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For Blood and Honor
prierin
Member Posts: 7 Arc User
(OOC: Hey all I have another RP thread entitled The Oncoming Storm but have been playing with this character as well so thought, why not RP both? I love to write and love to write backstories, as you can probably tell by this intro. If you feel like reading or jumping in, feel free. I dont really have any rules per se other than the basic: follow the EULA of these boards, do not kill another players character without consent, avoid any unnecessary arguments, etc. and respect each other at all times.
And if you do join, have fun and welcome abord!)
Kahlen dodged as the giant Klingon swung his batleth, blocking the oncoming blow with his own traditional battle blade. He faced off against this monster of a man, a full head taller and twice as strong as himself and hell-bent, it seemed, on taking Kahlens head from his shoulders. Around them a crowd cheered and applauded for the Klingon, sparing a few ripened insults and jeers for Kahlen. It didnt matter that he had been raised on QoNos, or the fact he was raised by Brem, matriarch of the House of Kell, one of the most influential and powerful houses in Qam-Chee, the First City. All that mattered to them to any of them was the fact he was human.
His opponent was MocH, a young Klingon from the House of Jel, a powerful youth on his way to becoming a great warrior. This was MocHs battle, not Kahlens. If MocH can take the human down then he has earned the honor of graduating the academy and serving the Empire. There was no honor reserved for Kahlen; win or lose, he was still not Klingon. He would never be, and therefore, would never know honor.
Quit dancing you pahtk and fight! MocH growled as Kahlen parried another attack. The force of the blow caused Kahlen to stumble back, into the crowd. He was bet with several even stronger hands pushing him back into the ring. He couldnt keep this game of cat-and-mouse up for much longer. A Klingons endurance is much higher than a that of a human, even one accustomed to a life of physical abuse and pain. Kahlen swung into a wide attack, leaving his flank open. MocH, taking advantage of this weakness, laid a blow directly into Kahlens ribs, sending him sprawling and bleeding to the floor. He spun to his knees just as MocH kicked hard into his chest, then swung downward with his batleth.
The edge of the blade embedded itself into the wooden floor so close to Kahlens cheek it actually drew a trickle of crimson blood. MocH stood over him, panting, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon. I should kill you now and bring your misery and suffering to an end. He grinned, pulling the blade from the wood in a shower of splinters. But I owe you no favors today.
The crowd cheered as MocH turned and raises his batleth in the air triumphantly. PoK, a young Klingon boy from the house of Kell, helped Kahlen to his feet and out of the ring. Warriors from the audience, male and female alike, cursed and spat at Kahlen as he was led away. A fist came flying out of nowhere, catching Kahlen on the cheek. He took it and continued on his way, never looking up at his assailant.
Whats wrong with you? PoK barked as he attended to Kahlens wound. You handle a blade better than that petaQ! You should have won that round.
Kahlen sat back and winced as the bandages were tightened. He had bled his way home after the round, his breath coming in short rasps, but it wasnt anything he wasnt accustomed to. Dont let Bren catch you using language like that. He chuckled.
You let him win. PaK said as he unwound another strip of bandage. Theres no honor in that.
What honor would there have been gained had I won? Kahlen shrugged. For me, none. Had MocH not won he wouldnt have graduated as a warrior. He would have been dishonored and he would have looked for someone to take his anger out on. Any guess who that might have been?
Still, PoK sneered, What honor is there in becoming a warrior when you did not earn it? Youve earned that right a thousand times already.
Kahlen yelped as PoK finished bandaging his wounds, pulling a little too tightly. He then mussed the younger boys hair. His place is on a ship. As is yours. My place is here, to serve as a punching bag to ensure you make it to where you are supposed to be.
Is that how it is, Hm? Came a grizzled female voice from behind them. Brem was a short, broad, white-haired Klingon woman with a scar that run over the bridge of her nose and milky left eye. She leaned heavily on her cane and looked to PoK, nodding for him to leave. The younger boy bolted upright and scampered from the room. She then shuffled her way over to where Kahlen sat and took a seat next to him. You bring no honor to this house.
I bring no dishonour either. Kahlen responded. They both stared at one another for a moment before breaking into laughter.
PoK is right. You could have easily defeated that arrogant son of a targ. The House of Jel could stand to be taken down a notch or two. Charron has been Sa'Hut 'oy'* for far too long. Still, I understand your fear of retribution. She said.
Im not afraid of him, SoSnI'.* Ive faced bigger and stronger than him.
But not as stupid. She chided.
No. He laughed. Not quite as much.
Do you think thats all there is in being a warrior, being Klingon? She sighed and paced her hands in her lap. You are not Klingon. You will never be Klingon. They will never see you as Klingon. She looked at him, no sense of humor in her eyes. So stop trying to be Klingon.
He looked to her, confused. What do you mean?
A warrior stands in battle and fights for honor. The honor of his House, his people and his self. He fights, lives and dies for it. It doesnt matter where he was born or from which House he is from, he is a warrior nonetheless. Pink skin, red blood. Klingon skin, purple blood. It makes no difference. All that matters is whether you carry the warriors spirit.
She stood and stretched, then leaned on her cane. Your next combat trial against the House of Krel is in in a month. Your ribs will not be fully healed by then. It will be a painful battle. She locked him in a stare, then turned and walked from the room. I expect you to win.
Kahlen faced against another Klingon initiate. This one wasnt as large as MocH had been and not nearly as strong, but faced him with the same contempt as the others had done before. The Referee, an aged warrior with scars across his face, stood between them.
Whoever wins this battle will graduate from the academy and be given a station aboard one of the ships of the line, fighting for the honor of the Klingon Empire. The other, he said, looking to Kahlen, will remain. Without honor. Are you ready?
The Initiate nodded. The Referee didnt bother to check on Kahlen. Fight!
They crouched into position and circled each other like wolves, eyes set on each other. Shouts of Get the bIHnuch! Break him! came from the cheering crowd. The Initiate, fuelled by ego and overconfidence, lunged into an attack.
Kahlen parried easily, spinning around to face the Initiates exposed back.
Fool! Turn around! Came a shout which boomed over the crowd. Kahlen saw the tall, powerful looking Klingon, his sharpened teeth beneath a dark beard. It was CHoK of the House of Krel. The Initiates father.
The Initiate spun and glared at Kahlen, then lowered his head in threat. You will bleed today,ghargh. Of that I am certain.
Maybe, Kahlen said, parrying another blow, But not before you.
Again facing the Initiates exposed back, Kahlen sliced, catching the young man in the back and sending him sprawling forward, to the floor. The crowd roared its disapproval as the Initiate clamoured to his feet. He felt the back of his neck then looked at the purple blood in the palm of his hand.
FOUL! Came the booming voice again.
The Referee looked to CHoK, then motioned towards Kahlen. Foul. The blow is invalid.
What? Kahlen argued. That was a clean strike.
It was a foul. Glared the Referee, then added or would you care to argue further and be considered disqualified for the round?
Kahlen spat but said nothing. The Referee grinned. I thought not. Continue!
The Initiate growled and circled Kahlen again. Now his overconfidence was fuelled by anger. A dangerous mix.
This time Kahlen took the offensive, launching into a spiralling attack. The Initiate attempted to parry but the blows kept coming, forcing the young man to take a knee. This is it! It ends now. Kahlen thought to himself as he prepared to make the final blow. Before he could, however, there was sudden, blinding pain and the sound of shattering glass as a bottle smashed into his head, thrown from somewhere in the audience.
Kahlen stumbled, disoriented, hand to head and filling with crimson blood. He didnt see the Initiate leap to his feet, nor did he see the flash of metal as his batleth caught him in the leg and sent him to the floor. The Referee grabbed the Initiates hand and pumped it into the air. Victory!
The crowd responded with a resounding cheer. CHoK folded his arms across his chest and grinned at his son. Kahlen lay on the floor, bleeding.
Hours later, in bed and wound bandaged, Kahlen stared at the ceiling of his room. PoK had come in earlier with some food but Kahlen hadnt touched it. He had failed. He had failed Brem, PoK, everyone. Worse, he could never succeed. The odds were simply too stacked against him. All his life he was told his purpose was to serve whatever whims the Klingons wished of him. The realization that they were right had finally sunk in.
Are you going to pout all night? Brem asked from the doorway.
You were wrong, SoSnI. It doesnt matter what is in a warriors heart or how well he can swing a batleth. If he isnt Klingon, he isnt a warrior. Kahlen muttered. I fought by the rules and should have won. I just didnt fight by their rules. Which simply say I can not win. He then rolled over, his back to her. Leave me please. I am tired.
Brem watched him for a moment longer before walking off.
He lay, awake in the darkness, miles from sleep.
* Sa'Hut 'oy' = a pain in the buttocks.
* SoSnI' Grandmother an affectionate term
And if you do join, have fun and welcome abord!)
Kahlen dodged as the giant Klingon swung his batleth, blocking the oncoming blow with his own traditional battle blade. He faced off against this monster of a man, a full head taller and twice as strong as himself and hell-bent, it seemed, on taking Kahlens head from his shoulders. Around them a crowd cheered and applauded for the Klingon, sparing a few ripened insults and jeers for Kahlen. It didnt matter that he had been raised on QoNos, or the fact he was raised by Brem, matriarch of the House of Kell, one of the most influential and powerful houses in Qam-Chee, the First City. All that mattered to them to any of them was the fact he was human.
His opponent was MocH, a young Klingon from the House of Jel, a powerful youth on his way to becoming a great warrior. This was MocHs battle, not Kahlens. If MocH can take the human down then he has earned the honor of graduating the academy and serving the Empire. There was no honor reserved for Kahlen; win or lose, he was still not Klingon. He would never be, and therefore, would never know honor.
Quit dancing you pahtk and fight! MocH growled as Kahlen parried another attack. The force of the blow caused Kahlen to stumble back, into the crowd. He was bet with several even stronger hands pushing him back into the ring. He couldnt keep this game of cat-and-mouse up for much longer. A Klingons endurance is much higher than a that of a human, even one accustomed to a life of physical abuse and pain. Kahlen swung into a wide attack, leaving his flank open. MocH, taking advantage of this weakness, laid a blow directly into Kahlens ribs, sending him sprawling and bleeding to the floor. He spun to his knees just as MocH kicked hard into his chest, then swung downward with his batleth.
The edge of the blade embedded itself into the wooden floor so close to Kahlens cheek it actually drew a trickle of crimson blood. MocH stood over him, panting, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon. I should kill you now and bring your misery and suffering to an end. He grinned, pulling the blade from the wood in a shower of splinters. But I owe you no favors today.
The crowd cheered as MocH turned and raises his batleth in the air triumphantly. PoK, a young Klingon boy from the house of Kell, helped Kahlen to his feet and out of the ring. Warriors from the audience, male and female alike, cursed and spat at Kahlen as he was led away. A fist came flying out of nowhere, catching Kahlen on the cheek. He took it and continued on his way, never looking up at his assailant.
Whats wrong with you? PoK barked as he attended to Kahlens wound. You handle a blade better than that petaQ! You should have won that round.
Kahlen sat back and winced as the bandages were tightened. He had bled his way home after the round, his breath coming in short rasps, but it wasnt anything he wasnt accustomed to. Dont let Bren catch you using language like that. He chuckled.
You let him win. PaK said as he unwound another strip of bandage. Theres no honor in that.
What honor would there have been gained had I won? Kahlen shrugged. For me, none. Had MocH not won he wouldnt have graduated as a warrior. He would have been dishonored and he would have looked for someone to take his anger out on. Any guess who that might have been?
Still, PoK sneered, What honor is there in becoming a warrior when you did not earn it? Youve earned that right a thousand times already.
Kahlen yelped as PoK finished bandaging his wounds, pulling a little too tightly. He then mussed the younger boys hair. His place is on a ship. As is yours. My place is here, to serve as a punching bag to ensure you make it to where you are supposed to be.
Is that how it is, Hm? Came a grizzled female voice from behind them. Brem was a short, broad, white-haired Klingon woman with a scar that run over the bridge of her nose and milky left eye. She leaned heavily on her cane and looked to PoK, nodding for him to leave. The younger boy bolted upright and scampered from the room. She then shuffled her way over to where Kahlen sat and took a seat next to him. You bring no honor to this house.
I bring no dishonour either. Kahlen responded. They both stared at one another for a moment before breaking into laughter.
PoK is right. You could have easily defeated that arrogant son of a targ. The House of Jel could stand to be taken down a notch or two. Charron has been Sa'Hut 'oy'* for far too long. Still, I understand your fear of retribution. She said.
Im not afraid of him, SoSnI'.* Ive faced bigger and stronger than him.
But not as stupid. She chided.
No. He laughed. Not quite as much.
Do you think thats all there is in being a warrior, being Klingon? She sighed and paced her hands in her lap. You are not Klingon. You will never be Klingon. They will never see you as Klingon. She looked at him, no sense of humor in her eyes. So stop trying to be Klingon.
He looked to her, confused. What do you mean?
A warrior stands in battle and fights for honor. The honor of his House, his people and his self. He fights, lives and dies for it. It doesnt matter where he was born or from which House he is from, he is a warrior nonetheless. Pink skin, red blood. Klingon skin, purple blood. It makes no difference. All that matters is whether you carry the warriors spirit.
She stood and stretched, then leaned on her cane. Your next combat trial against the House of Krel is in in a month. Your ribs will not be fully healed by then. It will be a painful battle. She locked him in a stare, then turned and walked from the room. I expect you to win.
Kahlen faced against another Klingon initiate. This one wasnt as large as MocH had been and not nearly as strong, but faced him with the same contempt as the others had done before. The Referee, an aged warrior with scars across his face, stood between them.
Whoever wins this battle will graduate from the academy and be given a station aboard one of the ships of the line, fighting for the honor of the Klingon Empire. The other, he said, looking to Kahlen, will remain. Without honor. Are you ready?
The Initiate nodded. The Referee didnt bother to check on Kahlen. Fight!
They crouched into position and circled each other like wolves, eyes set on each other. Shouts of Get the bIHnuch! Break him! came from the cheering crowd. The Initiate, fuelled by ego and overconfidence, lunged into an attack.
Kahlen parried easily, spinning around to face the Initiates exposed back.
Fool! Turn around! Came a shout which boomed over the crowd. Kahlen saw the tall, powerful looking Klingon, his sharpened teeth beneath a dark beard. It was CHoK of the House of Krel. The Initiates father.
The Initiate spun and glared at Kahlen, then lowered his head in threat. You will bleed today,ghargh. Of that I am certain.
Maybe, Kahlen said, parrying another blow, But not before you.
Again facing the Initiates exposed back, Kahlen sliced, catching the young man in the back and sending him sprawling forward, to the floor. The crowd roared its disapproval as the Initiate clamoured to his feet. He felt the back of his neck then looked at the purple blood in the palm of his hand.
FOUL! Came the booming voice again.
The Referee looked to CHoK, then motioned towards Kahlen. Foul. The blow is invalid.
What? Kahlen argued. That was a clean strike.
It was a foul. Glared the Referee, then added or would you care to argue further and be considered disqualified for the round?
Kahlen spat but said nothing. The Referee grinned. I thought not. Continue!
The Initiate growled and circled Kahlen again. Now his overconfidence was fuelled by anger. A dangerous mix.
This time Kahlen took the offensive, launching into a spiralling attack. The Initiate attempted to parry but the blows kept coming, forcing the young man to take a knee. This is it! It ends now. Kahlen thought to himself as he prepared to make the final blow. Before he could, however, there was sudden, blinding pain and the sound of shattering glass as a bottle smashed into his head, thrown from somewhere in the audience.
Kahlen stumbled, disoriented, hand to head and filling with crimson blood. He didnt see the Initiate leap to his feet, nor did he see the flash of metal as his batleth caught him in the leg and sent him to the floor. The Referee grabbed the Initiates hand and pumped it into the air. Victory!
The crowd responded with a resounding cheer. CHoK folded his arms across his chest and grinned at his son. Kahlen lay on the floor, bleeding.
Hours later, in bed and wound bandaged, Kahlen stared at the ceiling of his room. PoK had come in earlier with some food but Kahlen hadnt touched it. He had failed. He had failed Brem, PoK, everyone. Worse, he could never succeed. The odds were simply too stacked against him. All his life he was told his purpose was to serve whatever whims the Klingons wished of him. The realization that they were right had finally sunk in.
Are you going to pout all night? Brem asked from the doorway.
You were wrong, SoSnI. It doesnt matter what is in a warriors heart or how well he can swing a batleth. If he isnt Klingon, he isnt a warrior. Kahlen muttered. I fought by the rules and should have won. I just didnt fight by their rules. Which simply say I can not win. He then rolled over, his back to her. Leave me please. I am tired.
Brem watched him for a moment longer before walking off.
He lay, awake in the darkness, miles from sleep.
* Sa'Hut 'oy' = a pain in the buttocks.
* SoSnI' Grandmother an affectionate term
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
You will forever be missed and never forgotten.
Post edited by prierin on
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General Keshka, leader of the house of Ragar, stood in front of the Chancccelor, and the high council.
Keshka: Yes, I require a commando team to raid the Federations compound on Ragnar IX.
J'Mpok: Well, I will put out a call. We shall have a bat'leth duel between the competition. Whoever wins will be the last person in your team.
Keshka: actualy, sir, I was requesting a Human. Particularly a Human by the name of Kahlen.
*The council gives a massive laugh*
J'mpok: BWAHAHAA, what could you want with that, thing?!?
Keshka: he has certain skills.
J'mpok: Very well. Because HHouse of ragar and you are my friends, I will grant you that boy. On one condition, which is so long as he can duel some of our best men, and win. Aide, summon Kahlen. Go now.
Kahlen carefully unwrapped the bandage from his head, wincing as the congealed blood stuck to the cloth, pulling a few of the stitches and reopening the wound. He stared at himself in the mirror, turning his head this way and that, trying to get a good look. The skin was bruised and red, the gash sutured (other than the few stitches he just pulled out) in a star-shaped pattern. Despite the pain, he grinned. 'A fine scar to brag about one day.'
He heard a knock at the door but paid no attention to it until PoK came running to him. "There's a warrior at the door. He says hes from the High Council."
"Well, what does he want?" Kahlen asked, still admiring the gash in his head. "Tell him Brem is not here and to come back later."
"He didn't ask for Brem." PoK said, "He asked for you."
'Hu'tegh. What have I done now?' He thought to himself as he went to the door meet the aide.
"Are you Kahlen of the House of Kell?" The Aide asked abruptly.
It took everything Kahlen had not to burst out laughing at the absurdness of the question. "I am."
"You are to come with me. Now." The Aide barked.
"If he's going, I'm going!" PoK announced, appearing from behind Kahlen.
"You are not invited." The Aide looked to Kahlen. "I said now."
"Stay here and wait for Brem, PoK. I'll be fine." Kahlen patted the younger Klingon on the head and followed the Aide. "Can I at least ask who's requesting me in the Council Chambers?"
"J'mpok." Was all the Aide offered. Suddenly Kahlen felt the blood rush from him. 'It's finally happening. I'm being executed. For being a Human.' was all Kahlen could think as they walked. He was so enveloped by his own thoughts he didn't even notice that they had entered the chamber and approached J'mpok and another Klingon man, high-ranking from the looks of it.
Kahlen immediately fell to one knee and brought his first to his heart. "High Chancellor. I humble myself in your presence."
I do not. Kahlen answered.
He is General Keshka, patriarch of the House Ragar, and for some reason he has seen fit to ask for you. You will assist him on his mission
With all due respect, Chancellor, my duty is here on QnoS and to my house.
Jmpok stood from his seat, his eyes full of rage. BIjatlh 'e' yImev! How dare you speak to me in that manner, pujwI' veQ! I did not ask your permission nor did I give permission for you to speak! Interrupt me again and Ill have your heart on a plate and your head on a spike!
Kahlen fell silent. Now, Jmpok continued, You will accompany Keshka and you will follow his orders unquestioningly. From this moment onwards you are his to command. Do I make myself perfectly clear?
Kahlen saluted and bowed. Yes, Chancellor.
Good. Now wait for him in the great hall. Kahlen bowed again and left. Jmpok turned to Keshka, still agitated. I do not know what you want with that creature, General, but I assure you, no good can come from that pujwI' bIHnuch. Tell me, what is it you need such a miserable worm in your employ for, exactly?
*Keshka raises a bushy eyebrow*
keshka: I have a plan
J'mpok: ugh, this thing is useless. *J'mpok exits*
Keshka: now, boy, tell me first. Is your allegiance to the Federation, or Empire. *As h says this, 4 Honour Guard commandos step up beside him. They are all part of the order of kahless, and elite soldiers*
Kahlen blinked. "With all due respect, General, the only home I have ever known is Qo'noS. The only people I have known, Klingon. I may be human, but I would stand, fight and die to protect my house and my people."
*Keshka smiles*
Keshka: That is a GOOD answer! You may be Human, but you have the words of a Klingon! But, can you fight like a Klingon? Keshka to Moc'H. You may enter.
Keshka: I want you to fight and claim victory over Moc'H. If you win, you go on the mission. If you lose, you will lose all honour! Do you accept?
Kahlen watches as the mountainous Klingon enters, that same sneer on his lips as before. His head was still pounding and he was sore from the fight with CHoK's son, but he knew enough not to turn from a challenge handed to him by a superior. He picked up one of the sparring bat'leth's from nearby and nodded. "I have no honor to lose. May you fight well, Moc'H."
Moc'H picked up a bat'leth of his own. "This isn't a sparring competition, P'Tok. You will lose more than your honor in this fight." Moc'H stood in the center of the field and slipped into a ready position. "I will bring your remains to Brem personally."
Kahlen readied himself, but Moc'H launched into an assault instantly throwing Kahlen off balance. He recovered quickly, narrowly avoiding a slice intended for his neck. He spun in time to block a reverse thrust from the larger Klingon.
Kahlen parried another assault, this time moving more graciously than before, his footing solid. He knew Moc'H would protect his flanks, leaving little opportunity to slip behind him to strike a blow, unlike the inexperienced Initiate. He also know his size, much smaller than Moc'H, could serve as an advantage.
"No more dancing!" Moc'H barked. "Now you die!" The Warrior swung, hard and wide, forcing Kahlen lo lean in order to avoid the blow, but exposing himself in the process. Kahlen dodged, bringing his bat'leth up and around, catching Moc'H in the ribs - hard. Kahlen swung again, but Moc'H grabbed the blade with a gloved hand and twisted, wrenching it from Kahlen's grip, then tossing it well out of the ring.
The odds were incredibly in Moc'H's favor and he knew it. "Funny little thing." He grinned, exposing his teeth in the Klingon equivalent to the look a wolf gives its prey just before it strikes, "You have no home here. You have no House. You have no honor. You are a pujwI'!. A bIHnuch! You are baktag and you do not deserve the honor of living."
Time was against him and Kahlen knew it. Any moment now Moc'H would strike him with a crushing blow intended to kill. 'Maybe it was for the best', the thought flashed across Kahlen's mind. He quickly forced it out. "Today is not my day to die."
Moc'H erupted into laughter. "For you there is no good day." The Klingon sprung into his final attack.
"The blade is an extension of you, a part of you, not just some tool to toss around" Brem instructed, moving like fluid, the bat'leth in her hand singing through the air.
Kahlen watched her with fascination. He was six years old at the time and already carried the many bruises and scars handed to him by his classmates. "Were you really a swordmaster, SoSnI'?"
"One either is or is not a master of the blade." She said, her movements still like water raining down from a fall. "One does not simply cease to be with age. Now pay attention. What am I doing?"
"Practicing with the blade." He said.
"No!" she pelted him on the head with the blunt end of her weapon, as was customary when he was being stupid. "Look closer. What am I doing?"
He watched her as she continued to move, then tilted his head. "It looks... it looks like you're doing mok'bara. But that's an unarmed style."
"Very good. As I said, the bat'leth is not a tool, it is not a weapon. It is an extension of your arm. Of you. This is most important... those who treat the blade as a tool fail to respect it and therefore can never truly master it. And of they should lose it," she dropped her weapon and looked to him, "They have lost their life. But for those who truly respect and know the weapon, it is not needed."
She moved back into the mok'bara. Blade or no blade, her movements still held a combination of beauty and deadliness. "When you face an opponent that is armed and you are not, whether or not you respect the weapon will decide the outcome of that fight."
Kahlen evaded Moc'H's blow, then slipped into First Position of the mok'bara. The Klingon turned, sneering. "Do you really think you can defeat an armed Klingon Warrior with that?" Moc'H charged again, and again Kahlen dodged, using the Klingon's momentum against him. As the Warrior moved past, he landed a sharp blow into his ribs.
"Gah!" Moc'H screamed, furious, as he held his side. He then charged again, raising the bat'leth high for a devastating blow.
Kahlen slipped to the side and brought his fingers up - hard - into Moc'H's armpit, dislocating the arm from its socket. Moc'H screamed, dropping his blade and cradling his arm. Eyes locked on Kahlen with an intent to kill, Moc'H forced his arm back into place, then roared into an attack.
Moc'H was larger and much stronger, but Kahlen was faster and more trained. As the Klingon charged, Kahlen launched himself up and onto Moc'H's back, then brought both hands into the Klingon's throat. Unable to breathe, the large Warrior fell first to his knees, then to the floor, wheezing.
Kahlen panted, nearly at his limit. He relaxed his pose and bowed to Moc'H. "You fought with honor."
*Keshka grins*
Keshka: Good work. You're in on the mission.
KDF command
*Keshka, four commandos and kahlen are in the room*
Keshka: now, Kahlen, my plan involves you disguising yourself as a Starfleet officer, and sabotaging Earth's defence network. Then a Klingon-allied invasion fleet will enter. This mission will take roughly two months. Your task will be to befriend as many officers as possible, and then sabotage the network. This mission will begin in a week, and you have that long to prepare. do you accept, Kahlen?
"Impersonate a Starfleet Officer? Forgive my impudence but, how, exactly, am I to do that? I've never even been to Earth, how am I to convince others that I am in Starfleet? Surely there's more to it than putting on a uniform..."
Keshka, pulling out a device: this contains a starfleets officers memory. I will, insert it, on you, and you will have all the thoughs and memories of a starfleet officer by the name of Carlos Draken. When the time comes, the device will de activate, just in time for you to sabotage the grid. Are you in, or not?
Kahlen looks at the device questioningly.
"Absolutely not! What are you thinking?" Brem screamed. Kahlen stood in the center of the room. He knew this reaction would come from her. "I will not allow you to be used as some test animal for this Qovpatlh!"
Brem gathered her cane and hobbled to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To put some sense into that qoH J'mpok's head!" She said over her shoulder.
"SoSnI', stop. I want to do this." Kahlen's tone was even and determined. "It will bring some sense of honor to this house... and to me."
She turned and stared at him, contemplating. "No."
Kahlen raised his voice. "I will do this. I will be leaving in less than a week. Do not attempt to interfere in my affairs!"
Brem walked to him. She raised her cane and prodded him in the chest. "Who are you to challenge the matriarch of your house, yIntagh? How dare you take that tone with me? Who do you think you are?!"
Kahlen pushed the cane aside, his voice lowering. "I am Kahlen of the House of Kell. I am not Klingon and I will never be, but this is my opportunity to gain honor in the eyes of my brethren. And I am doing this."
She stared at him a moment longer, the fire in her eyes subsiding. "You will not tell PoK about this. I don't want him running off looking for you. And you WILL return home, or I will hunt you down myself."
Kahlen smiled, then bowed. "Yes, SoSnI'."
"Now go, before I change mind an cripple you myself." She said.
Kahlen packed his things, then left to meet up with Keshka.
He muttered a curse under his breath and began to walk back the way he had come. He was so enveloped by his own misery and frustration he failed to notice the sound of boots on stone behind him, and when he did finally realize he was being followed, he had already turned into a narrow alley. His choices were limited: continue as if he were still unaware and hope to lead his tail into an ambush or turn and face them now. Neither sounded the ideal choice.
'Enough of this!' Kaheln drew his blade and spun. "Show yourself, coward! Only a petaQ remains hidden and fears to face his opponent head-on!"
"Is that so?" Came a familiar voice. A moment later, Moc'H and two younger Klingons stepped into the light. "Strong words from one such as you are nothing more than the terrible squawk of the jajlo' Qa'. Still, I have come to settle an argument."
"We are done. You succeeded in the trials and earned your place in the fleet. Leave me be."
"We may be done," Moc'H said through gritted teeth, "But I have told these two of how you bested me in combat despite being unarmed. They did not believe me, so I said they could test you themselves. Or would you make a liar out of me, Human?"
Kahlen spat. "I do not care what you have told them. This no longer concerns me." He turned from them.
"Do NOT turn your back on me, P'Tok!" Moc'H roared, then drew his mek'leth. The others did the same. "This ends now, with your blood filling the streets."
Kahlen realized his blade was inferior to the mek'leth. He equally realized he had nowhere to escape. 'So this is how I die.' he though to himself, 'So be it then.' He readied himself in a fighting stance. "Do not do this, Moc'H. I am warning you..."
"Save your threats." Moc'H nodded to one of the two at his side. The Klingon immediately rushed Kahlen, who parried the blow. Despite being small and slow for a Klingon, he still outweighed Kahlen by about 50 pounds, the force of his blow knocking Kahlen back somewhat. The Klingon recovered quickly and spun into another attack, but this time Kahlen was ready; he parried the thrust and laid an opened palm between the Klingon's shoulders, knocking him to his knees.
This wasn't the arena. There were no rules, no referees. Kahlen had to put an end to this fight quickly if he was to have any hope at survival. As the Klingon scrambled to his feet Kahlen laid another attack into the base of the spine, forcing him back to his knees once more. Then, with great effort, he brought the pommel of his blade to the Klingon's head, knocking him down and out.
"End this now, Moc'H. Let me be and go back to whatever ship you've been assigned to in peace. I'll leave you with your honor."
"bIjatlh 'e' yImev! How dare you talk to me about honor you baktag!" Moc'H nodded to the second Klingon, who immediately leaped into an attack. This Klingon was younger and even less experienced than the first. His attacks were wide and random, there was no order or thought to them at all. Kahlen parried, then thrust the blunt end of his weapon into the Klingon's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.
The young Klingon wheezed and collapsed to his knees. Kahlen swallowed a great breath of air, then extended a hand. "You fought honorably."
The Young Klingon looked to him, then took Kahlen's hand and allowed him to be helped to his feet. "So the story was true after all. You fight like a Qatlh."
Kahlen blinked, then broke into a smile. The Younger Klingon grinned as well. Suddenly, his eyes shot wide and the color drained from his face. He fell to his knees, revealing Moc'H standing behind him, a bloody knife in his hand.
The Young Klingon tried to speak, to call out, but Moc'H slammed the blade into his back again, stealing the life from him. He fell limp at Kahlen's feet.
"What have you done?!" Kahlen cried.
"No." Moc'H glared, then tossed the blade at Kahlen's feet. "What have you done, murderer?"
The other Klingon moaned as he came to, pushing himself to his feet. He cleared his head then looked at the scene before him; the Young Klingon dead at Kahlen's feet. "What... what have you done to Kar?!"
"He had disarmed Kar and won the fight." Moc'H said with a sneer. "Kar had turned his back to check on you but this bIHnuch 'urwI' wasn't satisfied. He attacked from behind. Before your brother could call out, he silenced him."
"No..." Kahlen backed away, panic rising in him.
The older Klingon looked at the body of his younger brother, then to Kahlen, hate, fury and death behind his eyes. "You.... I'll KILL YOU!"
Kahlen, blinded by panic and still dumbfounded over what had just happened, turned and ran. The Older Klingon started after him but Moc'H held out an arm, stopping him.
"What are you doing?! He's getting away!"
"To where?" Moc'H said, flatly. "There is nowhere on this planet, in this system, he can hide now. Why take your revenge out on one man when you can hold his House responsible?"
"The House of Kell?" The Klingon asked.
"By right, all they own should now be yours in payment for the murder of your brother. Come, we need to speak to J'Mpok about this."
Kahlen sat, hidden beneath a stone bridge outside of the city. What was he to do? The scene of the young Klingon's face as he died replayed over and over in his mind's eye. ' SoSnI would know what to do...' he thought, a faint glimmer of hope penetrating the gloom. But as quickly as it had come it had faded again. Moc'H and the others would undoubtedly go there first in search for him. If he returned, Kahlen would place his own family in even greater risk.
No, there had to be something else. he had to find a way off of this planet. But how?
Then he realized he was only a few kilometers from a trading station. If he could get there undetected and slip aboard one of the merchant shuttles he might just make it. He wanted to say goodbye, to explain what had happened to Brem and to PoK but he knew that was impossible right now. Maybe later, when he was a safe distance from here he could send message to them. Maybe... but for now, his life depended solely on reaching that station.
Perseus cracked his knuckles, then lifted the heavy box onto the cart. He'd been here at this trading station for a few days now, bartering with the Klingons, Orions, and Ferengi here as if his life depended on it. Which it did, seening as he was a trader, and a human one at that. If he didn't clearly show that here, his life was forfeit.
He grunts, pushing the heavily laden cart up a hill, toward the nearest cargo/personell transporter. The rest of his crewmates were ofd bartering and hauling their own goods, and the Captain was where he was. No one could really keep track of him, but he's the captain, and the one who gives them the right to trade here.
Along his way, he gets flagged down by a Ferengi.
"Yes, and you would want?" Perseus asks, his slight Greek accent showing.
"Hmm, yes, merely to peruse your goods, human. What is the price for a pound of spice?" the Ferengi asks.
Perseus shrugs. "What do you think?"
"Hmm. I couldn't, just couldn't even come close to a calculation without a... ah... a sample, perhaps?"
"Well, I guess a little taste wouldn't hurt." Perseus says, then takes a little knife and makes a small incision, garnerkng a little spice in his hand. "Here ya go."
"Why thank you, thank you!" the Ferengi says, then sniffs. "Wh-what!? This smells like a, a, a poison! Do you dare poison me, human!" he yells, then two Klingons walk up, obviously under the Ferengi's payroll.
"What is going on here?" the First One asks.
"It would seem that a human has tried to murder a citizen of the Empire!" the Second One exclaims.
"Now, now boys, no ne-"
"Well, my friends, I don't think the usual punishment is needed here, just a little... compensation is needed..." the Ferengi interrupts Perseus, with a sly look. "Perhaps, all of this ones goods, hmm?"
OOC: And if Kahlen would be ever so kind...
[ooc]LOL - I just didn't want the story to end so prematurely... I'll have a response to your post soon - still recovering from surgery and can't stay on the computer for too long in one sitting...[/OOC]
OOC: Of course! Besides, I might have my hands full with handling a lycan with trycanphobia over in the Hail Ba'al thread sooo...
Kahlen had been lurking in the shadows of the trading station for over an hour, looking for a ship he could slip into without much fuss. He hadn't heard anything regarding the murder of the young Klingon yet, so either Moc'H hadn't gotten to J'Mpok yet or the KDF guards were keeping a low profile in their search for him. One thing was for certain, however... he had to get off this planet if was to have any hopes to survive this.
He had settled on a spice merchant, human, who seemed to be eagerly bartering away his wares. Spice was a wide-market commodity and it wasn't improbable that such a merchant would take his wares well beyond the system, let alone into another quadrant, so it seemed like the perfect choice. Additionally, it seemed this merchant was flying solo, which made him even more appealing. Kahlen was about to slip on board as the merchant was dealing with a Ferengi when he overheard the conversation; the Ferengi, in true fashion, was attempting to steal the merchant's wares rather than buy them. Under normal circumstances Kahlen would have just ignored this and let what may be, be, but these were not normal circumstances. Kahlen had to get onto this particular ship, and the more time wasted in port the more likely the KDF would be after him.
A straight-forward tactic wouldn't work; he wasn't sure of the guards in this station had been alerted to him or not. If he somehow got himself arrested, he might as well commit suicide. Kahlen began to look for an alternative. If he could distract the Ferengi somehow. He remembered seeing a Ferengi trade vessel in a bay not too far from here. Chances were, it was this verengan Ha'DIbaH's ship. There wasn't much that could break a Ferengi out of making profit, but the one thing that coud guarantee it was the risk of an even greater loss. A plan formed in Kahlen's mind and he set off for the Ferengi's ship.
Backed by the Klingon guards the Ferengi pokes a chubby finger into Perseus's chest. "I should acquire your goods, your ship AND have you imprisoned. But you caught me in a.. forgiving... mood. I'll settle for just your goods and your ship. If you prefer, we can negotiate for the ship." The little man gives a crooked, toothy smile.
Before he could say another word, however, a rabble begins to rise from a crowd nearby. A few more tradesmen in the area rush past then, towards the sound. Piquing the Ferengi's interest, he grabs the sleeve of one of the traders. "What's going on over there?"
"There's a Ferengi selling everything on his ship for a quarter of the price it's worth!" The man says.
"That's insane. No Ferengi in his right mind would do such a thing."
"I know!" The man says, breaking free from his grasp, "That's why I have to get in on this deal before he comes to his senses." He turns to run.
"Wait!" The Ferengi orders, "What's the name of this Ferengi's ship?"
"Um..." the Trader ponders, still moving towards the growing mob. "The Latinum Star or something!"
The Ferengi's eyes go wide. "That's... myship.... that's MY SHIP! My profits!" He turns and heads towards the mob. he turns and motions to the guards. "Well come on! Don't just stand there! Someone's stealing my profits!"
The two guards exchange a look, then follow him.
During the confusion, Kahlen manages to slip aboard the trader's ship and tuck himself into the secondary cargo hold. Now all he can do is wait... and hope.
Perseus watches the Ferengi go, half tempted to follow beat him. But he turns quickly, getting his temper in check. Mother always said to follow a miracle with kindness, and beating the Ferengi was not exactly according to God's laws.
He quickly made his way to the ship, meeting some his crewmates and friends on the way and talking about typical trade topics, prices and the like. He soon says good bye, each of the individual traders having been assigned a cargo hold on the ship, TRIBBLE's being the secondary. He walks in and unloads his cargo, then looks around.
Something feels off. Like some one was watching him. He quickly pulls his knife again, trusting his instincts.
"Hello? Anyone there?" he says in Common.
'Not yet. It's too soon.' Kahlen thought to himself as he watched the Human investigate. He also saw the weapon in his hand. Kahlen assumed he could overpower the man but that would be of little help as he had no idea how to fly a starship, even a trade vessel. No, now was not the time. He dug himself in beneath some cargo and lowered his breathing, becoming perfectly still.
'Hmmm... must have been a rat or something..." Perseus mutters, still looking around. "Well, if it gets hungry, it can eat at the mess hall like everyone else." he adds with a chuckle, fully joking.
He walks out, and makes his way to his room. He was part of the medical staff, when not trading, but it wasn't his shift yet. He decides to grab a quick nap, then check the next destination with the Captain. He relaxes on his bed, then passes out.
He stands and shakes himself out, going through some small stretches to loosen up, then checks the time. He'd slept all through the night, it having only been five or something whne he laid down. He woke up at three.
"Uhhh, skata... that's bad." he groans. His shift in the med bay is from seven a.m. to six, except while in port. In port, everyone was off except a few to keep an eye on things. But when you came back, you were supposed to be back in thirty.
He makes his way to the mess, finding it serving light meals for the night shift. He grabsan apple and some water, finishing both quickly, and moves off to a public console. He checks it, typing in his authurization code, and checks the next destination... Risa. Seems they get a vacation, or supplying them with other things.
Hmm... not much of a trader market in Risa... I wonder... he thinks, then closes the console and heads to the cargo hold.
Since he was one of the other traders here, he was assign ed a quadrant in one of the cargo holds, his being in the secondary. When something went wrong, or Perseus did messed something up, he would go take inventory. Lose himself in the numbers, the weights, prices, and amounts.
It helps him relax, though most of the time he spends is just standing there, not thinking, just listening to the goings on of the ship.
He opens the door and walks in, as the light and crag generators turn on. He quickly makes his way to his quadrant and starts memorizing the inventory. Just standing and staring, quietly...
Kahlen awoke to the sound of someone entering the room. When did he fall asleep? How long has it been? He cursed himself under his breath and tried to watch the stranger from cover. 'What is he doing?' Kahlen thought as he watched the man simply stare into nothing for several moments.
Just then Kahlen's stomach growled. He quickly grabbed his midsection to quiet it, hoping the stranger in the room was deaf. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd eaten last. He was planning on raiding the galley later... maybe he slept through his opportunity.
Perseus tenses at the sound of stomach growling. He looks around, trying to find the source.
"Hello? Anyone there?" he says, looking side to side slowly.
'Hu'tegh!' Kahlen silently muttered. He knew he had only three options left. One, attack the Human. However, he was unarmed and this was not an ideal fight; even if he managed to overcome this man his shipmates would surely be alerted by his absence and begin a detailed search for the stowaway. Two: Remain hidden. Kahlen shook his head at the thought. 'I will not crawl like some coward.' This left the only other option...
Kahlen stood slowly, his hands raised, palms outward. "Please," he said in rough galactic common, "I seek asylum."
Well, this was new. Perseus hadn't expected this, a friend trying to scare him, sure. But a young... human? In Klingon clothes? Hmm, well, his mother always said to try to help people when he can.
Perseus motions to Kahlen, stepping forward. "Come here. Get out of the cargo. It must be cramped in there." he says slowly in Common, detecting Kahlen's unfamilarity with the language.
Kahlen pauses. Is this a trap? He still had his blade. Perhaps if he could get within striking range.
Kahlen stepped forward slowly, his body tense, like an animal ready to bolt. He swallowed his growing fear and managed to growl. "Where are we now? What sector?"
Perseus thinks, tapping his chin. They had been at Quo'nos, and are headed toward Risa. "Hmm, we should be somewhere in the Hromi sector." he says, the calculations running through his head.
"But anyway, have you eaten yet? I would assume not if your a stowaway..." he asks after, concern clear in his voice.
Kahlen narrowed his eyes, still dubious. If this man were Klingon, Kahlen would be dead by now. He knew he was on a trader vessel and, if this man was telling the truth, he figured the ship was capable of at least warp 6 to make such a distance in a relatively short amount of time. Maybe he was safe, after all. From the Klingons, at least.
"I seek asylum." He repeats, hoping he's forming the words correctly. "I want to know, what are your intentions with me? I have stolen nothing. What proof do I have that you will not kill me?"
A moment passes as the two of you stare at one another. Suddenly a blast rocks the ship. Klaxons flash and sirens wail. Familiar with your own ship you can feel that you've just dropped out of warp.
"All hands to their stations." A familiar voice rings out, followed by another blast.
Kahlen crouches behind the cargo, suddenly afraid. He looks to you, a mixture of fear and distrust in his eyes. "Do not let them have me!"
Perseus seizes, indecision clouding his mind. Then he snaps into action.
" Come with me quickly. We will need to get you new clothes, to disguise you as part of the crew. If they board, as they most certainly will, we need to hide you in plain sight..." he says.