Tyrral Naran

Name: Tyrral Naran

Nicknames/Aliases: Tyrr

Species: Human / Coruscanti

Gender: Male

Age: Forty-one standard galactic years

Homeworld: Coruscant







Height: Six feet, three inches – 1.91m

Weight: Two hundred fourteen pounds – 97.07kg

Eye Color: Tyrr’s eyes are a pale green, with a hint of brown to them.

Hair Style: He usually wears his hair fairly short. It’s long enough to style it up or to the side if he feels like it, but not so lengthy that it looks bad if he chooses not to.

Hair Color: His hair is a light brown, bordering on dirty blond.

Facial Hair: Tyrr maintains a short, well-trimmed beard of the same color as his hair.

Skin Color: Tyrr is fairly well-tanned, having traveled and worked under the light of dozens of suns.

Build: He’s a relatively well-built man. His job does, after all, require he throw people over his shoulder and carry them to his ship or employer from time to time.

Distinguishing Features: Aside from the plethora of battle scars across his chest and arms one might expect a veteran spacer-slash-bounty-hunter-slash-mercenary to have, Tyrr possesses a big, blotchy birthmark across the right half of his chest a few shades darker than the rest of him.

Apparel: Tyrr’s favorite attire consists of a tan and brown full-body flight suit. While not designed for combat, it does provide some limited protection against blades, bludgeons, and blasters and, when worn with a matching helmet often left aboard the Trailblazer, completes an airtight seal to protect the wearer from hostile environments for up to ten hours.

When actively expecting a gunfight, however, Tyrr tends to don the suit of battle armor he keeps in a locker aboard his Firespray. This is a modular suit of duraplast armor which provides a good deal of protection against all manner of weapons, though it is rather heavy and restricts Tyrr’s movement somewhat. The helmet contains a number of upgrades, most notably an air filtration system designed to protect against toxic environments and gas attacks; an integrated heads-up display which receives data from sensors in the armor to monitor Tyrr’s vital signs; and an integrated comlink. It’s no Mandalorian bucket, but it’s a respectable enough piece of hardware.

Often stowed aboard the Trailblazer are a few more civilian outfits, whether business attire or nerfhide boots and jacket. Regardless of what he’s wearing, however, Tyrr always girds himself with his trusty utility belt.

Weaponry: Tyrr usually only keeps two weapons handy: his trusty S-5 blaster pistol and a Merr-Sonn stun baton. He keeps the blaster holstered at his right hip, the stun baton at his left.

While he doesn't regularly carry most of them, Tyrr also keeps enough weapons stashed aboard the Trailblazer to supply a small army. His shipboard armory consists of a few blasters, among them a Power5 blaster pistol; a A280 blaster rifle, and an LD-1 target blaster rifle. He also keeps a second stun baton; a pair of fifty-centimeter vibroblades; a collapsible quarterstaff; and even a meter-long vibrosword.

Equipment: Tyrr is never caught without a datapad and a comlink with wirelessly connected earpiece. He also often carries a number of assorted items in the pockets of his utility belt and flightsuit. Among these are a few paralytic microdarts and the liquid-cable/grappling hook launcher attachment for his S-5 pistol’s dart launcher; two credcards connected to different accounts, as well as a few assorted hard credchips; and, more often than not, some stim-shots. He often keeps a pair of SC-401 stun cuffs at the small of his back, along with two more pairs aboard the Trailblazer.





Profession: Bounty hunter / mercenary / smuggler / guy with blasters, a starship, and a need for credits

Skills: Tyrr is fluent in Basic and Huttese and has some basic understanding of Binary and Rodese. He’s also a moderately skilled brawler; a better marksman; and a reasonably competent pilot. Years on the job have taught him a few things about starship maintenance and repair; a few things about common customs protocol; and a few things on the art of hunting criminals.

Force-Sensitive: No

Training: Tyrr’s only real training came at the hands of his foster father, a spacer by the name of Jarren Naran.

Vehicle: None

Starship: Tyrral owns an old KSE Firespray-31, dubbed the Trailblazer.

Other Possessions: Tyrr keeps a dysfunctional slugthrower pistol, probably significantly older than he is, stowed with his spare clothes.

Companions: None





Factional Affiliation: While technically independent, Tyrr does owe the Hutts quite a bit of money.

Rank: N/A

Sexual Preference: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Single

Personality: Tyrral’s always been something of a big softie: maybe not so much that he refuses to accept the reality of the galaxy he lives in, but enough to hate it, enough to want to retire and turn to a less violent lifestyle. He disdains killing and generally just isn’t good at being ruthless. Never was. He’s found it a little easier with the hardened criminal types, the kinds of bounties he usually goes after, but inflicting pain still isn’t something he can take any enjoyment from. In Tyrr’s experience, that heart of gold mentality is fairly rare among spacers; he feels it’s vital in that it sets him apart, but in his case it’s easy to appeal to.

But that’s not to say he doesn’t come off as a bit gruff or rough-around-the-edges. He’s been doing this for more than two decades, after all – more than long enough to know not to seem like a pushover. In all honesty, he makes a pretty poor bounty hunter. Tyrr's definitely too soft to be the ideal sort of person you'd want around as hired muscle, but he's almost comfortable with that kind of existence. He's just struggling through life as best he can.





Tyrral Naran was born a nameless orphan, abandoned shortly after birth by parents incapable of caring for him in the slums of Coruscant. Fortunately enough, he was picked up there not minutes later by a human mercenary by the name of Jarren Naran, a man then in his thirties with quite the heart of gold. Without a family and incapable of starting one thanks to genetic issues, it was unhesitatingly that Jarren adopted the child. It took a few days and plenty of consulting the HoloNet to figure out the finer points of just how to care for a baby, but eventually Jarren figured it out without dealing any permanent damage to himself or the boy.

It was a long dozen years from the time Jarren found Tyrr to the time he picked up his first firearm, an old slugthrower pistol: a gift from his foster father, one Tyrr took as an indication of Jarren's hope that his adopted son would follow in his footsteps. It was then that Tyrr vowed to, not that he had much of a different option; living on a starship from meal to meal, Jarren and Tyrr were hardly capable of affording schooling the HoloNet could not afford—which was most of it. It was another four years of training by Jarren before he was confident enough in Tyrr's abilities to take him along on a job, and even then he was only given a stun baton. By no means did that mean Tyrr complained; he was just happy to be working with his father, to do something other than sit in their ship or in a cantina or a hotel room. They were partners! Father and son.

Of course, on that first job, Tyrr managed to save Jarren from a grisly death at the hands of a spiced-up Wookiee, their target, despite being armed with only a stun baton that had no effect whatsoever on the hulking thing. He’d thrown himself into its back with enough force to distract it from mauling his foster father, drawing the Wook’s attention—and rage—to him long enough for Jarren to regain his senses and shoot it a few times. It took him almost three months to recover from the beating he'd sustained, along with more than a few dental prosthetics, but the pay was good and neither of the hunters had died. To top it all off, Tyrr officially joined the Bounty Hunters’ Guild during that recovery period.

Jarren retired from mercenary work five or six years after that, the result of an unusual heart condition that had finally affected his ability to work. Instead he took up a job as Tyrr's handler, confident that his foster son would be able to handle the stress of big-time jobs on his own. And indeed they did; between Tyrr's younger, healthier body taking the workload and Jarren's experienced mind acquiring appropriate jobs and coaching Tyrr through the finer points step by step, their fortunes steadily increased, if marginally, despite having to pay for regular medical checkups to monitor Jarren's heart. Life like this continued for nearly a dozen years, over the course of which Tyrr experienced his fair share of both close calls and milk runs.

It was around then that Tyrr began to notice Jarren's health deteriorating, presumably as some side effect of the varied medicines he'd started taking over the last years of his life – or just because they slowed the inevitable, rather than halted it. Eventually Jarren had to retire from working altogether, required most of the funds they'd built up and not put back into furthering themselves as 'businessmen' to check into a fancy-schmancy medical center which would, hopefully, keep track of his condition and eventually find a fix.

That much never happened. Jarren passed a few weeks before Tyrr’s thirty-fifth birthday.

He’d left everything to his foster son, of course. That didn’t turn out to be too much, but he did find a small keepsake among Jarren’s personals that Tyrr barely even remembered: the small slugthrower he’d first learned to shoot with. It was a little thing, barely the size of his hand now, and it looked like the firing mechanism had been removed some time ago.

It almost certainly wasn’t worth anything, but it would hold quite a bit of sentimental value: it would serve as a reminder for Tyrr to try and continue living by the rules Jarren had, as many of them as there were. Watch your back; no killing unless you had to; get paid up front; and never cut a deal with a Hutt, if you could help it. It was odd working without a voice in his ear to guide him at first, but Tyrr managed to cope eventually. Jarren had been a good teacher. Taught him everything he knew.

But all that knowledge couldn’t keep Tyrr from falling afoul of the Hutts anyway. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. He was tracking down a bounty over Nar Shaddaa a couple of years after Jarren’s death, not that he’d cared to read why the lowlife was wanted. Tyrr had carelessly fired a volley at long range to disable the mark’s engines quickly and to avoid a longer conflict. The mark had gone evasive, of course, and that hail of fire cut through the hull of a bulk freighter instead – one whose presence Tyrr had lacked the foresight to compensate for.

With one errant trigger press, he was quite a few hundred thousand credits in debt to the wrong Hutt. He was lucky enough that he wasn’t just brought in and executed on the spot. Not that essentially being forced into servitude was much better, but at least he was allowed to live and had some small amount of say in how to execute the jobs he was given. Interest piled up about as quickly as the initial debt had; even after almost three years of working exclusively to pay off that debt, Tyrr had almost no progress to show for his hard work.

Edit 7/19: Fixed Firespray link