[hider=Billuh Bob Gnome]
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“[i]I dun tell yah huwat theyuh, othah Billuh Bob Gnome[/i]!!” [/center] 

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

[b]Appearance[/b] 
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. 

[b]Brief Description[/b] 
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. 

[b]Personality[/b] 
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. 

[b]Equipment[/b] 
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. 

[b]Abilities[/b] 
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. 

[b]Background[/b] 
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. 

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