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Dr. Morouee lived in a world between the lines of reality and impossibility, skipping upon the precipice of grotesque travesties, full of forbidden knowledge and anatomical sciences. In the world of his scientific peers, where every day is blasphemous as new genetic creations are forged by the wills and hands of mankind, Dr. Morouee had taken it too far. He was a Monster, even to the creators of monsters and he relished the loathing which was heaped upon him by his envious neighbors. Dr. Morouee had never taken the time to introduce his colleagues to his processes, which involved summoning creatures from beyond the veil of reality and using their abstract genetic material to craft his monsters, but he enjoyed to swim in the torrent of their envy. It seared his flesh like a flaming whip and marked him a pariah amongst the scientific councils of the Globe, scarred against a reputation which he had earned in brutality and experimentation and which kept his body in a peak physical health despite his advancing age. The miracles he was able to perform on himself and his creations were unable to be explained by conventional scientific means which made his peers determine that they were conceived in the magical realm of fantasy. Little did these individuals understand about the power and magnitude of the field of science that Dr. Morouee pioneered and never would they grasp onto the implications of the possible applications contained within that field. It was to be a marvelous day when Sylvanious T. Morouee revealed the processes by which he had attained his machinations, if ever he did decide to pass on his vast knowledge of his field of Theorized Genetics. But this was to be saved for another day, another time.

The Doctor was a stately figure, tall and lean, replete with a full head of dark chestnut hair, a finely manicured beard and mustache and a deep set of eyes which glimmered with a faint iridescent sheen over top the primary shade of black. The features of the elderly man, while average by means of beauty, were captivating for attaining a theme of predatory bird as told by the sharp hooked nose and wide mouth with thin pale lips. He was lightly tanned and almost always clad in a long black coat which could be described as akin to a lab coat, decorated with fine filigree and arcane symbols which were usually beyond the comprehension of the other Scientists who favored the solidified over the esoteric. The decorations shimmered faintly in a light azure hue. To round out the accoutrements of his attire, heavy black boots which resounded with a deep thud upon ever step were always fastened tightly around his feet. Behind him were his creations, pulsating and slithering in a manner most unfitting the civility of human kind. A nightmarish mass of writhing tentacles of noxious ichor, with a distended maw which seemed to never stop spreading in size and with no end. Besides the bulk of the Titan Class creation was one of a size comparable to the Good Doctor and of a more definite shape, although one which could only be categorized as half human in its nature. The “Head” of the beast was a massive tentacle which flexed with muscles unseen and strength unmeasured. Three arms jutted from the body like a debased caricature, each tensing and bending at angles impossible for the anatomy of the homo- sapian. Like a Royal Guard in Hell’s Court, these three beings moved through the Laboratory portion of the massive Arena building, those unnerving black eyes scanning the usual faces of the Scientists who he’s been battling in this Games for years, who acknowledged the best of them with a slight incline of his head.