Name: Gonad Yaksplitter
Title: The Lord of the Rising Sun
Age: 34
Height: 7'2"
Weight: 499 pounds
Boxing Reach: 92"
Shoe Size: 24
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Eye Color: Hazel

Weapons and Equipment- His body, occasionally a set of thick six-kilo runite (a foreign metal of nigh-indestructible toughness) bracers and a pair of dragon gauntlets (a metal that is a tier above runite, also almost indestructible). He often wears the "Tzhaar-Kal-Ket", an incredibly rare and magical cloak bestowed upon those few in history who have triumphed over the brutal challenges of a powerful volcano-dwelling race. It is impervious to heat and cold, and incredibly durable to boot. He also keeps an enchanted "Inoculation Brace" on his ankle, a magical trinket which renders him immune to harmful toxins.


(Gonad with his bracers)

Appearance- Silhouetted against the burning passions of war, a figure stands tall, unmoving. His physique is as definitive as the gory victory with which his gruesome hands secure. Woven into his beard is a tapestry of blood, proclaiming the legendary tales of the countless scars adorning the sacred weapon, known as Gonad. For weapon he is, heated and hammered in the unquenchable fires of battle.

Pure unadulterated muscle. Lean muscle that ripples under his flesh like the waves of the ocean. He has muscles on his muscles. Feet Muscles. Finger muscles. Muscles in places that muscles should not be. A grisly body resembling tanned granite that might as well have been chiseled by the gods. Bulging veins, thick and course. Tendons like steel cords. Fingers like blunt iron rods. Long, sinewy limbs crafted for naught but the deliverance of phenomenal destruction. His enormous yet supple frame moves with a primal grace, the likes of which are comparable only to the untamed beasts of the wild.

His body is riddled with the innumerable wounds left by his combative livelihood. There are hundreds upon hundreds. Where the scars do not cover his body, coarse manly hair, thick and strong like steel wool, does.
He boasts a great dark gray beard speckled with the blood and bone flakes of his foes, flowing down his freakishly striated chest in thick, oily waves reminiscent of the River Styx. From it emanates the very stench of death and graverot, every bit as inescapable as his piercing glare. Within his single eye resides an undying flame, sizzling hotter than the arse-winds of Satan himself.

Personality- What attributes the primal organism known as "Gonad" bears are no different than the attributes of mother nature herself. Blood-tinged Westerlies carving jagged sluices along the tepid surface of a great and mysterious ocean, whose calm demeanor belies a vast and terrible capability. The wisdom of towering snow-capped mountains, whose interminable experience has been honed over countless millennia of wear and tear. The trepid balance between predator and prey, animal and man, intermingling to form a singular amalgamation of virile life. And yet, he maintains a feature apart from nature. Self-awareness. He lives only for pushing the boundaries of human strength and spirit, forcing himself beyond the utmost limit in extreme combat. He fears not death, nor pain, nor loss, for it is from these things that the vigor and strength of true manhood and honor spring. He revels in the pain, luxuriates in death, and basks in loss. He never will engage in dishonorable practices such as deception, and will not tolerate an unfair fight. Though he may oftentimes appear a comical fool, Gonad is truly just a simple man who very rarely premeditates an action, instead acting from the heart and without hesitation, following only the voice of his soul.



Abilities/Skills- Revered by many as the greatest warrior to have ever lived, Gonad boasts tremendous dynamic and static strength and is capable of overpowering virtually any foe near his size. Above all else the strength in his hands is legendary, and so far no foe, living or dead, has succeeded in breaking his grip. He fights through experience and instinct, capable of reacting to attacks through muscle memory before he consciously registers them. Gonad is the supreme master of his own body, and can control its functions at will. He can use the full potential of his latent strength, constrict blood vessels to keep from losing fluids, and transmit senses other than sight through his visual cortex along with a plethora of other abilities. He is capable of touching and harming incorporeal or transdimensional entities by virtue of being too ignorant to know that he shouldn't. He witholds a vast array of rare and lethal wisdom and is said to know of over one-thousand ways to kill with his bare hands. Pain means nothing to him, and he can fight through most non-lethal injuries.
He is also imbued with a form of spiritual energy known as the Beardforce. It allows him to scale in physical might that his capabilities may be matched evenly in comparison to those of any foe significantly more powerful than him. Gonad's unarmed strikes are of the highest caliber, and taking into consideration the formidable equalization of the Beardforce, this means no foe in this realm or any other can easily withstand even one direct hit, much like how no human mortal may fairly survive a sword through the torso or a mace to the skull. The opposite stands true, however, as Gonad himself wears little armor and will never be more durable than any superhuman foe he faces.
Gonad is a grandmaster of the berserker arts and has an effectively limitless tolerance for pain. He can utilize three different forms of the technique, each one fiercer than the last. These three modes are Semi Berserk, Fully Berserk, and the preeminent Primal State. At his peak, he can generate such strength that his own muscles can tear themselves from his bones. When combined with the ability to create self induced hyposthenia within his body, bringing his muscles to the ultimate point of relaxation, Gonad can then contract them with the greatest amount of force that is physically possible. At the cost of having his very bones shatter from the overwhelming might of his own blows, Gonad can unleash attacks of such immensity that any entity on the receiving end of a direct hit gains an immediate and intimate understanding of what it feels like to be the fetus in a Mexican abortion.



Background- They say when the Barbarian called Gonad Yaksplitter was born, he came into this world bearing a full and mighty beard and had the equivalent muscles of a shaved adult yak. He was born on the battlefield, his infantile but well defined body gushing forth from the womb of his mother and landing in a puddle of blood that had been pooling from the corpse of a nearby enemy. It was in this way that Gonad had first been christened with the blood of his enemies. His mother, Chukka, had broken both legs in the battle and only she and her newborn son had survived the disastrous conflict. It had been a Barbarian war party, sent out from Gonad's home village which lay fifty-five miles East.

Chukka was forced to crawl back using her hands and teeth, bearing Gonad on her back. Only by sustaining young Gonad with the meat of her placenta and the warm milk from her breasts was she able to keep him nourished during the arduous trip back. Using the prodigious length of young Gonad's beard, she was able to fashion a makeshift diaper to keep him from soiling her back. After two months, they managed to return to the village, much to the great joy of Chief Jarvi. Upon being shocked at the sight of Gonad's beard-diaper being removed, he promptly named muscular Gonad after his hefty namesake, and renamed their village after the miracle child. For many ages the Village of Gonad has been renowned for its strength, most often migrating around in the deep Wilderness. Gonad's birth was the very culmination of generations of hard-earned might, his destiny pre-determined by the selective breeding of his ancestors. Their intent? To create the ultimate physical human. And so they did.

Since before he could walk, Gonad was made to train in the berserker arts with a relentless fervor that surpassed common sense. Nearly every minute of every hour of every day of his life he endured the most excruciating physical and mental training imaginable, his talent for unarmed combat pushed well beyond the boundaries of reason. He bears as many scars from his training as he does from battle. Gonad has participated in thousands of individual fights, ranging from one on one bouts to full scale wars, and from his experience has even created his own fighting style, which he dubbed "Hefty Fist".

As weakness had been beaten out of him at birth, it was not long before he became so well associated with hardship and pain that both feelings became an integral part of his personality. He enjoys agony and difficulty, and carries upon his shoulders the full weight of his village's pride and future. To Gonad, shame and fear are emotions that no longer exist. With adversity drilled into the very core of his being through unimaginable effort he shaped his mind into an unbreechable iron hull filled with undepletable reserves of determination. Though not by any means distanced from other negative emotions, he still bears them with neither complaint nor angst and has never allowed himself to feel regret.
Gonad now travels the land endlessly, seeking nothing more than worthy opponents to fight. He lives only for pushing the boundaries of human strength and spirit, pushing himself beyond the utmost limit in extreme combat. He fears not death, nor pain, nor loss, for it is from these things that the vigor and strength of true manhood and honor spring. He revels in the pain, luxuriates in death, and basks in loss. To fight for honor, the honor of both himself, and for the honor of those who are unable to defend themselves against the dishonorable.
He has seen countless wars, killed countless enemies, made countless friends. To recount the barbarian's many adventures would be an exercise in futility, for the blood wrought odyssey of Gonad transcends time and experience.

Trivia-

◾Gonad rarely calls people by their actual names, often using their physical appearance to give them a nickname such as Hood Man, Fancy Pants Lady, Pale Man, and Funny Beard. Those who have earned his utmost respect, however, are called by their true name.

◾Gonad's body is so well trained, that with muscle memory he performs isometrics in his sleep.

◾Gonad is almost entirely incapable of learning and/or doing anything that isn't related to combat, training, hunting, and women, the subjects in which he holds enough virtuistic ability to philosophize about. It took him two weeks to learn how to first use a doorknob, and he still hasn't learned how to read even a single word. He is utterly useless outside of his few areas of expertise.

◾Gonad is ambidextrous

◾Gonad's nose has been broken so many times, that all of the cartilage in it has deteriorated. He can push it completely flat against his face. He also has four false teeth crafted from ivory.

◾Gonad rarely travels via boat or ship, opting instead to swim across great bodies of water.

Theme Music-

Basic Info
Name: Billuh Bob Gnome.
Alias: Othah Billuh Bob Gnome.
Age: One hundred twenty eight.
Race: Gnome (Steampunk Automaton).
Class: Gnomish Wrastler.
Alignment: Neutral.

Appearance
Height: Twenty inches.
Weight: Three hundred pounds.
Reach: Thirty inches.
Shoe Size: Eight.
Eye Color: Comically electric blue, slightly radiant and if observed closely visible brass cogs and gears are tinkering around in the iris.
Hair Color: Long since having gone bald, his facial hair has gone solid white with age.

Brief Description
A behemoth of a gnome, Billuh Bob has a chest as broad as those of most human men despite standing less than two feet tall, and hulking arms the hands of which rest below his knees when standing. Even were it not for the two hundred plus pounds of steel endoskeleton under his artificial flesh, he would almost certainly weigh over one hundred pounds. Possessed of ears that even by gnomish standards are ludicrously large and pointed, a huge, drooping, crooked nose that looks to have been broken several times over, and eyes like slits that only seem to open fully when engaged in the, "Old and Venerated Gnomish Tradition of Eye Wrastlin',". His mouth seems to be locked in a permanent scowl, and all but one of his teeth, the left lower canine, have long ago been knocked out or rotted away from excessive drink and poor oral hygiene. His tongue and gums are a swampy color somewhere between charcoal grey and moss green, with stringy off white hairs growing from the tongue like some form of parasite, seemingly sentient and glowing radiation green in the dark, blinking brightly in predictable patterns similar to Morse code dependent on exposure to different stimuli, whether to one another or for some unknown, arcane reason who’s to say. He has a conical steel protrusion on the top of his head that, when not covered with the hat he wears for this express purpose, immediately identifies him as an automaton, which is technically where his artificial brain is located.

Personality
Billuh Bob is a simple Gnomish Wrastler, never had much of an education or interest in anything besides women, whom he prefers on the larger side, hunting, drinking and the Old and Venerated Gnomish Wrastlin' tradition, be it Eye Wrastlin', Gut Wrastlin', Arm Wrastlin', Head Wrastlin’, or Bareknuckle Wrastlin'. His transformation into an automaton hasn't changed any of that, though it's made him a bit wonky in the head region. He identifies the new, machine side of himself as Billuh Bob and the old, biological side as othah Billuh Bob, and keeps a running dialogue between the two spoken aloud at most any given moment, though he doesn't actually seem to be aware that he is an artificial construct. He was designed to never seriously harm any normal living person, be they gnome, human, elf, even greenskin, and can't recognize a life or death situation as anything but a challenge to Bareknuckle Wrastlin', which usually doesn't produce grievous bodily injury or death. As such he is virtually incapable of killing anyone except through sheer accidental coincidence, though this does not apply to animals, rare, mystical or otherwise, zombies and the undead, or anything too far out of the realm of, "normal, sentient being," such as an actively aggressive werewolf, artificial construct, demonic or fae entity, what have you.

Equipment
Weapons: A twenty four inch Gnomish, "longbow," quiver, and several arrows for hunting, as well as a skinning knife.
Clothing: Leather footstompin' boots, a green cloth cod piece, leather conical hat and a belt for his knife and coin purse.
Other: An oaken pony keg strapped to his back by several belts of the tanned hides of rare animals across his torso.

Abilities
Billuh Bob was never designed as a weapon of war, and as such his skills are almost entirely devoted to survival, hunting, and Wrastlin'. Being essentially a solid steel walking steam engine, he's almost impossible to actually, "kill," short of heat extreme enough to simply smelt him back down into molten metal, electric shock powerful enough to fry his artificial brain, or being completely submerged under several feet of water for a significant amount of time. It’s not as though most anything can actually run a sword through a hundred pound hunk of metal torso, or cleave a twenty pound neck of steel in twain with a greataxe. His joints are simply moving plates of steel and hydraulics, however, and though each individual joint has its own redundancy system so that a broken pinky doesn't result in his being entirely unable to move they are only barely more difficult to break individually than those of any normal person. His arms each have eight pairs of internalized hooks which can extend out from his person rapidly, latch into a challenger's flesh and inject a potent numbing paralytic agent, similar to Novocain and near instantly effective, primarily used to cheat at Arm Wrastlin'.

Across his body he has steam ports under his artificial skin which can be activated to provide momentary boosts of speed used to do everything from sprint, leap, tackle, hit with extreme force, though of course his joints are not immune to the added force of the blow and often break should the steam ports be employed in this manner, or to use his bow, the draw weight of which is well beyond what normal humans, let alone gnomes, can achieve without such an adaptation. These ports do, of course, burn his flesh away on site, revealing him as an automaton if by some stretch of reason one hasn’t discovered Billuh Bob isn’t quite a normal Gnome by such time as he might choose to employ them. His stomach is technically an inflatable bladder capable of holding massive amounts of ale before simply bursting, and being an automaton he is immune to ill effect from consuming excessive alcohol, used primarily to cheat at Gut Wrastlin’, though by some synthetic psychological process he seems to actually become increasingly inebriated in speech and demeanor and continues to enjoy drinking, the act simply doesn't alter his perception, reaction time, or higher cognitive functions.

Background
Born in a dirt floor shack in the middle of nowhere, Billuh Bob was always poor, always ugly, and always big. With arms that looked like they belonged on a gorilla long before they had any muscle on them, a massive chest and a face that not even his mother could love, he was never destined for much of anything besides Wrastlin’. Wasn’t smart, never did learn to read good, wasn’t pretty, didn’t talk right, wasn’t graceful, couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing, play music, or even footstomp to a consistent beat, but he could throw most adult gnomes across a room by the time he was ten, and nearly any gnome alive by early adulthood. He was never really even all that good with the fundamentals and finer points of Wrastlin’, truth be told he still isn’t, but when you are twice the size of the other guy and you get your hands on them it doesn’t matter all that much. Lift, smash, toss, bend, tear, repeat until he is lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and teeth, or is at least begging for mercy and crying, “uncle,” always seemed to work well enough for Billuh Bob.

Growing up he and the neighbor boy, about his age and the closest person to his family shack by five miles, ran about hunting, Wrastlin’, and generally making a nuisance of themselves to everyone in a twenty mile radius, until it became clear that the boy, his best friend, happened to be a veritable genius. He got sent off to some fancy school in some big Gnome city far away, and for years Billuh Bob ran alone, his only reprieve going out to the local watering hole and challenging old drunks and fools to Wrastlin’ bouts for drinks and wagers, picking up on the local girls who mostly laughed him off, and once he was old enough to see over the counter getting drunk ‘till he passed out at the bar. All in all, it was a shitty little existence that were it not for the drink and the thrill of throwing his fellow Gnomes about like ragdolls was hardly worth living, but he rarely went hungry and on a good night could manage to drink his fill off of what coin he could scrounge together, even if all he was really doing was passing one more day by in a delirious haze.

Eventually, his childhood friend moved back to the shithole he had escaped from, why Billuh Bob never could say, and started inventing things. Wild, crazy things. Baskets of wood and cloth that could fly through the air, machines that could record sounds and play them back, liquids you could drip on crops to kill the bugs that got on them without hurting the plants, and made a lot of money doing it. Within twenty years the middle of nowhere shithole was a bustling little town, known for its resident mad scientist and its local wrastling champion, good ole’ Billuh Bob. Gnomes from all over came to watch, and try their luck at Wrastlin’ Billuh, most of them faster, smarter, better mechanically, more talented, but none of them weighed more than sixty or so pounds, and there were not many that could face a giant like him and hope to meet with much success. The money started flowing in, and as the years went by the friends started the process of building dual mansions on the same property, with a pond, some woods, even a small brewery they operated themselves, and continued to hunt, drink, pick up on women at the same shithole bar they had so long frequented, and wrastle for near a century.

At the ripe old age of one hundred twenty four, around seventy relative to human physical age, Billuh Bob had too much unicorn steak and thick Gnomish ale for one night celebrating his fourteenth Wrastlin’ victory in so many days, his stomach burst, and he died laughing within minutes, with his last words asking for another drink and some more steak, and challenging his distraught friend to the, “Old and Venerated Gnomish Tradition of Head Wrastlin’,”. That was the story of Billuh Bob, one of the greatest Gnomish Wrastlers to have ever lived, or so it should have been. Neither Billuh nor the scientist had ever married, had kids, or anything like that, and besides each other they basically had no one in the world. The scientist decided he would not leave Billuh in the ground, would not live out the rest of his days without his friend. Six months he spent revising, inventing, pondering. Through a mixture of magic and engineering he finally created a metal skeleton which contained a steam engine and some form of artificial brain, and clothed it in synthetic flesh, muscle, blood, shaped it to look like his friend, and threw a switch. The machine woke up.

The first iteration of Billuh Bob the Automaton died within three days in a boating accident on the pond in the property upon which they had built their mansions, turns out two hundred pounds of steel cannot easily be fished out of the water or swim very effectively. Steam vents to allow for sudden, rapid movement were added to the second model, and though Billuh never again went near a large body of water, theoretically he could get out of one assuming he wasn’t being held down in it by more than just his own weight. This second model lasted months, before the scientist introduced him to the public, at their old watering hole. Within minutes it got into a bar fight and killed everyone in the establishment, except the scientist who he knocked out and carried back home. The scientist deactivated this model and, after several months, devised a cruel and unfortunately necessary alteration. He put provisions in place that effectively drove Billuh insane, but ensured that he would never again kill anyone. This third iteration of Billuh couldn’t stay in the village, wouldn’t even if it could, and now wanders the world drinking and, when his pony keg runs dry, challenging people to Wrastlin’ bouts for drinks and coin to keep the ale flowing on his travels, returning only to get patched up after serious injury as per his programming.