With the now familiar ear splitting whine, and the tingly feeling of reintegration, Torak began to materialize on the transporter pad of Starbase 118. Having been transferring from a much larger ship, to a small scout vessel, he had chosen to not make them go through the hassle of docking just to drop him off. He stepped down off the padd, his duffel back slung over his left shoulder and approached the console. He was not in uniform yet, wanting to make sure he showed up in one that still looked perfect, and not creased, or wrinkled from sitting. As such he was wearing a pair of jeans, some old knock-around boots, and a black tank top, and a single silver chain around his neck with his Academy class ring on it, nestled in his thick, black chest hair. His olive skin, and his general physical makeup gave the impression that he was human, probably Italian, or Middle Eastern, but his sheer height, and bulk, made that less than likely.
Walking up to the woman manning the controls he smiled, "Cadet Torak, requesting permission to come aboard." he stated in his deeply resonant voice. "Of course, Cadet. Are you familiar with the layout of Starbase 118, or shall I call someone to help you find your way around?" she asked. "I'll be fine, thanks. I studied a few of the maps I was given before leaving Earth, I think I knew where the most important parts of the station are. But there is one thing you can do for me." he answered. "What's that, Cadet?" she asked. "Recommend a good place to eat..." he said, trailing off at the end. For the past several days on the scout ship he'd been having to eat what everyone else ate, and to say that they didn't have the best taste in food would have been an understatement, and that wasn't even mentioning the meagre portion sizes. With a good natured chuckle the woman replied, "Head down to the commercial sector, and look for Raul's. It's a really nice place, very laid back, good Mexican food. I think you'll like it. But stay away from the bar. He doesn't believe in synthehol and you are due in the holodeck in less then four hours." she said, adding the friendly warning with a knowing smile.
Less than twenty minutes later he found himself walking into the commercial sector, and asking for directions from one of the kiosks that dotted the sprawling area. Turned out he had a bit of a trek to find his way to the right section, and so he set about looking at all the station had to offer while he walked. There were shops from just about every culture he could imagine, and he noticed one that definitely caught his eye. It was filled with all things Klingon, from books of poetry, to "cookware", and even several authentic weapons. He was actually a bit surprised, and decided to step inside. As he did so he was enveloped by the scents of his childhood, the same smells he'd grown up with in his mother's home. Looking around he noticed several dak-taghs with blank spots for stamping with house sigils, and approached the counter. A few seconds later an elderly Klingon man stepped out from the shadows at the back of the store. "Finest quality, and I can stamp them while you wait." he said, and then noticed that his customer wasn't Klingon. "Or not, if you prefer." he said, giving Torak a bit of a sour look. Torak gave him a bit of a strange smile and held out his arm, palm up, to show off the house sigil emblazoned in black and red ink on the inside of his forearm. "My mother's house is a proud one, merchant. I'd prefer to carry the knife stamped with it, than one without." he said, taking great pride in the look of shock on the other man's face.
Walking out of the store a few minutes later with his new purchase, as well as a gift for his mother, a book of new Klingon poetry, he continued his trek in search of food.
Weight: 278 lbs
Distinguishing Marks: Scalp tattoo, sigil of his mother's house on his right inner forearm
Physical Appearance: Torak is tall, and heavily muscled. He has olive skin, and dark eyes. His hair is black, but kept shaved, or closely trimmed to show off his scalp tattoo, and he is a rather hirsute man, with black hair also on his arms, legs, chest, and belly. He has a strong jaw, and heavy brows that give him a somewhat menacing appearance.
Demeanor: A child of two worlds Torak is sometimes a walking contradiction. Raised by his Klingon mother to be almost fanatical about honor, and the defense of those he loves, and the things he cares about, he was also taught by his Human father to ensure that there were no other ways out of a situation before resorting to violence. He tends to be methodical, and pensive, though when needs be he can be ruthlessly efficient and exhibit a winner takes all attitude. Steadfast, and loyal, he is an exemplary officer, and a fast friend to those he feels deserve it.