Sombrero

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

I may be misremembering, but I'm pretty sure there've been a few royal rumble matches (Or ones of similar concept and structure) off-WWE, which didn't seem to be about belt qualifiers, but were just big things that they threw because they had a bunch of big names willing to do the show but no real plotlines or matchups to work them into. Then again, I don't think I remember seeing any episodes that happened directly after those matches, so I could be wrong and their only purpose could legitimately be for special event qualifiers. I figured they'd be something that happens whenever a lot of wrestlers are disagreeing on one particular issue, and/or Managantamos has a lot of extras lesser-known, Non-Filibusters that he wants to promote alongside his new, biggest show and increase his viewership.

Speaking of Non-Filibusters, I'm really wondering what FF was called before it was Filibuster now, especially considering Bustermania was already a thing, but maybe that's just the generic term. I can edit it to something different later. Bustermania itself is definitely a big tournament, sort of, with the entrants every Universal Spaceyear being determined by the amount of confirmed wins they have overall (if it is a very big federation, which Earth is not.) The best in a federation would be awarded the Federation Championship, and various Federation Champions are pitted against the champions of other galaxies in a similar manner for the Universal Championship. Assuming Earth is among the only noticably inhabitted planets in its galaxy, Alien travellers probably come to Filibuster and other remote federations all the time for an easier/shorter path to the Intergalactic Title stage when they can make the trip.

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

It's your standard regional/match type championship setup. I'm thinking authority gained would go in this sort of hierarchy.

[Insert home nation/region] Champion holds more authority than that of a regular wrestler in a given region. Always has more authority than someone who has thus far never had a belt before. We may not get into this, because very few of our wrestlers are actually from the same place, and we mostly operate at the central arena anyway.

International Champion has power over Regional champion, because it applies to all terrestrial regions.

Tag-Team Champions would beat out International, because it applies to the match type itself and not the regions of the planet. Therefore, they hold authority as some of the top match-type contenders in existence, not on the planet.

Hardcore Champion/Royal Rumble Champion beats out Tag-Team, because it's the same achievement but not split between people.

Bustermania Champion beats out all others, because it means you've beaten (Or, by proxy beaten) all the other wrestlers in the federation, in the same way that being the Arena Champion in Oblivion makes you responsible for thousands of deaths.

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

I was actually thinking land/offices could be divvied up by belts, if we get to the point where laws and policies can be made independently of the constitution, but that's up to you guys, primarily.

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

Dennis was eager to approach once his bowl was filled with spaghetti. Since all the boring stuff was likely taken care of by the two official-looking people before him, now was definitely the time to declare himself Supreme Ruler of a large city and get himself that party bus. But what he saw was not the bland, unintrusive governing document he expected. In fact, once he parsed the ancient English in front of him, his surprise and horror had caused him to inadvertantly spit sauce and noodles on himself and the edges of the paper.

"WHAT THE SHIT!? No gentleman's clubs!? Curfew!? Mandatory clothing!? This is not a nation! This is a prison with poorly-made walls!" His skull face remained still, except for the slight movements of his jaw. From the tongues he was growling in, he must have been frowning. His voice was much different when he spoke again, "WHO WROTE THIS UTTER SMUT!?"

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

NPC Wrestlers:

When the wrestleocracy is compromised by bureaucracy and out-of-the-ring regulation, the Lord of the Arena will be very displeased.

Name: Managantamos, Lord of the Arena

Age: 5,000 Staryears

Sex: Zygomycete. Has a deep voice and therefore uses male pronouns.

Weight Class: Featherweight to Super Heavyweight

Appearance: He varies wildly in size depending on what stage of growth that particular instance of Managantamos is in. In the ring, he tends to be much larger, but when times are desperate and he’s running out of cuttings, he may resort to using smaller clones. He has been known to hold heights from 4 feet to 15 feet, usually middling at around 6 foot 4. He is almost always a heavily “muscled” creature made from dense, tough fibrous tissues and hard minerals resembling a plated skeleton. His head, if one could call it that, is heavily sinewed and almost absorbed by his neck, which curves into a flat, noseless face and a flappy mouth that, despite its impractical appearance, easily projects an articulate and booming voice.

Some might say he looks like a bluish-greenish Brock Lesnar was spliced into a sock puppet version of the Dark Souls Mushrooms. Those who say it out loud don’t usually live.

Martial Background/Pregame history: In a world where hyperintelligent fungi battle endlessly for supremacy and survival, one in particular shone out in history as the most particularly dangerous. Where most bodies would grapple with subterranean mycelium and use their chemicals to control and devour the plants and animals around them, one in particular bested them all with a new technique. Bodies, primarily, were mushrooms rooted to the ground, and entered combat only to defend themselves from predators while breeding.

This nameless fungi had a much different approach. Instead, he purposefully uprooted his scions, trained them incessantly and externally digested animal, mineral, and vegetable alike until he had amassed a large mobile force able to seed the space left behind by dead foes with his own spores. Soon, half of the sentient fungus on the planet was, in truth, a martial hivemind that they called Managantamos: The Grand High Martial Manager. Developing multiple four-limbed and five-limbed combat methods based on his own experience and the martial arts of various alien colonists on his planet, he became a true force to be reckoned with. Every mycelium network and living creature bowed themselves before Managantamos.

Soon, he built ships, and sent his scions off to other planets to provide him with more information, more bloody entertainment, and more territory. His processing power grew to unimaginable proportions as entire planets became netted in his nueral mycelium, and Managatamos obtained power beyond power. The ability to make life forms anomalously durable, and construct combat arenas with his very mind… Thankfully, most versions of Managantamos try to be responsible with their wrestling entertainment companies, leaving only smaller, less populated solar systems to be “Fuck it, I’m bored” places with… Lax restrictions. Sadly, Earth seems to be the only 7.5 billion a sea of dead planets. While earth itself is technically as highly populated with intelligent life as most of the planets in the various systems Managantamos visits, the population to available solar system is incredibly low, making Earth, technically, a No-Disqualification Zone for Managantamos Wrestling...

Signature Move:

Ottoman Slam: He jumps forward and slams his heavy palm into the side of his opponent’s head, then continues pushing as he falls down and slams them into the mat. If he is exceptionally large at the time, he may simply slap his opponent first, before pulling the person down as he drops on his knees to slam them. If he is exceptionally small, he may use the ropes as a springing off point to get on the same level as his opponent’s head.

Finisher:

The Overlord: When he’s larger than his opponent is, he’ll grab both of their legs and pull them up so they fall onto their shoulders, step onto the opponent’s arms, and then just pull until the opponent taps or something breaks… Or, since the shoulders are technically on the ground, until the Ref counts him out. If he’s drastically bigger, he’ll carry the shins horizontally under his arms and lock them, to strengthen the grip.

The Underlord: When he’s smaller than his opponent, he’ll charge them to the ground and pull them up in a similar fashion, but by holding the torso or mid thighs and stepping on their neck. He’ll then pull until pin, injury, or submission. If he’s drastically smaller, he’ll curl his foe’s body by pulling the legs over his head and shoulders, and pull down, using them as leverage to increase pressure on the neck.

Favorite Weapon: He enjoys literally beating his foes with his own prestige. Be it his scepter, a suitcase full of money, his own championship belts, or artifacts and logos of older wrestling entertainment companies that buckled and bankrupted under the competition of his own Arena.

Heel/Face: He’s usually a moderate face. Moderate. He has his fair share of genuine fans, but generally takes a backseat to many of the bigger personalities. His portrayal is often very gray and morally ambiguous, similar to how ruling dynasties are treated in Wuxia entertainment.

Theme/Entrance Music: I’LL HIT YOU LIKE A TON OF BRICKS!

When solutions are unorthodox and/or lacking common sense and decency, the people turn to their hero… WIP

Name: Maximillian Punchley

Age: 43

Sex: Male

Weight Class: Heavyweight

Appearance:

Martial Background: (How, where, and in what were they trained?)

Signature Move: (Like a Finisher, but not quite so powerful. Can be used often for quick ass-whupping.)

Finisher: (Ultimate supermove.)

Favorite Weapon:

Heel/Face: (Are we supposed to like them for their noble qualities, or their amusingly dickish ones?)

Pre-Game history: (How did they meet Managantamos? When did they sign onto the Filibuster Federation?)

Theme/Entrance Music: This choice of music probably pisses off a lot of dead people…

When traditional law and justice lacks opposition… There is one man willing to stand in the way!

Name: Dennis "The Unnamable Garbler of Gods and Flesh" Quaid

Age: 122, biologically. Predating humanity, spiritually

Sex: Male. May be ‘doubly equipped’ if the aspects of The Garbled One translate to flesh avatars.

Appearance: Standing at a full 7 feet, (Including the horns) not an inch higher or lower, Dennis is a beast rippling with muscles and bright red scars. His face is presumably always contorted into an expression of hate and malice, but that's rather difficult to tell, because his head is a desert bighorner skull. This makes it a perpetual goofy grin of hate and malice, which naturally makes it twice as dangerous.

His glistening and terrible form is marked with a multitude of scars that glow red with the sulphurous blood pulsing and writhing beneath them, and also suggest that he'd been mauled by countless large animals during his time in The Pit, and very few armed humans. This is of no real surprise to anyone that's shared his presence, because after washing off the overtones of gore and brimstone, he really does smell like a sheep...

He dons a kilt of various human and animal skins, as well as your standard boots, rubber elbow and knee pads, and fingerless gloves. It's sort of clashing with the whole "Demonic" image to wear modern sports accessories alongside that... Thing, but go tell the guy with no skin on his face and tanned faces on his kilt to change his look.

Martial Background: It's generally believed that Dennis Quaid fought in both world wars before going mad, possibly from lead poisoning. It's generally believed that whatever has distorted the body of Dennis Quaid after his brief stint in Hell fought in all four crusades before an exorcist banished him to the depths. Whatever style Dennis uses today varies. It shows the common signs of animalistic and informal training, but every once in awhile, the wrestling and boxing common among sporty World War Two soldiers shows itself, as do some of the historical techniques of knights, depending on whatever foreign object he's got ahold of.

Signature Move: A Gory Special (Sometimes literally, mostly just named after the man.) submission hold, usually initiated by ducking down and ramming the target hard enough to flip them over onto his back. Foes that feel like they're about to kick out instead of hold on cooperatively may instead be thrown by the arms, or whatever limbs are on top.

Finisher: With his free hand, he'll grab someone with whatever available hand and hoist them as high as a christmas goose, throttling their neck. And then toss them up and twist them around to smash them over his knee. A chokeslam backbreaker, in essence.

Favorite Weapon: Anything wrapped in razorwire. He loves razorwire. In fact, legend has it that his gimmick during his human wrestling days was razorwire. He'd wrap himself in it, wrap weapons in it, garrote people with it, ball it up and eat it. Really, there was nothing he wouldn't do with it. Cultington was the only place willing to offer him an insurance policy.

Heel/Face: Heel

Pre-Game history: Dennis Quaid was born in Switzerland in the summer of 1896. He grew up hairy and belligerent, like most members of the Quaid family, which was why it was particularly dissappointing when The Big War happened and Switzerland didn't get involved. The weeks that followed were unbearable to Dennis. He read the news, and watched over the mountains forlornly. It felt like everyone in the world got to go to war except him. And they resented it too, the ungrateful bastards! He emigrated to Belgium in the August of 1914 and enlisted under a false name: Dade Quennis.

"Dade Quennis" was later apprehended for illegal immigration practices and fraud and sentenced to prison for much of the 20s, but that didn't stop him from escaping and joining the French Foreign legion when he heard that War was starting again. They were too busy screening some of the German recruits to bother with this French-Speaker, and so in France he stayed for most of World War II. Until he started failing cognitive tests and psych evaluations. He had lead balls in places that couldn't easily be removed, and it sure was taking its toll on his brain. Pursued by visions, he somehow made it onto the "Underground Entertainment" scene and was regularly crossing seas and oceans to beat people half to death with hard and/or pointy things. His reputation for having seriously harmed and/or murdered people under the legal sanction of carefully worded international waivers earned him the attention of the Esoteric Order of Echog Disemboweler, a backwoods society of "Alternative Pagans" who worshipped what authorities call "VAHTs". (Vaguely Abrahmic Hell Things.) By the power of a blood ritual cleverly disguised as a literal pro wrestling deathmatch, the ring fell open and became a pit into The Lake of Lost Eyeballs, where he drowned for several years before meeting, and subsequently having his mind and body devoured by, a highly esteemed member of the cult's pantheon.

After battling his way out of hell at the prayers of the cultists and developing a legendary on and offscreen rivalry with fellow wrestler Maximillian Punchley, he was practically destined for a career in the ring. With virtually no properly televised grudge matches between Max and Dennis by the available wrestling franchises, Managantamos elected to capitalise on the drama by signing them both in as official Filibuster Federation Superstars. They’ve killed each other twice since then...

Theme/Entrance Music: Bloody Metal Elephant Revenge Anthem - Slash and Myles Kennedy

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

One could propose their constitution, but only one will be left standing in the end. One may also propose alterations/additions to the current constitution(s).

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

Also, @Zero Hex if I said it didn't bring me pride to say you're free to whisker your sheet into the IC, I'd be lion. Sorry I didn't Mufasa.

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

I have grappled with this gorgon of 1s and 0s for countless hours. I have endured documents with the typing rate of powerpoint slideshows. There have been browsers that crashed after copy-pastes and if I counted how many times both internet and machine had to be turned off and then on again, the IC would not have arrived for another day at least.

It was a hard-fought battle. An undertaking not to be taken lightly. My eyes have seen more than their fair share of tears, my hands have been washed in the blood of all guilty parties, and there were more than a few run-ins with violent, lascivious clowns that I would like to put out of my memory... But it is done now.

My decades-old Toshiba office laptop shows all the signs of a lucid period between visceral fever dreams. Activity should be happening more regularly now.

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

"So, you mean, I could mandate that the peasants build me a party bus with a bar, some stripper poles, and a cow-catcher covered in rebar spears?" Dennis The Unnamable Garbler said, imagining all the possibilities.

Maximillian frowned, as he usually did whenever Dennis said something, "Nay, that isn't at all what I said! I was trying to explain that-"

"That we should set some of our smarter guys aside as wrestlers and make them rulers, yeah, I get it. That's the best idea you've ever had, and I'm flattered by the invitation. I'm gonna go propose the issue right to the big man himself!"

"You goat-fouling scoundrel! If you speak any of your false words to Managantamos about this, I'll thrash you proper for each one!"

Managantamos sighed and set his weights down in front of the door to his office. He was sick and tired of the press asking him what he was going to do with all the humans' silly land. As he always said to the civilisations he destroyed before "It's your planet, it's your problem". Anyone genuinely concerned about the well-being of their planet would either stop buying tickets, or elect to host the events somewhere that is decidedly not an important government building. But alas, it happened on Earth, as it had happened at least twice before this, and so he had piled up his barbells before the door to make sure nobody could open it and complain about the moral implications of an occupying army of professional wrestling. Nothing so puny and incessant as a political journalist was going to move that door, or look through that window, until he was ready to let them in. He was in his private sanctum now, able to view the televised events in peace. Finally.

He turned on the night's smackdown and pulled a juicy steak of some description out of his food printer. Casually tossing the raw meat in his maw, he spread an intricate, burrowing net of mycelium over the meat with his tongue and began absorbing the steam of enzymes and fleshy chemicals as the meat boiled and slowly turned to jerky in his mouth. Mm, this was better than that Space Octopus that he'd ripped apart in the ring during the Winter Holiday Slam. Now that was a show.

Suddenly, he heard one of his wrestlers knocking on the door. He could tell it was one of his wrestlers, not because of the distinct sound of the knocking, but rather because, after the initial knock, the doorknob turned and the heap of osmium exercise equipment shifted and scraped along the floor to make way for the massive force behind the door. The goatheaded bastard and his mustachioed sworn enemy were walking in, both seemed to have completely different things to say.

"Look, this may be a little odd at first, but there'll be hooker busses, so it'll be all worth it!"

"YOU ONLY WANTED BURLESQUE DANCERS THE FIRST TIME! IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME I HEAR IT!"

"Look, Max, when you present it to The Lord of the Arena, you gotta sweeten the deal a little!... Besides, who eats strippers? Doesn't taste right without the local venereal diseases." The Demonic abomination turned back to Managantamos, "Ain't that right, big man?"

"MANAGANTAMOS DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU REQUEST OF HIM. MANAGANTAMOS WOULD LIKE TO EAT HIS DINNER IN PEACE." Managantamos boomed, with a perturbed expression. It was a rare moment that Managantamos didn't boom with a perturbed expression, so that hardly demoralized his regulars.

"What I was thinking originally, my good man," Maximillian said, shoving Dennis aside, "Was that, since the local governments have gone belly up during that whole ghastly 'Bustermania' ordeal, we could, perchance, take up the responsibility of nationstate governers until they've rebuilt themselves. You know, keeping society and decent living from utterly collapsing in the wake of our destruction and all that."

"OR," Said Dennis, contemplatively, "Or, we could, y'know, not do that, but still take power for ourselves and have orgy busses with booze that also spear pedestrians."

"MANAGANTAMOS FAILS TO SEE HOW ANY OF THIS CONTRIBUTES TO HIS ENTERTAINMENT." Managantamos boomed, increasingly dissappointed.

"I believe we could record our parliamentary sessions! Debating, voting, passing the jolly old legislation! Good, wholesome entertainment for once! What say you, old bean?" Maximilian smiled.

"MANAGANTAMOS BELIEVES THAT IT IS AN ABOVE-AVERAGE CONCEPT. HUMANS WILL SURELY BUY TICKETS WHEN THE MATCH DETERMINES THEIR VERY FATE."

That smile quickly faded back beneath Max's mustache, "Well, you see, that wasn't exactly what I had planned..."

"MANAGANTAMOS KNEW EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE PLANNING, AND IT WAS BORING. MANAGANTAMOS WILL APPROVE ONLY OF A WRESTLEOCRACY, AND NOTHING LESS!"

And that was why the top superstars of the Federation were gathered backstage days later, presiding over a piece of paper that was mostly blank, except for the 6 in-the-ring tenets of the original federation.

"GOOD MORNING WRESTLERS. YOU ARE ALL SELECTED SHEERLY BECAUSE MANAGANTAMOS THINKS YOU ARE THE MOST POLITICAL, AND ALSO POTENTIALLY THE MOST VIOLENT. YOU ALL HAVE ONE TASK AHEAD OF YOU, MORE OR LESS. TO WRITE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE NEW UNITED NATIONSTATE OF THE FILIBUSTER FEDERATION." Managantamos roared into the boom mic, the nearby mixing crew shrinking back in fear, "AS ARENALORD, WHAT MANAGANTAMOS SAYS IS THE FINAL WORD... BUT FROM THIS POINT, AS ALWAYS, IT EXTENDS STRICTLY TO COMPANY POLICY. MANAGANTAMOS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO LAY DOWN INEFFABLE, UNAMENDABLE RULE ABOVE ALL OTHER THINGS IN THE CONSTITUTION. NAMELY THIS ONE: THE WINNER OF THE RING WINS THE ARGUMENT, AND THEREFORE PASSES WHATEVER THEY WANT RELATING TO IT. THIS, HENCEFORTH, IS HOW GOVERNMENT POLICY SHALL BE HANDLED. ARE WE CLEAR!?"

There was a moment of silence as the cameramen in front of, or rather, below him carefully wiped penicillin saliva off of their lenses.

"AS FAR AS EVERYTHING ELSE GOES... YOU ARE FREE TO LIVE AND DECIDE AS YOU PLEASE. FIX THIS LANDMASS, OR DO NOT. IT DOES NOT MATTER, MANAGANTAMOS DEMANDS ONLY DRAMA AND BLOODSHED. THE ETHOS OF THE HALLOWED ARENA. NOW GO FORTH. WRITE ALL THE CONSTITUTION YOU CAN. THERE IS PASTA AND CHILI IN THE SLOW COOKERS BEHIND YOU FOR SUSTAINING PURPOSES. PROVIDE THE CROWDS WITH AS MUCH ENTERTAINMENT AND LEGISLATURE AS POSSIBLE. YOU WILL BE REWARDED WITH GLORY AND LUNCH, THAT MUCH IS CERTAIN. MANAGANTAMOS WILL BE LEAVING NOW. THERE IS A LADDER MATCH AMONG NEWCOMERS TO PRESIDE OVER. GOOD LUCK, AND DO NOT BE STUPID."

With his usual parting words, the psychic fungus lumbered its way out of the backroom and into the parking lot. The Wrestlers of the Filibuster Federation sure had their work cut out for them...

FILIBUSTER FEDERATION

Did I say the IC would arrive shortly? I'm sorry about that, what I meant to say was, "Someone's going to zap my modem with the Allspark, and it'll transform into a useless piece of shit for 12 hours."