Luchador Name: Warlord Mars

Luchador Nicknames: Bringer of War

Height: 6 feet 6 inches

Weight: 464 pounds

Hometown: Molvanîa 40,000 AD

Gimmick / Persona:

Having somehow traveled from the grim darkness of the far future, Mars brings with him a stark warning of impending doom.

In his time, the world as we know it has ended, and humanity is on the brink. In a post-apocalyptic, irradiated Earth, Man is beset on all sides by hostile forces. Against the backdrop of societal collapse, it’s every man for himself - dog eat dog.

The scarred, battle-damaged Warlord has a cynical demeanour and a nihilistic outlook. He fronts with a loud, uber-macho bravado and sarcastic sense of humour.
He’s had to scratch and claw every day just to survive. His black heart has never felt love. He can’t afford to show mercy, lest he be stabbed in the back. He’s the last of us, and he’s the worst of us.

Why, then, has this wasteland wanderer darkened the doorway of The Temple? Claiming to possess intel which points to it as the origin of all Man’s future woes, he seeks to understand just what went wrong, and why…

Mars is an amalgam of Immortan Joe from Mad Max Fury Road, Urdnot Wrex from Mass Effect, and Marcus Fenix from Gears of War. His presentation is a bastard hybrid of Borderlands, Fallout, and Warhammer.

Catchphrase: “This… Is… WAAARRR!!!”

Moveset & Wrestling Style: Powerhouse brawler. Basic-bitch stuff below, but feel free to use anything that has him ragdolling mofos like the hoss he is.

• Belly-to-belly suplex
• Chokeslam
• Corner hip attack
• Corner splash
• Discus clothesline
• German suplex
• Lariat
• Leg drop
• Military press
• Powerbomb
• Running senton
• Running splash
• Samoan drop
• Short-arm clothesline
• Sidewalk slam
• Stalling suplex

Finishing Move:

War Machine - Torture rack into Argentine powerbomb

Signature Moves:

Warhead - KO headbutt, standing/running/diving, often sets up for the War Machine

War Crime - Moonsault (KIWF)

Taunts/gestures: Bicep flexes, chest beating, Brock Lesnar voice-cracking war cries - any macho bullshit.

Entrance Song Title: March of the Iron Sovereign

Ring Entrance: Orange lights flicker and pulse like muzzle flashes and fire in a war zone. Dry ice fills the stage like smoke and dust from an explosion. Militaristic, rousing orchestral music heralds the arrival of Warlord Mars. The caped behemoth of a man cuts an imposing silhouette as he marches to the ring - his own personal battlefield.

Backstory: Little is known of Warlord Mars. He emerged from the future Wartorn Wastelands - a beach in Molvanîa, as it happens - with smoke coming out of his nostrils like a dragon. He fights under his own banner and follows no man or god. He doesn't fight for love or hate. He's not here to make friends; he's not here to make money. Fighting for survival is all he's ever known, and he'll go down swinging. In his mind, dying in the ring would be an honourable death.