A vision followed; feelings, sensations, and flashes of the lost Civil War soldier bleeding into the dirt. He felt the fear of the dying soldier and the last stubborn spark of hope that carved the inscription.
The renewed strength allowed him to climb out of the cavern, reconvening with his team with the sword on his back. Jackson was dazed but alive. In the days that followed, he struggled to reconcile the sudden surge of strength, speed, and awareness coursing through him. His body felt different—stronger, faster, more aware—and he could sense the weight of the sword in his hands not just as steel, but as a living force. At first, he tested his newfound abilities in small ways: leaping over fences, outrunning wild animals, and lifting objects far beyond his previous strength. Each time he used the sword, he felt a deep, almost intuitive understanding of its purpose, as if the spirits of the land and the soldier who had wielded it were guiding him.
Jackson observed the world with a sharper focus. He saw injustice in small acts—a thief taking from the desperate, a reckless driver endangering pedestrians, a stray animal in danger—and each time he helped, the sword seemed to glow brighter, as if affirming his path. Slowly, a realization took root: these powers weren’t just gifts; they were responsibilities. Responsibilities he could no longer ignore...
⚖️Willpower
Jackson’s abilities run through his body like a current of living conviction. The magic of the sword heightens every physical attribute he already honed as a soldier and flight paramedic: strength that borders on mythic, speed that turns reaction time into instinct, and durability that allows him to stay standing in situations that would fold most people. His senses sharpen to an uncanny degree—heartbeats at a distance, lies in a voice, the subtle tremors of danger in the air. Balance, coordination, and spatial awareness are all enhanced beyond human limits; he's now someone who sees the world half a second before everyone else. The catch is emotional: the power wanes and fades with his belief in humanity’s goodness. Hope strengthens him; cynicism hollows him out. He doesn’t glow or crackle with energy—he just moves like someone operating as a peak athlete, so long as he still believes people are worth saving.
🗡️Liberty's Edge
Forged from metal shavings and slag left over from Excalibur and collected by a small, dedicated order of monastic smiths, the sword bestows enhanced abilities to its wielder, also preventing them from becoming corrupted by the its power, enforcing the condition of purity and selflessness. It is impossibly sharp, capable of cleaving through metal or magic with equal ease, yet it grows heavy and unwieldy if Jackson acts out of cruelty, revenge, or despair. The sword responds to intention more than technique: when he swings to protect, it cuts clean; when he swings in anger, it resists. Liberty’s Edge radiates a faint shimmer that intensifies around lies, injustice, or imminent harm, giving Jackson a kind of moral radar. It can also emit a concussive blast when driven into the ground, a shockwave fueled by his clarity of purpose. Above all, the sword is a conduit for the magic inside him—it amplifies his virtues and exposes his weaknesses, a weapon that rewards hope and punishes hopelessness.