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Jaxen Marveet

Jax.png

Basic Stats

Age: 28

Origin: Moscow

Current Location: Moscow

Height: 5'11

Weight: 160lbs

Occupation: bored rich thief

Son of: Scion Marveet

Reborn God: Loki

Power: 9/37

Ability: New

Talent: Channeler

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Loyalty: Neutral

Played By: Jaxen

Jaxen’s developed a masterful skill at sleight-of-hand and pickpocketing, but quickly grew bored with small targets. Now, he’s known anonymously under any one of a handful of aliases as a world-class thief. It was his plots that made away with a private jet out of its bunker in broad daylight, Archduke Ferdinand’s Coronation Sword, and the Ainkhürn from the ecclesiastical Imperial Treasury in Vienna.

As a channeler, he will be able to design master illusions and invisibility.

Psychological description

Jax is a light-hearted guy. Thrill, competition and challenge gets him going in the morning. That, and, strong coffee.

Physical description

About 5'11" - he doesn't stand out in a crowd; unless you count dashing good looks, of course. His "jobs" are pretty physically demanding, as he works alone rather than in a part of a team, therefore he's in great shape. He’s agile and lean. He's the kind of guy who can scale a brick wall, repel and skydive. He also has great fashion sense, but can blend into a crowd he might as well be invisible.

“The only good snake is a dead snake.”

Jaxen has a black inked tattoo that curls and winds its way around the muscle and sinew of his upper arm: the skeleton of a dead snake posed as though frozen in mid-strike. Merely clenching his fist brings the thing to eerie life, as though reanimated by some divine touch. It is an intricate, bony thing: from hundreds of tiny vertebrae curled sharp ribs that formed the creature's body. The head, centered along the cap of his shoulder, is a mere skull that seemingly entirely formed of jaw bones and spike-like fangs.

Biography

Jax was the youngest kid in a modern, "mixed" Muscovite family. He had seven siblings. The oldest of which was the only full-blooded relative. The rest were the result of his mother's and father's various re-marriages, one adoption (a sister named Zoey), and one "accident" (the accident being him). It varies depending on who tells the story, but the deep roots of familiar passions between his parents warped sensibility long enough for one last romp together, and nine months later came into this world bouncing baby Jaxen.

Suffice to say, life in the Marveet estate was cramped. One would think twelve bedrooms, fifteen bathrooms, two pools, and a twenty-car garage would be enough square footage. Think again. Jax was constantly out "getting fresh air" throughout his youth. To which he frequently rolled his eyes when it was pointed out that nightclubs were hardly refreshing. What can a guy say? One man's fog-lamps is another man's sunrise. Eventually, Jax gave up arguing, shrugged indifferently and went back to doing what he always did. Which was pretty much anything he wanted.

He was threatened with military school at sixteen. As appealing as life as a CCD henchman sounded, Jax talked his way into boarding school instead. Hardly the way he'd have things turned out, but still. Seriously. Mumbai? Stuck in the jungle? Monkeys? Shy women? But, there were worse places than the capital of DIII--he was almost stuck in London.

Like some of the other CCD capitals, Mumbai was a marvel for tourists. And where there were crowds, pickpockets circled like vultures. Eventually, everyone was a target for a pickpocket, Jaxen included. Though he was more annoyed with replacing the identity cards in his wallet than losing anything else--his bank accounts were too well encrypted to really clean them out. But the first time he actually saw a swift hand glide smoothly in and out of a jacket pocket, well, he blinked in awe. The bulbous old man who was robbed had no idea he'd been ripped off. After that, Jax started to pay more attention. Over the next few weeks he determined there were really three main ways to rob a man. The first was the most obvious. Stroll up somewhere isolated, threaten with a weapon, and demand valuables. Boring. Any crackhead can pull that off. The second way involved a team working together on some con. They distract and disorient the target, and the would-be good samaritans are in and out of a bag, purse, or pocket like nothing happened. Which took way too much coordination. And was also boring.

The most challenging was by far the famous sleight-of-hand. Practicing the art wasn't so hard: deceit, misdirection, distraction. Whatever. The real difficulty was working up the guts to do it for the first time. His whole life, society said stealing was wrong. Maybe it was; maybe it wasn't. Who can say? But mankind is strange, after all. Stick two guys in an elevator and they'll stand as far apart as possible. Shove ten guys in an elevator, and nobody pays attention to anything. Bump shoulders? A quick "sorry bro," and its shrugged off. Jax had a dozen such chances before he ever brought himself to go through with it for the first time.

He was at a rave. Nightclub of course. Halloween night. He'd drank less than his usual, and kept a sharp eye out for would-be targets. Would it be the glittering fairy? She had a small card-case tucked in her tights against her thigh. How about Dracula? He kept a cigarette lighter and a wallet inside his cape. That's when he spotted them. Turns out, the would-be target was a nerdy 'american' tourist. The man was actually Japanese, but was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt with an old-fashioned digital camera slung around his neck with a fanny-pack wrapped low on his hips. Pretty good dancer too. And he was surrounded by a group of friends who obviously all came together. It was too perfect.

Jaxen, himself dressed as a pilot, slid amongst the group pounding the dance floor. Nobody noticed the newcomer, except the girl he ended up alongside. Another fairy. Or maybe a Tinkerbell? Ah well they all looked the same. He made his way alongside the man with the fanny pack, which obviously had something valuable inside, but there was no way to tell what it was. Sat-phone? Maybe? Didn't matter.

Heart pounding, Jax accidentally bumped into the guy's hip. While one hand stabilized them both from staggering out of the way, his other deftly unzipped the fanny pack, retrieved the first thing he found, and shoved it in his pocket. The Japanese-Hawaiian tourist backed away, holding his hands up and Jax's heart leaped into his throat. Everything led up to this moment. Then the guy apologized for the run-in, turned and started dancing once more. Jaxen grinned a devilish grin, took the apology, and decided to take off in favor of finding a toilet.

Adrenaline pumping his veins, he slipped his hand in his pocket as he strode away. It was a wallet. He got away with it. Nobody was coming to kill him. He grinned at the prize in his hand, feeling flushed and ecstatic, and glanced over his shoulder. Hawaiian shirt was tearing it up, oblivious that anything had happened. A second later, Jax returned, tapped the guy on the back and offered the wallet. "Uh, you dropped this brother!" He yelled over the music. The guy gasped and started thanking him with sloshed, but sincere, gratitude.

"No problem!" Jax replied and took off.

After that, he was hooked.

He suddenly took on a surprising interest in electronics, programming and surveillance--much to his family's surprise. But two years in Mumbai was bound to change anyone, even a rebel like Jaxen. Right?

Ten years later, Jaxen had quite the resume. Museum jewels were the first on his bucket-list. They were small and easily hidden away. Good things to practice on. He worked his way up to a Cezanne worth $5 million. Then getting into the Bank of Zurich. Archduke Ferdinand's coronation sword came home after that. The Tower of London was a bit of a challenge, but absolutely worth it. By the time he touched-down back in Moscow, the call of the Kremlin was pounding in his ears: the Everest on his horizon.

RP History