Star Wars: Bounty Hunters
Vexen Qin Zerzix IV
Faleen Politico, Negotiator, Amateur Narcissist.
Vexen is a small, thin Falleen, a green-skinned humanoid with reptilian ancestry. Like most Falleen, he is well-groomed, and carries a calm, relaxed demeanor, even under stress. His hair is kept in a single topknot, in the traditional Falleen style. His clothing is well-tailored but unassuming, a high-collared grey suit, with inconspicuous armor plating under a long tan coat. He travels light, assured of his ability to secure any needed provisions as the need arises, usually carrying little more than a commlink and a blaster pistol on missions.
Name: Major-Consul Vexen Qin Zerzix IV. You can call me Vexen.
Species: Falleen. I’d hope you could recognize one when you see them.
Home: Also Falleen. Or it was, once. After the Imperial blockade, “Home” became whichever backwater slum I found myself in.
Role: Negotiator. Contracts, hostages, wills, whatever. If you need it negotiated, I’m your man.
Career: Colonist [politico]
Relationships: I assume my family is still at large, I haven’t seen them in years. The Imperials blockaded Falleen while I was abroad on the traditional Grand Tour. I doubt my kin would be foolish enough to remain on-planet during the mess that followed, but I have no idea where they may have wound up. In the years since, I’ve been too mobile to form more than superficial friendships and working relationships.
How you joined the organization: By chance, mostly. A hunter team from the guild had been dispatched to this little Outer Rim planet I was staying on, I forget which, but they’d been sent to capture a Twi’lek man who ran a small restaurant I was in. Apparently he had done quite wrong by somebody some years ago, the details were a little lost on me, but he wasn’t keen on being taken alive. But he was a good cook, and a decent chap in the time I’d known him, so I thought it’d be a loss for his brains to wind up vaporized. It would definitely have put a damper on my lunch. I intervened; we worked it out that we’d fake his death, he’d pay them the difference between the “alive” and “dead” bounties, we’d burn the restaurant and I’d help him set up a new fake identity. Pretty simple, but apparently good enough to get me a job with this outfit.
Thoughts on the government: I have no love for the rotting husk of the Empire, but I doubt this “New Republic” is likely to last more than a handful of years. The Rebellion worked well with a common enemy, but I think they’re a Jawa who’s caught a Krayt Dragon by the tail and now have no idea what to do with it. Of course, the Lords of Falleen could probably help hold things together, but of course the vain humans won’t even think to ask. None of my business, I suppose.
Thoughts on the Force: A simple superstition for simple minds. I’ve not seen anything come from “The Force” that couldn’t be explained away with tech.
Something you love/enjoy: There’s nothing like the satisfaction of a job well done, except maybe kicking back to some good music.
Something you hate/dread/fear: I don’t fear much, and I try to stay impartial when I can, but as I mentioned, I have no love for the Empire. They’ve inflicted much on my people, not to mention being so rude as to interrupt my travel plans repeatedly.
Individual Obligation: Well… I’m a “former” member of the Black Sun. After the blockade, I did what any sensible Falleen would, and banded together with the only organization in the galaxy at large headed by a Falleen. After Xizor’s death, I… made myself scarce. Like many galactic crime syndicates, nobody leaves the Black Sun. But they can’t kill somebody they can’t find, right?
Anything else we should know: Honestly, I’m an open book. Life’s too short to keep secrets.
Details of a single higher ranking member of the organization: I was recruited into the guild by a Duros woman named Shion Mierza. Works in the logistics side of the organization. Not super clear on what precisely her rank is. Her job seems like a mostly menial one, not much more than a secretary, but she seems to have a surprising amount of clout, or at least the ability to get things done. Too bad she’s kind of a cantankerous bitch. Oh well.