Mulch was on the losing side of a border skirmish between 2 minor systems on the Outer Rim. He was an ace with 17 dog fight kills to his credit. Though he was a career military man and proud of his service, after the war he was permanently associated with the “wrong” faction. Slurs and general discrimination against anyone associated with the old regime was the new norm. It didn’t take long for him and some of his fellow outcasts to resort to crime as a way to feed and clothe themselves.

Mulch, AKA The White Dragon, and his compatriots formed an outlaw swoop gang, the Crimson Blades, who would perform raids on several systems. They tended to target those that could afford a small loss, or those who were morally corrupt to begin with. It wasn’t quite a case of Robin Hood giving back to the poor, unless you counted the outlaws themselves as the beneficiary of the charity, but in his mind it was justified.

One such run was particularly lucrative. There was a gang of Zygerran drug lords selling death sticks to the local school children. They were well equipped, supplied, and had enough credits to choke a rancore. They also had a habbit of dipping into their own supplies. When Mulch and his compatriots blew the door of their death stick den half of the Zygerrans were passed out and the rest were so high that the raid took less than 10 minutes, including time to load the loot. It was almost as if they thought no one would dare attack them.

What Mulch failed to realize was that the death stick dealer they raided was actually owned and run by the local Imperial Ambassador. Soon after, word of another large shipment quickly reached the Crimson Blades via their usual contacts. This seemed too good to be true, and it turned out that it was. When they arrived instead of coming upon a few disorganized criminals, they ran into an entire battalion of Imperial troopers and walkers. The gang was quickly decimated with almost all of the members left dead or dying. Mulch watched and cursed the pilot of the Crimson Blade transport ship as it took off from the planet, right up until he saw it explode into a million little pieces, shot out of the sky by an orbiting star destroyer.

It took a dozen blaster shots from the Imperial troopers to bring mulch down. He might have died had they left him on the field, but someone always needed asteroid miners and big strong slaves are hard to come by. The Ambassador thought it was a good idea to save his life and sell him, in order to recoup some of his lost profit. Someone of his size and strength should make a good labor camp prisoner.

After only a handful of lunar cycles of hard labor a rebel force, The Vermilion Space Rats, came through with bombers,and star fighters, killed all of the Imperials running the prison, and freed the inmates. It seemed there were those that made a living killing Imperials. This would have been an attractive option as so much of his suffering came at the hands of the Imperials.

Mulch would have joined those outlaws gladly, but they weren’t in the system for recruiting. Those accidental liberators took as much of the ore as they could load, the weapons, and some of the communication equipment and then just let the slaves go. About 70 newly freed prisoners climbed onto a prisoner transport and limped to the nearest system that would let them land. They were not a particularly democratic bunch but there was a certain amount of honor among thieves. That and the fact that the first guy who had tried to swindle someone suddenly developed an acute pain in his neck… from the large metal rod that was suddenly protruding from it. They sold the ship for parts and salvage, divided up the supplies and cash, and went their separate ways. Mulch found himself on a strange world, as far as he knew all of his friends were dead or MIA, and his only possessions were a few credits, the shirt on his back, and his burning rage.

From that day forward Mulch has had a certain amount of respect for anyone willing to kill Imperials. Whenever he loots a trooper he has killed, he will take an armor plate, cut a small square piece one knuckle wide by two knuckles long, and stow it in his bantha hide jacket.

If it has a trigger, he can shoot it, and shoot it well. The bigger the gun the better he is with it. Everything else in the universe hasn’t seemed to be all that important and, although he is smarter than most, all that fancy learnin’ hasn’t put food in his belly, so he sticks to what he knows. His master plan, in short, is: find a crew, kill some Imperials, make some money, buy a bigger gun, repeat as necessary.

Mulch will immediately befriend anyone in the party that has a high mechanic skill. These relationships will be important for maintenance and mods on his guns that he can’t do himself. Even though most will see him as a dumb brute, he needs a certain amount of intellectual stimulation. The repair and modding of all things mechanical gives him an opportunity to connect with like-minded folk as well as a creative outlet that doesn’t involve killing.

Mulch cuts an imposing figure, standing over 2m tall. Heavily muscled and wide of frame he looks like he could bench press a river cow. The giant gun slung on his back is hooked up to a portable power generator that he wears like a backpack. There is a smooth heat-dissipating shield that covers the top portion of the barrel with stenciled lettering on it. Written in red across the heat sink are the words “HOLEY AVENGER” indicating that his mission, is a just and righteous vengeance, but also a vengeance that involves lots of holes… holes in Imperials.

Motivation Injustice: Mulch wants to erase oppression of disadvantaged peoples from the galaxy. He wants to free the enslaved, liberate the oppressed, feed the hungry, and remove the stain of the empire one system at a time.

Duty 110. Ground superiority. Mulch is a force to be reckoned with both on foot or behind the stick of a walker or tank. Mulch brings fire power and resilience to any field of battle. What he lacks in subtlety he makes up for with massive amounts of fire down range.

Ground superiority. He is vengeance personified with a portable gunnery battery. [see motivation block for current total]

Built like a brick shit house, Mulch is sturdy, kind of square, and heavy. He is well muscled and large but deceptively agile. His skin is pale, almost white and his lizard like features with piercing black eyes can sometimes be unsettling. His race doesn't have many muscles in their face so body language is sometimes difficult.

He is an OK driver or pilot but an absolute amazing shot. The bigger the gun the better he is at it.

He is wearing something similar to swoop racing protective gear. His black pants are reinforced at the knees and hips and his black jacket has plates on the shoulders, chest, back, and elbows, with a purple slash of color that extends from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Mulch almost always has a cigar in his mouth. Sometimes he smokes them and sometimes he eats them as they remind him of the tobacco kelp farms of his youth. When smoking is a bad idea, like in a pressurized oxygen environment, or impossible, like underwater, he will chew on the end of a cigar. It is the only way he can break his gum chewing habit. While eating tobacco would make a human sick and cause vomiting, the nikto races have an entirely different constitution due to the foods that can survive as crops on his home world of Kintan.

You can see a vibro-knife in a leather sheath attached to his left arm. A large military style backpack and well stocked utility belt round out the ensemble. When he is suited up for an op he will also have his "Holey Avenger" strapped to his back, a heavy repeating blaster.