Robeatics

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Is it just me or is it impossible to post (or at least see them)?

Kingdom Animalia: Bleak Dawn

Virginia

Things were too loud for Virginia’s sensitive ears. Where were her caretakers? Her cub’s murderers? Her paws set heavily upon red linoleum, a constant sound beneath the screaming, the thud-gallop of others escaping as she was. No—escaping was too strong a word. She was meandering. Already, the red doors of any exits were passing by as she thumped along, nose twitching and pointing her in the direction of something that smelled like a science lab. Behind crisp, half-broken white doors there resided a room entirely coated in a layer of broken glass and lightly smoking chemicals. A few spare rivers of color escaped when she shoved open the door, prompting her to stop and lick them up with a passing swipe.

The burning touched her tongue, familiar, comforting. She grunted through the cacophony only a hallway down, what sounded like the screeching of a rodent and the groans of several of the Gut Tasters. She caught the smell of one of them, an unfamiliar, dead scent like that of old meat, and as she lifted her head from her feast of the lab, several were grunting and shuffling behind her, blocking the doorway. With a flip of her paw, two of them crashed into the other, and the third bit down into the fur at her elbow. She made a moaning grunt of annoyance, leaning down onto her front paws again and biting into the Gut Taster’s head. A disgusting, meaty taste burst into her mouth, and she spit out a wad of scarlet, groaning and shoving the bodies away in disgust before returning to the significantly more important task of slurping up that little puddle of blue stuff.

Jumper

Fear. The lights sat bright, sparking and harming little Jumper’s eyes. He darted from one direction to another, heart racing away, dodging through legs and bodies and corridors. Where was Mother? Hurt? Dead, dead, dead. He skid into stopping before a set of red doors. What did the sign say? E-X-I-T? It was different from the other doors, it had to lead to somewhere away from the ugly humans and scared animals. With a kick, the door swung open, letting him bounce through and out into a narrow hallway. Another set of doors awaited him at the very end, and in seconds his legs pumped a few paces, launching him into icy-frightening noises, open air, darkness. Stricken with a sudden abject horror, he looked into the ceiling. The ceiling! What a room! There were no walls, no ceiling, nothing to keep him in! Where was he? Where were the rooms? Tall, grey-mirror structures greeted his shaking form in the red, smoggy distance like a giant greets a beetle beneath its hoof.

Panting, braying and swiping his tail back and forth, he wobbled forward like a puppet, stopping to lean heavily against a broken hunk of concrete, trying to avoid looking up into the infinite, mottled ceiling. He closed his eyes and thought of Mother. Distant now, crumpled, braying for him to stop where the others would not. He fell to his knees and curled inward, still unstable, muscles and bone, quivering.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Trying to bring Urzoth into this story as seamlessly as possible is like trying to join in on jump roping but there's like 83 ropes.

Kingdom Animalia: Bleak Dawn

So when do you think first post will come up, Hamster?

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Oh, yeah. I have yet to give the team a formal name, but I like to call them, in order:

Urzoth
Doomed NPC 1
Doomed NPC 2
Doomed NPC 3

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Hmm, that wouldn't be half bad. I like the idea of a little team of Orcs packed on a boat. What do you all think?

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Ohhhh, man. I love Five Nights at Freddy's. After watching Cr1tikal play it and talk about how he accidentally pissed all over a girl who was trying to give him a blowjob and being utterly unfazed by the jumpscares, it just becomes that much more.

Nyxella said
^unf. Dat She-Hulk. Welcome (back?) Robeatics!

Thanks!! It's great to be Urzoth again.

I'm in a bit of a twist over where I should have her stationed for right now, if anyone could gimme some advice. Probably not anywhere too deep into Hammerfell, with the shit going on there, but enough that the group could feasibly meet? Assuming a group partially comprised of Champions disrupting the peace in Hegathe would cause word to travel, maybe she could have heard of them and where they are and kept her army stationed near Orsinium while she investigates. Aghh, this has been a dilemma for me for two weeks.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Oh, here's my CS by the way guys.

Name: Urzoth gra-Magul (Changed to Urzoth gra-Morshum after moving away from her home)

Race: Orc

Family Origins: Born and raised in the remote, devoutly Malacath-worshipping stronghold of Morshum, near the Hammerfell border and only a few miles from the new Orsinium.

Appearance: A towering, bulky woman, Urzoth carries herself the way a tiger would stalk, with shoulders that swing with her steps and a head that dips forward very slightly to survey her path ahead. Her richly mud-green skin is bruised constantly in the shape of the strappings that keeps her armor to her body, and her face bears the burns and scratches of a seasoned warrior. Her warpaint is bright red, smeared across her angular brow, along her strong jaw and underneath her red eyes in rough, heavy shapes, a challenge to any who look at the face beneath the helmet. She keeps her long dreadlocks back in a ponytail or rough bun, and her full set of heavy Orcish armor appears as that of a champion’s, with feathered and furred adornments, plates bearing fierce symbols and blessings, and an interior built for comfort, mobility and long, strenuous wear. The armor’s helmet has been shaped to mimic the snarling visage of a tusked, monstrous boar, with a furry, dark mane that cascades down to rest on her shoulders and upper back.

Age: 29

Equipment and Miscellanea

Equipment
1 Ebony Warhammer
1 Set of fine Orcish plate armor
1 Leather backpack
1 Sling and 10 stones in a pouch at the belt
1 Pair of spiked knuckles, attached to gauntlets
1 Blacksmith’s hammer, looped at belt
1 Steel dagger

Miscellanea
Enough jerky to last about four days for one person
1 Waterskin
2 Potions of Healing
A hunk of flint
1 Amulet of Malacath, non-magical
1 bottle of Nord mead
250 Septims
Crumpled-up letters from various suitors
A small bottle of red warpaint
A pouch of medicinal herbs and the like, and a little bowl to pound them in

Skills

Favored Skills

Highly Proficient:

Two-Handed (Years of training and constant combat have honed her muscles to swing a warhammer with ease and precision.)

Smithing (Her heart belongs to the forge, and she can craft and repair just about any Orcish weapon or piece of armor, in addition to a less extensive range of other pieces from other styles and cultures.)

Moderately Proficient:

Unarmed (She is not above dirty fighting, and should the quarters become too narrow or she is too exhausted, she can drop her weapon and wrestle, beat and bite her way to victory.)

Heavy Armor (The only time she removes her armor is to sleep or work at the forge, where it would be too hot otherwise. She cannot run very quickly or jump very high, but once she digs her heels in, she is a living barricade.)

Somewhat Proficient:

Alchemy (She knows, from her days in a stronghold and her training as a warrior, basic medicinal practices using herbs and roots, to help with minor sickness or wounds.)

History

Background and a "brief" history:

As the daughter of Morshum’s chief and his third wife, Magul, Urzoth was raised in the shadow of her older half-brothers. Her early few years were spent shoving her way into her siblings’ lives, consequently being shoved back, wrestled with, and tormented until she grew the mind to fight back with the fury of a child long scorned. Her uncle, the blacksmith and the man to watch after her when her mother could not, helped her work away her 9-year-old anger by pushing her to help him at the forge, sharpening her siblings’ weapons and watching him work. Eventually, she grew adept at repairing weaponry and, with practice, armor, and was allowed to spend long hours of her early teenage years toiling away at the forge, between fighting with her half-siblings and training to defend the stronghold from attack. In her free time, while her siblings would socialize, pray and explore the hills beyond the stronghold, she would be sweating over side projects, growing stronger than many of them from the constant pounding of her hammer and hauling of heavy equipment and materials.

Eventually, through the sheer number of times she repaired their prized accoutrements and threw them in wrestling, her siblings, most especially the younger ones, grew to respect and turn to her for guidance and advice. At 15, she was a promising young Orc of the stronghold, catching her father’s eye, most notably, when she dragged her brother from a pack of wolves he’d attracted while on a hunting trip. The stronghold had held a feast that day to commend her valor, solidifying her role both as one to be respected among her siblings and also as one to be disliked. Their resentment bothered her little, as her social life was dominated by her rigorous training and smithing, though she could taste sour twinges in their opinions of her that, as a hormonal teenager, shaped her into a solitary, bitter person. She stopped praying daily, to give more time to her work, and her impiety displeased some of the especially religious adults whom saw it as a bad omen or as brash disrespect for Malacath.

Only weeks after she threw herself wholeheartedly into her duties, a raiding party from a rogue stronghold that had converted to a more barbarous parody of Aedra worship attacked Morshum. Urzoth had been forging without any armor on, and only had seconds to scramble for a finished weapon when raiders assailed the forge and began destroying it. She fought, valiantly, but was struck viciously and fell into a thick bush behind the structure. The last thing she could hear was her uncle struggling against his attackers before she slipped into unconsciousness. When she awoke, many of the warriors, including her siblings, were dead or too wounded to fight again, and the stronghold had been looted and nearly destroyed. The chief was the one to find her in the bush, and when she awoke in his longhouse he cursed her, blaming her lack of respect for Malacath as the cause of this assault by heretics, and that if she had truly loved her stronghold she should have died fighting instead of his “more worthy” sons.

He could not afford to banish her, however, and simply opted to disown her as a daughter and push her to rebuild “what she destroyed”. Strongholds, thankfully, were built to be sacked and repaired, and in two years much of what was lost had been regained. But the chief had grown weary, sending warrior parties after their newfound enemies only to have few return, and was weighted with the loss of his children, brother and first wife. Urzoth still knew him as a father, even if he was not so anymore, and boldly requested to gather a final attack against the Aedra stronghold in exchange for her honor to be restored. He accepted, if only to get her away, and soon she was using a brutal form of diplomacy to coerce the remaining warriors of the stronghold to fight back. Despite many of them disliking her, the ones that agreed were given fine weapons she’d forged herself and a renewed sense of fury where once lay despair. Based on the accounts of the previous failed war parties, they drew up a schematic, organized a more thorough plan of attack, and used more strategy than the previous generations could dream of.

The assault was arduous, and more vicious than any battle Urzoth had ever seen. She watched allies get torn apart with axes and maces, crushed the skulls of enemy warriors, and, following the strategy they’d lain out, was the only one left alive of her smaller team with the task of killing a warrior of the stronghold famed for his brutality and size: Burz the Bloodied. She found him huddled in the longhouse, wounded from a strike he had received at the hands of one of Morshum’s warriors, tilting the duel, blessedly, in her favor. Their battle tore apart the interior of the building, and, just as the fighting died down outside, they crashed through the front door of the longhouse, where Urzoth messily slew him with a harsh blow of her hammer. The remaining enemy warriors were killed off quickly, their morale shattered at seeing Burz killed, and the surviving noncombatants were absorbed into Morshum upon swearing their allegiance back to Malacath.

Urzoth had regained the trust of her clan, and to honor her valiance, her father passed on his ebony warhammer. While, traditionally, it was given from a chief to his most honorable son, due to many of his warrior sons being dead, and Urzoth having rallied Morshum to defeat the rogue stronghold, he saw it fitting.

The addition of her new warhammer gave Urzoth a renewed lust for battle and encouraged her away from the forge, but she retained the same bitterness she always had at the insinuation that, had her brothers been alive, she may not have received the honor of carrying such an heirloom. She made a point of being the most brutal among her siblings, actively hunting for bandit camps springing up and leading aggressive parties against any trolls or goblins found to be lurking in the mountains, if only to remain in her father’s eye. The intensity of her need to keep him proud sent her packing for the Imperial City, to represent Morshum in the arena and bring him back her winnings as tribute. Having never been out of the region her home resided in, the city was a massive, jarring shift, and she met races she had only heard of. She spent much of her time below the arena, renting a bunk and repairing other fighters’ equipment as a way to make money between matches.

Her ferociousness brought her far, and she became well-known among smaller arena communities for a time, advancing to the middle tiers and eventually winning larger and larger boons. She caught the eye of a particularly skilled brawler at that point, and he offered to train her extensively in unarmed combat if she offered her smithing to him for free. The trade gave her an edge, and soon enough she combined her early skills in grappling with his lessons in street fighting, allowing her to fight at closer ranges without too wide of a gap in effectiveness. The lessons ended, however, when her teacher was killed in a match, and she moved on to practice and grow on her own. Soon enough, the matches grew even more challenging, her success hinging on close calls and timing, until finally she was defeated by a challenger notorious for her dexterity and speed. Only surviving the match because her challenger broke her bones enough that she couldn’t move, and killing her would displease the crowd, Urzoth was carried to the healer in an ashamed, agonized heap.

She quit the arena afterwards, at 21 taking her saved-up prize money and moving to Whiterun, her pride too wounded to bear seeing Morshum for a while. She stayed in a shabby home, but bought the materials to start her own forge, where she resided for much of the day. Her wounds healed, and soon she was honing her body once more to face battle. When not being paid to repair weapons, armor and other equipment, she spent her time as a sellsword, most often simply used as an intimidation factor for debt collectors or as a guard for caravans passing through the major cities. She met a city-born Orc named Fuzrath, and while his ignorance at the strongholds, his apathy at his true heritage, and his worship of the Eight Divines irritated her, she admired his skill as a hunter and his patience when listening to her stories. For a year or two, they danced around each other (or, rather, Fuzrath danced around a figurative brick wall) until, finally, their relationship bloomed, and for the first time Urzoth felt a romantic attachment to someone else. They became lovers (in that vein Urzoth discovered a disgusting shyness about herself), and she even considered bringing Fuzrath to Morshum to see if he could convert.

Before her plans could go as she wanted, fate demanded Fuzrath go missing during a hunt he had embarked upon with a few peers. The next morning, they returned without him, and ran to Urzoth to tell her that rogue giants had attacked them, killing Fuzrath and their horses, forcing them to flee and walk all the way back to Whiterun. Distraught in the most furious way possible, Urzoth demanded the location of the attack and travelled there, alone, not a single soul willing to face down potentially multiple giants. After camping out on the plains for two days, she spotted a few near the site, immediately and suicidally grabbing her warhammer to face them. It was the third fight of her life she’d had thus far, and by far the absolute worst. Old wounds felt reopened, her state so horrendous the giants thought her dead, leaving her. Somehow, through sheer will, she rose and limped to Whiterun, what was once pride in herself seeping out of her body in the blood that stained her armor. She was saved only by a sympathetic guard, one whom helped her get to the temple of Kynareth and be healed. Ashamed that she had to turn to a Divine worshipper for help, she did not wait for her wounds to heal fully, and hid in her home for days, drinking health potions for the pain and arranging Fuzrath’s things in the semblance of a wake.

A month later, she was healthy enough to work the forge, and returned again to the outside world, hardened, humbled and filled with hatred. For years she returned to her old life of odd jobs and smithing, until the auroras appeared, the whole of Whiterun seemed much more open to the Empire’s recent decisions, and people began to disappear. It was a subtle thing, and Urzoth only noticed it when she truly focused on other people (which was rare). Around a week after she found herself criticizing the newfound zeal for the Empire in the Bannered Mare, she awoke to her front door creaking open, figures rushing to her side (and promptly being attacked), and them, with much struggle, binding her wrists, gagging and blindfolding her, and stealing her away.

That was the beginning of her adventure. Bound to a slab, prepared to have her heart torn out. The first Khajiit she’d ever truly spoken to grew to become a man she could call brother, and despite her companions feeling distant simply due to her personality, she grew to trust and respect them all the same. Over the course of the journey, she uncovered a deeper side to herself that had been concealed under heaps of scarring and metal, and went from a harsh, hard-headed warrior into a more contemplative, wise guardian. She learned that seeking honor and approval could not dictate her life, and that loyalty to what she wanted to keep safe, be it friends or aspirations, was most crucial. For her boon, she desired new armor, a masterwork set made by the famed smiths of Orsinium, and resources enough to bolster her stronghold home and make their clan larger than ever before, adding new families and converts.

She returned to Morshum a true woman, astounding her family with her tales and showing them her new scars and armor. During her time away, however, the chief had grown weary, old, and died before he could see her free Tamriel of the curse and become a champion. The new chief, a half-brother of hers, congratulated her in their father’s honor, giving her his blessing and throwing her an enormous feast and celebration that lasted for days. She met many an admirer during the festivities, younger Orcs whom had converted and recently joined the stronghold, all of whom showed off with wrestling, drinking contests and horrifically-lettered notes she often found hidden about her old forge. She chased the unenticing ones off, one by one, and the more impressive ones, while a long time ago she’d find suitable, now found them lacking in what she now recognized as soulfulness, as Fuzrath had. He’d been patient, kind, and humbly skilled, whereas these men flaunted themselves and expected an answer from her straight away. She ended up courting none, and left the stronghold after the long celebration to find her glory in Orsinium.

The Orcs there chanted and sang loudly and rabidly, a cacophony of praise and a clamoring of people in such great droves that her vision blurred between them. With hardly a moment’s stop at the city’s fortified gates, she was paraded up through the streets, hitting the fortress at its apex and parting from the revelry to be shoved into an audience with the Orc king, Nagamog. After the previous king, years ago, had been slain in battle, he rose to the throne and had proven himself as warlordlike as he was ruthlessly loyal to Orsinium’s best interests. He saw opportunities for their people that Urzoth could not fathom, and before long, while Nagamog began pestering their neighbors to reach for more political leverage, Urzoth set up a forge in the warrior’s district of the city. Her business exploded in weeks, making her more Septims than she’d ever seen. While the temptation of hiring apprentices and settling down wafted before her, another offer was put forth by the king, one she couldn’t help but take up.

The coals of her forge went dark the day she was sent off, under hierarchal blessing and with a group of experienced skirmishers and Orcs loyal to Nagamog, to expand Orsinium’s wealth through scouting and cleaning out whatever crypts or dungeons they could find worth searching. For two years, she travelled Skyrim and northern Tamriel, sending caravans loaded with whatever could possibly be of any worth back to Orsinium. During a vacation in Orsinium, a letter floated into her life a month or so before she was meant to reunite with her old companions, a reminder sent by the Imperial City and a request she travel accordingly for the festivities.

Nagamog’s uses for Urzoth were too vast. He feared he would lose her as an asset should she decide that her loyalties lie with her old companions moreso than Orsinium, and so countered the glamor of the Imperial City with an offer of an army (a fraction of Orsinium’s forces) and a title as general. Faced with a choice between a social event and a future for Orsinium she could potentially mold more than ever before, she stayed in Orsinium and set to work on commanding her troops in Nagamog’s name.

Fighting Style: Where she’d been solely focused on only destroying the enemy before they could even land a glancing blow, she now approaches combat more thoughtfully, watching her footing and keeping an eye on more than one enemy so as to position herself accordingly. She is watchful of allies, protecting them through drawing the crowd or being mindful of where she swings. While her strategy has improved, her temper has not, and once wounded, cornered or both, she will very quickly slip into a beastly rage, slamming bodily into enemies, hitting them with enough force to send them flying or snap necks, and gaining a strength and resistance to pain that is unmatched. While it is not nearly as potent as Cub’s rage, she can hold it for longer and wrangle with it for control, at least to some extent. If she is to fight in close quarters, such as in a tavern or narrow passage, she will not even bother to bring her hammer to bear, and will simply pummel her way through. In her full set of armor, she is incredibly heavy, and can be found stomping on an opponent’s instep to break their foot, or swinging an arm in a wild arc to smash someone’s face in on her spiny plates. While the rest of her is unable to, her fists can move with surprising quickness, dispatching enemies in a few bruising jabs (or just a good old-fashioned slug to the jaw). Her sling she uses rarely, as she prefers to advance upon her enemy as quickly as possible, but in the case of close opponents she wouldn't be able to reach by closer means, she is fairly accurate.

Personality: She remains a hard, sharply stoic woman to get along with, and what she lacks in social finesse she makes up for in telling decent tales of her days in Morshum, Whiterun and the arena. She holds a no-nonsense attitude in most things, and speaks her mind openly and to the point of brutal honesty in the face of her allies, peers and underlings. Morally speaking, her allegiance is to Malacath and her companions, and while she finds it abhorrent and dishonorable to slaughter innocents, will have no qualms about killing one who takes up arms against her or her allies. She is defensive of her friends to the point of being caught hovering over them on occasion, and will protect them and their interests with the vigilance of a guard dog. Despite being loathe to admit as much, she is sensitive to approval from those she respects, and when it comes to romance she has many insecurities present only once she has opened up enough to show a vulnerable side, fearful that it may change their relationship against her will. She may wax poetic (only within the confines of her internal dialogue) on occasion, if admiring stone or metalwork, and in battle develops a rhythm in her mind that keeps her focused and maintains her berserker’s urges until she needs them. Despite being pacified by a long trek that brought her much wisdom and experience, she still can be found picking on those that have not yet earned her respect, most especially younger non-Orcs or those she hasn’t travelled with before. She finds her fun in forging trinkets and intricate little mechanisms, as well as telling tales brutal enough to make the weak of heart swoon. Beyond her rough demeanor and unyielding expression, at her deepest, most despairing point, she is too weak to be a guardian, too bold, too impatient. She fears for the safety of the few she cares for, she fears for the prosperity of Orsinium--a land she’s not known for long, but been conditioned to believe in by the people who bolster her resolve—and she fears most desperately for her home. A daughter is she of Morshum, risking her life from a young age for its simple survival, agonizing in her most private spaces over the inevitability of it coming into danger when she cannot be there to be its shield and savior. As such, there brings her greatest fear of all: that she was never destined to save, or watch over, or protect. That she is a butcher playing at being anything else, wasting her potential. She despises and distrusts giants inconsolably.

Kingdom Animalia: Bleak Dawn

I'd like you all to meet Fat Bear and Pegleg Bambi.

Virginia

Virginia

Species: Alaskan Grizzly Bear

Age: 11

Gender: Female

Physical Description: Weighing in at about 1100 pounds, Virginia is massive, even for a species known for its enormity. Much of her bulk is a thick layer of muscle beneath an even thicker layer of fat, and wherever she moves the ground shivers. Her teeth, most of her skull and her lower jaw has been replaced with incredibly resilient spacecraft material, impervious to heat, acid, and immense amounts of pressure. Her claws are a good few inches long, and she has a plethora of surgical scars on her abdominal area beneath her fur. She is powerful, as most bears are, but very heavy and very, very slow, even when running. Her fur is darkish tan.

Genetic Attribute: Her stomach, digestive system and mouth have been altered to have the capacity to digest, draw nutrition from and turn into waste metal, radioactive material, trash, wood, plastic, stone, poisonous or toxic material, chemicals, and any other manner of nonorganic food source. (Except lava or something of that nature. Seriously.) In addition, her major muscles associated with biting and chewing have been upped to allow her to simply bite into solid rock or tear off hunks of glass and metal should she grow hungry.

Genetic Defect: She is incapable of digesting typical organic material, fed off of heaping pounds of the lab’s garbage or scrap material instead. Were she to be released into the wild, she’d likely have a very difficult time of finding proper food other than logs and rocks, and would likely die.

History: Part of a more unorthodox cell devoted to evolving large marine and land animals to be used in captivity as natural remedies to the issue of overfull landfills, Virginia was born among several other hyperintelligent Kodiak bears for initial testing. Being the last of her “batch”, she was given alternate augmentation after her previous siblings died or were deemed failures. She grew normally, save for the fact that she drank gasoline (her favorite) instead of milk, began chewing on metal and old needles once her teeth came in and the scientists replaced them to fit her diet, and regularly snacked on whatever waste her captors decided to toss into her meals. By comparison to many of the other subjects, she was spoiled, as the scientists were never short on garbage.
She was kept in a large cell engineered to specifically hold her, with not much to do in the way of stimulation between tests. Bored animals, regardless of their human metal capacity, are dangerous, and the scientists learned the hard way that even the more compliant of the test subjects could, say, shred off half of a scientist’s clothing and eat it. After a failed attempt at stimulating her with a painting kit placed in her cell (The crew in charge of cleaning up her waste every week had quite a bit of fun scooping every color of the rainbow), they opted for simply playing movies through an ultra-reinforced pane of glass that even she couldn’t bite through. She learned much of human society from the movies she was allowed to watch, eventually emulating the characters in them and even avoiding mindlessly eating every ounce of her meals to make little sculptures out of spare bits of metal.
Like many females, Virginia grew into an age in which she began to yearn for a cub to take care of. Her feelings might have been alien to the generally parentless subjects in other sects, but from her knowledge of humanity she knew she desired a child. The scientists eventually noticed her urges, finally relenting after quite a bit of begging to grant a cub of similar augmentation to be taken care of. She could not produce milk, so the scientists still fed him for the first few months, but by the time he was weaned they spent much time socializing, playing and laying together, watching movies.
A botched surgery stole her cub away, and with it her relaxed demeanor. She chewed at her cell with more fervor than ever before, moaning and roaring, even refusing to eat. The scientists were forced to keep her sedated almost constantly, feeding her through a tube. When she was released, she did not so much run as stroll about the hallways in a drug-induced daze, only lazily batting over any attempting to stop her should they be so suicidal.

Jumper

Jumper

Species: White-Tailed Deer

Age: 4 months

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Jumper is a small, knobby fawn of typical markings for his age. He sweeps his tail very often, as a nervous habit, and all four of his legs have been replaced with augmented pseudo-biological prosthesis that stretch from each hoof to his shoulders or haunches. He wobbles uncertainly on them when walking, but runs with little trouble. They are mostly silver, but have been accented with a little bit of cheap red paint.

Bionic Attribute: His metal-ceramic legs have been attached to his spine and much of his bone structure, made to be resistant to shock when landing or falling without damaging the unprotected sections of his skeleton. If his bones were to break, the bionics would, after a period of time proportionate to the damage caused, replace or encourage healing of that particular bone with either a supportive internal cast or simply absorbing debris and filling in any breaks or fractures. Due to the nature of the experiment they were implemented for, they can grow with him using advanced self-replicating nanotechnology, increasing in size to adjust to his growth. His legs also make him unusually agile and fast even in comparison to adult deer, capable of sprinting up to 50 miles per hour, leaping vertically about 25 feet and launching horizontally across gaps of 40 feet in a single bound.

Bionic Side Effect: His legs can adjust to his body no matter how much he grows, but it is a double-edged sword. His legs run the risk of, if presented with too much trauma to unprotected bones, completely overtaking his bone structure, killing or paralyzing him. In addition, any replicated bone runs not only the risk of being rejected, but also causes him great pain for a long while, until his body can heal fully and become used to it.

History: Jumper was born in a tube a botched experiment, his legs severely deformed and weak. Instead of wasting a specimen, the scientists of his sect opted to replace them, along with much of his skeleton, with biotechnology that was engineered to grow alongside him, say, to be used in studies later on into lifelong prosthesis for humans. He was too young to remember the surgery, but day after day of his young life was spent under mild or no anesthetic, his legs or body put into a machine specifically designed to stress or break his bones and legs, if only to allow the nanotechnology to fix them. His solace was in a young doe he’d been assigned to, treating her as a mother, always by her side or beneath her, hiding.
His young mind only had the capacity of a five-year-old by the time he was a few months old, and after witnessing and being victim to the horrors of the lab and its scientists, he grew to fear them immensely, too terrified even to leave his cell without being dragged out. Upon release, he merely followed blindly along with his “mother”. Her augmentation, however, ultimately proved her downfall. Years of brutal surgery had weakened her, and she was not built for running and leaping, as Jumper was. To his horror, she was crushed under the trample of escaping animals, too selfish to stop and let her to her feet as they were.

Spam minecraft server

Okay, who dug a one-block pit right near Nerdburg with lava at the bottom? Very, very not cool. Can someone with blocklog check some of the lower levels out? I dumped water into it and sealed up the first several blocks, to be safe. I'll mark it with a vertical little tower of cobble, it's near the sugarcane by Derv's waterfall in case I won't be on to show somebody.