((Interior, Dark Room - IKS K'prong))
A song that was discordant and insulting to most Klingon ears echoed in the dark and cramped quarters. However, to the obese and obviously intoxicated General that lay slumped against the table, flagon in hand, any song was worth singing at an exaggerated volume. The slurred lyrics were proudly sung, regardless of any scowls that might come from passing warriors on the other side of closed doors.
So loud and boisterous was the music and the braying voice that the metallic clang of fist against bulkhead again and again was missed. Whether this was also influenced by the copious volumes of bloodwine was certainly debatable. Finally, the doors parted, and a shaft of light from the corridor stabbed into the unkempt quarters. Like a record scratch, the music and singing stopped, and a bleary-eyed general threw his flagon in the general direction of the blinding light, and the silhouette that bisected it.
Qu'lIj Daleghchugh 'ej Qu'lIjDaq yIjaHDI'
chongMe'chugh jaj ngoQ 'e' vImev!
cholIj yIchav 'ej chepchu'taHvIS!
Murkad: Shut that accursed door, you taHqeq!
The lieutenant ground his teeth at that most dire of insults, but bit back any retort. It wasn't as if there were any other Klingon Defense Force vessels to transfer to, the Empire had forsaken the K'prong and its warriors behind the petaQ Sheliak lines.
Kroth: You have been hailed, General. A Starfleet vessel requests your presence at a ::with obvious distaste:: conference.
Murkad: Starfleet! Why would I want to entreat with the pujwI! The Cardassians! The accursed Ferengi! Orions! All talk, no action! Unless they want to rout the Sheliak with us, tell them to take a long stroll out a short airlock!
Kroth: Aye, General.
The lieutenant turned to leave, relieved to be out of the General's presence. This aged warrior had seen battle in the wars against the Dominion and Cardassians, had fought honorably against Starfleet at the start of the Klingon Civil War, and was likely enroute to a place in Suto'vo'qor - or was, until he was exiled to this backwater place and shunned by the Empire. None knew why, but his difficulty in holding his drink in later years coupled with his loose and bombastic tongue was a likely culprit. Everyone else on the K'prong were victims by association, robbed a chance for honor. Murkad's plan to go out in a blaze of glory was no better than death by suicide, and there was no honor in throwing away so many warrior's lives on such a foolhardy endeavor. By Kahless, if even the Chalnoth knew it was folly to beard the Sheliak, then certainly any General worth their rank should know as well!
Murkad: Wait! Kroth, come back.
His shoulders slumped, and Kroth turned back around wearily. General Murtad had definitely not sobered, but there was a dawning gleam in his piggish eyes. He stood in the doorway and regarded the General with barely concealed contempt.
Murkad: The Federation may be pujwI by and large, but there are commanders in Starfleet that fight with honor. Why, that time at Chin'toka...
The General fell into a contemplative stupor, failing to finish elucidating his story. After several long seconds, Kroth could stand the drunkard's manner no longer. If it weren't so pointless, he would mutiny and take control of this vessel. But who would follow him on such a fool's errand, and to what effect? So Kroth could be the one to sit in a stupor instead, behind the lines of an enemy that the Empire wouldn't even acknowledge?
Kroth: General? Did you want me to respond to the message or not?
Murkad: ::startled out of his reminiscent reverie:: Yes! Tell Starfleet that I will attend. I must convince this Captain that honor awaits, if only we band together against those toDSaH Sheliak scourge!
Kroth: ::with a deep, soul crushing sigh:: Yes, General. Right away.
Commanding Officer, IKS K'prong
~as simmed by~
Commander Maxwell Traenor
Chief Science Officer, USS Arrow