Colonel K’Jal of the Klingon Imperial Intelligence Service, the Blood Watch, entered the lobby of the indoor arena. He removed his hooded cloak and began to shake the moisture from it. Torrential rains fell this time of year on the City of Qam-Chee, First City of the Klingon Empire. With a flash, a lighting bolt illuminated the night sky and the lobby from the windows and the open doorway through which K’jal had entered. The clap of thunder followed the flash a few seconds later.
K’jal could hear the roar of the crowd inside the arena and the murmur of the crowd loitering inside the lobby. He folded the garment on his forearm and began to weave his way through the crowd. From the rank medallions on their collars, K’Jal noticed high ranking officers of the Klingon Defense Force. From the crests on their upper arms-- noblemen, ladies, and retainers from the major and minor houses of the Empire: Martok, Duras, Kor, Kemat, Antaak, Varnak, Konja, Grilka, Kozak, Noggra, Mo’Kai, Gowron, Korrd, Kerla, and G’vek. From their exquisitely weaved robes, wealthy merchants from the mercantile class. The highest levels of Qo’noS society were in attendance this evening.
The colonel met the gaze of Captain Drex, son of Martok. K’jal inclined his head slightly in greeting. Drex returned the gesture, then returned his attention to the two beautiful young noble women with whom he was speaking and took another swallow from his goblet. One laughed as he whispered into her ear.
Walking to the filled-to-capacity stands and up the stairs into the bleachers, K’jal passed a peddler selling goblets of warm beer and Ko’Ja lizard on a stick from a tray hung around his neck. The skin of the creatures were a charcoal black, burned from being cooked over an open flame.
“Ko’ja! Ko’ja!,” the peddler cried, “Three darseks!”
K’jal walked up to the box seats on the upper tier occupied by Martok, Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, sitting with his body guards and assistants.
“Bah! That was 400 darseks I lost betting on that warg!,” Martok howled in protest while pointing inside the arena at the dead wolf and lizard-like carnivore lying in a pool of its own blood. Its throat had been torn out and one of its front legs shattered by its warg opponent.
“With a name like White Fang he should have won!,” Martok continued to protest. “I have 500 darseks riding on a warg named Grip in the next match. My luck had better improve this evening.”
Inside the arena, two muscled Klingon handlers were pulling with all their strength on the spiked collar of the victorious warg in attempt to pull the creature off of the loser. The warg coughed from the pressure exerted around its neck and reared on its hind legs before abandoning the loser and allowing itself to be led out of the arena.
One of Martok’s retainers stood up to offer his seat to K’jal that was next to the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire. Taking his seat, K’jal whispered into the chancellor’s ear.
“I have grave news concerning the security of the Empire,” K’jal said. “The Hur’q have returned to our space.”
K’jal could hear the roar of the crowd inside the arena and the murmur of the crowd loitering inside the lobby. He folded the garment on his forearm and began to weave his way through the crowd. From the rank medallions on their collars, K’Jal noticed high ranking officers of the Klingon Defense Force. From the crests on their upper arms-- noblemen, ladies, and retainers from the major and minor houses of the Empire: Martok, Duras, Kor, Kemat, Antaak, Varnak, Konja, Grilka, Kozak, Noggra, Mo’Kai, Gowron, Korrd, Kerla, and G’vek. From their exquisitely weaved robes, wealthy merchants from the mercantile class. The highest levels of Qo’noS society were in attendance this evening.
The colonel met the gaze of Captain Drex, son of Martok. K’jal inclined his head slightly in greeting. Drex returned the gesture, then returned his attention to the two beautiful young noble women with whom he was speaking and took another swallow from his goblet. One laughed as he whispered into her ear.
Walking to the filled-to-capacity stands and up the stairs into the bleachers, K’jal passed a peddler selling goblets of warm beer and Ko’Ja lizard on a stick from a tray hung around his neck. The skin of the creatures were a charcoal black, burned from being cooked over an open flame.
“Ko’ja! Ko’ja!,” the peddler cried, “Three darseks!”
K’jal walked up to the box seats on the upper tier occupied by Martok, Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, sitting with his body guards and assistants.
“Bah! That was 400 darseks I lost betting on that warg!,” Martok howled in protest while pointing inside the arena at the dead wolf and lizard-like carnivore lying in a pool of its own blood. Its throat had been torn out and one of its front legs shattered by its warg opponent.
“With a name like White Fang he should have won!,” Martok continued to protest. “I have 500 darseks riding on a warg named Grip in the next match. My luck had better improve this evening.”
Inside the arena, two muscled Klingon handlers were pulling with all their strength on the spiked collar of the victorious warg in attempt to pull the creature off of the loser. The warg coughed from the pressure exerted around its neck and reared on its hind legs before abandoning the loser and allowing itself to be led out of the arena.
One of Martok’s retainers stood up to offer his seat to K’jal that was next to the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire. Taking his seat, K’jal whispered into the chancellor’s ear.
“I have grave news concerning the security of the Empire,” K’jal said. “The Hur’q have returned to our space.”
] is go ahead with it and see how people bite. Nothing ventured and all that and checking out who they are - the Hur'q sound like a cool enemy.
