"You don't wanna do that..."- Grimm, watching a bandit reach for his gun
Grimm is an aged gunfighter and retired Jakobs henchman of some renown. Grimm has killed many men, women, and beasts in his thirty-nine year long career as a death dealing mercenary. He considers his current contract to assassinate the leaders of the Crimson Raiders his last job before he hangs up his guns for good and settles on some nondescript world to live out the rest of his days in quiet contemplation on all the lives he's ended. Currently he is the leader of a rag-tag band of Vault Hunters hired by the Hyperion corporation in the wake of Handsome Jack's death at the hands of the Crimson Raiders and their Vault Hunters. Grimm could care less about the legendary loot of Pandora, he is only here to collect the bounty on the Crimson Raider's heads and get the hell off Pandora before he finally meets a gun or claw faster than his own... though the chance of that happening is distinctly unlikely.
"Tougher men than you have tried son... much tougher..."- Grimm responds to the threats of the infamous Assassin, Mordicai
Grimm was born to a pair of frontier settlers on the arid Borderworld of Tombstone IV. Tombstone IV was an unforgiving world not unlike the badlands of Pandora, however, aside from the deadly wildlife, Tombstone IV had a much more stable civilization than the savage and untamed world where the Vaults, and Eridium, were uncovered. Tombstone IV was rich in industrial metals and other natural resources, and had been Jakobs Company property for centuries. Jakobs provided a token form of law enforcement for the scattered mining towns and villages that dotted Tombstone IV, they were known as Dusters, more for the brutal effects of their company sponsored firearms than the signature cloaks they wore. Grimm grew up fast in the badlands of his homeworld, helping his father defend the family ranch from both beasts and bandits since he could walk. It was a hard, simple life, but it was the only one he had ever known, and the only one he would have ever known had the one faithful day of his seventeenth birthday never come.
Grimm had earned much renown as a big game hunter and gunhand simply working alongside his father, his steady hand and natural skill making him one of the few youths to survive the harsh realities of Tombstone IV. When he turned seventeen, Jakobs representatives noted his abilities at a local shooting competition, and he was offered a chance to join the famous Dusters. Initially, Grimm spat in the face of the offer, everyone on Tombstone IV knew the Dusters were little more than company thugs, little better than the bandits they ruthlessly exterminated. But Grimm's father counciled him, told him that if there was ever a chance of getting off this planet, any chance of becoming something more than another set of bleached bones in the harsh Tombstone sun, it lay with the company. One sweltering sunrise, Grimm left without a word, his shotgun slung across his back and brand new company duster thrown across his shoulders. His parents watched him melt into the horizon, like a ghost.
A Company ManEdit
Grimm took to his job like a Tombstone IV Helldog to a mans rib cage, within weeks he had made seventeen kills on various wanted criminals. His years of hunting and stalking Tombstone IV's local fauna for his families sake served him well in hunting bandit leaders and outlaws. For three years he served in the Dusters, never finding much kinship with his thuggish comrades but nonetheless taking up his own persona amongst them in order to stay well above the social pecking order. Grimm became quiet and cold, rarely if ever speaking, usually his Jakobs brand firearms did all the talking he needed.
It was during these formative and brutal years of contract killing that Grimm uncovered his prized firearm, Pale Horse. The massive handcannon was made by the now deceased John Randel, a weapons savant that the Jakobs Corporation had depended on for years to design various weapons, specifically handguns. Pale Horse was a revolutionary firearm, large and powerful enough to blow a Badass Bruiser in half, but light enough for even a Midget to fire it without blowing their arm off. The weapon itself was about the length of Grimm's thigh, yet it supposedly handled like a Dahl Magnum. Pale Horse, and its inventor, unexpectedly vanished from the Tombstone III compound, only for them both to end up in the hands of the brutal savage known as "King" Big Boomer. Boomer was an up and comer in Tombstone IV's bandit tribes, and had contacts on various worlds as he did the unspeakable crime of illicit arms dealing... selling stolen Jakobs brand weaponry. Grimm, with several posies of Dusters along with additional Jakobs hired mercenaries, were deployed to King Big Boomer's territory to eradicate his gang and return the marvel weapon and its inventor.
As the raid on the bandit kings small fortress began, Grimm decided to go it alone, as he always did. After leaping from the gunship with his squad he vanished as he always did, his digistructer holding enough sniper rifle and shotgun ammo to fell a small army. And fell a small army Grimm did, he cut a vast and bloody swath through the corridors and bunkers of Big Boomer's palace, cutting down any bandit foolish enough to get in his way. As he made his way though the compound, he just so happened to barge into Big Boomer's throne room. It was a small wonder why they called that fifteen foot monster of a man "Big" Boomer, and as if to accentuate his size he wielded a pair of custom made (i.e. stolen) Jakobs revolvers that might have started off life as howitzers. The brute and the gunman stared each other down for what felt like an eternity. Brief words were exchanged, threats issued, and then the gunfire commenced. Big Boomer had at least a force of twenty thugs at his back, each one more savage and ruthless than the next. But all fell before one man and his Jakobs weaponry. Soon it was just the king and Grimm, but the crafty warlord had one more card to play. Making a run for the secret dungeon underneath his throne, Big Boomer took the hostage John Randel and used him as a human shield. However, the scrawny, five foot scientist was hardly an effective shield as Big Boomer learned. That is, at the moment his skull was pierced by Grimm's sniper rifle.
With the scientist saved, Grimm was just about to drag the poindexter out of his hole when suddenly he laid eyes on the massive, gunmetal handgun that lay on the desk before him. He inquired as to the weapons status, and the foppish scientist retorted in saying that this, the most powerful weapon created by man, was the first complete and functioning prototype of what would be the next generation of Jakobs weaponry. This weapon, code named, Pale Horse, was a revolver that would have put the corporation above all of its competition. Who would bother to buy a Malawan, a Dahl, or a Tedior, when Jakobs guns could literally take down a lunar base from obit with but the pull of a trigger? Intrigued, Grimm hefted the revolver... and then it dawned on him. THIS was his ticket off this godforsaken planet, THIS was the answer to all his problems, THIS single... Bigass... Gun. He inquired as to how this masterpiece weapon functioned, and Randel, ever proud of his achievement, explained that the bullets must be hand made, and that the gun could not be digistructed as it had yet to be downloaded into the companies database and beamed across the galaxies for various gun dispensers. Thankfully, the scientist had the only existing copy of the bullet blueprints, and, being the genius he was, John Randel had made the construction and materials of these bullets so easy to make that conseiveably any moron (not to mention an interstellar mega-corporation) could construct the bullets from materials at hand. With this knowlege and the bullet schematics in hand, Grimm gave John Randel a heartfelt thank you... and then blew his brains out with his precious gun.
With his new "god gun" in hand a young Grimm fought his way though his former co-workers and hijacked the nearest space worthy vessel. But before he could escape, he had to get his beloved mother and father as well. He had always dreamed about getting rich off the company's money and sending his parents to live someplace nice like Vahalla or Ixtain. He always pictured his old man, fishing on the side of some alien lake, light years away from the dust and death of Tombstone VI. He flew with all the horsepower his new ship could muster. But when he arrived at his childhood home... all he found was ruins. He learned, only years later, that the day after he left bandits raided the ranch, and his aging father hadn't the strength to fight them all off. But at the time, Grimm could only stand there over the chared bones of the people who gave him live, and leave without another word.
Thus began Grimm's long and cold life as a contract killer, working for the highest bidder. Thankfully, the Jakobs corporation never did find out what had happened to the Pale Horse, or why all the men they sent to retrieve it ended up unidentifiable smears across the fortress wall