SD 241407.27 || Klingon Empire || Ch'Krang, Jaktor, K'Retok'ech, Ja'Rod'la || Tolling the bell...‏

Posted on 241407.27 @ 2:47am by Chancellor Ch'Krang House of Ch'Krang

Mission: Insurrection [Fleet Plot]

=K= Great Hall, Qo'noS =K=

Cheers rang out through the great hall once more, the Civil war had been crushed and the Empire once again stood as strong as it had when they had petitioned for membership into the United Federation of Planets, an organisation that now stood in ruins, Starfleet were outcasts, made out to be terrorists and traitors to their cause, the Federation lay in the hands of a group which was turning it into a ruthless regime of violence and obedience.

Standing from his seat at the head of the hall, Ch'Krang threw his arms open and silenced the assembled warriors without a word, in their eyes he was the saviour of their way of life, the Empire flourished under his leadership and combined with the shared technology from Starfleet, their ships were now faster, stronger and able to support themselves much better.

“Generals, Captains, WARRIORS!” the Chancellor roared as he lowered his arms, his voice echoing into every corner of the hall and ringing out into the crowds assembled outside, a planetary-wide broadcast system made sure that every Klingon heard his words.

“This day, sees the restoration of the true Klingon Empire!” Ch'Krang continued as four prisoners were bought before him, the leadership of the failed Civil War, those that were left, “Today we give these honour-less petaQ a chance to redeem themselves, at least somewhat, today they will have the chance to fight, if they win, their houses will be spared, they will be exiled to Rura Penthe and their names will be struck from all records, alternatively if they lose... we will destroy every remnant of their houses, their families, none will live past this night!”

Before him, one of the four began to smile as he thought he might have a chance at revenge on the Chancellor, it began to fade as Ch'Krang spoke again though.

“The Council asks the Empire if there is a volunteer to fight these men in honourable combat, to the death.” Ch'Krang roared, a sea of hands and shouting Klingons burst out throughout the great hall.

From one of the centre tables, the largest and most imposing of the Fleet Captains strode forward, pushing aside the protests of his smaller kin, he moved in front of the prisoners and clasped his hand to his chest barked his response, “I, Jaktor of the Ya'Vang, offer my life in service of this council!” he stood clearly a head taller than any other Klingon in the room, his hair was a jet black mane of unruly curls and his bare shoulders showed scars of battles won.

“Jaktor, you have served my son as his First Officer for a lengthy period of time, you bought two of these traitors to heel and handed them over to the council for judgement.” Ch'Krang replied with a bow of his head in respect of the mighty warrior, “Is there anyone here present who disputes Jaktor's ability to bring justice to these cowards?” the Chancellor called out, causing the entire room to fall silent, not one wishing to challenge Jaktor themselves.

“So be it!” Ch'Krang bellowed after a few moments, the floor began to clear and Jaktor was left standing alone before his four opponents, he reached up and unfastened a couple of clips on his shoulders, his weighted cloak falling to the floor with a thud that rang out into the hall, one hand found its way over his shoulder and pulled his bat'leth from it's sheath, the blade shimmering in the light of the Great Hall, finely polished and weighted, it was his pride and joy, the blade of a consummate warrior.

The four traitors stared up at the Champion of the Empire, and suddenly three of them stepped back leaving K'Retok 'ech standing alone. K'Retok took a step forward, clutching his bat'leth, he didn't even seem to notice that his companions had stepped back and volunteered him to go first.

This is what he wanted, a chance to face an honourable warrior for an honourable death, perhaps even take down this giant and save his family.

"Today is a good day to die," K'Retok said, readying his bat'leth. "For my family, may they be spared the dishonour of my action," he yelled, and charged at Jaktor.

Swinging his bat'leth round in one hand, Jaktor bought it to task in blocking the first flurry of blows from the oldest of the four before him, despite his size, he was agile and swung the weapon in graceful arcs, blocking each blow and standing his ground, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

As he attacked, it soon became apparent that he was not budging this larger warrior. He knew he wasn't as young as he once was, so between size and age, the odds were stacked against him. He would have to use his experience, his knowledge from his years of battle to balance it, K'Retok realized. He feigned to the left, and swung his bat'leth to try to catch Jaktor by the back of his knee.

The old warrior was smart, but Jaktor was also very battle-hardened, having earnt his rank through blood and sweat on the battlefield, he swung around, taking his knee out of the line of the strike and bought his boot around to connect with the side of K'Retok's head, sending him sprawling on the floor, the speed of the giant warrior catching the former rebel commander by surprise.

As he sprawled, K'Retok lost hold of his bat'leth. He was stunned from the impact, but he wanted to scramble to try and collect it, knowing if the giant reached him first, this fight was over.

Striding forward, Jaktor kicked the bat'leth from the hands of the prone K'Retok and followed up with a slice of his weapon across the forearm, ensuring he wouldn't be in a position to wield it properly again.

It was over, that much was clear, but he would go down fighting. He tried to move to grab his bat'leth with his off arm. There really was no chance, not against such a skilled warrior. He would at least go down fighting before the empire forgets him.

Jaktor rounded on the wounded warrior and levelled his bat'leth, it's bright edge touching the neck of it's next kill with anticipation, a grin spread across the lips of the champion, baring his teeth and a low, guttural growl in satisfaction, “Do you want it quick or slow, traitor?” he asked, forcing the defeated warrior to his knees, the ultimate disgrace for a Klingon

"I put my fate entirely in your hands. I just hope that the deaths of my wife and children are quick, for while they share my dishonour, they did not ask for it." He hung his head and awaited his fate.

“They will die quickly, but there will be no place in Sto'vo'kor for any who share your name.” Jaktor growled as he swung his bat'leth in a large arc and decapitated the kneeling Klingon in a single stroke, his body falling to the deck and blood filling the plating.

The other three watched as the eldest among them died quickly, and all stood staring. He had been the most honourable among them, and he had fallen so quickly. As none of them moved forward to face their fate next, Ja'Rod la' moved slightly behind one of his companions, and kicked his ankle. The kicked one stumbled forward, and his eyes went wide as he realized he was next.

Jaktor stretched slightly before beginning the attack this time, swinging his bat'leth in huge vertical arcs, cheers from the throng of assembled Klingons bought a smile to his lips as he moved forward, getting closer and closer with each swing of his shining weapon, he shifted his grip to a two handed one and increased the speed of the arcs, “Today is the day of your death, face it like a Klingon!” he bellowed as he bought the weapon down hard, directly targeting the gap between shoulder and head, the soft target near the neck.

The bat'leth rose to defend, the loud clang of metal on metal made it clear the blade attempted to do its duty, but the swing from the larger Klingon was too fast, too strong, and could not stop Jaktor's blow. It may have been a quicker death had he not attempted to block the blow, but even the most dishonourable Klingon has some battle instincts if he makes it out of childhood. As long as a weapon was in his hand, or at least something that could fake the job, it would respond when the Klingon was threatened.

Slowed by the attempted block, Jaktor's blade cut deep enough to gravely wound, but not enough for a clean kill, blood covered the hulking Klingon and he was forced to place a boot on the chest of his opponent and wrench his bat'leth free, sending it's victim to the floor where he continued twitching for a few seconds, the death throes lasting for much longer than the previous kill.

"Look, he slows, you can take him down," Ja'Rod spoke into the ear of the other traitor. "Either of us can take him down now, but if one of us kills him, the other will get a fresh champion from the audience. You take him." He placed a hand on the back of his companion to try to shove him forward, but the other Klingon was quicker, spinning the weasel around in front of him.

"If you are so sure you can take him down, I will take my chances with a well rested warrior if you do," he bellowed back. Ja'Rod's eyes widened as he tripped over the still twitching body. He stumbled and turned to face Jaktor, raising his bat'leth for defence as he looked up at the formidable giant.

Not a single word was uttered this time by Jaktor, his blood fever was rising and he found himself charging Ja'Rod with a fury that would rival Kahless himself, his bat'leth weaved mighty arcs that practically cleaved the atmosphere apart.

Ja'Rod stumbled backwards, his hands shaking as he held his bat'leth up in a mockery of a defensive position. As he stumbled, his foot found the body of his most recently fallen comrade, and he tripped, sprawling backward over the body. His bat'leth slid from his grip and skidded across the deck plating towards the last Klingon in the group of traitors. His boot slammed on top of the blade, and he gave it a kick to send it back to the quaking form of Ja'Rod staring up as his doom.

Stepping towards the cowering figure of Ja'Rod, Jaktor switched back to a two handed style, using the bat'leth as a huge curved blade, it's keen edge carved gouges out of the deck plating as the tip sliced through the metal in it's path, the ever present feeling that Jaktor was coming, bearing down on his prey, on the honour-less dogs that had nearly ripped the Empire asunder, each swing was accompanied by the chants of a thousand Klingon Generals, all calling out for the blood of the traitorous worm.

Ja'Rod scrambled backwards, off the dead body, and his hand found the returned bat'leth. He quickly swung it upwards, trying to take a swipe at Jaktor's knees even as he tried to avoid the larger Klingon's bat'leth. The chanting of the other Klingons was wearing at Ja'Rod. Each syllable that echoed thorough the great hall caused his eye to twitch, and his hands to jerk tighter around the handle of his bat'leth.

The last Klingon backed clear of his companion, carefully observing Jaktor's approach and technique. It was clear that Ja'Rod had no chance of surviving this, and soon he would be facing this giant among Klingons. If he stood any chance of sparing his family any dishonour, he needed to learn from the mistakes of others, and fast.

Jaktor halted and watched the swing fall short of his legs, bringing his mighty boot up and slamming it down on the blade as it swung wildly at his knees, the force of the boot tore the weapon from the hands of the cowering Ja'Rod and Jaktor laughed, a blood curdling laugh that turned into a deep, thundering growl as he bought his bat'leth round and cut across Ja'Rod's chest, cleaving it open in one fell swoop.

The last traitor standing, he observed one trend during all of these. Every time Jaktor started it, and every time he finished it. If there was to be any hope of success, or even a minor redemption of honor for his family, he would have to strike first. He would have to land the blow before the giant could redirect his momentum. It was clear that Ja'Rod was dead, and he was so cowardly and terrified, there was no making any use of himself with his dying breath. Now was the time to strike.

"Qapla'!" he screamed, charging forward with his bat'leth raised. Today was a good day to die, but it would be an even better one to slay the giant.

Surprise was the reaction from Jaktor as he was rushed, the attack caught him on the back foot and he was forced to raise his bat'leth in defence, fending off the blows in a rushed pattern of arcs and weaving. It was only a momentary lapse but Jaktor found himself having to defend again and again.

The traitor pushed forward, screaming curses and battle cries. He knew his only chance was maintain the upper hand, to find the hole in Jaktor's defences. If he slipped, he was dead, if he tired, he was dead, if something distracted him, he was dead. He pushed and he pushed, waiting for something to yield, waiting for an opportunity to open.

Then he thought he saw it. He feigned for a high strike, and when he thought he saw Jaktor move to block, he swung low instead, going for the stomach.

Quickly, Jaktor bought the feint and raised his weapon high to block, leaving his midsection open to the blow to the stomach, it cut at his tunic and tore it open, cutting the surface of the skin and drawing blood, but not cutting deep as the mighty warrior had taken a step back in his motion, enraged by the sight of his own blood, he lashed out with all of his might and bought the weapon down, aimed directly at the head of the last traitor.

The sight of blood spilling from Jaktor was cause for celebration, until the traitor realized it was nothing more than a superficial wound. By then, it was all he could do to block the blow aimed at his head. He felt as much as he heard the cracking of his skull as the blade made impact, even with his bat'leth to stop the follow through.

He saw the blood drip across his vision, and still he defended. He intended to at least make a better show of himself than the others, even as he started to feel dizzy and he stumbled backwards, he kept his blade prepared to defend.

Jaktor lowered his weapon and gave a predatory grin as his opponent began to stumble backwards, the blood beginning to rush from the heavy blow to his head, his ridges cleaved in half, the mighty warrior stooped down slightly and leant his bat'leth against his leg, drawing a mek'leth from his cloak which had been shrugged off on the floor.

Thank Kahless! the traitor thought to himself, seeing his chance. From somewhere deep within, he found a last shred of strength, and he raised his blade with a mighty cry. He charged, ready to bring the bat'leth down into his opponent with every last ounce of strength left within him.

Spinning around, Jaktor launched his mek'leth at the charging warrior, the blade spun through the air and embedded itself into his chest, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to drop to his knees.

As the bat'leth fell to the floor, ringing out on the deck plating as it came to rest, a mighty roar went up from the assembled warriors and the Great Hall exploded into a cacophony of cheers, hammering on tables, stamping of feet and clashing of weapons on metal, Ch'Krang rose above his people, standing from his position on the throne he stepped down slightly as Jaktor cleaned his blades and holstered his mek'leth again, blood pooled around each of the four corpses, the last still twitching as the last visages of life left his body.

“Honour has been satisfied!” the Chancellor called out as three of his generals stepped forward and flanked Jaktor, “My generals, you will each take the families of the traitors and put them to the same fate,” he continued before placing a hand on the shoulder of his champion, “Jaktor, you will lead the assault on the Ja'Rod's family, you will make them suffer for the dishonour he bought to their house.”

The four assembled before him crossed their arms to their chests and bowed their heads, Jaktor was still seeping blood from the wound to his stomach, but it had begun slowing naturally, as one they replied, “tlhIngan maH!” and turned on their heels to return to their tables, Jaktor stopped only to retrieve his cloak before disappearing back into the crowd amidst a sea of congratulations.

(End Log.)

Ch'Krang, head of his house.
Chancellor of the Klingon Empire

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Jaktor, of the house of Ch'Krang
First Officer, IKS Ya'Vang

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K'Retok'ech, Ja'Rod'la & two other traitors
NPCs apb Pond