Bloodhound

“

Ain't nothin' but a hound dog.

”

http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c192/sniping101/Coloure_Thug_Concept_by_MKraszewski.jpg Moelik Hond
Military Information
Callsign	Bloodhound
Rank	Private
Squad	Jester
Division	Army
Biographical Information
Age	23
Species	Human/Chiss
Gender	Male
Height	6'1"
Weight	185
Hair Color	black, ear length
Facial Hair	unshaven or clean cut
Eye Color	Red(glowy)
Personal Information
Affiliation	Himself

 

He Remembers

Bloodhound's, Moelik Hond's, first few years are obscured in the mists of early memory, that primordial time in ones life before memory begins. There is no one to enlighten him, there are only the faint scraps of memory that can be pieced together through the difficult task of concentration and relaxation. These early memories are rooms at first, dark and dank duracrete walls. Dirty blankets, stained carpet, playing with pieces of glass. The swift hand of his father is there, maybe his voice, maybe just the beating. What is memory and dream overlaps in these years.

His earliest coherent memories are of school, school in the slums of Coronet, capital of Corellia. Faded desks and image displays, worn out holos that would short at the faintest breeze. Tired teachers, tired and sometimes scared. He remembers once a kid a grade below him brought a blaster to school, the kid holed up in the bathroom crying until he accidentally shot himself. He remembers a yellow backpack. There are memories of going home. He remembers dreading it. Daydreaming in school. Dreaming of never going home. He remembers crying. He remembers beatings. He remembers beating weaker kids at school. Bloodhound remembers packing. He doesn't remember leaving, but he remembers another beating. He remembers crying in the gutter. He remembers the backpack broken, his few belongings strewn everywhere. He remembers the police beating him. He never knew why. He remembers calling to Gods, he remembers crying to The Stars. He remembers asking the police for help. He remembers them taking him back to his father. He remembers the beating.

He remembers the crime. Crime everywhere. He didn't know there was life without. He remembers an alley, dark and dank and smelling of the dirty deed. He remembers the dead prostitute, her clothes ripped. Her body used. Her companions blaster. He remembers the feel of the hold out. He remembers the feel of the trigger. He remembers his seventh birthday. He remembers his fathers expression. He remembers pulling the trigger.

Bloodhound remembers the feeling. The belief that if he could kill one man, he could kill any man. Bloodhound remembers when fear ended. He remembers running. He remembers freedom. He remembers that first night, dark and full of mystery, but no fear.

The Beginning

Moelik spent that first night of his life sleeping beside a garbage dump. The following years he lived by himself. He lived on the streets in the outskirts of the city or in the city slums. He developed a quick hand and tough body. Living only on what he could steal from smaller children or what he could steal from shops. It wasn't much of a life, but he kept that blaster in his coat pocket, and he used it a few more times. Always for his own ends, usually to threaten other children. He didn't have the fear of pulling the trigger most have, he had already thrown that away.

He tried to learn to shoot from holovids he remembered from his fathers house or he caught glimpses of, they didn't help very much. He practiced shooting on old cans and bottles around warehouses. He tried to kill a stray for food once, but with no idea how to cook it he just made himself sick.

The Mountain Dogs:

At age twelve Moelik Hond fell in with a group of other homeless youths his age. All were homeless for different reasons, Scaggs, a green twi'lek male had run away; Rotten was a half-Iridoian who had already gotten a facial scar, Bibbi was a full blooded human, but he had been left homeless when his refugee parents' transport had wrecked. Bibbi was popular, he got a check from the transport company every month, a steady income. They instantly accepted Moelik, it was the first time some one had, his red eyes had put most people off. He reveled in the sudden feeling of acceptance.

The group still wandered listlessly around the slums, finally claiming an alleyway for their own. For money they often charged a fee for people to pass. They beat up the homeless for the fun of it, taking their liquor or drugs if they had any. Moelik stole himself a jacket two sizes too large. Breaking things for little or no reason was another favorite hobby of theirs, as was robbing stores. Moelik Hond started smoking.

They called themselves The Mountain Dogs (Not that any of them had ever seen a mountain) and many nights they could be heard on the rooftops, howling at the moon.

As they grew older their crimes grew aside them. They'd often sneak into wealthier neighborhoods to cause chaos, assault homeowners, break into houses and steal speeders. When Hond was fifteen he started working part time at an old swoop shop. The shop didn't see very much business and Hond didn't do very much work. He also didn't get paid very much, but his employer; a rodian with a name no one could pronounce, would often pay him in alcohol and help them fence stolen goods. They just called him "Booku".

Booku had lived in, around and among gangs his entire life. He helped the gang in many ways and the whole group looked up to and admired him. It was in a great part his insight that led them to an abandoned warehouse that they eventually made their own. This warehouse became the center of their rather petty circle of crime. They sold drugs there, usually stuff they bought from Booku or stole from the junkies they robbed. The warehouse was often used for drug and alcohol ridden parties and the days slid into obscurity. Bibbi overdosed not long after they found the warehouse.

Hond spent most of his time wandering the streets, looking for someone to beat up or something to steal, anything he called "action". Moelik Hond had developed a taste for adrenaline and had developed himself into the muscle of the group, he was also the only one that owned a blaster. It was just an underpowered Power5 he'd gotten from Booku one week when the rodian hadn't been able to pay him, but Bloodhound kept it tucked in the waist band of his pants, where all could see. During this time he never bothered to hide his red eyes, enjoying their effect on people immensely. He even dyed the tips of his hair red and would spike the chaotic mess straight back to give himself an even more deranged presence.

Up to his seventeenth year Moelik Hond spent time in and out of jail for his various crimes, but it never bothered him, in a way it had become part of the routine. It was only a few months after his seventeenth birthday, however, when that changed. He had gotten released from three months behind bars for possession of spice when he returned to the warehouse to find Scagg full of blaster holes and everything of value cleared from the building.

Planet-To-Planet:

With his friends all dead or missing Bloodhound had nothing left tying him to Coronet and so he bought a pair of sunglasses and a ticket off-world. To this day he doesn't remember the name of the next planet he went to, only that he did not like it.

He ended up on a clean and orderly world, everything shined, the only benefit being that no one asked why he wore sunglasses. On this world it was even bright at night, the city being lit from end to end by bright streetlights. Bloodhound tried to ply his trade there, accosting strangers and breaking into homes, but too many run ins with the police meant he was gone in a fortnight. Stealing a handful of credits from an elderly couple got him just enough money for a ticket somewhere else, somewhere he had only heard of in stories whispered of in the dim lights of cantinas and Booku's greasy shop.

-Mos Eisley-

Bloodhound found himself up against a different breed of criminal on Tatooine. It wasn't that he couldn't ply his trade on this world, it was simply that the field was overcrowded so to speak. Everyone knew everyone and the groups already established were tight. For the first few months he lived in the streets, his body wasted away and he was forced to scavenge for his meals. He'd been forced to leave his blaster in a dumpster on Corellia and so he had no weapon and no credits to survive on.

Finally, in an attempt to protect his meager dinner, he managed to make an impression on a man who needed able bodies. Bloodhound's wasn't the most able, but a week of constant hounding on his part got him a trial employment under a gunrunner. It paid very little, almost nothing, but they provided him with a place to sleep, meals, a blaster and drink.

Bloodhound quickly found that his job hadn't really changed; he was beating protection money out of shop keepers and guarding a safe house. He didn't know the name of the man who had hired him, but Hond knew they man he worked under as "Capice". Capice was an old style gangster, with rules and codes and business relations and Moelik quickly found working under him frustrating. Bloodhound was never tasked with anything important and never trusted very far, for the entire two years he worked for Capice he was never left alone while on the job. Moelik didn't mind so much, however, he had all the spice he could take in, all the alcohol he could drink and more money than he knew what to do with, albeit he wasn't very creative.

When Capice was killed in an opposing gangs raid his successor pawned Bloodhound off on a smuggler, Calipse, a human female. Bloodhound shrugged his way into the job but quickly found a love for it. His new employer was really more a freelance freighter than a smuggler, she took as many honest jobs as dishonest. Bloodhound was relegated to protection and heavy labor on the legitimate jobs, although that rang true for the illicit ones as well, there was just a higher chance of him being able to shoot someone on those.

Calipse spoke little, and when she did Hond often couldn't follow her, he wasn't the most philosophical person; Calipse, however, was. The crew of Black Seed would often drink together in one of the dingy cantinas and while she spoke little but deeply, she had an inner strength and intelligence that Bloodhound greatly admired but couldn't understand or emulate. However he was happy to work for her, he knew she'd never throw him to the dogs or let him die for nothing.

-Nar Shadda-

When Bloodhound was twenty-one, a week after his birthday (not that birthdays meant much in his galaxy), the crew finally left Tatooine for good. The declining profits and increased danger of operating in the area finally saw them move to different hunting grounds. This time to the infamous Nar Shadda, where it was said a crew willing to bump up against the law could make good money.

Calipse had a few friends on the smugglers moon and it wasn't hard for them to find work under one of the Hutts. The work on Shadda was hard but paid well. It was a rapid pace and the crew had little downtime, they were forced to pick up another hand in the form of an escaped bothan slave that knew his way around a computer terminal.

Calipse, Rondo and the escaped slave "Red" tried to teach Bloodhound a little bit about their skills, but most of it fell of deaf ears, Rondo, the devaronian had the best luck; he repaired the ship and Hond was able to pick up some understanding of it, although not much. Bloodhound tried to teach them as well, but Calipse needed no help learning to bully people and the others were less receptive. Bloodhound didn't worry about it, he didn't worry about much.

Nar Shadda, however, was not the paradise they had hoped for and as the ancient feuds between the Hutts continued the crew got dragged deeper and deeper into them. Calipse tried to stay neutral. They tried to accept any job and ignore the power struggles, but in time this philosophy got them killed.

They came off of a job delivering weapons to some backwater planet, settling down on their normal landing pad. When they left the ship, laughing and bantering, there were men waiting for them. They were not there to deliver a cake.

A repeating blaster tore through them, wounding Hond, killing Rondo and Red. Hond was able to scramble to cover, return fire with his automatic pistol. He was able to return fire, but not to win. Their ship was blown up, Calipse was shot. More than once. Bloodhound flew into a rage and shot wildly for what seemed like an eternity.

Perhaps he killed them all, perhaps he ran away. He doesn't remember, he doesn't know. He tries to forget it often, but never can, he can still remember seeing her fall and it haunts him in his sleep.

Military:

After several months of hiding on the moon, afraid again for the first time in over a decade, killing anyone he knew related to the Hutts and being labeled with the moniker "Bloodhound of Corellia" he managed to leave. He smuggled himself out with the funds from a Hutt enforcers safe, it had taken every credit but a handful.

The Hutts ruined his peace, however, and he was not going to forget that. He didn't feel strong enough to do it though. He felt like if he had been stronger he might have been able to prevent the entire catastrophe from occurring. He hated his weakness, he hated the Hutts, he hated everything.

He went in search of a military that would take him, and there were many that were willing. However he was looking for something specific, he couldn't have said what it was, but he knew that he wanted it. He found this in The Vast Empire. It was a smallness, a lack of numbers. The Vast Empire was a small faction and so they fought bloody battles. That was what Bloodhound wanted. He joined their Stormtrooper Corps. He asked them who fought the hardest, the recruiter told him the Legionaries, the infantry. Hond took that.

Basic training was hard on the dog, he couldn't wear his sunglasses and so he was shunned for the most part, feared even. Those glowing red eyes intimidated many. He also couldn't keep his mouth shut or his temper under control, any amount of joking at his expense and he'd be swinging his fists. He ended up spending a few extra weeks in basic, much of that time pulling kitchen duty, or cleaning the base, doing manual labor. Any detail that came up he was assigned to, to the detriment of his sleep.

He did finally graduate, however. He was sent to a line unit immediately, where he fell into the group with ease. However he only fought in two engagements, a total of a year, before being pulled and assigned to Jester Squad.

He did poorly in Jester squad, unable to get along with his assistant squad leader, Jegora Fal or the abrasive personality of Jager Luth. He, however, met the man known as Snipes while in Jester and although he held no particular love for the piratical first sergeant, he accepted a short lived apprenticeship to him. He found the man heavy handed and controlling and, after little thought and many drinks, deserted from the Stormtrooper Corps and Vast Empire military.

He jump around Vast Empire space for a short time, back to his old ways committing petty crimes for little payout. This finally backfired on him on the planet of Sluis Van, where he ended up taking the fall for a major racketeering ring when they jumped ship.

He was rescued by Kami Sharpe, who recognized him as an associate of Sniping101. Bloodhound was, at first, reluctant to take her help, however she offered to keep him away from the man who had set himself up as a king and, with dwindling options, he agreed.

He worked for her for a short time, along with Dezim her advisor, Decem her pilot and a verpine who he couldn't stand. He actually enjoyed working for her and although he and Decemberist rarely saw eye to eye they finally worked out a functional professional relationship that often seemed to entertain the crew.

It wasn't to last, however, as Bloodhound once again found himself caught up by the Vast Empire military. Bloodhound was arrested during one of Kami's routine meetings on Tadath and thrown in jail. He ended up back in the military, once again under Jegora Fal, this time in Wraith squad. From what little he could tell he was once again a pawn in a power struggle. The military kept him in hopes it would help keep the rogue trooper Snipes in check, while at the same time The Osk Company was hoping he'd help them spy on the military. In the end he was, for the most part, forgotten by both sides. He still works in the military as a standard trooper in the SCOPE program, apparently he has a rather large debt to pay back to the Vast Empire's government, so he is being paid very little.

Personality

Bloodhound has a lot to learn about life, although he doesn't realize it. He's hot tempered, unforgiving and violent. Before the military he tended to simply kill those who disagreed with him or got in his way, since joining he is trying to keep this down, but to him killing is a non-issue. It's something people do, everyday, average. He's also extremely impatient, brash and fails to use his head. He's not an idiot by any means, but his life thus-far has never required him to use his head. He's also sarcastic, not witty really, but gets a simple pleasure from mocking people, plans and places.

Also very concerned about pride. He doesn't like people mocking him or insulting him whether it's in good humor or not and will usually retort with a bored and uncaring threat to end their life. He's not always serious about the threat, but it's his way of telling a person to shut the hell up, if they don't then it may become serious.

His ability to show respect is limited, as well as the amount of people he has respect for. He does show it, in his own way. He'll let someone he respects tell him to back down, or will make a half hearted attempt to explain himself to them. He, however, will not bow and scrape no matter who it is, his pride will not let him.

Appearance

Bloodhound may not know it, but he's half Chiss. Whether this is why he was abused as a child or not is unknown to him, he considers the man to of been his biological father, but doesn't really know, or care, about him. Because of this heritage his eyes glow a constant red, sometimes brighter, sometimes not. He wears a pair of round orange sunglasses with leather shades on the side to hide his eyes. His skin is a dark, tanned brown, however when sweaty or wet it will exhibit a blue sheen, that he's not even entirely aware of. Otherwise he isn't the largest person, standing about six feet and one inches tall and not much above average shoulder width. His hair is about ear length and jet black, at times he dyes the tips red, it's messy and frequently greasy from infrequent showers, on occasion he'll spike it straight back, although it was a look he favored more when he was younger. On his upper back, shoulders and upper arms is an intricate tribal tattoo.

Habits

Bloodhound smokes unfiltered cigarettes constantly. He has a love of guns, not for their own sake, but because to him they mean freedom and power. When not on mission he can be found in some of the few seedy cantina's scattered throughout Tadath. Bloodhound's overly violent personality often gets him in trouble. As he doesn't think before he acts, often shoving a gun in someones face before he even tries to talk to them. A true man of action, for better or for worse. Bloodhound has trained himself not to gamble, although he loves to do it. He has some innate luck, but he lacks skills, his face always shows his emotions and he doesn't have the head for calculations.

Abilities

Bloodhound, for a civilian, is a remarkable gunman; compared to military personnel, however, he is sloppy and undisciplined, lacking a grasp of any but the most basic tactics. He also lacks skills in almost every other area. He knows some very basics of piloting. Not enough for him to confidently pilot his own, but enough that if he tried he could figure the rest out as he went. He also knows the basics of ship functions. He knows how they work, but not necessarily how to fix them, however if he ever needed to and managed to summon the patience to think it through he could probably fix a ship, albeit poorly. He seems to be fearless, however he does not like to be put out of his comfort zone and when he is he tends to panic uncontrollably, often resulting in his killing instinct coming to the forefront.