▬ @no-file​

Like a flowing river, they persisted. From one hunt to the next, slatra after slatra in the name of the Allfather. One could misinterpret them as aimless but, no. Their path had already been determined by the gods and they merely walked it unrelenting.

Bounty hunting could have been deemed a downgrade after their participation in the games, the hunts prior to that. And, in a way, the tracker could relent and agree to some degree. Bounty hunter was not always an occupation paved with honor, often times a pitfall marred with the very opposite. But, it was an occupation of CHOICE and so one could still very well CHOOSE to be honorable.

Hound did not hunt that which could not fight back. There was no honor in shedding the bloth of something defenseless. But this being, could very well fight back and they intended to draw quite the fight from this bounty should the gods bless them with such an opportunity. A velafolk located on a slum portion of the planet Coruscant: an environment easy enough to slip to and fro with ease and little detection—from the general populus. Bloodhound was not of the normal people.

Their technology was able to pick up on a unique enough heat signature wandering the lower streets and the tracker all but shot from around the corner to deliver a very sturdy and aggressive kick to the other's chest. Bloodhound did not immediately follow up, very deliberately giving their opponent—they're prey—ample time to gain some sense of what was happening.

Their knife pulled free, it was twisted gracefully in their grasp from a frontward hold to a more defense-ready reverse-grip. "It is your honor to fight me this day, may the gods bless you."