Name: Harold War(br)inger
Age: 7 years.
Rank: Random wandering fortress-guest.
Powers: Resistance to most venom, extreme audacity
, disproportionate strength-to-body-size, mean claws and teeth and a voracious appetite coupled with a dominating odor.
Weapon: He's his own best weapon.
About a meter long and coloured as seen.
History AND Personality: Harold grew up in the small honey badger hamlet of Hovington, located somewhere in central-south Africa. He lived a pleasant life, killing snakes, babies, and pretty much whatever else he desired to eat and went on to sire a good litter of cubs to his wife, Bluebell War(br)inger.
One day, as he went about his business of being the most badass thing on the continent to support his wife and children, some jackarse poached him right up. A tormented, vengeful spirit, Harold was turned into a hollow honey badger. By some presumable event of Harold tearing the continuity a new one, he ended up in Los Noches, of all places. The spirit badger wandered many days before finally finding Buenas Noches, where he promptly tunneled under the wall and ate several stray fracciones before skittering off in search of a place to sleep off his heavy repast. Now he lurks in the chambers of the fortress.
But that is now, and to find out what happens next, we must study what happened before. Harold was born under an ill moon. This being the moon of an auspicious occurrence in the world of man. You see, Harold was not originally of Hovington in Africa, but he was a result of animal testing in a Japanese laboratory. Experiments in increasing animal consciousness and intelligence were performed upon the young cub, and for several years he was trained and grew into what one might call the end-creation: a mesh of honey badger with the intelligence of a man (and many other simian capabilities) as a texture to that unstoppable beast. Rising to two legs and seizing the lab technician come to feed him by the neck one morning, Harold drove his clawed hand straight through the man's sternum, grabbing his heart and ripping it from his chest. In the following cavalcade of explosions and structural failures, nobody can say what truly happened in that lab. All that is known is that it was the site of an animal research and testing firm in league with a pharmaceutical company, and that many died that day. A tragedy though it may have been, it was a tragedy quickly forgotten. Harold the honey badger turned himself in inconspicuously to sympathetic weaboo hippies living in the area, and was promptly mailed back to Africa with a smug grin on his weaselly face.
All was not well, though.
Even as he adapted to the life of his brethren and settled in to being a normally-badass honey badger, Harold was changed, different. His mind had witnessed records of history, had seen that man, not honey badger, ruled this small planet; and through many memories his mind had walked him. So traumatic were these that Harold sometimes even had flashbacks to the Vietnam and other wars --- which he had never even taken part in! And so his madness grew, not to detract from his badassery, but to slowly make Harold consider many things which did not relate to killing or eating to be hallucinations --- given his intelligence, it is debatable whether or not it was sometimes conveniently so, because one does like to imagine that the naggings of a spouse that is non-existent cannot truly be.
Strong of mind and strong of body, Harold is a dangerous beast, even as honey badger standards go. Watching the various television programs running on the television through the glass of his containment unit into the employee lounge down the hall gave him a rudimentary schooling in the skills of English, Japanese, karate, terror (built upon innate skill), war, human physiology, firearm knowledge, baking and interior decoration. With his unnatural intellect, Harold quickly developed these seeds of knowledge into a bloody dogma which, given the circumstances of some of the dead bodies found in the laboratory's wreckage, makes me shudder to think that this abhorrent beast once walked the earth. He is now dead and in Buenas Noches, filled with the delusions of PTSD, a frothing hatred of mankind and a sharp brain with which he will impale his enemies in wanton wrath.
May the gods have mercy upon their souls.