SpoilerA man brooded in a dark room. His shadow, or what could be seen of it, was large and formidable. With his broad shoulders and his tall stature, he seemed strong and young, though he couldn't be called young. Likewise, he exuded an air of age and wisdom, of years of accumulated knowledge. But he couldn't be called old.

He is known only as The Director.

Around him were many screens, perhaps hundreds, maybe thousands. Most of them were turned off, however; the Director was only focusing on a few screens. The screens showed merely fighting. Fighting between strange beings, fighting between simple humans, fighting between those who just looked human...some of the screens showed a completely different setting. Some were simply a different angle of the same fight.

Seven Grand Battles going on simultaneously. But they needed another one for the grand finale. It seemed everybody was busy though, either orchestrating their own battles or desperately trying to keep up with all seven at once. Who would be willing to (and, more importantly, be able to) handle the eighth battle?

Suddenly, at the corner of one screen, barely visible, really, there was a tendril of awareness. Unseen by the fighters, it poked around, searching, before shooting off to a different dimension.

Quickly, another screen turned on, revealing another tendril on a barren landscape before it moved on. Turning on almost all the screens, the Director scanned through several, finding that there were quite a few tendrils poking around. Sometimes they wriggled their way into a fight, but it was apparently accidental because they would quickly wriggle their way back out.

It wasn't someone trying to fix the fight in their favor...

The Director followed the tendrils back to the source, weaving his way through a variety of settings until he traced the source down to one screen.

Yet another boring, blank pocket dimension.

But this one was cluttered. Ridiculously cluttered.

In the middle of the screen, the Director could see a woman, long-haired and lanky, apparently meditating in the middle of all her junk. Her hair had been pulled up in a careful ponytail, but out of neglect, the band was almost off, not even holding most of the hair in. The Director sighed heavily before joining the woman, adjusting his black suit and carefully avoiding the large amount of stuff. He contrasted harshly against the white background.

The woman was well known behind her back as The Dabbler, though, he had to admit, she did more than just dabble. She fully immersed herself in language before moving on to biology and then psychology. After that, if he remembered correctly, it was literature, then theology, then etymology and then...something. It didn't matter. Her name seemed to change as often as her tastes, so he was unsure what to call out. He settled for tapping her on her shoulder.

The tendrils of awareness retracted and the woman blinked, apparently disoriented, before bending her head back to look up at the shadowy man. "Oh! Director!" She grinned, jumping up on her feet. "Good to see you! How's it going?"

"Hello..."

"Oh, it's the Cultivator now. Nice, huh? I though 'Cultivatrix' sounded strangely domineering and-"

"What are you doing?" The Director said coldly, unmoved by such cheerful blathering.

"What am I...? Oh! Ha! I'm looking for people for the Savage Brawl! That's a cool name too. It took a while for me to think of something not taken but-"

"The Savage-you mean you're hosting a battle?" The Cultivator nodded. "You were planning on telling me at some point, weren't you?"

The Cultivator seemed to ignore her guest's testiness. "Of course! I wanted to find some fighters first, though! Can't have a battle without fighters, hm?"

The Director, in turn, ignored the Cultivator's nudge in his arm. Eventually, the Cultivator became aware of the serious air and tried to look more grim. Unfortunately, she continued to beam widely. "Look...Cultivator, are you sure you can handle this?"

"Of course! It's all under control!"

"You're not going to...abandon this suddenly?"

"How can I? This'll be so interesting! Like...a study on behavioral interactions between humans slash humanoids slash, uh, non-humanoids. Like, plant...goat...things. Don't you think that's interesting?"

The Director stared impassively back at the Cultivator's eager face. "Cultivator. This is a battle that will spread carnage throughout space and, if you so desire, time. Are you sure that you can keep it under your control?"

"Why not? I can handle it. What can go wrong?"

The Director briefly considered the various ways this 'Savage Brawl' could go wrong, especially after simply uttering the words 'what can go wrong' before deciding, well, what the hell.

"Alright. But I feel I must put down a condition: all the contestants must be of those on the unfavorable end of the moral spectrum."

There was a long pause.

"...Oh! You mean villainous folks!"

The Director stared down the Cultivator's beaming face. "...Yes. I want to make sure that this finale has enough, ah, discord." It seemed the Cultivator was unaffected by this limiting rule.

"Alright! Don't worry, D-tor, this'll be soooo great~" The Director flinched at the strange pet name before finally leaving. Well, that takes care of that.

The Cultivator, alone once again, sits back down amongst her various possessions and continues her search.

SpoilerPast the bounds of dimensionality, two figures stood alone in the void. One of them, the Cultivator, looked curious and eerily cheery as usual. The other, known only as the Executor, showed no emotion. He was dressed in a dark suit, and held a plain, colorless book in his hands.

[background=#800080:271onh6v]“So, can you help? I could use an expert.”[/background:271onh6v]

“This is the most I can do for you, unfortunately. It's in my best interest that the Director does not know of my involvement in this battle.”

[background=#800080:271onh6v]“Certainly he'd at least notice you take this?”[/background:271onh6v]

“As of now he's fairly distracted, and technically I haven't disobeyed anything he has said, so I'll be fine. Just make sure that you don't make any mention of me in your battle.” The Executor passed the book to the Cultivator, who looked through it eagerly.

[background=#800080:271onh6v]“What gives? This thing is completely empty, except for the first page. There isn't even a handy instruction manual.”[/background:271onh6v]

“Ah, yes. You sign your name on the first page, and write the names of the contestants on the eight lines under your name. The book will automatically narrate events of the battle, and all you have to do is describe the next location when a contestant dies.”

[background=#800080:271onh6v]“And… why is this necessary?”[/background:271onh6v]

“Three reasons. First, it automates the process so that things are less likely to go wrong. Second, it's a contract that binds you and the contestants… but not very tightly. Lastly, it gives the Director full control over the battles.”

[background=#800080:271onh6v]The Cultivator signed her name on the line provided, and the name, underline and all, disappeared entirely. Instantly the book began to change, turning dark purple, and the words Savage Brawl appeared on the cover.[/background:271onh6v]

“That's a security measure. It also fixes the contract.”

[background=#800080:271onh6v]“So, I'm all set?”[/background:271onh6v]

“Yep. All you need to do now is find some contestants, and off you go. Have fun.”

[background=#800080:271onh6v]The Cultivator, grinning, disappeared in an eager hurry to continue her search.[/background:271onh6v]

This is perfect. She's just the type of person to give the Director one hell of a time. And, I can observe this battle freely, yet I'm not responsible or even associated with anything that happens here. The Executor disappeared into the higher dimensions with a look of satisfaction on his face.

SpoilerWhoops, I must have missed that somewhere. Cyber didn't mention it either. Sorry.

It was just a random compulsion. Want me to go ahead and delete this now?

SpoilerI've discussed this with Dragon Fogel, but I don't think we discussed it with cyber95, no.

I'm not really quite sure how you're going to delete this, though.

SpoilerWhat was the reason we couldn't have 9 players in the final one?

SpoilerEr, hm. Well this is awkward.

I, um.


...Nevermind, I'll just let you all sort this out first.

Aryogaton Wrote:I'm not really quite sure how you're going to delete this, though.

If need be, each of us can simply go back and delete each of our posts in a slow, excruciating process.

SpoilerPersonally, it sort of seems like cyber supersedes Fogel for these purposes, but I guess I'll leave you guys to work that out. In the meantime:

SpoilerBut... I've been leading up to this for a while now in TGB... I had lots planned out.

Spoilerwell im going to use this character for whoever hosts so...yeah

Spoilerso as you can see i've gone for a much more comedic character than my deadly serious death ninja in Battle Royale. Mainly because the majority of the battles are pretty serious all the time, so I hope to inject some fun into the mayhem!

SpoilerWe've considered double-hosting, but once I told him my original plans he said he couldn't fit it in.

SpoilerI did have an idea, though, which I wrote. I guess you didn't like it?

SpoilerNow I'm confused. You said you didn't like it. [img]images/smilies/mspa_face.gif[/img]

This might work, actually. Give me a bit to make an update in the GB and then here, to get it started.

SpoilerSorry, I do that a lot. I derive sick pleasure from putting myself down. So often I say stuff I don't mean.

When nice people offer me food I instinctively say "No thanks." Which means I'll probably starve to death one day. Sorry.

SpoilerUsername: Not The Author (NTA)

Name: Gormand

Gender: Genderless, though he responds (obviously enough) to masculine terminology.

Race: Food, heavily mutated (see description, history).

• Food is... well, it's food, averaging about a meter in hight, and it's typically not anthropomorphic. They seem to naturally have low-level psychic abilities, since they can hold things without hands and sort of glide across the ground as well as having four of the five major senses. (They don't eat, so they don't need taste.) Food are also some of the most powerful mages in existence, largely do to their religious conviction.

Color: Brown. #804040

Weapon: His appendages (see description), Sapient Carnéthropy (see abilities), Gorlings (see abilities).

Abilities:

• Sapient Carnethropy
  Gormand naturally produces a virus that will quickly die without his prescence, be it direct or indirect. This virus, commonly known as "the Meat Virus," slowly transforms Gormand's surroundings into... well, into meat, over an extended period of time. The edible kind, though eating it is naturally not recommended. Matter typically turns into meat that most nearly matches its structure, which is why trees typically turn into chicken legs and such. Living matter actively resists the transformation. The change is abrupt, though - one second, soil, the next, steak. Sentient matter becomes Food, the particular sub-race varying with the individual's personality (hyper people tend towards confections, etc). Continued exposure once in this state will eventually cause brain-death. The virus dies much more quickly than it takes effect, and should enough of the Virus die, its effects reverse. A high enough concentration of the virus can survive independently of Gormand, and has minor sentience. Gormand can control the virus to a degree, though this requires concentration.
  
  Meat Assimilation
  Gormand can consume "dead" food and add it to his mass. Through his control of the virus, he is able to twist this additional mass into various forms and organs. Typically, this mass is concentrated in his outer "skin," providing him with a surprisingly tough coat of armor for a giant ball of meat. There is a limit to how large he can grow, as the more massive he becomes, the more of the Meat Virus he produces, the less control over his own body he has.
  
  Gorling Dominance
  When he was still "young," Gormand once approached a mass where the Virus threatened to overwhelm his consciousness. Seeing no other solution, he attempted to shed some of the excess mass... and succeeded. This mass became the first "Gorling;" essentially a hive-mind meat zombie. Gormand was able to relay simple commands to it, and have them carried out. The first Gorling was formless, but Gormand has since grown adept at their creation. They generally require an amount of mass directly proportional to their strength. The farther away a Gorling is, the more effort required to contact it. He can contact more than one as well, but this requires additional effort.

Description:

• Reference
  
  Currently, he's a little over two meters in diameter, and rests about half a meter off the ground. His tendrils (yes they are spaghetti) can range up to five meters in length, and are approximately twice the width of a human arm. He has around twenty, give-or-take three-ish. He still has his race's latent psychic abilities - his eye is entirely non-functional.
  
  Personality-wise, he's overbearing, domineering, and generally angry at people. He's used to small groups mucking up his plans, and he hates it so. Still, being a master tactician, he's not opposed to aid from some outside sources, though he'll still be kinda pissed when they don't listen.

History:

• Once, Gormand was just a regular meatball, working as an aerotaximan in the Big Mac.
  
  
  ...Perhaps I should clarify.
  
  All of Foodkind live in a single location, namely, the Big Mac. It is a city that is also the worlds largest ham/cheese/bacon/etcburger. It flies, and is invisible to the naked eye and a great deal of advanced sensors of both a magical and technological nature besides.
  A wizard did it. Well, a lot of them did, anyway.
  
  Each layer (lettuce, patty, cheese, tomato, etc) of the Big Mac floats several stories above the next, which led at some point to the establishment of an aerotaxi service.
  The wizards were probably drunk, despite the barriers a Food would have to overcome to do so.
  
  Gormand was one of the best, and quickly advanced through the ranks, becoming first district-wide and then city-wide manager. He was very good at management, but due to his love of flying, continued to work as a simple aerotaximan despite his high position.
  
  And then he fell ill.
  
  Gormand denied that it was serious until, about a week after falling ill, he fainted at his desk. He was rushed to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with Salmonella, a rare yet invariably fatal disease. At the time, there was an experimental cure in development, and he was offered it's use. Gormand accepted.
  
  And here everything gets a little hazy. It is known that some facet of the treatment caused Gormand to mutate, that he went on a blind rampage that destroyed a large chunk of the Big Mac, and that he escaped the confines of the city. However, when such an important event occurs, there's rather a lot of time travel to that area for a variety of purposes, and tomorrow the specific events might have always not been what they were yesterday.
  
  Gormand, ashamed of what he had done, sought help from the nearest settlement. The inhabitants of that town (mostly humans) believed they were under attack from an eldrich horror, and called in the military. Suffice to say, that town no longer exists. He went into seclusion, his thoughts being twisted by the mutated Salmonella variant now flowing through him. Bitter, angry, and maybe still a bit confused, he used his meat powers to create an army. Then a fortress. Then an empire.
  
  Now one of the six most influential factions in the world, the Ravenous Legion seeks nothing less than world domination and the complete obliteration of all natural Foodkind.
  
  Gormand was making preparations for what would probably have been the final seige on Metropolis, the Human capitol. That's why he's so 'small' right now - he used up most of his nonessential mass making a seige unit, and was about to start eating again before he vanished.
  
  Timing, as they say, is everything.