Name: Deadringer
SL Account: Niles Cournoyer
Age: Unknown
Languages spoke: Common, Zebrican
Gender: Male
Species/Race: Robot
Cutie Mark: Barcode PP-013
Allegiance/Faction: None
Appearance:
Deadringer
Character Skills
Melee, Unarmed, Science
Character Perks - General
Cannibal, A Little Dash, Tribal Warrior
Character Perks - Racial
Automated Repair Systems, Advanced Armour, Gravity Generator
Starting Gear
Tier 5 Armor
Biography/Brief History
Seldom known for their restraint, these flesh-grafting, metal and meat eating automatons are dangerous.
Of the many attempts at "Functional" Immortality, few have gone as unimpeded by ethics as the Second Wind Initiative.
Originally meant as a Robronco rehabilitation program for severely wounded or disabled veterans, the cyberization process involved was extremely experimental, requiring at minimum, a deep-brain scan and enough remains for a viable genetic sample.
This process created mobile, operational bodies for those lacking, though it took a dark turn when the deep brain scan was discovered to work on dead bodies--And then even further when brains were made optional by an advancement in the magic that bound the host's soul to their new body. The result was horrifying, to say the least.
The result is quite simply a machine fused with necro-static cadaver bone and flesh, made to house the mind of whomever the body was crafted for. It was all good and fine, until, well, you consider what the bodies ran on.
They ran on a waning life force they could not sustain on their own, requiring regular blood transfusions to hold the inevitable decay at bay. Fortunately, this was as much of a feature as an oversight.
What was the most abundant thing on a battlefield? The bodies of the fallen, notably (and hopefully) enemies. The flesh, blood, and metal of the fallen could be harvested and fed upon by these newly resurrected soldiers, reinvigorating them on the battlefield.
Unfortunately, this newfound hunger was insatiable for some, whom lost their minds to the hunger--As a result, the project never saw the light of day, and was subsequently buried, deep beneath Detrot in the catacombs of the deepest and most ancient of waterways. Their birthplace, and their grave.
Yet, some things refuse to go into the cold, dark sleep; this is one of them. With the fall of Equestria, and the mass of death hanging over the land, the abandoned stirred, willing to fight a war that had long since ended.
By some miracle, however, some retained their minds and resisted the urge of their bodies, fleeing the system that had created them, only to find themselves wedged against two sides.
Those that hunted them for their traitorous resistance to the system that created them, while their foodsource, anything living, held nothing but fear and contempt for them. Nothing was left to do for these truly lost souls but to flee the city--in any direction.
Many did not make it far before they succumbed to enough damage that their instincts took over to preserve their existence, as few had the will to perish against the code of their programming. A few of the lucky ones were mercifully destroyed, their minds intact, either fighting against overwhelming odds or honoring their oath of service to the denizens of Equestria.
But then, there was one that beat out all odds, even though it was cast out and abandoned, found a single kernel of kindness in the wastes. Whether fate or dumb luck, it came in contact with a ghoul, still in control of their mind who in their loneliness, mistook the machine for their old friend--Whose likeness was closely shared.
The chances the ghoul and the machine knew one another in another life were slim, or perhaps even fabricated, but it was enough to save them. For a time, they traveled together, until one day they would become separated by the cruelest of fates.
Little is remembered by it of that fateful day, the one that left it burried beneath the shifting ash in the middle of a gully surrounded by ruins. Undiscovered for nearly four decades, the machine slumbered, its damage since repaired, but its core long since extinguished. It wasn't until blood seeped into the sand over its unmarked grave did it wake; hungry and confused.
The raiders didn't know what hit them. Perhaps Karma, as it was their victim bleeding in the ash that woke the slumbering automaton up. Many of its memories were faded or fragmented, but it never forgot its dislike of raiders--and needless to say, those old mare's tales of the mechanical ponies that would eat you alive?
More believers were made that day.
It wasn't the first, nor the last of the exchanges between the cannibal machine and the raiders, whom hated and feared it with equal measure. The biggest issue was, however, that every time some raider claimed to have "Put it down",
not a day passed before another raider was missing an ear or worse.
Nowadays, most would avoid the old burned out cars in the gully under the bridge at night.
Then came the calling; the drums of war. Deadringer would forge a faction called the OSB and check a Terrorist Organization known as the Bureau.
This war grew cold, stale, and followed the Deadmare and his companions from the ruins of DC to Morninglight, and from there, everything fell to ashes again.
Now, scattered to the winds by nuclear ruin, the Deadmare seeks to find his family and reunite others.
SL Account: Niles Cournoyer
Age: Unknown
Languages spoke: Common, Zebrican
Gender: Male
Species/Race: Robot
Cutie Mark: Barcode PP-013
Allegiance/Faction: None
Appearance:
Deadringer
Character Skills
Melee, Unarmed, Science
Character Perks - General
Cannibal, A Little Dash, Tribal Warrior
Character Perks - Racial
Automated Repair Systems, Advanced Armour, Gravity Generator
Starting Gear
Tier 5 Armor
Biography/Brief History
Seldom known for their restraint, these flesh-grafting, metal and meat eating automatons are dangerous.
Of the many attempts at "Functional" Immortality, few have gone as unimpeded by ethics as the Second Wind Initiative.
Originally meant as a Robronco rehabilitation program for severely wounded or disabled veterans, the cyberization process involved was extremely experimental, requiring at minimum, a deep-brain scan and enough remains for a viable genetic sample.
This process created mobile, operational bodies for those lacking, though it took a dark turn when the deep brain scan was discovered to work on dead bodies--And then even further when brains were made optional by an advancement in the magic that bound the host's soul to their new body. The result was horrifying, to say the least.
The result is quite simply a machine fused with necro-static cadaver bone and flesh, made to house the mind of whomever the body was crafted for. It was all good and fine, until, well, you consider what the bodies ran on.
They ran on a waning life force they could not sustain on their own, requiring regular blood transfusions to hold the inevitable decay at bay. Fortunately, this was as much of a feature as an oversight.
What was the most abundant thing on a battlefield? The bodies of the fallen, notably (and hopefully) enemies. The flesh, blood, and metal of the fallen could be harvested and fed upon by these newly resurrected soldiers, reinvigorating them on the battlefield.
Unfortunately, this newfound hunger was insatiable for some, whom lost their minds to the hunger--As a result, the project never saw the light of day, and was subsequently buried, deep beneath Detrot in the catacombs of the deepest and most ancient of waterways. Their birthplace, and their grave.
Yet, some things refuse to go into the cold, dark sleep; this is one of them. With the fall of Equestria, and the mass of death hanging over the land, the abandoned stirred, willing to fight a war that had long since ended.
By some miracle, however, some retained their minds and resisted the urge of their bodies, fleeing the system that had created them, only to find themselves wedged against two sides.
Those that hunted them for their traitorous resistance to the system that created them, while their foodsource, anything living, held nothing but fear and contempt for them. Nothing was left to do for these truly lost souls but to flee the city--in any direction.
Many did not make it far before they succumbed to enough damage that their instincts took over to preserve their existence, as few had the will to perish against the code of their programming. A few of the lucky ones were mercifully destroyed, their minds intact, either fighting against overwhelming odds or honoring their oath of service to the denizens of Equestria.
But then, there was one that beat out all odds, even though it was cast out and abandoned, found a single kernel of kindness in the wastes. Whether fate or dumb luck, it came in contact with a ghoul, still in control of their mind who in their loneliness, mistook the machine for their old friend--Whose likeness was closely shared.
The chances the ghoul and the machine knew one another in another life were slim, or perhaps even fabricated, but it was enough to save them. For a time, they traveled together, until one day they would become separated by the cruelest of fates.
Little is remembered by it of that fateful day, the one that left it burried beneath the shifting ash in the middle of a gully surrounded by ruins. Undiscovered for nearly four decades, the machine slumbered, its damage since repaired, but its core long since extinguished. It wasn't until blood seeped into the sand over its unmarked grave did it wake; hungry and confused.
The raiders didn't know what hit them. Perhaps Karma, as it was their victim bleeding in the ash that woke the slumbering automaton up. Many of its memories were faded or fragmented, but it never forgot its dislike of raiders--and needless to say, those old mare's tales of the mechanical ponies that would eat you alive?
More believers were made that day.
It wasn't the first, nor the last of the exchanges between the cannibal machine and the raiders, whom hated and feared it with equal measure. The biggest issue was, however, that every time some raider claimed to have "Put it down",
not a day passed before another raider was missing an ear or worse.
Nowadays, most would avoid the old burned out cars in the gully under the bridge at night.
Then came the calling; the drums of war. Deadringer would forge a faction called the OSB and check a Terrorist Organization known as the Bureau.
This war grew cold, stale, and followed the Deadmare and his companions from the ruins of DC to Morninglight, and from there, everything fell to ashes again.
Now, scattered to the winds by nuclear ruin, the Deadmare seeks to find his family and reunite others.
