Growing up hella cool

Jaxen Marveet is the 7th and youngest of the surname-wielding Marveet children. His father is Scion Marveet, steel industry titan, Moscow billionaire and front-runner for the next seat of Privilege of DI. His mother is Irina Marveet who in her own right is a force of nature. She has her own empire of model agencies but hasn’t been involved in the details of managing it for many years.

Irina and Scion were married for only a few years. During that time, they had their first child, a boy named Maksim. He was only two when they divorced. Scion and Irina went on to remarry multiple times over, but years later, while both were between spouses, one last night of passion resulted in their second child, Jaxen.

Despite this mixed, Moscovite heritage, Scion and Irina continued to share a lavish estate in the Golden Ring. Suffice to say, life 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 laser-lights was 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.

There were perks to being one of two “pure” Marveet kids. Irina and Scion’s two sons, Maksim and Jaxen were each gifted enormous trust funds. Maksim’s rumored in the 2-5 billion dollar range. Jaxen’s was over a billion. Their allowances were capped until each turned 24, but it made growing up hella fun. The two brothers withdrew a good 2-3 million dollars a month for their ‘allowance.’

Jaxen wasn’t close to his siblings growing up. The only exception being Scion’s “adopted” daughter Zoey. She was already ostracized as an adopted daughter unrelated by blood to either of the Marveet princes. Outsider status was a kinship Jaxen appreciated. Plus she was a lot of fun.

Jaxen was threatened with being expelled from a private school at a mere 8 years old. Scion and Irina made sure that didn’t happen, but he made the rounds through all the privates until finally he was pulled out completely for ‘personal tutoring.’ Even regular ballet could do nothing to shake Jaxen’s overwhelming energy for mischief. The lessons served him well later in life though. There was a fine, athletic line between parkour, thieving and dance, and Jaxen was a master at knowing how to use his own body to get what he wanted.

Maksim, on the other hand, was the ideal child. His grades were perfect, the guy even played piano. In contrast, the year Jaxen turned 15, he was arrested three separate times. At 16, Scion threatened to enroll him in military school. His older brother had already written him off by then.

Mumbai is better than Military School

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 girls? But, there were worse places than the capital of DIII. He was almost stuck in London.

Like 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 the hassle than actually losing his money for the month. But the first time he actually witnessed 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 person. 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.

He ripped off a wallet from some asswipe in a nightclub. So easy, he even returned it later. It was when he tried to rip off the wrong guy was how he landed up as Zixin Kao’s guest. He ended up bagged and kidnapped one Sunday night. Tied to a chair with zip ties and everything. The guy was something, though, and maybe he found Jaxen too humorous to cut off his tongue, but that silver voice talked him out of sure murder as easily as it did military school. After getting past the terrifying experience of being kidnapped by a member of the Syndicate, he actually came to like Zixin. Learned a lot from that guy about the decidedly more fun side of the world.

Making His Way in the World of the Day

It was while he was in Mumbai that Jaxen developed a sudden interest in programming, backchannels, and electronics – much to his family’s surprise. Zixin’s influence may have had something to do with it. Rather shocked by the sudden interest in what might become an honest career, Scion humored Jaxen’s interests, although it would be years later before he realized what his youngest son was doing with the knowledge.

After leaving Mumbai, Jaxen rolled through the Dominances seeking adventure. Skydiving was up first. Then rappelling. He took up rock climbing in the Swiss Alps, then scaling the Big Mountains in the Himalayas. It was amazing what a guy could buy with the right amount of money – even touching the tip of Everest and enjoying a relaxing helicopter back down. He free-climbed Mallorca after Everest, but after a near slip that made him piss his pants, he vowed to stay closer to the ground after that. He visited cities practically built for parkour: Rome, Santorini, Brighton. But even flinging himself through the air came to be boring unless there was a destination at the end, and after sending Zixin a post of himself in Vienna, the Syndicate son bet him to twinkle-toes his way inside the Museum of Natural History and come out with a souvenir.

He waltzed out with the sword of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II, and Zixin was in a riotous mood afterward. He sent his Singaporean friend proof of multiple exploits after that, right up until his criminal friend tried to rob him of the treasures himself. He didn’t succeed, and Jaxen might have been offended if he wasn’t so flattered.

Over the next few years, Jaxen masqueraded as a number of “master thief” aliases, plucking his way through Europe, South America, and finally, the United States.

Notoriety is only an alias away

Semblance Vit – Responsible for twice infiltrating the imperial museum of Vienna. Had a penchant for royal jewels. Broke into the Bank of Zurich.

Jackar Myles – Broke into the Louvre in Paris and the Tower of London. Stole a Cezanne worth $5 Million. Jaxen took flying lessons for 6 months just so he could steal a jet out of a private hanger as Jackar. He zipped around the skies for a few hours then landed the plane in a country airfield for the custody to find it later.

Voxel Adams – The Darkweb user notorious for blowing up megacompany security for other hackers to exploit. His alias often worked to lower security thresholds associated with governments, museums, banks, and the warehouses of the mega-wealthy. He freely shared information with allies and had a famous ‘face’ avatar in the cybercrime underworld.

He returned to Moscow itching for a real challenge. He intended to rob the grand jewels from the Armory Chamber and Diamond Fund straight out of the Kremlin itself. However, before he could begin planning the heist, things happened…

Mr. White, Boda and the Cabaret

His first event back in town was to attend the Baccarat gala. The gallery was famous for its spectacular crystal pieces, and he thought it best to warm up in Moscow against a target easier than the Kremlin. Just to get a feeling for how tightly wound the Red Devils of the Kremlin District were.

It was on his way to the event that he met a private security guy named Mr. White (Hood). They had something of an unfortunate run-in beforehand, but more notably when they crossed paths in the courtyard at Baccarat. White even shared a cigar. And his trusty Zippo.

For a long—incredibly long—second, Jaxen worried he’d pushed things too far. Mr. White darkened considerably, and Jax was keenly aware of their difference in size. Then there was that gun he so kindly showed the Red Square devils back at that bookstore. Of course, in the back of his mind, Jaxen was not worried about being shot in the back. No, that was relatively unlikely, unless Hood was a maniac, in which case the man’s employer was going to be in shit up to their eyeballs if one of their own shoots up the very place he was sent to protect. Nah, Jax was far more concerned about the greater possibility of simply being punched in the face. But he didn’t back down. The thing about Jax, he could take his mistakes like a man. And take serious notes about how to handle things for the next go-around.

Jaxen, The Baccarat Gala

After talking Mr. White (Hood) into gifting him a cigar, he stole the man’s favorite Zippo, which came in rather handy.

In his reconnaissance of the building, Jaxen snuck into the basement, only to discover that the Baccarat Mansion was much more than it appeared to be. Little did he know at the time, but he had discovered the second Atharim Headquarters. Atharim henchmen chased him out of the building, but it was when he faced a locked gate in the back that he first channeled, breaking it open in his hands.

He ripped at the lock in frustration, and to his bloody luck, the thing fell off in his hand. There wasn’t time to consider the impossibility of that. But Jaxen went with it. He threw the broken thing to the dirt and ran for it. Ran for his life.

Jaxen, The Baccarat Gala

He laid low for a few days in the Red Light District until experiencing his first bout of Sickness. Jaxen held the dubious claim of driving the fastest time around the Garden Ring Road, less than 5 minutes in full traffic. During the height of the Sickness, he ‘borrowed’ a supercar and challenged another driver to a road race. He nearly killed himself and unknown numbers of people on that drive, which he lost anyway, and an hour later was vomiting sick in an ally thinking he was about to die.

It was while he was pretty much incapacitated that he was kidnapped by a rougarou.

A hard grip latched onto Jax’s arm, and when he spun to try and knock the guy off, it was he who was hurled sideways. He slammed into the dumpster, the collision rippling a deep, metallic thud across the empty alley, and he stumbled in absolute shock. Then to his horror the dude was already back on him, faster than he should have been, and Jax was shoved to the ground just in time to take a boot to the guts.

He awoke God knows how long later, somewhere dark and humid, with quiet drips in the distance, chained up, and pretty sure he was in pretty deep shit this time. But at least the fever seemed to have broke.

Jaxen, Laying Low

He woke up shackled in an abandoned Soviet era bathhouse. There was another victim in the room, already having been the chew toy of the rougarou captors for an unknown amount of time.

The worst part about being tied up? Besides all the blood draining out of your arms until your hands go numb? Was the inability to jam his fingers in his ears to drown out the sounds of that chick’s soul-sucking whimpers. Just put him out of his misery.

Jaxen, Dealing with Devils

He tried to deal his way out. Offered cash first. Lots of cash. When that didn’t work, he even offered to send down new victims for the psychos. But the rougarou wanted nothing except a meal. Jaxen was in trouble.

He ended up using the Zippo to trick the rougarou into thinking it was a panic button. The man unchained him long enough that Jaxen hit the man in the temple with the loose chain, knocking him unconscious. He was about to waltz out when a group of Atharim hunters, including Mr. White (Hood), ran in and killed the creature.

For good measure, Mr. White (Hood) kicked the shit out of him then took his Zippo back. Jaxen was so happy to escape, he didn’t even care.

Jaxen wasn’t bitter when he called Mr. White (Hood) to hire him to protect a friend. Boda was the owner of the theatre where Jaxen hosted the famous Cabaret satire of Ascendancy. In the performance, he mocked everything about the CCD and Nikolai Brandon himself. Included in the performance was an expert illusion of himself as Brandon, performing mocking sexual acts, dancing, stripping and being generally weak, afraid and dumb. Many candy asses were featured in the imagery on display that night.

And he basked in the glory while the illusion finally unraveled. Gasps erupted, cheering and whistling for the mastery of magic flooded his skin like a drug. His very real eyes and very real cowl of hair glittered with endless amusement. He spread his arms, dipped a leg backward, and bowed with delightful drama.

Jaxen, Cabaret and Candy

Naturally, the CCD wasn’t pleased with the performance. Boda was killed despite Jaxen’s effort to hire Mr. White (Hood). Of course, White (Hood) almost succeeded against an entire team of Custody agents, led by Ryker Petrović. It was impressive, but Boda was marked for death no matter what.

Little did Jaxen know that he himself should have died the same night, but his father, Scion, made an alternate deal to atone his son’s great offense.

Snakes, Rainbows and Runes

In trying to understand why his name was on a hit-list of gods, he met Mr. White (Hood) at Manifesto. Who was surprisingly cooperative with answers. He explained that the Atharim hunted monsters more than people and to stay away from them. Luckily Mr. White (Hood) wasn’t interested in doing the killing himself. The guy had more fun facing down monsters than rich kids.

Jaxen found his way out of the club, but when the valet delivered his car to the door, there was an extra passenger in the seats.

Jaxen slid into the car, ready to throw it into second and get the hell out of there. He pulled the door shut behind him, and all sounds of the exterior world were suddenly muffled to a distant white noise.

But a flash of sculpted thigh caught his eye. His gaze followed the leg on up to a delightfully styled young woman with the flashiest hair he believed he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“Hmm,” he murmured, toggled the car into gear and put on the gas.

Together, he and his new friend rocketed out of there. “The valets at Manifesto are more attractive than I remember.” He glanced at her reflection in the windshield. “You clearly know who I am. So let’s hear your name.” The car shifted beautifully into higher gear, begging Jaxen to whip around the open road circling the Kremlin walls.

Jaxen, Let the Show Begin

At gunpoint, an Atharim girl named Rune made him drive to a park where she intended to execute him mafia-style. He was too nervous to channel, and Rune had all the control. Sora was a member of the naga race who had the ability to move between the real world and Naga realm. Her rescue of Jaxen was appreciated, but his phobia of snakes nearly left him incapacitated when he realized she was a literal snake-woman. He flat panicked when he was dropped in a city of snake-people.

“You are in Moscow no longer and everything iss real. Thiss,” she gestured around them, “iss Komukai Ccity. My name is Ssora, and you are one of the Ancientss reborn, whosse hide I am honor bound to ssave sso that you can learn more of who and what you are in preparation for the dayss to come.”

Sora, Let the Show Begin

With a great deal of hesitation, Jaxen allowed himself to be taken to a sort of temple within their city. From there, he passed into a room of knowledge occupied by a sentient secret-keeper named Tarin. Sora referred to Jaxen as one of the Ancients, and his abilities that of the Ancient Power, words that were used again by Tarin. There, Tarin explained the threads of the Ancient Power and that Jaxen would have a longer than normal life, but most important was that he was still quite mortal. He also taught Jaxen how to compose and break a shield, about strength and overpowering an opponent.

He turned before passing through the invisible passage. “Just how ancient are we Ancients?”

Jaxen turned to ask a question, but Tarin was limited to answer. He clasped his hands before him,

“Since the beginning of time.”

Jaxen, Let the Show Begin

Jaxen wasn’t quite sure that the event really occurred or was a figment of his imagination. He was deposited back in the real world in the middle of the countryside along the Moscow River, buck-naked in the snow where he was discovered by Elias and Sierra. He had been absent for three months. His father did not believe his tale that he had been kidnapped.

Rockstars, Hackers and Snakes

In the pomp and adoration of the star performer at the Cabaret, Jaxen had the fortune to meet not one, but two world-famous rock stars. He conned Aiden Finnegan and Methos into dueling one another. All in good jest, of course, and the night ended with name-dropping some Irish folklore that perked Jaxen’s ears. He had been learning about these Four Treasures that he found referenced in the files he stole from the Baccarat Atharim headquarters. He was obsessed with actually discovering one Treasure in particular, the Sword of Light of Nuada, simply because he liked the sound of its name.

In fact, he had been so interested that he flew to Ireland (via coach! Torture!) to visit Trinity College and take a look at the Book of Leinster itself. It was while he was there that he met a woman named Petra. She wasn’t the visiting professor she claimed to be, but instead was one of the remaining original drakaina, the monster known as Sybaris, a daughter of Lamia, whose children were cursed by Hera. She drank his blood and then compelled him to bring the Treasures that he was seeking to her once he found them. Luckily, she was killed by Tan Li and the compulsion to serve her was removed. Jaxen promptly got the hell out of Ireland, disappointed to return home empty handed.

Therefore, when Aiden alluded to having insider information about tracking down these treasures as well, Jaxen scooped the rockstar and his boyfriend, Sage, whom he eventually came to learn was another infamous hacker, to his apartment in order to plan a return trip to Ireland.

The trip came none too soon as the consequences of the Cabaret were coming for him. He had planted himself firmly on Atharim radar not only as the man who broke into their headquarters, stole their information, and was a party to burning down the building, but as a flamboyantly proud channeler.

Following the Cabaret, his father had cut him off from his trust fund “allowance”, which left Jaxen in something of a hole when it came to funding. His mother was going to help fill the void, but Aiden’s offer was most welcome.

If Jaxen was being honest, and let’s not kid ourselves, that isn’t one of his talents, he was not rich. In fact, the only things in sight that were rightfully his were acquisitions by his alter-egos, Voxel, Jakar, and Semblance. Jaxen hadn’t done an honest day’s work in his life, and fingers crossed he’d never endure such suffering, but when daddy-dear cut him off, only his mother’s great love (and deep purse) kept his lifestyle afloat. So technically, he needed Aiden for more than his fledgling skills with the ancient power, but also to avoid mom’s nosing her way into his business. Ironic thing was that if Jaxen announced his intent to flit around the world in the company of an infamous rock star, nobody would bat an eyelash. An academic exploration of the northern sea? They’d lose their minds.

Jaxen, Tantalizing

Ireland was a haven for the Naga race, and the two powerful Ancients in their midst drew the attention of the Naga princess, Ethelinda, whose name tickled Jaxen’s memory. He felt like he knew her and trusted her for it. Ethelinda was an old Germanic name meaning “Noble Serpent.” That one of the ancients, Aiden himself, was the god Lugh reborn likely drew their attention. Either way, between the two of them, they were suckered.

The Naga had safeguarded the Four Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann for centuries. They were last used by St. Patrick to drive out the “snakes” (Atharim) from Ireland, and had been kept safe for the return of one who was worthy to wield them again.

Led by Ethelinda, when Aiden touched the Stone of Destiny, they were transported to the Naga-realm. Having been formerly traumatized by snakes in his past life as Loki, and having already once been abducted by the naga Sora, Jaxen appropriately freaked out and ran, leaving Aiden and Sage to their own fates. They were all reunited in a gladiatorial ring of sorts, and the Naga Royals pit the two Ancients against one another. The winner would be awarded a great Treasure.

Of course, Aiden won the duel, but Jaxen left with the Sword of Light of Nauda anyway. Despite nearly killing each other heat-of-the-moment style, they all parted as something of tentative friends.

Happy to get and be gotten

Jaxen is just too damn irresistible for his own good. He is 5’9”-5’10” and a scant 155 lbs. He is wiry and stronger than he looks, but by his own admission, he is not a hulking lump of testosterone himself.

Then Jaxen understood. He came over and examined the security of his next chew toy, and smiled at the faint color to Jaxen’s hands. Jaxen stared, hard and defiant, not caring at all to even bother looking for humanity behind this sicko’s eyes.

“You’re feeling better now,” the man said, alluding to the more pathetic, post-vomiting state in which he’d been abducted earlier. “Yes–” he went on to utter, eyes drawn upward along Jaxen’s arms as though appraising the muscular choice of his steak. “–and stronger than you look,” he said quietly to himself. Jaxen shivered when he ran a palm along the side of his ribs, licking his lips.

Jaxen, Dealing with Devils

His styles and fashion choices are usually outrageous. He likes attention, labels, irony, and being the center of attention. Most of all, he wears things that make him look good. Which isn’t hard. He frequently wears snug pants low on the hip and is fond of flashy footwear. Jewelry and accessories decorate his body aplenty. There is always a distinct edge to the shape of his choices.

He has puppy-dog round chocolate eyes that easily flash irritated rolling as easily as they do devilry. His expressions are always animated, over-the-top experiences. His hair is a dark brown, styled incredibly messy (usually on purpose) or coiffed tall. He usually wears a scruff of facial hair, though it’s not unusual for him to let it overgrow. When he does shave clean to the skin, he looks quite young.

He met Oriena at Kallisti House of Burlesque while laying low from the Atharim. He sweet-talked her into coming to a party with him afterward, but to his frustration, she resisted every advance he made along the way, giving in only when she was full and ready to take her due. She liked to say the only reason she was interested was because he was ‘different’, being a wielder of the ancient power, but Jaxen knew she liked what she saw.

She preferred Jaxen genuinely disheveled to the artful nonchalance of his preened appearance. It was more honest, and she always preferred a man stripped bare to his visceral nature, even when what it revealed was an ugly soul. An appreciative gaze ran the length of him, tempting her to run a finger along the jut of his hip and tangle into that devilishly low waistband. She didn’t. He’d been right when he’d retorted that his looks and charm hadn’t hurt. They still didn’t. But Jaxen’s wicked jack-o’-lantern smile hadn’t been enough on its own to tether her to the Privilege’s party, once he’d wandered off to indulge his own brand of socialising. She’d stayed because of what he was.

Oriena, A Blind Eye

Mostly just to piss off his father, he took Oriena to the Grand Ball fundraiser at the Kremlin, but there were more selfish reasons to take her as well. They had together broke into the Atharim headquarters, and escorting her straight into the heart of Custody power was a thrill he could not resist. Things escalated between them, though. Each were now a better channeler, and Jaxen couldn’t let someone one-up him, especially her. She ended up tying him down with bonds of the Ancient Power and screwed in the bathroom floor strewn with broken glass that cut into his back.

Coils of the ancient power snaked around the gilded frame, sending it to crash to the floor. He danced from its path at the last second, twirled and waited for security to run in. Meanwhile, he smeared his own blood a little more around the back of his neck and laid himself out on the floor like a sacrifice upon a sparkling altar.

Jaxen, The Grand Ball

Most of the time she found Jaxen in different measures either an irritation or disappointment; neither a remarkable feat given her general attitudes towards others. But there was always something in the hook of his grin that curled like irresistible flames anyway, and Ori delighted in the way it burned through her. She’d wanted to incite him to violence, but apparently he knew how to navigate the thorns of her mood. There was only ever the smallest bridge from harpy to harlot, after all.

Oriena, The Grand Ball

Jaxen released her wrist, allowing her bonds to clamp his own back in place. Trapped by it, he let his power be the hands that guided her, given his own were occupied. Any second someone would find them. But the urgency only added to the thrill. Being fucked by Oriena in the Kremlin grand palace was about the most obviously appropriate thing in the world. Maybe they’d take it to the throne next time.

Jaxen, The Grand Ball

“You seemed too delicate for that kind of play. You still do,” she purred. But there was a difference between pain and pain, and Jaxen’s expression slipped over the edge. Delicate little flower that he was.

Oriena, The Grand Ball

Jaxen is more than happy to submit to others, particularly to women, when he benefits in the end. He will take an offense pretty far before being riled to retaliation. He will even voluntarily sacrifice his pride or reputation for the greater good of a well-laid joke. He plays the long-con, and genuinely doesn’t care about his reputation along the way. He will take offense when his wit goes unacknowledged. Being dismissed or forgotten is about the worst insult he could imagine.

Jaxen proudly boasts an intricate tattoo of a snake skeleton. it winds up his left arm, curls up the cap of his shoulder, and the head is poised to strike on his chest. The skin is filled with skin-safe metallic ink that ripples and shines under the light.

“The only good snake is a dead snake.”

Jaxen

The world ends way too often

6th Age – Jaxen is the great trickster god of the Norse Pantheon, Loki – a devious deity known for his many schemes and deceptions. Notably, Loki was the last channeler to die. His death heralded the change from the 6th to the 7th Age.

Other Rebirths

2nd Age – His soul is born a channeler who converts to the Shadow and is imprisoned in Shayol Ghul during the attack of the Hundred Companions. He is perfectly preserved deep inside Shayol Ghul and blessedly unaware of the passage of time.

3rd Age – He emerges from the prison of Shayol Ghul as one of the Forsaken. Yet while not overtly evil, he serves himself as an agent of chaos and moves against the other Forsaken more than the carrying out the agenda of the Dark One. Due to his chaos nature and general hatred of the other Forsaken, he aids Arikan in hunting them down.

4th Age – Although a member of the Forsaken, he survives the Last Battle and sees the 4th Age. When the Dark One is sealed in the Last Battle, the Dark One’s tethering to his soul is released. His is the only soul to see three ages as one rebirth.