Name: Oley Etenka
Age: 6
Gender: Male
Culture: Automaton
Background: Ganger. Living a simple life as a loader, he was content with the work he was given and the mundane routine of everyday living. However, he never considered himself to be "happy" and assumed this may have been due to what he was, that maybe his existence was as fulfilling as it could be. He was built for the task, after all. Orion may have even continued his life as a loader if it wasn't for what forced him to retire, so to speak.
Ship: The Mermaid
Appearance: Standing at eight feet, five inches, Oley is an intimidating figure, an observation reinforced by his wide and bulky build. The widest part of him is, by far, his shoulders at three-and-a-half feet. At each end is a rounded casing that houses his arm sockets. From there it narrows considerably, only to widen again at the elbow joints. At his wrists are block hands from which three flat, wide, and jointed appendages extend. The smaller of the four act as a thumb, while the others clearly were designed to act as a collective base for massive containers to set into. Atop the rounded center of his shoulders rests a human-like head, though with a rounded face lacking any fine features, with two lenses inset for eyes and thick shutters that can keep them protected. He was given a square jaw that, when given effort, can display some emotion when used in conjunction with his eye-shutters. Though it might strike some as odd, he adorns the top of his head with a tweed flat cap that matches his exterior in color.
The majority of his mechanical components are shielded, to an extent, by iron plates that allow him full range of motion. Seeing as he wasn't originally commissioned for combat, his plating can protect himself from light munitions and ones not designated for piercing armor. However, he doesn't let that stop him from charging headlong into a fray, armed with a club he fashioned from a five-foot drive shaft and an engine block. It's a crude weapon for a crude job, and he's proven himself more than capable of dealing out damage with it. He's also crafted a gauntlet of sorts that he uses as a battering weapon as well as a shield, having been made of thick steel plates. The gauntlet not only wraps around his hand and forearm, but wide plates also can extend a foot and a half on each side for defense. As for his hand's protection, the plates around it are particularly sturdy to allow him to use it as a heavy steel fist. His legs are more like thick support columns with pistons than actual legs, designed to serve as an anchor for the loads he was carrying in every sense of the word. They were large, heavy, and had literally tons of power behind them. Oley wasn't built with feet, instead at the end of his lower limbs were four evenly-spaced extensions that, when necessary, clamp down onto surfaces and were mainly designed to prevent teetering. Although his legs don't allow much in the way of maneuverability, covering great distances is hardly an issue.
Personality: Generally lighthearted and easygoing, he's simply glad to just be away from the doldrums of his former life. Ever since he became a part of the crew, even though he still has to follow orders from someone, he's never felt more free. Has never been mistaken for being the smartest guy around, there are times when he outdoes himself in the intelligence department. Most notable of occurrences being the gauntlet that locks onto his arm to prevent it from falling off. It doesn't take much to please him, he considers himself to be a simple man with simple pleasures. He's perfectly happy with the way he is, but at times he becomes fixated with humanity, curious as to how his life would've differed had he actually been born and raised as a human. He struggles to understand some human customs, though one concept he grasps well, and has even adopted partially, is that of clothing. He knows he'd certainly feel vulnerable with his components were out in the open. Another thing he's come to terms with is the unfortunate reality of death. He realizes how differently it effects humans, how much they value their lives. Oley believes this to be a factor in the Neovictorian's opinions towards automatons. Regardless of whether or not that is the case, he's just glad he doesn't have to deal with that regularly anymore. And if anyone tells him he is any less than the person he is, then as the humans like to say, God have mercy on them. 'Cause he sure as hell won't.
Biography: Manufactured and assembled in Everglade, Oley's comprised of only the purest iron, mainly to prevent oxidation - something that definitely wouldn't do him any good. He was commissioned by a high-class freight company to load bulk materials on the docks, and that's exactly what Oley did. It was hardly a satisfying career, but he went with it, at least for a while. Day in and day out, he was ordered around like a dog and looked down upon like one with mange, as if he was nothing. He endured these feelings toward him because it was all he knew. It was all he thought he'd ever know, and so he did what he could to make the best of it.
What sparked his desire to completely do away with his former existence was what would boil down to the incompetence of one crate packer. Having run out of proper fastenings, the packer believed that what he'd already used would be enough, and it didn't help that he was being rushed by his supervisor. Oley, only known as Orion-7 at the time, noticed how poorly constructed the wooden casing was and tried to tell his handler, only the man was hearing none of it. Oley was ordered to load the crate without another word. The automaton was damned if he did, and damned if he didn't. But he wasn't going to let the incompetence of another man be his undoing, so to show his handler wrong, he did as he was told and hoisted up the crate. Soon, following the groaning of the few nails being wrenched from their sinks, the side of the crate collapsed from the weight of its contents, and out spilled bottles of valuable wine. They shattered onto the cobble of the dock, their expensive contents splashing onto the stone. Although it hadn't seemed like much, a large chunk of profit had quite literally been washed away. The automaton handler, obviously not wanting to look foolish, reported it as a mistake on Oley's part, that he had malfunctioned, disobeying direct orders and spilling the crate's contents. It was hopeless for the automaton, there was no way he could fight the accusations. He would be decommissioned and either be broken down for scrap, or sold to the first merchant willing to take him. Fortunately, as fate would have it, it would turn out to be the latter.
A privateer had docked, its captain looking to purchase a "workhorse", which could only mean cheap labor. The kind where you pay it all up front with the actual worker getting none of the profit. Although it was either be sold off as a tool, or become scrap, so Oley felt he actually lucked out on this one. At least he would leave the port and see the world, or so he had thought. When he was brought aboard, he was told to load up the wares they had purchased and to stay with them until they made port again. And so he stayed, waiting to reach their destination. Even though he wasn't being barked at all the time and treated like dirt, he felt worse off in storage than he did at the docks. At least there, he was doing something. At least there, he could see all the life of the docks, what little there was to offer. He'd hoped that maybe he could become just like one of those privateers he'd see, really be part of a crew and traverse lands unknown to him. But now more than ever, he felt that was just a fool's dream. That he'd amount to nothing more than a simple tool. However, while Oley had time to think, he cooked up what he would consider to be the most ingenious plan ever hatched...
When the ship made port again and his services were required, he began following them out as instructed, acting as content as a cow grazing in pasture. But before he could complete his work, in the middle of the return trip from the storehouse to the ship, he just stopped. Completely. His joints were stiffened, the gears inside of him stopped turning, and he became nothing more than a statue. It was as if he had just broken down, as if there was nothing left in him, much to the disbelief of his new handlers. After much waiting and some quarreling between the captain, his crew and someone happy to receive some scrap for cheap, the privateers returned to their vessel, having no time for further delay, while Oley's stiff body was being carted away to a local junk heap. It was there he waited until night fell, and there were fewer eyes keeping watch on the scrapyard. When he believed the coast to be clear, he crawled out of the rusted pile of spare parts and headed off into the city.
Finally, Oley was free. He was his own man, now. Free to set off wherever he pleased, to find more purpose in his existence. The only wrench in his works, though, was that he simply didn't know where to go. From what he could recall of conversations of nearly every privateer at the docks that used to be his home, many of them made their way to taverns to seek food, drink, and even new sources of employment. Figuring that would be his best shot at learning to properly navigate this new world he'd entered, he set off to carve a new path for himself. It was that night, he managed to find a crew willing to take him aboard. There were few like Oley around, and perhaps that was what convinced them. Of course it could have been the simple fact that they were looking for someone to do the heavy lifting, but it didn't matter to the automaton. He would actually be working alongside a real crew, have a chance to be considered equal among humans, to see more of what the world had to offer. That night, he became a sailor aboard The Mermaid...
Though Oley was mostly given duties that were best suited for the kind of automaton he was, he didn't mind it for the simple fact that it seemed he was considered company. Another person, of all things! Not a lowly worker, unworthy to look into the eyes of his superiors, not something to be tread upon, figuratively speaking, by every living being. The automaton was actually happy. However, as happy as he was, he wasn't content with just the work that was handed to him. No, he felt like he could do so much more. That he could fulfill the duties of every other crew member aboard. Even including defending the captain and the ship. He made a promise, the very first promise he had made in fact, that he would no longer rest contentedly with his current work, as happy as he was to do it. He promised that he would become a true pirate among his shipmates. And so, whenever he found time and the scrap to do it, borrowing tools when necessary, he fashioned himself proper arms to bear if they were ever in need. After much work, he felt he was ready...
