FLAXEN
BOLIAN-IGGRE MALE
AGE 26 HEIGHT 183 CM WEIGHT 111 KG PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION Flaxen is an exceptional specimen of a boxer. His broad head seems to sit directly on his shoulders, with almost no neck between. His brawny, muscle-bound body is covered with thin silvery scars gained over years. His grey eyes have a flat, calculating stare. The blue-skinned man will often wear nothing more than a pair of ragged jeans and a tank-top over his hairless body. Flaxen has the typical Bolian ridge running from the end of his spinal column to his navel. He also has a number of scars across his body, the result of many fights. |
His Iggre heritage is really only visible in the sheer size and attitude of the man. Iggre mature early and from the time he was a teenager, he more closely resembled an adult than the pubescent individual he was.
During his time in the Marine Corps, Flaxen got a tattoo of the SFMC sigil on his right forearm. Although some might consider the brute attractive, he really couldn't care less about his appearance. The most attention he will give his appearance is to purchase a new pair of jeans and a new tank-top before interviewing for a job.
PERSONALITY
Flaxen is not the good-natured, studious Bolian that many expect of that species. In fact, he is of a different nature entirely. He can be very friendly, but he is also touchy about several subjects, not the least of which is his parentage. Throughout the myriad medical exams he was forced to endure throughout his time with Starfleet, he had only barely reigned in his temper whenever mention of his father had come up. He didn't remember his mother, not more than as a vague figure in nearly lost memories. Other hot-button topics for him included his own childhood, prison, and any mention of rape.
The moral code of a child raised in one of the Klingon Empire's vilest prisons is a strange thing. He saw murder, graft, and prostitution and was acutely aware of them before he had reached age ten. There were few crimes he thought of as actual crimes. Among those was rape. He knew the word early in life. His mother told the story of how his father had forced himself upon her, and how she had killed him in his sleep only days later. "The only fit judgement for rape is murder." It is one of the few recollections he had from his early life.
Because of the unique circumstances under which Flaxen was raised, he has no problem with thieves and murderers. He sees graft and corruption as inevitable and simply believes that a person must make the most of their life by whatever means they can manage. For him, he uses his brawn.
Despite growing up in the Klingon Empire, he has little love for the warrior culture. His foster family were the rejected people of even that violent society. He heard few words of good for the empire, and even fewer in favor of the Federation.
His views on the Federation are more complex. He believes the Federation is a weak place filled with idealistic fools, but a profitable place nevertheless. It is a place where the determined can seize a better life for themselves. For a short time, he even believed in Starfleet. That illusion is gone now, lost with his freedom in a Federation prison.
Now he is determined to live in comfort and do whatever is necessary to ensure he never returns to prison.
STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES
Flaxen is in impeccable physical shape. He is a champion in several distinct boxing circuits as well as several Mixed Martial Arts competitions. Despite common stereotypes, he is not unintelligent. Quite the opposite, in fact. His intelligence is simply not often applied to subtlety. Flaxen is fairly uneducated, and hasn't read more than a few pages since his time in Starfleet though he does speak nearly a dozen languages, some of which are not even known in the Federation.
Flaxen's experience with Starfleet did teach him small group tactics. He never had any kind of command or leadership experience in the corps. The only things he believes he took from Starfleet was increased proficiency with small arms. He had never handled an energy weapon prior to his entrance to enlisted training, and when he began learning, he immediately caught on. He was a fair marksman, and had the potential to be an excellent gunsmith, but his dismissal from Starfleet turned weapon-work into a hobby.
He learned only the most basic concepts and practices behind inter-ship tactical engagements, and has never had any interest in heavy weapons.
This muscle-bound Bolian is very touchy about his reputation and intelligence. Many people assume he is simply a dumb sack of muscle, and that assumption is only barely disabused after a sound beating. Flaxen has a short temper, but can usually direct his aggression toward more appropriate targets than his crew mates. Although he learned of a few methods of dealing with high stress situations, he always believed that there was no way better than hitting something, or someone if the situation warranted it.
AMBITIONS
Whatever ambitions Flaxen may have had prior to his discharge from Starfleet have been replaced by a rather simple one. His only ambition is to eventually live in comfort. After growing up in a prison, and having returned to prison for two years, he is determined never to return, and will do anything to avoid it--except strictly obeying the law.
HOBBIES & INTERESTS
Flaxen enjoys martial arts. He knows Klingon fighting styles extremely well, and has learned some of Earth’s more obscure styles. He exercises constantly, never content with his physical shape.
The blue skinned man hates blood wine, surprisingly. He also despises music, unless it is excessively loud and inspires adrenaline. He avoids heat, it makes him very uncomfortable.
Flaxen can sometimes be loud and brash, but equally often he is quiet and calculating. He also has a very broad sense of humor, but doesn’t care for subtle jokes. He will give a malfunctioning piece of equipment what he calls a “technical tap” but what others call a jarring smack. He also names his weapons, of which he has an unusually large private stash which consists of mostly sharp-edged weapons. He does keep a couple of energy weapons that he toys with every so often. His favorites are the Klingon and Romulan disruptors.
He usually carries Clara, a butterfly knife, in one pocket and Hansel, a throwing knife, in a hidden sheath at the small of his back.
EARLY LIFE
Flaxen was born on the frozen prison world of Rura Penthe to a Bolian mother who had been taken by an Iggre man. His father was killed, by his mother, only a matter of days after the act. As the half-Bolian grew in the womb his mother was mostly apathetic, but willing to give the child life, and a chance to survive in the harsh climate of Rura Penthe.
The young man’s mother lived until he was three years old. During that time his mother taught him to be ruthless in his survival. The young boy would do whatever he needed to get what he wanted, and despite his tender age and still-developing psyche, he managed like many children have in similar circumstances. After his mother’s death he was considered simply another prisoner, when he was considered at all. Still unable to speak, the boy was ignored by most and learned to avoid any who would have paid attention. For the next three years he survived by taking other people’s food when they weren’t looking and huddling in spaces too small for anyone else. He became an excellent thief, stealing from thieves. Only his Iggre blood stood between him and death during these formative years. His increased strength and aggression made up for his young age.
One day one of the Klingon guards caught the six year old boy in the act of stealing an inmate's meal. The Klingon cursed at the child and received an equally vile curse--in four different languages. When the guard attempted to hit Flaxen for his insolence he was amazed to find that the child not only got up but returned the blow. His tiny fists drove into the Klingon’s crotch, forcing the man to his knees. It was a formidable blow for a child.
The guard was so amazed by the boy’s courage and downright pluck that he occasionally gave the boy food. Over the next several years, the guard, banished to the frozen prison world, began treating him nearly like a son, or at least a favorite nephew. From that day on the small Bolian was protected by the guard and taught by him. He was given meals and taught to survive in the frozen waste. As he became older he came to think of the guards as family, and he was largely considered the same. Flaxen’s world shrank to physical routine and training. The guards taught him of Klingon tradition and honor. Though many of their species would claim that they had lacked honor to be banished to guard a barren waste.
Under the guards' tutelage, he learned to fight, to curse, and to survive. He learned not to trust bureaucratic governments, regardless, of what form the took. He learned, in short, as much as he could learn in a prison like Rura Penthe.
When he reached the age for the Klingon rites, he was smuggled off the prison world by his Klingon family, with forged identification papers that identified him as a Federation citizen, in hopes that he would find a life better than he would have on Rura Penthe.
STARFLEET SERVICE
The Bolian man wandered in and out of the Federation for nearly a year, searching for something to do. Before then he had simply lived a daily existence of survival and routines. He missed having that. After seeing several Starfleet Marines and the discipline and respect they had, he gathered up his few belongings and moved to Earth. He enlisted in the Starfleet Marine Corps.
His parentage caused quite a stir among Starfleet medical staff. Only two Iggre had ever been examined by Starfleet, and they had died shortly after being rescued from a damaged freighter. Despite the unknowns, the doctors passed him. His background check made him sweat bullets, but the forged papers were even better than his Klingon family had known. A small colony, destroyed nearly three years earlier in a meteor shower, was the dead end that finally gave him a chance at a new life.
With that, he entered Marine Training.
Twelve weeks. They were the hardest weeks the blue-skinned man could remember. The first weeks were the worst. The psychological strain was worse than anything Flaxen had ever faced. He survived. Barely. The next eight weeks taught him how to be a Starfleet Marine. After graduation, his first assignment was aboard the USS Varis, where he served for two years before the incident that got him dishonorably discharged and sent to prison.
Those two years were difficult, but rewarding for Flaxen. He was a grunt, but valuable to his squad. He served well, but not with distinction. He had more than one reprimand on file by the time he was booted from the corps.
During a diplomatic mission the Varis was overseeing, one of the visiting diplomats took one of the crew through force. When Flaxen learned of the act, he stalked the diplomat and beat him to unconsciousness and a bit beyond.
When the court martial came, Flaxen did not apologize as he stood straight in his uniform. He remained firm in his belief that he had acted correctly. If truth be told, he once admitted, he didn't believe he had gone far enough. Although the punishment he was given was somewhat lenient, it still ruined his career. He was dishonorably discharged and sent to prison for two years for aggravated assault.
PRISON & POST-PRISON LIFE
When he entered the prison Flaxen grimaced at the pristine cells that surrounded him. The strictly regulated schedules and limited activity did not make up for the consistent meals. Flaxen had grown up in a prison with only one rule: survive. Even the Marine Corps training had allowed him the freedom to take out his anger and frustration on more than the cold steel walls.
After emerging from the stifling walls of the Federation prison, Flaxen found himself wandering once more. Over the next couple of years he did odd-jobs for whomever would pay him. Those jobs were mostly legal, though a few did stray over the line, and more than one nearly had him in prison again.
He was hired several times as a bouncer, other times as a grunt who was responsible solely for lifting heavy stuff, and other times as a bodyguard. Each job had its challenges, and each eventually ended.
Whenever Flaxen wasn't on a job, he entered whatever fight competitions he could find. He won nearly two dozen prize fights, of almost every variety. Although he is not undefeated by any stretch, he is still a favorite whenever he enters a contest.
His last employer laid Flaxen off following an expansion of his business. As such, the half-Bolian was looking for work. He found a job working personal security for a Ferengi named Kronig. Although he doesn't really care for Ferengi, they do pay well.
During his time in the Marine Corps, Flaxen got a tattoo of the SFMC sigil on his right forearm. Although some might consider the brute attractive, he really couldn't care less about his appearance. The most attention he will give his appearance is to purchase a new pair of jeans and a new tank-top before interviewing for a job.
PERSONALITY
Flaxen is not the good-natured, studious Bolian that many expect of that species. In fact, he is of a different nature entirely. He can be very friendly, but he is also touchy about several subjects, not the least of which is his parentage. Throughout the myriad medical exams he was forced to endure throughout his time with Starfleet, he had only barely reigned in his temper whenever mention of his father had come up. He didn't remember his mother, not more than as a vague figure in nearly lost memories. Other hot-button topics for him included his own childhood, prison, and any mention of rape.
The moral code of a child raised in one of the Klingon Empire's vilest prisons is a strange thing. He saw murder, graft, and prostitution and was acutely aware of them before he had reached age ten. There were few crimes he thought of as actual crimes. Among those was rape. He knew the word early in life. His mother told the story of how his father had forced himself upon her, and how she had killed him in his sleep only days later. "The only fit judgement for rape is murder." It is one of the few recollections he had from his early life.
Because of the unique circumstances under which Flaxen was raised, he has no problem with thieves and murderers. He sees graft and corruption as inevitable and simply believes that a person must make the most of their life by whatever means they can manage. For him, he uses his brawn.
Despite growing up in the Klingon Empire, he has little love for the warrior culture. His foster family were the rejected people of even that violent society. He heard few words of good for the empire, and even fewer in favor of the Federation.
His views on the Federation are more complex. He believes the Federation is a weak place filled with idealistic fools, but a profitable place nevertheless. It is a place where the determined can seize a better life for themselves. For a short time, he even believed in Starfleet. That illusion is gone now, lost with his freedom in a Federation prison.
Now he is determined to live in comfort and do whatever is necessary to ensure he never returns to prison.
STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES
Flaxen is in impeccable physical shape. He is a champion in several distinct boxing circuits as well as several Mixed Martial Arts competitions. Despite common stereotypes, he is not unintelligent. Quite the opposite, in fact. His intelligence is simply not often applied to subtlety. Flaxen is fairly uneducated, and hasn't read more than a few pages since his time in Starfleet though he does speak nearly a dozen languages, some of which are not even known in the Federation.
Flaxen's experience with Starfleet did teach him small group tactics. He never had any kind of command or leadership experience in the corps. The only things he believes he took from Starfleet was increased proficiency with small arms. He had never handled an energy weapon prior to his entrance to enlisted training, and when he began learning, he immediately caught on. He was a fair marksman, and had the potential to be an excellent gunsmith, but his dismissal from Starfleet turned weapon-work into a hobby.
He learned only the most basic concepts and practices behind inter-ship tactical engagements, and has never had any interest in heavy weapons.
This muscle-bound Bolian is very touchy about his reputation and intelligence. Many people assume he is simply a dumb sack of muscle, and that assumption is only barely disabused after a sound beating. Flaxen has a short temper, but can usually direct his aggression toward more appropriate targets than his crew mates. Although he learned of a few methods of dealing with high stress situations, he always believed that there was no way better than hitting something, or someone if the situation warranted it.
AMBITIONS
Whatever ambitions Flaxen may have had prior to his discharge from Starfleet have been replaced by a rather simple one. His only ambition is to eventually live in comfort. After growing up in a prison, and having returned to prison for two years, he is determined never to return, and will do anything to avoid it--except strictly obeying the law.
HOBBIES & INTERESTS
Flaxen enjoys martial arts. He knows Klingon fighting styles extremely well, and has learned some of Earth’s more obscure styles. He exercises constantly, never content with his physical shape.
The blue skinned man hates blood wine, surprisingly. He also despises music, unless it is excessively loud and inspires adrenaline. He avoids heat, it makes him very uncomfortable.
Flaxen can sometimes be loud and brash, but equally often he is quiet and calculating. He also has a very broad sense of humor, but doesn’t care for subtle jokes. He will give a malfunctioning piece of equipment what he calls a “technical tap” but what others call a jarring smack. He also names his weapons, of which he has an unusually large private stash which consists of mostly sharp-edged weapons. He does keep a couple of energy weapons that he toys with every so often. His favorites are the Klingon and Romulan disruptors.
He usually carries Clara, a butterfly knife, in one pocket and Hansel, a throwing knife, in a hidden sheath at the small of his back.
EARLY LIFE
Flaxen was born on the frozen prison world of Rura Penthe to a Bolian mother who had been taken by an Iggre man. His father was killed, by his mother, only a matter of days after the act. As the half-Bolian grew in the womb his mother was mostly apathetic, but willing to give the child life, and a chance to survive in the harsh climate of Rura Penthe.
The young man’s mother lived until he was three years old. During that time his mother taught him to be ruthless in his survival. The young boy would do whatever he needed to get what he wanted, and despite his tender age and still-developing psyche, he managed like many children have in similar circumstances. After his mother’s death he was considered simply another prisoner, when he was considered at all. Still unable to speak, the boy was ignored by most and learned to avoid any who would have paid attention. For the next three years he survived by taking other people’s food when they weren’t looking and huddling in spaces too small for anyone else. He became an excellent thief, stealing from thieves. Only his Iggre blood stood between him and death during these formative years. His increased strength and aggression made up for his young age.
One day one of the Klingon guards caught the six year old boy in the act of stealing an inmate's meal. The Klingon cursed at the child and received an equally vile curse--in four different languages. When the guard attempted to hit Flaxen for his insolence he was amazed to find that the child not only got up but returned the blow. His tiny fists drove into the Klingon’s crotch, forcing the man to his knees. It was a formidable blow for a child.
The guard was so amazed by the boy’s courage and downright pluck that he occasionally gave the boy food. Over the next several years, the guard, banished to the frozen prison world, began treating him nearly like a son, or at least a favorite nephew. From that day on the small Bolian was protected by the guard and taught by him. He was given meals and taught to survive in the frozen waste. As he became older he came to think of the guards as family, and he was largely considered the same. Flaxen’s world shrank to physical routine and training. The guards taught him of Klingon tradition and honor. Though many of their species would claim that they had lacked honor to be banished to guard a barren waste.
Under the guards' tutelage, he learned to fight, to curse, and to survive. He learned not to trust bureaucratic governments, regardless, of what form the took. He learned, in short, as much as he could learn in a prison like Rura Penthe.
When he reached the age for the Klingon rites, he was smuggled off the prison world by his Klingon family, with forged identification papers that identified him as a Federation citizen, in hopes that he would find a life better than he would have on Rura Penthe.
STARFLEET SERVICE
The Bolian man wandered in and out of the Federation for nearly a year, searching for something to do. Before then he had simply lived a daily existence of survival and routines. He missed having that. After seeing several Starfleet Marines and the discipline and respect they had, he gathered up his few belongings and moved to Earth. He enlisted in the Starfleet Marine Corps.
His parentage caused quite a stir among Starfleet medical staff. Only two Iggre had ever been examined by Starfleet, and they had died shortly after being rescued from a damaged freighter. Despite the unknowns, the doctors passed him. His background check made him sweat bullets, but the forged papers were even better than his Klingon family had known. A small colony, destroyed nearly three years earlier in a meteor shower, was the dead end that finally gave him a chance at a new life.
With that, he entered Marine Training.
Twelve weeks. They were the hardest weeks the blue-skinned man could remember. The first weeks were the worst. The psychological strain was worse than anything Flaxen had ever faced. He survived. Barely. The next eight weeks taught him how to be a Starfleet Marine. After graduation, his first assignment was aboard the USS Varis, where he served for two years before the incident that got him dishonorably discharged and sent to prison.
Those two years were difficult, but rewarding for Flaxen. He was a grunt, but valuable to his squad. He served well, but not with distinction. He had more than one reprimand on file by the time he was booted from the corps.
During a diplomatic mission the Varis was overseeing, one of the visiting diplomats took one of the crew through force. When Flaxen learned of the act, he stalked the diplomat and beat him to unconsciousness and a bit beyond.
When the court martial came, Flaxen did not apologize as he stood straight in his uniform. He remained firm in his belief that he had acted correctly. If truth be told, he once admitted, he didn't believe he had gone far enough. Although the punishment he was given was somewhat lenient, it still ruined his career. He was dishonorably discharged and sent to prison for two years for aggravated assault.
PRISON & POST-PRISON LIFE
When he entered the prison Flaxen grimaced at the pristine cells that surrounded him. The strictly regulated schedules and limited activity did not make up for the consistent meals. Flaxen had grown up in a prison with only one rule: survive. Even the Marine Corps training had allowed him the freedom to take out his anger and frustration on more than the cold steel walls.
After emerging from the stifling walls of the Federation prison, Flaxen found himself wandering once more. Over the next couple of years he did odd-jobs for whomever would pay him. Those jobs were mostly legal, though a few did stray over the line, and more than one nearly had him in prison again.
He was hired several times as a bouncer, other times as a grunt who was responsible solely for lifting heavy stuff, and other times as a bodyguard. Each job had its challenges, and each eventually ended.
Whenever Flaxen wasn't on a job, he entered whatever fight competitions he could find. He won nearly two dozen prize fights, of almost every variety. Although he is not undefeated by any stretch, he is still a favorite whenever he enters a contest.
His last employer laid Flaxen off following an expansion of his business. As such, the half-Bolian was looking for work. He found a job working personal security for a Ferengi named Kronig. Although he doesn't really care for Ferengi, they do pay well.