Carter 'The Hound' St. John
Portrayed By Karl Urban
Gender Male
Date of Birth November 1st
Age 33
Zodiac Sign Scorpio
Aliases Managarm, The Hound
Place of Birth Las Vegas, Nevada
Current Location New York City
Occupation Professional Supernatural Hunter & Mercenary
Known Relatives All Deceased
Significant Other None
Identity Several False Identifications
Known Abilities Combat Training
First Appearance Here

"I'm not someone famous, or someone who the word gets out there for the general public, but I am someone who's in the phone books for some pretty big names…"

The Myth

The following is an interview recording by Ben Ulrich done in 2011 for The Daily Planet, but was never published. All of Mr. Ulrich's questions and comments were edited out by him after the fact.

That thing's running, right? Okay…

Who am I?

That's a pretty damn good question.

First off… no names. No real ones anyways. Names are a powerful thing. My advice to you is never sign your real name on anything, never say your whole name any place… and if you HAVE to? Never say it the same way twice. It messes with them.

Oh yeah, getting off track. You asked a question.

There's two ways to describe yourself. The name's an obvious thing, see, the name defines your existence. It makes you a part of who you are. The other way's the mileage you've got. So here's the deal… you buy the waffles, I'll tell you a tale.

If you run in the circles I'm in, you can call me The Hound.

I've been around the supernatural my whole life. That isn't to say I've got my mojo on… matter of fact, maybe only one person in a hundred thousand has the gift in them. But that doesn't mean by any stretch that just because you don't got it means you're useless for the long haul. Some of the most effective people dealing with the demons, devils, and monsters who squat our turf like a… a racially insensitive remark… never had a lick of the talent to their name.

Ever hear of Wong? No… 'cause everyone's heard of Dr. Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. No one you know's heard of Wong. Wong is certifiably badass, can hold his own with an array of nasties that would make you shit your pants, but he's so under the radar you'd mistake him for a dozen other oriental guys working for a master sorcerer.

Allright, allright… yeah I'm getting on a tear, but seriously… it's a big burr in my saddle. We can get to that later.

So take three on this… like I said, I've grown up around this stuff all my life. My mom was a professional psychic. Now when I tell you she was a pro, it wasn't that she was a decent hustler. Hell, she taught me more about running a good con than you could get from a circus. No, she had the gift… and could talk to demons, ghosts, angels and whatever have you. Not the most recommended kind of occupation, but she made a decent living sussing out bad guys, criminals, and the whole host of actual supernatural trouble that crops up place to place. Dad backed her up as the muscle.

Going back to things you ain't ever heard of… what about K'un Lun? Nope? Good reason for that. Forget I ever said anything about it. Dad picked up a few skills there after being a professional mercenary and general asskicker. He wasn't the most cordial of people, and was the first to admit he was doing all this to make up for a mile wide road of bad juju he'd managed to build up. Mom would never talk about that, or how they met… but they loved each other enough to have little old damaged me.

Okay, so here I am as a kid… I'm the only kid I know who'd had a succubus for a babysitter because my parents have to kill a doppleganger trying to become the CEO of a major corporation. Or, the time I ended up playing with a hellhound puppy because my dad just whacked his momma. I was kinda sad that we had to lose the puppy, but Mom put her foot down after he flambe'd some poor old lady's poodle, and letting him do his business wilted a landscaping patch, before setting it on fire.

For the record, I named him Wiley.

So this was my life growing up. Cheap hotels, school to school, and occasionally on the phone with mom or dad trolling their portable library or the local one for information on something nasty that needed to die.

Now, I'm sure you're questioning why they'd do this stuff. Why not leave it for the famous guys like Ghost Rider, or Doc Strange, or even the B-listers? Because those guys deal with the bigger stuff. Dimensional incursion from the whacked out realm of the purple four eyed people eaters? Strange'll show. Zombie invasion of Chicago? You'd find the Spirit of Veangance. But the nickle and dime, daily crap kinda falls under their radar. That's where people like my parents come onto the scene. People who've seen too much to walk away, but aren't tough enough to get on the boat for the apocalypse.

When I was twelve was when I lost my parents. At the time, Atlantis rose up to attack the surface world. Wish I was joking, but apparently someone dumped one too many oil tankers in Prince Namor's pool, and he decided to go all Imperius Rex on everyone with two legs and no gills. Except Sue Storm… heard he's got a serious bit of dolphin wood for her.

Who wouldn't… I mean DAMN… Johnny's easy on the eyes t-… Wait, you never heard me say that.

Needless to say, it's not something my parents were really into, but they still wanted to do their part. Something they were pretty clear about when dad armed up and mom pulled out some of her baddest mojo, was that it doesn't matter who does bad stuff. Someone's gotta stand the line.

I didn't see them die.

It happened while I was hotwiring a van to get a bunch of people out of the way. One moment they were there… next they were gone. Still drove those people to safety… I did my part. And then I tried to move on. Went back afterwards about a year later to try and see if I could find out what happened… and Mom appeared to me. Problem was, she'd spent too long as a ghost to be able to give me the full skinny. We had to fight, and I had to contain her… until I found the last part of her I had with me, and I burned it. I think that was the first time I ever cried.

Social services caught up with me when I was fourteen and in San Francisco. Too many times busted by the police running cons and trying to stay one step ahead of a black magic user who wanted to use me to open up a channel to one of the big ones on the other side. Just because I don't have the talent doesn't mean my blood isn't useful. Blood can do a lot. There's a spot on your forms when you're at the hospital that you can check to have them destroy any of your body fluids they have to use. No joke.

So there I am… a socially mal-adjusted kid with no real education in the eyes of the law, but could take down a guy twice my age, a crack shot with firearms, and knew more about supernatural creatures than your average mystic, or TV show producer for that matter.

If you can imagine, Junior High was not my forte. I quickly got lumped as the Goth Kid, and couldn't help but laugh my ass off at the half-baked crap these guys called satanic. The real juju takes the kind of stuff most of these Morrisey-chomping brats couldn't handle.

Does that sound bitter? It was the 90s. That was about as bitter a time as you could get. Seriously. Marilyn Mansion. Nine Inch Nails. Being in tune with death was supposed to be a thing back then, but really it was just a bunch of dudes in makeup whining about how much life sucks.

I was sixteen and just moving into high school when some guys claiming to be my dad's old friends finally caught up with me. A monk, an honest to fuck Asgardian, and a half-angel. Yeah, you heard that right… half-angel. Don't ask me about the mechanics… because she was pretty foul-mouthed, and kinda pretty. I think we woulda hooked up, except that Hogun was kind of insistent that she and I never get involved. And when Hogun tells you not to do something… you damn well don't do it.

So for about three months, I lived with a monk who never spoke a damn word, Hogun, and Jessie. Not kidding… he never spoke once. But somehow we all knew what he was saying or what he meant. I learned a trick from him about lying from my eyes that's saved my life more than once. You wouldn't believe how much your eyes can tell if you're not careful. Like your's right now… they're telling me you're amused, but you still don't believe what I'm saying. But you're willing to pay out a couple more drinks on your tab for that nugget of truth you're looking for.

Now, for the record… this wasn't the best time of my life. In fact, the three months I lived there sucked. The monk trained both myself in Jessie in some weird-ass martial stuff that looked kinda like what Dad used to use, while Hogun taught us both how to swing a weapon. I ended up picking up the sword, while Jessie tended to like things like hammers. Violent girl, I shit you not… but I wasn't any better. Beatings were a daily part of life, but it wasn't because they were being mean… they were toughing us up. We didn't know why until afterwards.

There was this thing that happened… it took away most of the good guys on the planet. Like literally just sucked them up and off to the stars to fight some A-lister badass by the name of Thanos. Yeah, Thanos… as in Death-guy, so I was told over drinks with Wyatt Wingfoot about six years ago. Without the big guns around, it was all hands on deck to keep the rest of them at bay. Sixteen isn't the kind of age you want to be bringing the pain on demons with an Asgardian sword, but that's what I had to do. I understood the game from growing up, that sometimes you gotta slice a bitch. We won, but it cost us Jessie when she went down to keep some thing with one huge eye and a lot of tentacles from getting in the door. Never got it's name, not sure I wanted to. But it took two magazines from an assault rifle and didn't even flinch.

After that whole thing, I went back to high school under the silent monk's adoptive parentage, and he continued to give me daily beat-downs and kept up my sword work. He added a couple other things to the repetoire, like how to properly shoot a bow. Not like shooting like Hawkeye good, but good enough to pass muster when it counts. I think I annoyed him a little when I was seventeen and started using a fireaxe instead of Hodoltonn, but at the time there was something a lot more satisfying in chopping stuff to death using it. Besides, by then I'd gotten a few tricks under my belt and had carved a couple sigils into it that made it particularly nasty for what I was fighting… of course the silver plating along the edge also helped.

Made me laugh later on when I saw the movie Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, and he did the same thing.

The day I turned eighteen was about a week after I graduated high school… and it was the day I decided to leave both the civilized world, and the silent monk behind. He never even said goodbye. That's cause he never said anything… but he gave me this look that said he knew he couldn't tell me what to do. Maybe because I was a hard-headed sunovabitch, or it could be because he felt I was ready. He'd had three years to train me and refine my talents. Even brought in a couple people to help out in the training. My favorite was two weeks taking lumps with a bokken by Colleen Wing.

Seriously, one of these days someone will explain to me why so many of the people who get into this gig are just plain HOT. And it's not even a girl thing either… trust me.

At first, I had to trade on my parent's name to get into any sort of work. I'd hunt independantly, hustle and commit fraud for seed money, rob the guys I was taking down when times got lean. I'll be the first to admit that it sucked balls… but this was the life I knew, and the life I kinda fell in love with. I'm not one for the constraints modern society has with it. You can still live in this country on cash and going place to place. There's still diners, and there's still bars who go on a cash tab… still plenty of places where they don't ask and you don't tell. It took me almost five years from then to really establish my name with the crowd, but once I was there, things started picking up.

Most of my work I took in trade for the guys who needed muscle to deal with the baddies they were handling, and there were days when I would question if I was going crazy or not with the people I was hanging out with. I mean… I did some dirty work for the Host, specifically for Gabriel… and in return he gave me a couple of holy handguns and a stern warning about my poor choice in bedpartners. There was the coven of witches who made me a pretty cool shotgun, and let me uhhh… take part in a solstice ceremony.

What? Don't give me that look. You take it where you can get it, and besides… naked wiccans and a full moon… it's a thing.

Now… The name.

Didn't earn until I was caught up in a conflict between two different pantheons. See… the one thing they don't do is mix beliefs. It's not really a spoken rule, but more of a guideline that none of them want to break, but sometimes do… for various reasons. Imagine my surprise when I was called by Balder AND Venus to protect their daughter. From what, you ask? Wellllll… since she wasn't supposed to exist, the Fates were trying to find her and wipe her from the skein, while on the flip side of the coin, Odin was making nasty eyes at Baldur the brave for dipping his spear in that married Grecian well.

How do you stop the Norse and the Greek Gods from getting what they want? You find yourself a new god.

Smuggling her out of the US was no easy feat, lemme tell you, but I got her to Japan, and following some of the old legends, I found the place where Kagu-Tsuchi was born to Izanagi and Izanami… and I convinced the old bastard Izanagi himself to adopt her into the clan. From Greek Viking to Japanese about as fast as you can say Romanji… the problem was solved and no one had to get hurt.

No, I am not telling you how to convince a God to do something. You don't. It's as simple as that.

Telling guys like you how guys like me do stuff means we don't get paid the big bucks to handle shit like this in the first place!

But anyways, after that, because I took to the job and didn't give up for anyone, Balder declared I was like the son of Hati, brother of Skoll, and chaser of the moon. And he went on like that for TEN MINUTES. TEN. MINUTES. I finally had to interrupt, and had to ask what that meant, to which I was told it was kind of like being a dog with a bone. Moon-Hound was too damn wordy and cheesy for me to cotton to, so I ended up just sticking with Hound, or The Hound, or even Managarm when I end up at a God-level drinking party.

Hey, when a Norse demigod, godling, or whatever invites you out for brews, you don't turn them down… seriously, it's an epic party I recommend anyone does at least once before they die.

This sort of brings me back around to the rant at the beginning. Wong. Wong's the one guy I'll take the call for no matter what. He words for the big man, the Sorcerer Supreme. And Strange needs bush-league work done because he's always dealing with something bigger. Like head on fire damning the planet kind of bad. So that's where I come in. Wong calls, I come. I get the gig, I get paid, and I move on. Driving's easiest because flying usually means checked baggage, and I really can't explain to the TSA my bag of tricks. Wong's always cool to me. He has tea… is a decent conversation, and lets me talk shop when I need it. Wouldn't call him a friend… but I would at least say we're cordial.

And yes… I met Strange once. Once. He looked at me. We had a moment, and it was over.

So… this is who I am. I got a collection of know-how, training, equipment, and a bitch-load of scars. Every so often I get a boost from a friendly… refresh the body, but I know that I'll be burning the candle at both ends doing it. I'm gonna die, just like my parents did.

I just hope I go like they did… for the right reasons.

The Man

Carter St. John is the son of Damian St. John and Claire Johanssen. His father was a former SAS Team member, who shortly after became a contract killer and mercenary for hire. At some undisclosed point, he took a contract that ended up taking him to the steps of K'un Lun and squared him off in a fight with the Thunderer, Lei-Kung. That particular hand to hand fight lasted exactly five seconds, and Damian landed one blow. In honor of that blow connecting from an outsider, Lei-Kung took in Damian for a period of ten years… and he left a changed man. His mother Claire has the bloodline of Salem witches in her, and was a demonologist, medium, and clairvoyant. Carter is not aware of why the two met, but he was raised as best the pair could on the road.

His name of Managarm, or Moon-Hound, is the alternate name of Hati, the Norse wolf brother of Skoll who chased to moon to swallow it during Ragnarok. The name was given due to his training in Asgardian swordsmanship coupled with his generally unshakable tenacity in completing his contracts. Carter prefers to be called either of those to his true name, because of the nature of true names.

The Hound's reputation within supernatural circles is one of integrity. Once you hire him for something, he stays bought, but the moment he's done… if that contract was not dealt in good faith, he'll return it in kind. He's considered in good standing with most of the good-sided supernatural beings, including both sets of known deities, the Church, and even with a couple superhero groups. Due to the nature of his work, he has several outstanding criminal warrants for murder, assault, destruction of property, and defacing public property.

The Legend

Outwardly, Carter is gruff, seeming not to care about anyone or anything in particular other than money and a good time. He's a shameless flirt when he can get away with it, enjoying a little witty banter while working, but tends to use that as an emotional barrier from others. Underneath that, he is the end product of a life on the road and never having anything stable to call his own. It has left him as someone who finds it hard to connect to people, and as such doesn't know how to treat close relations well.

He is an intelligent and fairly cunning man, but plays up the tough guy image to keep his enemies off-guard, and employs his reputation as much as his skill to keep some vendettas from coming after him.

The Skills That Pay The Bills

The Hound does not possess any Supernatural abilities of any sort that are not provided by some outside source.

He is considered at the peak of natural human strength, agility, and endurance from a life of fighting.

Due to his time being trained by the Silent Monk in K'un Lun arts, Carter has gained a basic level of biofeedback training, in the form of minor chi manipulation. He can use this to help manage pain, to give himself an adrenaline or endorphin boost in combat, and to be able to put himself into a trance that can help along the healing process at the cost of leaving himself completely vulnerable.

This same training has afforded him some decent defenses against telepathic intrusion, possession, and mind control. A skilled telepath, powerful magic user, or powerful enough demon can overwhelm these defenses, but not without a few seconds of hard work.

The Gear For The Road, and The Homes Away From Home.

Kept in a storage locker in Brooklyn under a series of heavy magical protections, all of Carter's family's books are kept, with a direct scanned copy of the Library on the west coast in Seattle stored in both microfiche and CD-ROM format. There are almost four hundred books from various cultures, with information on almost any supernatural creature that has ever walked the earth.

For information gathering purposes, Carter keeps a few smartphones for various IDs, and a laptop for collating data and contact information from those smartphones. This is primarily for research, and not for any kind of serious hacking or information theft.

The Good Stuff

Hodoltonn, or 'Sun's Fang' is an Asgardian weapon forged by the Dwarves of Nidavellir as one of the many weapons for use by the Aesir on the day Ragnarok came, it was one of many that was also lost to Midgard because of the machinations of Loki. It was placed in the armory when it was made clear that Hogun favored blunt and bludgeoning weapons instead, and once in the hands of the God of Mischief, it was disguised as a rusted antique in Ho Chang's Trash & Treasures in Hoboken, New Jersey until it was recovered by Hogun of the Warriors Three. This sword is nearly indestructible and with the unique ability to 'slice' magic. This sword can cut through magic barriers, illusions, and even dispel magical attacks by 'cutting' them. It is similiar to a longsword in design, but on command it can morph into a short fighting spear.

For reasons unknown, this weapon that is permanently bonded to it's wielder, and like any magically empowered and Dwarven-forged weapon it will return to it's wielder when called.

Because of Hodoltonn's inherent nature and power, it is like carrying around a giant beacon to the supernatural. To help hide it's presence, it is stored inside a runed case to prevent both scrying and detection, however, it will snap open if Hodoltonn is summoned by it's wielder.

It's All About Who You Know

The taciturn and mace-wielding member of the Warriors Three, Hogun was a friend of Carter's father and the two had fought together on the mortal plane a handful of times doing the work of Odin. Hodoltonn was actually one of the tasks the two of them did together, recollecting several weapons that had been 'misplaced' by Loki. As a gift, each was allowed to choose one weapon from the batch. Damian chose the sword, and kept it in trust for his son, While Hogun chose a knife he kept hidden in his boot. Hogun's time in Carter's company was brief, but after the events where he was put against both the Aesir and Grecian gods, and still won out, even the eternal pessimist was impressed. He will fight by the side of the young hunter if called, and can serve as both a mentor and a healer for Carter when the road catches up with him.

And You Didn't Hear This From Me, But…

  • Carter is a trained Amibextrous, but is left-hand dominant.
  • His favorite activities when not on the job are beer, bad action movies, and occasionally sneaking into parties he was never invited to.
  • His aliases tend to be names picked out of comic books, mixing names so that it's not too obvious!
  • Midnight showings for new movies, or cheap late-night matinees are a favorite hangout when he needs to think or get a break.
  • Beer of Choice: Guiness
  • Takeout Food of Choice: Breakfast. Waffles in particular.

Caught On Film

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License