Name: Rak'nar
Rank: Lt. Colonel
Service Number: 762-4229J
Date of Birth: July 17th, 2354
Species: Klingon
Gender: Male
Place of Origin:
  First City, Qu'onos
Height: 193cm
Weight: 136kg
Build: Fit, muscular
Skin: Brown
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Marital Status: Single
Current Assignment:
  Commanding Officer,
  USS Minuteman, SRV-101

All Klingons are expected to live as warriors of some description, but for the able-bodied son of a noble house, even a minor one, military service was a given.  Thus, by birth, it was the officer’s path for him, and by talent as well as ambition, that path looked bright indeed.  Indeed, by the outbreak of the Dominion War, he had already served aboard several ships with a record to be envied, and worked his way up to Third Officer aboard the IKS Da’Chang.  A number of well-fought victories to his credit, both in battle and various bat’leth tournaments, it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that many eyes were upon him.

That burgeoning notoriety, combined with an excess of bloodwine, would also sadly be the end of his meteoric rise.  Like all Klingons, at least in theory, he held his honor dear, and as the war against the Dominion saw one bloody defeat after another, he found himself dishonored.  Bad enough to be defeated in battle; worse by far to be a traitor, and as the Dominion’s strategy became clear in retrospect, it became harder and harder to see his people as anything else.  Motivated by greed for new territory, thinly veiled by paranoia over Changeling infiltration of the Cardassian government, Klingon invasion of their space had simply spurred the Cardassians to openly embrace the Dominion out of desperation.  Worse still, they had gone to war against the Federation, leaving the entire quadrant weakened and primed for invasion…all as the Dominion had foreseen and engineered.  The Founders had taken advantage of their reckless stupidity, and thereby twisted them into a weapon to be turned against whomever they chose!

One goblet too many, and these bitter thoughts spilled forth at a gathering with far too many high ranking people of influence in attendance.  He was fortunate in that more sober people of influence, some of whom perhaps had wrestled with such shame as well despite being wise enough to keep the battle private, intervened to prevent him from being killed on the spot.  A few even spoke in his defense on record, convincingly enough to keep him in the service, but he soon afterwards found himself transferred into an infantry company of unremarkable record, there to be washed away ignominiously under a rising tide of Jem’Hadar.

He refused to accept that fate, and his company did not remain unremarkable for long.  Yet no matter how many wounds he survived, no matter how many soulless Jem’Hadar he killed with everything from his disruptor to his bare hands, it was clear that his career would advance no further.  And then, years later, there came at last a break.  Perhaps it was simply seen as a chance to be rid of him, but a chance had arisen to serve alongside those who had from the beginning fought in true and valiant defense of the Alpha Quadrant.  His application for the Officer Exchange Program had been accepted.  He would be serving on a Starfleet vessel.

To be continued…

Well-muscled, broad shouldered and standing at a lofty six foot four, Rak’nar certainly cuts the imposing figure one typically envisions when they picture a trained Klingon warrior even at rest.  The image is marred, perhaps, only by the traces of grey which have begun to creep into his full and twin-braided beard, yet as soon as he moves, any thought that he may be slowed by either age or bulk are quickly dispelled.  His voluminous hair is worn long, and twisted into roughly 3 kilograms of dreadlocks.

And yet, his most immediately attention getting feature is likely the one which would NOT be readily associated with a Klingon warrior.  The left half of his face is largely dominated by a large tattoo around his eye in the shape of a brilliantly crimson Starfleet delta.

Numerous battlefield injuries, healed to the usual standard of Klingon battlefield medicine.  Needless to say, he’s got some scars…and also a peanut allergy.