The Tremendous Rumble

The Tremendous Rumble is a collection of characters in Mini-Grand 5105

Clausewitz Kappa
Gender: None. He for reference. Race: Sentry Robot

Abilities:
Clausewitz is perfected in such a way all robots are: perfect only to the point humanity can define that term. Its red geiger pierces smoke and building to lock onto a target, its right arm, for lack of a better word, deploys into a gun within a second if need be. It was created not to be perfect, but to approach as close to it as possible.

Description:
If Clausewitz were ever programmed to stand up straight, it would without doubt be much larger than any average human. Legs and arms like pillars out of smooth metal hold the behemoth's torso aloft, but give the robot the walk of an animal, dragging its steel tips along the floor. Even still, the scorpid tail lags along the ground, coiling in impossible directions when close combat would ever be required. Its face is hardly humanoid, void of defining features, and cased in tinted glass through which a small red dot is ready to scan humanity's barcode in all the wrong ways possible.

This glass screen is how it sees, how it registers the field around it and executes the only command it knows: “Find a tactical vantage point, and eliminate the opposing forces.” This request is imperative, and should under no circumstances be forgotten or deleted. Nothing is more important, and no bloodshed is unrequired were it to stand between Clausewitz and its goal.

Clausewitz showed no different behaviour from the rest of its series. No one could have anticipated how his entire process of thought changed in a split second. It couldn't have sprung to be on its own, there had to be a subliminal force that incited the change. Something deified.

Biography:
First master: SLUG2213AMMO-R4

Secondary master: THUNDR2246AMMO-R4

First servant: CHAIN1055GUN-T5

Secondary servant: CLOUD1068GUN-T5

Retrieving primary terrain analysis.

20% Steppe, 30% desert, 50% caldera

Ground humid. Humdity identified as human blood (C6H6O2-NH2C10H10O10-C22TRUNCATED CONSULT ANALYSIS MENU FOR MORE DETAILS

Retrieving auditory functions.

“Wh-Who the hell are y-aaaarrrrgh!”

Retrieving visual functions.

The Minister was used to being called names. His trade, after all, contained as many pseudonyms as pocket dimensions where one wagered and spent interest in pitting eight beings against each other. He wasn't that used to the naame Yarg, though. Maybe with some tweaking it could become the name of a round? Yes, his mind too raced when asked to host a Grand Battle. The climatic experience hosting brought about, his very existence (though some argued he couldn't exist at all) screamed in glee when the offer was first brought about. Not sanctioned, so be it. The Tremendous Rumble was to go on, and contestant number one stood right before him. Of course, he'd had to perform some tampering first.

Time flowed back into its gentle stream. Bullets started piling up against The Minster's palm, and he was for a second caught amazed at how alarmingly fast the bullets stacked, and with such a precision that a new bullet would hit the previous stack at the bottom, cleaving them, and driving them deeper into his hand. He threw the stack of bullets aside, slid next to Clausewitz, and whispered. Ones and zeroes, cleanly cut computer data. But it didn't stop. Any living being, how supernatural it would be, could not utter this volley of digits in such a rapid fashion, and even so had not the endurance for the task.

Clausewitz understood everything perfectly. He now knew everything. The entire world, streets, names, occupations, who got so drunk last night, it was all wired into his mainframe, along with superhuman means to keep his information up to date.

It classified everything properly, and proceeded with the only command it had ever been issued. Find a tactical vantage point, and eliminate the opposing forces. All opposing forces.

Clausewitz still wanders somewhere on earth, in a direction no one was sure where it lead. The Minister, though, was perfectly capable of finding him, and entering him into the battle.

Miasme
Gender: Prefers to be addressed as male. Race: Vortex

Description:
Miasme is a cloud of darkly coloured smoke, shaped like a man, and consisting mostly of black dust and fog. His entire body consists of this dim gas, though his chest and limbs are mostly covered by a neat, dark grey suit, adorned vertically by precipitous lines that only slightly brightened the attire to the point of the visible, and one could swear curved slightly to the right – or was it to the left? This suit covers most of his body, so the sordid fumes have no escape but where his face ought to be. And in that same spot, covered in this ethereal anti-light of his, two bright orange eyes dart around, in slight circles, to truly complete the mesmerising effect.

His entire body consists of the piceous smoke of such a dark colour it could arguably not be called even a colour anymore. When human eyes faced him, they would have incredible trouble focusing on the man whose body reflected nor gathered light. Eyes often squinted and focused but especially in the heat of a battle, say, the human opponent would have to resort to blindly flailing their sword around, while with a painful accuracy Miasme's smog enveloped around them to choke the poor target.

As if the issue of not being able to correctly see him wasn't tough enough, Miasme is intent on creating more of this smoke, and with a very good reason, too. While humans have issues focusing on the black smog of which Miasme consists, he suffers the same issue when presented with regular light. When he would exit his cloud, everything would just turn white, it's impossible for his orange eyes – in such a situation probably large and bugged – to perceive even the grittiest structure of what would be right in front of him. Therefore he frequently digs into his chest, or the cavity where it should have been, to extract the liquid form of the noxious gas he expels. Spreading this over the floor, life and grounds will shrivel and die, creating cracks which in their turn again expel the gas. It's a strange symbiotic relation that mostly depends on the poisoning decay he carries.

Backstory:
Miasme often lived on his home region of Cerebat, a planet polluted with the smog Miasme and its kind call its own. It was a life he coveted, since no other beings than vortices of his own could bother him, and while he was an intellectual in the strictest sense, he was far from eager to make first contact any time soon. This was his orb of earth, he needed nothing more.

The whiplash when the Minister took him away, you could expect it to be incredible.

The Arena or Harena
Gender: It Race: Sand Trap

Description:
Harena is what the bestiaries usually call a Sand Trap. It's a large slate of round copper that buries itself beneath the dunes and desert ground, attracting the grains it buries through, causing it to seem like a shifting plate of sand. Since they are instinctively hunters and travellers, a Sand Trap usually doesn't wait to attack prey. A Sand Trap is commonly blessed with a true fighter's spirit. Whatever crosses it path in the dry desert will soon find a battlefield shuffling beneath it where the prey would get pummelled by debris until it no longer moves, at which point it can be readily consumed. The carcass and soul are devoured, any inanimate objects jettisoned or stored in the layer of sand, like a very coinish vulture.

This particular Sand Trap is marked by its mean, hollow eyes of black space in the middle of the arena, sand sinking into them like waterfalls of a mirage, and several pieces of ancient pillars sticking out of the sandy surface here and there.

It does have a personality, and even a way of communication, but I'll get back to that once we've seen a little backstory.

Backstory:
The methods of hunting explained above are trademark of a typical Sand Trap. But of course, this wouldn't be a Grand Battle character if we weren't dealing with an atypical one. See, Harena originates from the period in its world which would equal our Middle Ages. The times of brave knights and dashing warriors, the times where honer and bloodlust were among the most respected courtly virtues, where bearded swordsmen gathered every Friday for the "Let's see who can bring home the largest monster spoils"-club. Of course, the sandy reaches of Rashkada Desert were no exception: Sand Traps were a common target for such valiant warriors, their valued rings selling for over two hundred gold trientes!

And so, by the oppression and death of many of his kind, or by the sheer rage and spirit of battle it possessed, Image was born.

Image is basically an ethereal body, a humanoid representation of a fighting spirit. This is where the description begins again, by the way. This humaniod illusion is Harena's main way of communicating with the outside. It can speak, though you won't see a mouth moving, and it can more or less morph itself to the occasion. Harena only uses this to arm himself, generating weapons in the same otherworldy blue as its illusion's body.

If Image speaks, it will use the first person, but it will speak as if it were the arena below it, because whatever Image says is usually just puppetry by the trap beneath it. It's quite cocky, and won't go out of its way to avoid a fight. More often than not the Sand Trap will actually seek out fights, ensnaring them in its battlefield like it would with its everyday prey. Its opponents are picked pretty much at random. Harena never was, and never will be one to form alliances.

Of course such a Sand Trap that could not only speak but also fight a fair one-on-one battle with a knight gained some fame in the virtuous circles. After countless years living as the legendary “Golden Trap”, Harena had grown quite bored of defeating those knights foolish enough to discard the tales of the Golden Trap, and after seeing many of its kind die valiant deaths in Rashkada, he too sought for the one warrior who could defeat him in a battle, allowing him to pass on after a life well fought.

Maybe he'd find that person in the battle.

Stimmt
Gender: Male Race: Human

Abilities:
Voices are who we are. The most definitive trait of any being isn't its looks – easy camouflaged – or the way it acts – easily suppressed – but the way it sounds. No matter how hard you try to change it, your voice will contain a certain trace, a breath of who you are, what you've been through, where you came from. No one knows how to hide their past's reflection in a wistful sigh, or a tinge of dialect from where you were raised. And only those with Stimmt's ability can take that

When Stimmt hears a voice, he's able to manipulate it in any way. He can mute it, mimic it for his own ends, make it sound like another's voice, and many more of those parlor tricks. Important to know, this doesn't limit itself to the voice in a strictest sense. A voice is who we are, it becomes painful and arduous to interact with people without one. And because of that symbolic value, the victims whose voices Stimmt steals become invisible to the world.

Voices take the form of glowing spheres, untouchable barring Stimmt himself (and even he can work from a safe distance, so there's no real need to touch anything) and usually have an oddly fitting color, as if they were picked specifically by greater beings to make that person memorable.

Description:
Stimmt seems to have found the perfect way to look menacing to anyone today, while at the same time having the over-the-top look of an almost fantastic thief from the Tolkien stories if Tolkien wrote about the ghetto. A sandblasted bandana, a crude brown leather vest over a red hoodie and dark green cargo pants make up most of his wardrobe. Stimmt is overall a bit short, both in height and width, but the size of both his ego and threat make up for that.

Backstory:
Like any real person who doesn't have Messiah's syndrome or a rare mental degenerative disorder, Stimmt uses his powers for evil. His ability to become invisible proved useful in times of poverty, seeing as in the world of thievery invisible means invincible.

Besides fancy voice magic, he also carries a knife, a rag and a bottle of chloroform in case any nasty situation comes to be. They usually do, in the branch he's working in.

Growing up in the alternate universe, politically correct equivalent to the Bronx had him out on the streets most of the time, because food usually came before productive ways to spend free time or even going to school. And soon, like everyone else on the streets, he was meeting the wrong people, which is really just a way to hide that he was inherently evil. He had a knack for killing, lying, being a general menace and getting away unblemished. His magical powers helped him not only pin the blame on others, but also make sure no one could ever spot him on a crime scene.

No doubt his bad intentions of deceit would carry over to the Tremendous Rumble.

Domino
Gender: Female Race: Yume-oni, or Sleep demon, in the shape of a cat.

Weapons:
Claws of course! She doesn't usually get in a lot of active fighting, but she will scratch and bite when provoked. She can dash out some serious wounds if neccesary. After all, she used to be a predator.

Abilities:
The first thing to note about Domino is that she can talk. She rarely uses drawn-out sentences, and prefers shorter words. Her voice is quiet, seductive, but vicious. Another trait about her is her mesmerising gaze. Once you and Domino would meet eyes, rest assured you'd fall asleep seconds later. Usually her next step would be for her to wait until you're sound asleep, and then eat your dream. It sounds as scarring as it is. Usual effects can be insomnia, insanity, what have you. In rare cases or vivid nightmares, Domino might take on small traits of the major fearbringers such as the devil's trident, her eyes glowing like the headlights of a car, you name it. She usuallly doesn't have this phenomenon unless with people of very strong spirits, a lot of imagination and very detailed dreams.

Description:
Domino is a black Kellas Cat, and reaches about the waist for the average human when she stands on all four of her paws. She has the typical yellow glower cat's eyes usually have, and her face is hard to discern from her body, especially in darkness. She has sharp claws and small fangs, and has shorter ears than a regular Burmese. When you'd encounter her in darkness, only those lulling, otherworldy eyes would meet you. Around her neck she wears a collar with a single white gem imbued on it, and her name nicely written on the back.

Biography:
Domino belongs to a long heritage of mythological cats, trailing back to her grandfather, Cat Sith. She carries his original blood of a witch, but has been muddled ever since due to her father being the spiritual Patripan. She was intended to be a guide for souls to the netherworld, where Charon would take over. However, she took a fondness not for people who were dead, but people who seemed dead. She spent most of her spare time on fences and roofs, watching humans sleep. She turned to neglect her duty and instead took up the role of dream guardian. However, she noticed some strange activity in those sleeping people, as if they were alive and dead at the same time. Domino wanted to rip out those nasty traces of life in sleepers, and just leave them with a calm night's rest. Little did she know it caused such devastating effects.

Carnegie
Gender: None Race: Magnets and magic

Biography:
An accident. That's what it seemed like. An experiment gone haywire. No one would suspect anything.

The dim room didn't allow much air or light inside, only a candle ate away the first and provided the second. Souls were lines up on a work bench, several more on the shelf. A paper doll laid before him, arms black with red thread, as it should be. The metal ball, eponymously dubbed Carnegie, stood in a centerpiece that might have held a globe at some point. The magic words laid so bare extreme precaution was taken to weigh the pages down, so nothing would embarrassingly flip.

The magician spun a circle around himself, to ensure everything could be set in motion. It exerted the man, trying to light the candle not with fire, but with magic, a purest essence of force that would create a forever burning, forever turning construct he would call his own. It would make him famous.

He remembered picking the trigram cautiously, almost poetically, so its goal would be strengthened by its meaning. Great Possession.

But during the incantation, something went wrong. He couldn't have seen the whirlwind coming. All the other trigrams he had hidden away slid under the closet doors, towards the metal lantern. Carnegie's death was horrible, painful, and delusional. Glory was not a fitting drive for experiments, and as such you could call his death a karmic cause.

But his spirit, his ego, lived on. His yearning and lust got converted into the one figurine that dealt the final cut. Ironically almost, it was his own: Great Possession.

Description:
Carnegie is a construct, consisting of a white, sleek, metal ball that served as container for a little tealight with a blue flame, and several pieces of paper flitting around it, attracted by its polarity. The paper figurines each have the same lay-out. They're stars, but flipped upside-down so they balance on one tip only. The other ends of the paper stars got flattened together, to create what you could see as two sets of arms. Just squint a little. The ends of these paper dolls are plastered in black ink, the same which was used to graft one of the many trigrams on their supposed faces. These trigrams not only serve as identification (we'll get into that later) but also serve a spiritual value. If you are killed by a trigram that corresponds with your ego's properties, you live on inside the construct, possessing that paper figurine. Red string is attached to the tips of their 'hands', as a harm-repelling charm Carnegie put on the monster himself.

In a certain sense, Carnegie doesn't think. All the spirits of those it has claimed pretty much cover that base, and even still it doesn't do more than one primal instict: kill.

Abilities:
Magnetic properties cause these figures to rapidly fly around the metal center, creating the effect of a whirling paper tornado, and flying crimson pocket lint. It'll be odd to stare at for the first few seconds, but once you notice it's edging towards you you'll stop staring and start trying to avoid death by paper cuts.

Dena:
Gender: Female Race: Human, although magical

Description:
Dena is a young woman, about nineteen years old, and a little small for her age with beautiful long blonde hair and eyes like the sky she likes to gaze at. She's always wearing a plain white gown, and at hot days (like the day she was plucked to the battle) a hat in the same colour, and a colourful necklace with blue and orange beads. Her face is by far the most amiable anyone could ever imagine, and she has the friendy and serene attitude expected of such a pure person. She isn't prone to fight at all. Now, why would anyone pick her to compete in a Grand Battle?

Abilities/Equipment:
As mentioned before, Dena is at peace with herself and the world. She stood out to the gods as the only one in her world to not grow tainted by seduction and wrath as her life progressed; instead, she was like a beacon of sincerity among the world filled with vile hate. The gods rewarded her for her virtue with two orbs, about the size of a golf ball, called Ataraxia and Hedone, respectively blue and orange. They are now part of Dena's necklace as well as the inspiration for it. If golf balls deserve a name, you know something must be up with them. These two words loosely translate to inperturbability and enjoyment. These two virtues she already had evolved when in possession of the orbs, and grew beyond human reach. Dena could use these two qualities and have them emanate to her environment. Depending on how calm or glad she is feeling at the moment, this could have the effect of people developing a gentler mindset when talking to her to having the surrounding spooky forest become the purest of woods as long as she's around.

Biography:
Dena lived a peaceful life up to now. Her first years, up to about year twelve, were indeed the kind of peaceful you would expect, always gleefully skipping around with her friends through idyllic meadows and fanciful avenues. Then, puberty usually kicks in. She herself didn't suffer all too harshly from it, but her friends however grew wilder, more violent, and wanted to live a more risky lifestyle. As did anyone: She soon found herself alone thanks to her far too cautious attitude and the fact she just wasn't any fun.

Soon, she turned to study how her attitude came to be. What made her so calm? Her search eventually lead her to the evolving group of neo-epicurists. And there she got rewarded for her pure life, with the magnificent necklace she now wears every day.

Alicia Devonshire:
Race: Human Gender: Female

Abilities:
Alicia has been diagnosed with SIS, which wtands for Seeping Imagination Syndrome. Basically, if she sees something as being something else, it becomes that. Take, for instance a cardboard box. A child's mind could easily turn this into a boat, racecar, hotel or anything else. Her SIS however comes with another symptom, in doctor's files referred to a SIS-Seclusion. Alicia is trapped in her own imaginative world and can't really see reality how it is. This also limits her consciously using her ability, but instead requires more on the situation to strike her fancy. Actual people won't change due to the effect of SIS, not can she change abstract objects like memories or benevolence.

Weapons/Equipment:
Alicia usually carries a wooden stick. You would be surprised what she can muster with that.

Description:
Alicia has a very gentle face with a look of complete nonunderstanding dotted with the brightest blue eyes and freckles on her nose.. She usually wears a sky-blue gown and white ballet slippers, and a white ribbon in her blonde hairs to top it off. This of course can change drastically because of SIS. She usually smiles and laughs and seems to have a good time playing make-believe, thought it's not pure happiness in her smile but moreso distress, hiding her true emotions.

Biography:
Alicia's SIS was supposedly triggered by either physical or psychological trauma due to being the only to survive a car crash, and therein losing both her parents. She does deny any evidence on the matter and usually says they're just stars in heaven who decided to put a star on earth for once. They possibly are. Her life has been very dull, living most of it in either a hospital or testing center, only meeting other kids who were different from the usual, not that she had a terrific grasp on the usual. They played, and the kids loved playing with her because she could always make things seem so real. They soon also took that away from here when a kid started telling mom that during his visit he rode a unicorn up the waterfall of tears, and now she spends most of her time in a solitary cell with a television. It was a very sad sight for a girl who loved playing outside so much.