A Dream of Q’Onos

Posted on Mon Jan 9th, 2023 @ 10:19am by Lieutenant Etrara Khalten

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: USS Elysium
1691 words - 3.4 OF Standard Post Measure

The light in the street was just enough to catch the reflection of the cloaked figure moving slowly between the gaps between the houses. It was near dawn but the darkness of the storm was still complete which, along with the sheeting rain provided no idea that daylight was expected. The figure reached the last house in the street before it led out into the countryside. The house was a poor one compared to others that were built of stone with tiled roofs and windows that were shuttered warmly against the storm.

The figure knocked gently on the door it’s back to the rain. Slowly the door opened a crack. “Ha', 'OH 'Iv?” a voice said roughly.

“qeylIS wo' botlhDaj Duras qengtaHvIS” the cloaked figure replied. The door opened and the figure slipped into the darkness of the home. The door closed behind the figure and the torrent continued to pound against the door. A light was lit and placed on a large table in the middle of the room. An old woman busied herself with a flagon of bloodwine which was put before the cloaked figure.

“I am Etrara” the figure said as she removed her sodden cloak. It revealed a tall attractive female, Klingon in some features but human in others. Etrara sat and took the bloodwine greatfully sipping it. The drink was hot and she placed both her palms around it cradling it to try to transfer some of its warmth to her icy hands. She sat down in front of the poor flame that was a smoking fire.

“What do you want?” The old woman asked. She tried to look confident but Etrara could see she was scared. That was par for the course she thought. The very name ‘Duras’ brought terror to many people.

Etrara continued to speak in Klingon as the woman most likely did not speak any other language. “I am looking for my father J’Recall Mok of the House of Duras I heard you know of him?” There was a long silence and Etrara noted the woman kept glancing towards an interior door that was open slightly. She reached around slowly for the reassuring feel of her mek’leth in the band of her leather skirt. She gripped the hilt and brought it nearer.

“Yes I knew him….for a while.” The old woman said. “What do you want with him, who are you?” she spoke bravely.

Etrara spoke more loudly this time so whoever was behind the door could hear. “Since you have welcomed me into your home I will answer your questions without killing you.” She smiled disarmingly and took another drink. “I am Etrara and he is my father. You ask me what I want with him? I will tell you simply I want to kill him.” Etrara noted the door closed slowly.

“I have not seen him in many years now. I used to be his nurse in the old days,” she said proudly.

Etrara raised her eyebrows, why was this woman in rags if she had held such a high position in the Duras household? She looked around the wretched room with its dirt floor covered in sparse foul smelling rushes. A small pot sat on the fire cooking what appeared to be a targ haunch, much too rich for a house like this. Etrara’s neck prickled with danger and sweat began to trickle down between her breasts. She stood, “do you have another way out of here?” She questioned more roughly.

The woman licked her lips and her eyes flicked to the side. She shook her head and moved to stand in front of the door. “Yes, he has already gone!” She exclaimed.

Etrara pushed her aside and pulled the door open. The room was completely dark but she knew there was someone else there. She took her mek’leth in her hand.
“Show yourself y'nt yalagochukof!” There was a rush of air towards her and she sliced upwards feeling it touch another body as she fell backwards. The male on top of her was as tall as she was and much heavier. She could smell his foul breath on her neck. She attempted to roll but his bulk held her down as she grasped his hair, found his face and plunged her fingers into his eye sockets. He roared in pain and rolled off her clutching at his face. Etrara sprang up glancing at the old woman who had lit another lantern, she noticed the woman was smiling and to her horror Etrara realised the bloodwine had been poisoned.

At that moment she felt nothing as she sidestepped the charging warrior for that was how he was dressed, long grey hair covering his head. She lifted her weapon up to deflect his bat’leth and drove her arm into his bulging midriff as he oofed with the blow. She began to feel…disconnected, her body seemed to react a long time after her thoughts and her vision became blurred. “You have no honour” she shouted. Then his fist hit her cheek throwing her completely off balance and she swayed hitting the ground.

She felt cold, very cold as though her skeleton was made of ice and ice water was part of her very makeup. “ mIw'a'vaD mIw'a'?” She called. A raw male laugh sounded behind her, “so you think you are on the Barge of The Dead?” The man removed the blindfold from her eyes and, for the first time she saw his face. It was that of an old man. A long scar ran the length of the left side from forehead to chin, it was still raw and red, both of his eyes were bleeding where she had pushed her fingers into them. He saw her looking at him and fist raised slammed it into her face. Etrara felt her lip split and, laughing she spat her blood into his face. He licked it off. She desperately tried to untie her hands.

“You look like your mother Etrara!” She gasped “you are my father!” It was more of an exclamation than a question. “I have long sought you, you killed my mother.”

He laughed again. “She killed herself, she was not strong. I gave her what she wanted a half breed child, although,” he looked her up and down. “Although the Klingon part of you is very lovely.” His hand swept her face stroking her cranial ridges and down to her cheek. As his fingers caressed her chin she moved her head, caught one of his fingers in her mouth and bit down hard severing it at the tip.

He roared in pain holding his injured hand . The old woman rushed to his side, grabbed his hand and brought the severed tip down into the flame. He roared again as the smell and sound of cooking flesh reached Etrara. She spat the tip out at him. “Fight me in combat and bring honor to your house.!” she exclaimed as he sat at the table breathing heavily whilst the old woman wrapped a rag around the injury. Etrara saw the look she gave him. “You were his nurse.” she said.

The old woman nodded. “I was there when he was born, I gave him suck.”

Etrara spat. “You should have bashed his brains out.”

Her father looked at her a different look in his eye. “You hate me that much?”

She nodded, “after she died I swore a blood oath to find and kill you even if it took my life, and now we are here you and I. But, you have no honor, you never did and neither does your house. You rule by fear and violence.”

He laughed “what do you expect Etrara, we are Klingon, does your blood not sing at the fight?”

She nodded, “yes…..you are right my blood does sing but…but I also took an oath to ‘Do No Harm’. I became a doctor.” She could feel the binding around her wrists loosening slowly. “I always thought you a coward.”

He cradled his injured hand. “I have fought for our house, been victorious in many battles, I am no coward.”

Etrara laughed. “In my world men are counted by the good they do, not the number of innocents they slay.” The binding dropped away from her hands and the circulation burned as it began to flow back into her veins. Her mek’leth lay on the table next to the old woman who looked as though she had gone to sleep. Etrara nodded towards her, “do you not reward those who served you?”

Mok scowled, “I gave her this house, better than being in the street.”

Etrara shook her head. “There is no redemption for you,” she said sadly. “That is why I have to kill you, this way I will be doing no harm to those you would kill.”
For a moment there was silence and then Etrara launched herself at him head butting him her cranial ridges cutting him. Grabbing her knife from the table she thrust it into him, turning the double blades and slashing downwards. As a doctor she knew exactly where to put her knife so that the brak'lul that allowed Klingons to survive severe injuries in battle would not work for him. He fell away from her backwards onto the floor laughing. As Etrara watched the light fade from his eyes she remembered the old woman. She tried to turn but it was too late, she felt the knife slide into her back and wondered why it had gone in so easily. Her legs would no longer hold her as she pitched forward onto the floor next to her father. Etrara’s last feeling was of peace and satisfaction. As she waited for the Barge of the Dead the storm outside was finally stilled as day broke over Q’Onos.

Etrara opened her eyes in the darkness feeling the slight thrum of the Elysium’s engines. The covers lay across her and Zac in disarray. His steady breathing soothed her and she was soon asleep her nose dripping with blood.