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Enter the Klingon

Posted on Tue Mar 13th, 2018 @ 2:48pm by Lieutenant Caradan Eunidas

Mission: For Honor
Location: Klingon Station
Timeline: Current

The Klingon station orbited the planet. Around the station was an armada of Imperial vessels evenly matched against an armada of Sovereignty vessels. The odd one in the bunch was a lone Federation vessel; the U.S.S. Tornado.

Aboard the station was much commerce and merry-making; the type of merry-making Klingons usually made before each and every battle. Warriors drank with their enemies, only to end up throwing those drinks onto each other, butting heads and brawling. They sang songs of the honorless cowards they had killed; friends of their enemies.

That was the way of things in any Klingon society; taunt your enemies, insult them to their faces, engage in honest brawling, but bring on no death until that battlefield. Sure, people would leave the bar and the station injured, but never was any injury too severe. They were sure to leave alive. Many though had to be carried out either due to the heavy drinking or after being knocked unconscious in some fashion.

The situation was truly dangerous for humans, especially those in Starfleet uniform. Crewman Darrell Wallace was with a group of security personnel and, despite the muscle and their trained technique of fighting, it was always the case that humans were physically inferior to Klingons on average. The humans tried to stay in a pack, but even that was not enough to stave off all Klingon violent advances.

“You,” boomed a deep voice, “hoo-mahn.”

Wallace took a second to locate that voice only to see the owner of that voice, a large and burly Klingon, looking right at him. The Klingon’s center of focus was not mistaken as he pointed a finger at him.

“What business do you hoo-mahns have here?” the Klingon asked as he stomped up to Darrell.

“We are on a peaceful…” and that was all Darrell managed to say before a large Klingon hand covered his face, tight fingers wrapped around his face, lifted him up and slammed him onto a table. He fought against that grip but the Klingon kept batting his hands away.

“You are here to interfere with our internal affairs, to stand against the true victors of this war.”

There were some Klingon cheers from among the Sovereignty loyalists, sneers from among those loyal to the Empire.

“Honorless hoo-mahns have no place here.”

That large hand disappeared from Darrell’s face. The Klingon stepped back and then turned over the table Darrell was laying on. He found himself on the floor with whole pints of blood wine pouring over him.

“Leave. Now. While you still have legs to carry you.”

Again the cheers and the sneers.

The Klingon grabbed a nearby pint. He did not seem to care who that pint belongs to. He downed the whole thing in a single gulp then threw the cup to the side.

“I am Qar’Dan,” he shouted.

He then paused long enough for another Klingon to shout, “of what House? He who beats up on little humans?” There came laughter.

“My house,” shouted Qar’Dan, “is of fire and blood and death. When the time came to decide between the Empire and the Sovereignty, I, the eldest warrior, decided on the arm that will guide all Klingons into the future. I chose the Sovereignty.” That drew sneers. Someone threw a cup a Qar’Dan. “So I burned my House to the ground. Killed the traitors and those without honor who dared to call themselves my brother. Their names erased and forgotten. That House will never be mentioned again.”

“That’s not how the Empire works,” yelled a drunk Klingon.

“The Sovereignty of Kahless will rule supreme. The weak Empire will fall and die. The Sovereignty is for the brave and the strong. I am of a new House. I am Qar’Dan of House Qul Dan’Nal.”

“You cannot go around creating new Houses.”

“And you cannot stand against the Sovereignty,” replied Qar’Dan.

“Whom do you fly with,” asked a voice. Qar’Dan searched for that voice and found a captain in Sovereignty uniformd. Qar’Dan started in his direction.

“Do no fly with that swine,” said a drunk Imperial captain.

Qar’Dan pushed him by the shoulder as he passed and the drunken captain teetered to the floor where he passed out.

“I fly with no one at the moment,” Qar’Dan said as he arrived upon the inquiring captain. “My vessel smelled of the Empire.”

The captain looked him over. “A Klingon without a House, who killed his own because of their treason, even abandoned his vessel because of its smell. You have the heart of the warrior; something we need in the Sovereignty.”

Qar’Dan sneered at the captain. “What makes you think I am interested?”

“My captain has given you a choice!,” said another Klingon at the same table. This one stood with such ferocity he shook the table and send his chair back.

Qar’Dan was quick to grab the Klingon by his throat, send a fist into his face, headbutt him, then let him go, allowing him to fall back in a dizzying frenzy. Qar’Dan returned his focus to the captain. His question stood.

“You wish to make a name for yourself; to build this house of yours. Qul Da’Nal was it?” The captain got into Qar’Dan’s face. “I offer you the chance to do all that and more. To stand in the pages of history as the one who helped bring the Sovereignty of Kahless to Qo’Nos and to overthrow the cowards who call themselves the Empire. I shall call you…Chot’wI.” He turned to look at his Klingon underling still gathering himself from the floor. “It seems I need a new Chief of Security.” With a laugh, he snatched up a pint of blood wine and thrust it into Qar’Dan’s chest. “Here. Drink with me?”

There were cheers and there were sneers.

Darrel Wallace and his group did manage to walk out of the bar. He was not going to have good news for Elena.

 

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