Gul Akeram Mulvar [Cardassian Commandant]

Name: Akeram Mulvar
Position: Cardassian Commandant, Keltok Nor
Rank: Gul
Organization: Cardassian Guard

Species: Cardassian
Height: 1.86 m
Weight: 77.1 kg
Age: 48

Physical Appearance: Gul Akeram Mulvar is exceptionally tall, with a slim build. His face has a lean quality to it, and an almost predatory look, enhanced by the way his dark eyes are kept in shadow by his facial ridges. He has the customary dark hair of a Cardassian, swept neatly back in a traditional military style. While unfortunate, he tends to have a somewhat arrogant aura about him, and a look of Cardassian Pride that mingles with stern and stoic expressions.

Mulvar doesn’t tend to have a lot of diversity in what he wears. He has the armored uniform of a Cardassian officer, with a disruptor pistol holstered at his waist and a communicator on his wrist. There are no special items beyond this in his wardrobe, and the most he will do ‘off-duty’ is to remove the armored vest in his own quarters.

Personality Profile: : Gul Mulvar is surprisingly complicated. While much of his visible personality is ‘typical’ of a Cardassian Gul, namely a confidence verging on arrogance and a willingness to rely on unpleasant but sure solutions, underneath lies a man with a lengthy series of ghosts that haunt him. War, atrocities, and heartbreak.

There are many depths and facets to Akeram, but the sad reality is that most people will never get to know them. Aside from the common inclination among former enemies to avoid Cardassians, Mulvar himself has a distrust for non-Cardassians. To be fair, however, he trusts precious few Cardassians as well. He minimizes what others know, working to protect his position. He does this most commonly through the façade of command. Akeram often speaks in formal terms, in policies, in tactics. He sticks to business or duty rather than pleasure.
Compared to some Cardassians, Mulvar hasn’t suffered terribly. However, compared to others, his life has been poor. Without stable relationships, Akeram lacks an anchor. Nothing really keeps him rooted anymore, save for the nominal patriotism of ‘serving Cardassia.’ That no longer holds the same glory.

In this sense, the Gul is lost. He is uncertain of his own future and of his people’s future. He has more questions than he does answers in the quiet hours of the night, and yet he feels obliged to show confidence to those under his command. In this respect, solitude is often his ally, and when he does engage with others, he tends to remain reserved and wary.

Politically, Gul Mulvar often butts heads with Federation personnel or political idealists, as he is a statist of the old school. He witnessed firsthand the decay of Cardassia from a military power whose name was synonymous with State Control, with an end to need, with absolute security, into a vast series of refugee camps, and a pathetically weak government dependent on aid from other powers. One hardly worthy of his support. He doesn’t hesitate to defend his ideological points, and will remain staunchly, stubbornly, and stoically supportive of them even in the face of daunting odds.

The Gul has no love for the civilian government, and he has a general disdain for the Detapa Council. The new civilian institutions are to him one part object of ridicule and one part badge of shame, but as much as he may loathe the new Cardassia, Akeram Mulvar also knows one other thing. He has nowhere else to go.

Medical Evaluation: Gul Mulvar generally has excellent physical health, however he was diagnosed with a weak variant of Spinal Muscular Atrophy in his time as a 'guest' of Starfleet. He has been provided with treatment of the underlying condition that prevents any worsening, but it has left him with a slight gait that can be almost confused for a 'swagger.'

Public Service Record:

Born Lakarian City 2330
Inducted Culat Junior Military Institute 2344
Enrolled Lakarian Military Academy 2347

Commissioned Gil 2351
Deployed to Bajor 2351
Assigned to First Order, 5th Armored, Reconnaissance Section

Service Star 3rd Rank 2353

Promoted to Glinn 2355
Proficiency Medallion 2355

Service Star 2nd Rank 2356

Posted as Commanding Glinn, 1st Reconnaissance Unit 2358

Combat Distinction: Battle of Ilvia 2359
Order of Duty First Rank 2359
Service Star 1st Rank 2359

Command Training Course 2359-2361

Posted to CUS Tenkdar 2361

Border Engagements 2363, 2365, 2367, 2368

Command Star 2nd Rank 2368

Assigned CUS Hektel 2369

Engagements in Klingon Invasion 2372

Engagements in Dominion War 2373-2374

Cardassian Rebellion 2375
CUS Hektel Destroyed 2375
Taken into Starfleet Custody 2375

Released 2376
Personal Leave 2376

Appointed Commander, Far South Military District 2377

Appointed Commandant, Keltok No 2378


Private Personal History:
Akeram Mulvar was not born into a military family. His father was a civil engineer, and an architect who wished he was more prominent than he was. His mother was a medical professional, who worked in the State Healthcare System. It was a comfortable life, even for six children. Akeram was the third, firmly in the middle, and unlikely to attract much attention. He simply tended to blend in at home. His academic grades were excellent, but so were those of every child in the family, save for the youngest daughter, Zani, who was much more of an artist.

Akeram was never pressured the way his two older siblings were. Lessiya, his sister, was under pressure from her father to be an architect, and Peln, his brother, was under pressure from their mother to pursue medicine. Akeram never found his calling from home, and instead drifted to his more extended family. His mother’s brother Seln was a career military officer, and one of the few people to support Akeram. He’d always demand the youth eat more zabu meat, to make him ‘big and strong.’ It didn’t necessarily fail, and Seln’s patronage managed to escort Akeram into a youth military academy.

The tactics came naturally to Cadet Mulvar, and the drill was effortless. However, there was more in a young man’s mind than just squad tactics and cleaning a disruptor. Every day in the café he chose to eat breakfast in, there was her. For a whole two weeks, he didn’t know her name. He just knew that she was a raven-haired beauty with a sketchpad, who made the most magnificent works of art. Finally he managed to strike up a conversation, and get her name. Lerisa Davet.

Beginning a courtship was difficult. Mulvar wanted to argue with her, to express his interest, but it was hard. She was very agreeable, without being simple or placid. She had spirit. A great deal of spirit. In their three years of overlap, Mulvar managed to become friends. He was able to achieve a kiss on the cheek once, which wasn’t bad for a tall and lanky teenager. However, there was always a parting of ways.
The program had been completed, and Mulvar had his choice. Pursue another career, and explain to his family why he had been inefficient and wasted four years of his life, or take the offer to attend the Military Academy, a surefire path to career success. There was little choice, and Lerisa promised to stay in touch.

The training was difficult, and intensive. Mulvar learned more about combat than he had ever anticipated. Reactionary training, self-defense, tactics, leadership, damage control on ships, navigation, survival… He was kept so busy he was lucky to exchange correspondence once or twice a month. And then he had the distinction of being commissioned as a junior officer, and deployed to Bajor in the First Order. He was in the fifth armored division, the reconnaissance battalion.

He quickly learned that reconnaissance had the most difficult task of all. Information was key, to learn about everything in the battlefield, to know positions, to know plans. Occupation was different than he’d planned. There was a lot less benign guard duty, and drinking in local bars, and a lot more crawling on his belly through a cold Bajoran forest to see if the terrorists were there. Explosions came suddenly, ripping off the limbs of friends. And there was no sense to it. The Bajorans didn’t care if the Cardassian was a soldier or a civilian carrying laundry. They killed without discrimination, and they didn’t care if they killed their own. It was baffling to Mulvar. He couldn’t comprehend what such pointless violence served. The terrorists left behind bodies and debris, killing their own people, destroying their own sites, and prompting further reprisals. Slowly he began to wonder if they’d all gone mad.

There were comforts there. Bajoran women who sold themselves out. Akeram went there once, but kept expecting a knife between his ribs. On top of that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Lerisa the whole time. That was the only time he visited.

Most of his time off duty was spent sitting quietly, and writing. Lerisa had always told him to be more artistic, and he dabbled at poetry, and at literature. He was never very good in his eyes, and he kept it a secret hobby.

The years dragged by. 2 became 3, 3 became 5, and 5 became 7. There were promotions. Friends came, and went. It was 2359, and Mulvar was 29 years old. A newly minted Glinn, and the head of the Reconnaissance section. Uncle Seln Thar was the Gul in charge, which didn’t hurt. However, things were about to go very wrong.

He knew right away that something was wrong. The card from Lerisa was an actual card, not a customary electronic communication. When he opened it, there was a smiling picture of her with a Cardassian man in civilian clothes and the caption ‘You are cordially invited to the Union of…”

Mulvar quit reading, and left the letter in the middle of a Bajoran street. Unsurprisingly, he fell into a slump. His motions became automatic. It wasn’t really that he wanted to die. He just stopped caring if he did or did not. It didn’t matter anymore. When they learned of an uprising in Ilvia and mobilized the division, Glinn Mulvar nodded, repeated the orders, but his heart wasn’t there. Not when Seln told him to take a mortar section and make an observation post at a monastery on a clifftop overlooking the city, not when he ordered it taken, not when he set up the command post. Not when word came over the radio that Seln had been killed by a sniper. Not when they told him to take the Bajoran monks hostage. Not when he broadcast the transmission to Ilvia warning them to lay down arms or the monks would suffer. Not even when the Bajorans attacked, desperate to liberate their monks.

He only woke up when the first monk ran for the cliff and flung himself off. Mulvar tried to act, firing his disruptor at the legs of monks, ordering them to stop. But they wouldn’t. One by one, five by five, ten by ten, they plummeted off the hillside. Another grim moment of madness in the midst of wider insanity.

Ilvia was retaken with light casualties. The insurgents had all flocked to the fortified monastery, and nearly all of them had been killed. Along with 60 monks who had run to their deaths. The ‘Ilvian Uprising’ was recorded in both Cardassian and Bajoran circles.
Central Command took note of a ‘military operation perfectly executed,’ and put Mulvar’s name in for consideration as a Gul. He was awarded the Order of Duty, one of the prestigious military honors, and was promptly taken to the relative safety of Terok Nor in fear of Bajoran reprisal, where Prefect Dukat made a long speech about heroism and duty that no one actually cared about. Mulvar’s name appeared in Cardassian media, and his family was proud.

But on Bajor, he was already derided as the Tyrant of Ilvia, a mass-murderer and war criminal who executed 200 pacifist monks in cold blood. For months the rumors grew, magnifying his deeds to the kind of sinister legend that brought in more recruits. Mulvar himself was long gone from Bajor by then.

Gul Mulvar was given command of a destroyer, an older model Galor called the Tenkdar, and tasked with patrol and interdiction. It was a major change, given his expertise in ground combat, but they assured him that cross-training only made him a more valuable officer. Here, he learned about policing, and about how to secure an area of space. Of course, he never came in direct contact with the Federation. The Klingons, however, were a different story.

Mulvar found himself and his crew up against the Klingons in four border engagements. The border region they shared was small, but furious at times. Sometimes they were outnumbered two or three to one. Still he found innovative ways to even the odds, through trickery, or misdirection. His successes were noted, and he was assigned a newer Galor, the Hektel in 2369.

When the Obsidian Order was all but wiped out and disbanded, home started to become different. The Trials were more hectic, there were crimes in the streets for the first time in centuries. Messages came from home describing robberies, describing rationing. When the Detapa Council took power, there was hunger, there were shortages. A meticulous and exact machine was no longer functioning properly. The Civilian leaders who had retreated from Bajor were destroying Cardassia as well. For the first time, Mulvar began speaking of his dissatisfaction aloud.

The Klingon invasion was the ultimate sign of weakness. Central Command, and the Obsidian Order… They could have staved off the assault if they were still in power. Civilian rule was a recipe for disaster, and the deaths of so many soldiers made Mulvar increasingly angry. Unsurprisingly, Gul Mulvar supported Dukat’s new Dominion regime. At first.

However, he noticed things changing again. After a heavy engagement, his ship was at the bottom of the list for repairs, behind a dozen Jem’Hadar ships. Those cloned monstrosities acted as if they owned the very oxygen in the air. Their presence became more and more grating, and when a contingent was posted to his ship, he needed only someone to rally around.

Damar was that man. Mulvar swore his allegiance quietly, and after lengthy premeditation, found ways to dispose of the Jem’Hadar swiftly. Mostly through the use of the transporter and some carefully devised codes. It was Glinn Krandok who had been most instrumental, and who was the only injury in the process, losing a leg. Krandok was well-provided for though, processed as a legitimate casualty elsewhere and sent home on the assurances of close friends. Then Mulvar began his very brief career as a raider. He hit Dominion installations, and to his shame he had to kill some Cardassians. However it was a price he was willing to pay. But, as the war wore on, his ship became increasingly damaged. His crew took heavy casualties, and they had no replacements. Cornered by a Dominion force, the Hektel was battered into tiny pieces, and he watched the last remnants of his crew bleeding out. However, a Federation-Klingon task force swooped in with Romulan support. Too late. Mulvar was taken prisoner by the Federation. Officially he was a guest, until the end of the war. A guest who couldn’t leave. However, distrust ran deeper still, and he was kept confined to spare quarters, alone. He taught himself languages in that time, and familiarized himself with many details about humans they didn’t restrict. His eidetic memory came to great use and he learned everything he could.

Ever-cynical, Mulvar was convinced that the Federation would be the next enemy to fight.

But, he was released by the Federation after the Dominion fell. Unfortunately, he came home to Lakarian City to find rubble where a home had used to be. The morgues were overflowing, and most bodies had to be identified via DNA. Akeram managed to find his parents were dead, as were at least half his siblings. Whether they had been murdered when he defected or when the changeling had begun her murderous campaign, he couldn’t say. No one could provide answers.

Every attempt he made to contact an old comrade or a friend ended in a list of casualties, and he quickly grew bitter. The looks in the eyes of every hungry child pierced him as surely as a knife, and he could feel the wordless accusations. That the Cardassian Military had failed to protect its people. It was a personal badge of shame.

By far the worst moment though was when Mulvar saw the rows of Cardassian veterans like Krandok, missing legs and missing arms, sitting in the debris and begging for scraps of bread or bowls of watery soup. No homes, no families, no aid. These, the Honored Soldiers of Cardassia. Abandoned.

Akeram Mulvar realized then his Cardassia was gone.

With the Cardassian Guard in disorder and chaos, he went without a proper posting for what seemed like ages. He managed emergency response in a remote corner of Cardassia Prime, equipped with marginally trained conscripts. Young people who had insane ideas. Barely more than children. They drilled and practiced with feeble copies of disruptors for lack of real ones. Uniforms were in shortage. The idea of a real command, of a first rate Galor or Keldon, was demoted to fantasy. There was precious little fleet left.

For the better part of two agonizing years, Gul Mulvar managed his command, directing forces, making due with meager resources, trying to turn these pathetic conscripts into real soldiers. And, midway through, he gave up on it. It was a lost cause as far as he was concerned. He voiced his discontentment, his distrust with the Detapa Council. He was in his later forties now, and his career was at an end. His family was dead. So what could he lose?

In the end, he was too well-respected by the military’s remnants to simply be cast aside. But the Detapa Council took delight in assigning him to the farthest reaches of Cardassian space to play aide to the Federation. A carefully chosen end to a long career.
Obscurity carefully clothed in the guise of respect.