Tristram - Your move, bounty hunter

Feedback is welcomed on both my character and the short stories I'll be writing. Just drop me a PM or something.

General Info

Names:–Kellin Trask
Bounty hunter alias – Tristram Kell
Race: Rattataki
Planet of Birth: Rattatak
Age: 194 (due to genetic modification)
Height: 6'4
Body type: Built

Appearance:
Having known combat for most of his life Tristram is in peak condition, being tall and well-built. His pale skin, white eyes and scalp tattoos are striking to most who have never seen a Rattataki before. Combined with his defined facial features, he gives an overall impression of ruggedness.

Personality:
Many have assessed Tristram’s appearance and have drawn conclusions that he is a tribal simpleton, this is not the case. Possessing an impressive intellect, he is of the belief that it pays to outsmart your foe rather than just attempt to outmatch them in brute strength and firepower. Despite his notoriety for being Jaded and Ruthless, he is not completely without compassion and never kills for pleasure. While on mission, Tristram would describe himself as being "cheery and loveable", whilst others would probably describe him as "something of a wiseass". His humour, quips and comments have some to doubt his professionalism in the past, but as Tristram himself states - "you can't argue with results, bub"

Inwardly, Tristram exhibits many of the traits of a burnt-out soldier, he is jaded and cynical - and often seems just not to care for the galaxy in general having long since abandoned the causes that he used to fight for. On very occasional instances, he has made the confession that he fights because it's all he knows how to do, but it runs deeper than that. Combat is something of a drug to him. Ironically, it makes him feel alive.

Equipment:

Suit:


Tristram has heavily modified a suit of Mandalorian space armour, similar to the basis of Boba Fett’s armour. Characterised by its T-shaped visor, the suit now incorporates greater protection from light weapons, advanced technology and a wealth of concealed weaponry.

Microcomputer – The suit contains a powerful microcomputer which manages the advanced suit functions, communication, information, and the electronic side of bounty hunting. The suit microcomputer is linked to Tristram’s ship.

Advanced targeting, imaging and detection – In order to locate his quarry, Tristram’s suit contains a macrobinocular visor with infrared imaging and a small sensor array.

“Micromunitions” – The suit has a flamethrower and wrist-mounted rocket launcher built into the left arm, and a wrist-mounted blaster pistol in the right.

Jetpack - Built into the rear of the suit is a small jetpack, designed for short-term use.

Environmental control - Due to its origins as a suit of space armour, the suit allows its user to survive in a vacuum for a short while. This means that most hostile and inhospitable environments are of no obstacle for the wearer – at least for short periods.

Magnetic boots – The boots can be magnetised at will, allowing the wearer to traverse ship hulls.

Grappling Hook - Along with the wrist mounted blaster, the right arm contains a smart-surface propelled grappling hook. Tristram can also deploy the other end of the reinforced fibrecord cable, allowing him to quickly tether two objects together.

Other equipment: Tristram carries a utility belt containing a combat knife, a complement of thermal detonators and a stun dart gun. He also carries a rifle which, depending on the mission, will either be a repeating blaster, a long range ion rifle, or a Chiss charric.

Ship:


Tristram's ship, the Stormchaser, is a heavily modified gunship. Besides the cockpit, It contains a large cargo bay, a pair of small berth rooms and a ready room. Along with this, it boasts the fastest drive system on then current market. Armed for most situations, it is equipped with four linked laser cannons, a pair of concussion missile launchers, an auto-tracking ion turret and a tractor beam.

Genetic Reprofiling

Due to genetic reprofiling carried out on him against his will, Tristram possesses perfect cell replication. This means that he does not age since each time his cells are replaced it is by a perfect copy of the original. He is expected to live for around 250 years before age finally takes its toll and he dies in peak condition.

====================
Prologue - Journey
====================


----------5 Years earlier----------


The merciless sun, Rek, beat down upon the cracked canyons, casting harsh shadows that clutched at the arid landscape like blackened talons. Hanging precariously to the cliffside, a small village gave the only indication that any life existed in the area, as small plumes of woodsmoke rose lazily to the heavens amidst the heat-haze of the sun-scorched land. Above the canyon walls, and a small distance from the village, a lone figure sat between the ribs of a long-dead giant - some ancient monstrosity from the earlier days of the world. The man was heavily built, and was characteristically Rattaki, from the pale skin to the bald head with new tattoos - received just days beforehand. He wore leather armour, and had a large bladed weapon strapped across his back. His youthful features were drawn with hunger.

Kellin Trask was approaching the final stage of his spiritwalk, a unique ritual that was observed only by the people of this small tribal village – indistinguishable from the other primitive, warlike settlements that populated the area. His people believed that every male must go through such a ritual to converse with the spirits, and observe their passage into manhood. For three days he had sat within the circle inscribed upon the ground and meditated, eating nothing and drinking little. A brazier in front of him slowly burned out, the embers blinking as the fire claimed the last of the K’thir - a tenacious local plant, known for its ability to induce visions if the smoke was inhaled. This was merely the preparation stage- the young men from the village would then walk out across the stark wilderness. Some did not return at all, others came back with their minds broken. Those that did return were tempered – a good basis for the warrior caste that defended the village from other tribes, and the ferocious creatures that roamed the canyons.

Climbing to his feet, Kellin had decided that the time had come. Feet throwing up small clouds of dust, he set out across the cracked ground.


After hours of walking, he came upon the ruins of an ancient city. This place was well known as being the outer reaches of the territory scouted by the tribe. Rumoured to be haunted, it was avoided by his people, though many had speculated about the civilisation that once dwelt here. The buildings were mostly buried beneath the sands of aeons. As he stepped around old masonry, he found himself wondering at the origins of the place, what kind of place was this, and why was it out in the middle of nowhere?

Spotting a peculiar stone amidst the rest, he moved over to examine it and settled down on his haunches. The rock had a set of inscriptions running across the surface - spidery writing and pictograms in some indecipherable tongue. He felt a whisper of wind behind him, and turned to see dust swirling into a maelstrom. It spiralled upwards into a form that resembled a humanoid, a figure in constant flux, indistinct one moment, the next crystal clear in its expression of mirth. It spoke in a strange whisper, as if hundreds of voices were speaking at once, and Kellin suspected that he was hearing the words it spoke in his mind.

Ah, another warrior comes to prove himself in the wilds. I wonder if before long, your bleached bones will join the others

The Rattataki regarded the spirit coolly- unfazed by the sudden coalescence of the apparition. And resumed walking through the ruins. “My journey is my own, Spirit. What manner of shade are you?”

I am merely an echo of the people that once dwelt here. I can indulge your curiosity, you know

He stopped dead in his tracks “And what would this illumination cost me?”

Oh, nothing but a few answers. The nomads that once passed through this land are no more, and I have a curiosity of my own

“Very well, then tell me of this place, of the people that lived here”

Tell you, Warrior? No, I shall do better than that. I shall show you

Stepping across the long-derelict threshold of one of the buildings, Kellin watched as slabs of stone appeared as if from nowhere. Each fitted perfectly within a spiral pattern that arced away from him, and was joined by masonry that assembled itself into a long-gone majesty now revived. All around him, on all sides, the ancient city rose once more from the dust. Towering minarets speared into the sky, bridges rose across long-gone rivers and intricate masonry stretched outwards for the first time in thousands of years.

Taking a few steps forward, Kellin raised his head to gaze in wonder at the vaulted cathedral ceiling that did not exist a few moments ago. White stone arches inlaid with precious metals rose dozens of metres into a ceiling skilfully painted with murals of gods and war. It showed what he presumed to be the people of the city subjugating a land locked in conflict, sweeping across a nation with fire and steel.

A noise drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Spectres of people had risen, like the spirit that he talked to. They ran around, and even through him – seemingly oblivious of his presence. Other shades stalked amongst them, cutting them down. The noise of battle reached his ears, sounding distant despite the proximity of the dust-images. The spirit spoke up once more.

We were a people besieged, warrior. We did exactly as the panorama above you shows. We led a campaign of brutality and exploitation across this land. We thought it would bring peace, instead it just brought further conflict. What you are seeing is our once mighty race reaping the rewards of conquest.

Kellin turned and paced out into the street, watching as the images of countless people were dragged out of their homes and slaughtered. Fires blazed across the city, colouring the horizon red as the blood that once ran through the streets in floods.

“Enough, spirit. I have seen enough!”

The stones crumbled once more, turning back into sand and dust. The shapes of the people dispersed, and the cry of battle lingered for a second, before fading into nothing. Shaking his head, the Rattataki set off through the ruins once more. The spirit hovered at his side, turning its regard to him once more.

A warrior with a distaste for battle? Then why do you fight?

Kellin had come to understand struggle - there in the startled eyes of the rock vermin, in the timid fear of the herd beast; in the disbelief of a young warrior dying on stone and wind-blown sand; in the staring comprehension of a woman surrendering her life to the child she pushed out from between her legs. He had seen elders, human and beast, curl up to die; he had seen others fight for their last breath with all the will they could muster. Yet in his heart, he could find no reason, no reward waiting beyond that final struggle.
Even the spirit gods of his people battled, flailed, warred with the weapons of faith, with intolerance and the sweet deadly waters of hate. No less confused and sordid than any mortal.

After a few minutes, the answer came to him. “I fight because I know what will happen if I don’t. I will die if I must, but not with my spirit broken.”

You accept the likelihood of an ‘honourable death’. You fool, ponder this question: among the fallen, among the dead, will you find more warriors - more fighters than non-fighters? Will you find more men than women? More gods than mortals? More fools than the wise? Among the fallen, my friend, does the echo of marching warbands drown all else? Or the moans of the diseased? The cries of the starving?

“I expect, in the end, it all evens out”

You are wrong. I must answer you, even though I know it will break your heart

“There is no need.” He replied. “I already know.”

Do you?

“Yes, and I know how you want to make me despair with that knowledge.”

Then answer me, among the fallen, will-

“The answer is children, Spirit. More children than anyone else”

Then where is your despair?

“You understand nothing. For any man or woman to reach adulthood, they must first kill the child within them. You win, I admitted my despair, spirit. But I march on, because that’s what warriors do.”

Odd, it does not feel like I have won.

The spirit watched the warrior continue his journey into the desert, until the man was merely a dark speck on the horizon, almost lost in the heat haze.

Two days later, the man that returned to the village was changed. Despite his weakness from almost a week of fasting, none could doubt the resolute steel in his eyes. The warrior had come home.

Nicely written, you'll fit right in.

====================
Chapter 1 - Ascent
====================

The crowd cheered as the gladiator was escorted through the arena gate. As a large, well built Rattataki , he towered over the Weequay guards. Despite his bulk he was obviously young, evident in his youthful features which were now set in a scowl. Two of the guards cautiously unlocked the manacles that bound his wrists together, fumbling with the keys while their compatriots pointed static pikes at the prisoner. As soon as the manacles were disengaged he bellowed a loud unintelligible challenge, grabbed both guards by the neck and flung them backwards. He then turned to face the arena, seemingly unconcerned with the pikes that were brandished in his direction.

In one of the more luxurious observation booths above, two figures watched the spectacle below. One, immediately recognisable as a Twi’lek from the lekku on his head, was Stark Boonaa - the director of the blood sport that regularly occurred down below. He turned to regard the other with poorly disguised avarice evident upon his face.

“This is one of our most promising gladiators, you were right to show interest in him. He’s come out on top against Gamorreans, droids, Trandoshans, even a Wookiee. His next bout should prove to be interesting. How about we make a little wager? If he wins, you get to keep him. If he loses, you pay the same value he’s made for himself here in the Cauldron”

The other man was clearly Arkanian from his long pale hair, skin and his milky eyes. He scrutinised the gladiator below. It would clearly be worth his while to make the wager, the Rattataki was a perfect subject, and the decades-old DNA sample he had tested looked promising. Besides, if the fighter was anywhere near as good as he thought, whoever his next bout was against should prove no problem. The Arkanian inclined his head.

“Done”

Boonaa waved his hand and a one of the guards scurried off down the stairs. It wasn’t long until the gates on the other side of the arena began to open. A bestial roar echoed off the rocks as a monstrous apparition was manoeuvred into the pit by guards cautiously wielding static pikes. Despite being hunched over, the creature was at least seven and a half feet tall, it was covered in shaggy white fur spotted with numerous bloodstains - it didn’t take much of an assessment of the powerful limbs and sharp claws to realise that the blood did not belong to the creature itself. The Arkanian man growled at Boonaa.

“You never said he’d be fighting a damned Wampa”

The Twi’lek’s face lit up in a devilish grin “The bet still stands”

The gladiator, Kellin, gawped at the creature being ushered in the other side of the arena as one of the guards got a little too close and was disembowelled, the others beat a hasty retreat past the gate and closed it behind them.

“What in the light of Elysium is that!?!”

Snapping his attention back to reality, he quickly glanced around him. Thankfully the nearest weapons rack was within a few feet. Kellin weighed up the Wampa that was storming around the gate on the other side of the arena and decided on a double-headed pike, he also tucked a pair of long knives into the rough belt he’d been issued with. This wasn’t the first time he’d fought beasts, but it was his first experience with something so damned big.

The wampa let out another bellow and turned. It had caught his scent. It took a few seconds to pick him out with its eyesight, but as soon as it had seen him it lowered itself to all fours and thundered across the arena. Tristram swore in Rattataki, and took a low stance.

“Ok sure, you’re fast, but let’s see how well you steer”

It only took the wampa a few seconds to close the distance between them. Kellin waited til the last possible moment and then shifted stance. With a surge of strength he leapt to the side, spinning through the air as the surprised Wampa sailed past. With a twist of his arm, he extended the pike to score a cut along the creature’s rear leg. Both combatants reached a standstill, the wampa deployed all four limbs and scrambled to a stop. Kellin landed and steadied himself. He studied the creature; it seemed to have a heavy layer of blubber under its skin that the pike had barely cut through. It had noticed the wound but it didn’t seem to trouble the beast, it re-assumed its upright stance and advanced towards the Rattataki with a new sense of caution. He noted that despite its lack of higher intelligence, it seemed to be learning. The two combatants circled each other, both making occasional swipes and then quickly withdrawing into a more defensive position. Then, almost quicker than Kellin could follow, the creature made an all-out attack. It swiped with the claws of its right arm, quickly following with the left. Kellin ducked under the first swipe, but the second caught him off-balance. Luckily for Kellin, he’d moved towards the Wampa with his dodge so he wasn’t disembowelled by the beast’s claws. Instead it struck him with its forearm, Kellin felt ribs crack as the blow sent him flying across the arena floor and towards a rocky outcrop intended to be used as cover. He skidded to a halt, and managed to roll behind the rocks.

It felt like his side was on fire, the pain was almost blinding. Trying to ignore it, Kellin moved further around the rocks in order to buy himself a little time. Things were starting to look desperate; he didn’t think he could fight the creature for long with an injury like this, and if his ribs were broken there was the risk that he might puncture a lung. He couldn’t evade the Wampa because of its sense of smell, it looked like the only course of action remaining was a last-ditch attack. He could hear the creature approaching, it thought he was finished but he had some fight in him yet.

“okay fuzzball, let’s dance”

Despite the creature’s low sentience, surprise was definitely evident in its expression as Kellin burst out from behind the rocks yelling wordless defiance. He threw the pike, it went sailing end over end but the throw was evidently too high. Without missing a beat, he drew both knives from his belt and threw them with all his strength. The Wampa batted one aside, but the other sank deep into its shoulder. The beast roared in agony and attempted to extract the knife. Kellin still hadn’t slowed, and at the moment when it looked likely he’d run straight into the Wampa, he dropped to the floor and slid between its legs, grimacing in pain as his wounded side hit the ground. The massive creature returned its attention to the battle and realised that its quarry had eluded it, it was too late. From behind, Kellin swung his freshly-retrieved pike with all his might; it took the Wampa at the base of its neck and bit deep, the beast was dead before it hit the floor, which produced a considerable thump.
Kellin thought he’d black out from the pain. No, pain will come later. For now I will savour the victory. He raised his hand as the noise of the crowd raised to fever pitch. Most of them had never seen a Rattataki best a creature like a Wampa before, and he’d given them quite a show.

A stunned silence reigned in the observation booth above, until one of the guards leaned over to mutter to another.

“Did you see that? He practically beheaded the thing!”

The spell was broken; Stark Boona cursed and slammed his palm down onto the drinks table, swearing profusely. Then there was the sound of quiet chuckling from the Arkanian.

“I believe the term is ‘the bet still stands?’”

He turned his milky white eyes to regard the arena floor below, where the combatant was hacking off one of the Wampas horns as a trophy. Most impressive. Most impressive indeed. You’ll do nicely.