Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] SIGNUPS OPEN
02-08-2012, 12:07 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Protractor Ninja.
Username: Protractor Ninja
Name: James “Mighty” Henway
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Color: A rusty reddish brown color.
Description:
Items/Abilities:
Biography:
Writing Sample:
Username: Protractor Ninja
Name: James “Mighty” Henway
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Color: A rusty reddish brown color.
Description:
SpoilerShow
James Henway is not the type of person that stands out in a crowd. His hair, the most prominent part of his appearance, is a deep shade of brown about halfway between black and blonde, and its thick, wavy curls fall just below his ears. Muscular, but not blatantly so, the majority of Henway’s fighting prowess lies in his agility and vocal intimidation skills, allowing him to disrupt an enemy’s thought process (if any) and quickly strike.
As a regular user of the lighter breeds of armor, Henway generally wears a leather cuirass over a cotton shirt and pants, complemented by slightly reinforced boots and studded fingerless gloves for lending a bit of an edge to his physical attacks.
When not engaged in battle, James is generally amiable towards trusted friends, but sightly dim-witted and quick to see danger where none exists. He is especially willing to run into anything that looks like an opportunity to beat something to a bloody pulp.
As a regular user of the lighter breeds of armor, Henway generally wears a leather cuirass over a cotton shirt and pants, complemented by slightly reinforced boots and studded fingerless gloves for lending a bit of an edge to his physical attacks.
When not engaged in battle, James is generally amiable towards trusted friends, but sightly dim-witted and quick to see danger where none exists. He is especially willing to run into anything that looks like an opportunity to beat something to a bloody pulp.
SpoilerShow
One of James’s most cherished possessions is the Henway family heirloom, a Baggins’ Bags Belt of Holding™ purchased by Fitzgerald Henway during the Dragon Age. An upgrade from the more common Bag of Holding™, the belt consists of a system of trans-dimensional pouches that allow for nearly infinite storage capability, the only restriction being that the pockets’ capacities are limited to what can be stuffed into each individual opening.
Thanks to a lifetime of yelling at various creatures (and the occasional strength potion), Henway’s vocal cords have been strengthened to the point where he can mentally (and sometimes literally) disarm an opponent simply by being very, very loud.
Thanks to a lifetime of yelling at various creatures (and the occasional strength potion), Henway’s vocal cords have been strengthened to the point where he can mentally (and sometimes literally) disarm an opponent simply by being very, very loud.
SpoilerShow
Mighty Henway is currently the last in a long line of adventurers who have somehow managed to bear children before getting themselves killed. James’ father, Beauregard Henway, was once a rambunctious explorer but later settled down with his wife, Rosie Henway, in order to better raise his son. When James came of age,* he inherited the patriarchal nickname passed down through the family and became Mighty Henway.
* The Henway Coming of Age ritual is presented to a male heir to the Henway name every year following his second birthday, and a child is considered a man once he has been successfully able to down a bowl of strained peas. Francis Henway, James’ great-great-grandfather, celebrated his completion of the ritual at the age of 46.
Since his youth, Mighty Henway has proven himself many times over to be of the Henway heritage. He is quick to rush into danger without considering the potential consequences of his actions (though he is not totally ignorant of what may or may not be a trap), and he favors getting his point across very loudly. His strategy has proven to be ineffective on any being that is not intimidated easily, but he has resolved to circumvent that detail by training himself to yell louder than anything else can. His crowning achievement in this field was during the Great Cretaceous Time Schism, in which he successfully reduced a swarm of Velociraptors to a shivering pile of quantum phlegm.
* The Henway Coming of Age ritual is presented to a male heir to the Henway name every year following his second birthday, and a child is considered a man once he has been successfully able to down a bowl of strained peas. Francis Henway, James’ great-great-grandfather, celebrated his completion of the ritual at the age of 46.
Since his youth, Mighty Henway has proven himself many times over to be of the Henway heritage. He is quick to rush into danger without considering the potential consequences of his actions (though he is not totally ignorant of what may or may not be a trap), and he favors getting his point across very loudly. His strategy has proven to be ineffective on any being that is not intimidated easily, but he has resolved to circumvent that detail by training himself to yell louder than anything else can. His crowning achievement in this field was during the Great Cretaceous Time Schism, in which he successfully reduced a swarm of Velociraptors to a shivering pile of quantum phlegm.
SpoilerShow
Peas are very envious vegetables.
A particular troupe of these disgustingly unsalted monstrosities had, upon being ignored in favor of a smugly buttered ear of corn by a rather forgetful wizard (who couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d left a life serum on the table right next to the salad dressing), became so angry that they knocked over a bowl of cinnamon-pecan sweet potatoes, took the salt shaker hostage, and declared that they intended to render the entire kitchen useless until they were allowed to go be eaten at some “high-end, respectable place” where they would “finally be recognized as constructive to a meal.”
The wizard refused, claiming that the peas themselves were entitled to nothing more than a salt and buttering. As a stalemate emerged, spectators began to arrive, taking both sides and generally making the whole ordeal more troublesome for everybody. Lawyers were brought in and compromises were made, albeit not without considerable argument from both sides. The peas wanted appreciation, the civil rights enthusiasts wanted justice, the wizard wanted everyone out of his house, and the vegetarians wanted a snack.
Soon, however, the issue was resolved as a giant, most likely having just woken up from years of hibernation, lost his balance as he was putting on his trousers, fell, and crushed the house along with its occupants.
Mighty Henway woke up amidst anger, confusion, and a broken table.
“Urgh,” he said, and spat a shard of porcelain out of his bleeding mouth. “What happened?” He wondered why he felt like blaming whatever was happening on the overturned bowl of peas that lay next to him.
“You ruined dinner, you fool!” screeched a voice as Henway rubbed a globule of mashed potato out of his eye. A woman, dressed in red and covered with what looked like onion soup, leaned down and glared at him. “I told you we were going to have company today! And now you’ve destroyed my last set of fine china, too!”
Henway picked himself up and brushed more of the foodstuff that was covering his clothing. “Sorry, Lady Saturday. I’m certain I had a good reason for barging in like this, but I really can’t remember it at the moment. Something to do with soggy chestnuts.”
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! Water chestnuts! I thought I should warn you about the water chestnuts! They’ve been poisoned by the new chef, you know.”
Several of the guests turned green.
“I guess I should go find a doctor, then. I’ll be back soon!”
A smashed window later, Henway was gone, leaving a scene just short of complete pandemonium in his wake. Lady Saturday was trying to figure out whether she should break down in tears or try to find out how much it would cost to repair the brand new hole in the roof, and a good number of people in the room were either panicking or deciding if they should trust the seemingly deranged man who had just informed them that they were probably going to either die or become very ill very soon.
In short, it was the best dinner party Henway had ever been to.
A particular troupe of these disgustingly unsalted monstrosities had, upon being ignored in favor of a smugly buttered ear of corn by a rather forgetful wizard (who couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d left a life serum on the table right next to the salad dressing), became so angry that they knocked over a bowl of cinnamon-pecan sweet potatoes, took the salt shaker hostage, and declared that they intended to render the entire kitchen useless until they were allowed to go be eaten at some “high-end, respectable place” where they would “finally be recognized as constructive to a meal.”
The wizard refused, claiming that the peas themselves were entitled to nothing more than a salt and buttering. As a stalemate emerged, spectators began to arrive, taking both sides and generally making the whole ordeal more troublesome for everybody. Lawyers were brought in and compromises were made, albeit not without considerable argument from both sides. The peas wanted appreciation, the civil rights enthusiasts wanted justice, the wizard wanted everyone out of his house, and the vegetarians wanted a snack.
Soon, however, the issue was resolved as a giant, most likely having just woken up from years of hibernation, lost his balance as he was putting on his trousers, fell, and crushed the house along with its occupants.
Mighty Henway woke up amidst anger, confusion, and a broken table.
“Urgh,” he said, and spat a shard of porcelain out of his bleeding mouth. “What happened?” He wondered why he felt like blaming whatever was happening on the overturned bowl of peas that lay next to him.
“You ruined dinner, you fool!” screeched a voice as Henway rubbed a globule of mashed potato out of his eye. A woman, dressed in red and covered with what looked like onion soup, leaned down and glared at him. “I told you we were going to have company today! And now you’ve destroyed my last set of fine china, too!”
Henway picked himself up and brushed more of the foodstuff that was covering his clothing. “Sorry, Lady Saturday. I’m certain I had a good reason for barging in like this, but I really can’t remember it at the moment. Something to do with soggy chestnuts.”
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! Water chestnuts! I thought I should warn you about the water chestnuts! They’ve been poisoned by the new chef, you know.”
Several of the guests turned green.
“I guess I should go find a doctor, then. I’ll be back soon!”
A smashed window later, Henway was gone, leaving a scene just short of complete pandemonium in his wake. Lady Saturday was trying to figure out whether she should break down in tears or try to find out how much it would cost to repair the brand new hole in the roof, and a good number of people in the room were either panicking or deciding if they should trust the seemingly deranged man who had just informed them that they were probably going to either die or become very ill very soon.
In short, it was the best dinner party Henway had ever been to.