Wedding Bells and Death Knells

 Episode Name:  Wedding Bells and Death Knells
   Written By:  Shaft
         Cast:  Cristobal, Ghorev, Gr'laH, Shaft and Talesin.
  Produced By:  Starfleet
  Directed By:  Shaft
     Aired On:  Fri Jun 06 22:37:31 2003
     Stardate:  53269.8

Time: Fri Jun 06 20:22:03 2003

Stardate: 53269.5

Gr'laH looms off of the Turbolift, a stalking mass of gristled muscle and thick layers of fat. Scarred and mutilated by a life spent in the bloody pursuit of glorious combat. His metal shod boots thunder across the deckplating even as his hand plucks the Dk'tagh from his waist and extends its side prongs with a press of the thumb. They snap open sharply before Gr'laH turns about to face the doors of the lift, awaiting Cristobal's arrival. He says in Klingon, "I am Gr'laH, son of Go'laH! Plague of Cardassia, Purgator of Bak'TUR, Husband of Gharas, Father of Churas! Fleet Captain of the Wing of Ghogh under Martok! Delegate of the Klingon Empire! I have bled at Betazed! I have bled at Fimdari! I have killed the Nausicaan, the Orion, the Flaxian, the Cardassian, the Vorta, the Jem'Hadar, the Human, /and/ the Klingon! You seek my daughter as your wife. All that lies before you, should you achieve me, is more of this. As Warrior after Warrior seeks to reclaim for the Empire the Honor you seek to deny it through your suit. You will never know peace in knowing Churas. You will never sleep again without wondering what tomorrow may bring. And before you face that grim future of your own creation, you must face the present. And me. And prove yourself capable of doing so." Gr'laH shakes his head a bit to work the patch from his eye, brushing it off more cleanly with a nuzzling of his face into his stump. He says in Klingon, "Come, Nathan, son of Eduardo. It is a good day to die!"

Cristobal walks off of the turbolift behind Gr'laH. Strapped over his shoulder is a blue cylindrical case, about one and a half meters long, maybe thirty centimeters in diameter. He stares blankly forward as he exits, his mind focused within itself. He wears no sort of armor, nor any type of workout or athletic gear. He is in his usual, everyday uniform. He smiles lightly in response to Gr'laH and sets the case down, flicking open the latch and removing the blade from within. The one-bladed sword is lightly-curved, with a blade about a meter long. He says, "This blade belonged to my mother, to her mother, and back such, nearly seven hundred years to a woman whose name has been lost in the mists of history. Three times in its existence, the mother had no daughters. Two times before, it was the duty of the son to find a woman worthy to bear it. Uncounted generations of warriors seek another to join their ranks. I have found such a woman. Churas. Know Gr'laH, that the man who stands against you today is but a fraction of what you face. As has ever been the case, these women will suffer no opposition to their goal, least of all from a man." He smiles lightly, "I will do what I can to convince my foremothers to allow you to survive the ordeal. If not...it is a good day to die, sign of Go'laH." He raises the blade once in salute, bows slightly, his eyes facing forward as he does, and slides smoothly into a battle stance.

Ghorev watches the two men close, mouthing the words they speak after they speak them, as if some custom of his own demands that he memorize the battle as it is being fought.

Talesin is simply quiet, dark eyes rather round, medkit at his feet, hands clasped before him, jawline tense, knuckles white.

GAME: Gr'laH spends a courage point.

GAME: Cristobal spends a courage point.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Good speech, now forget you ever made it. Remember the plan. The dk'tagh maximizes his speed, limiting my advantage there, but the range and defense will be weak. Stay back. Light slashes to the legs. Wear him down. Don't bring the blade above the waist except to parry or to feint. And /NO KILLING BLOWS/..."

Gr'laH draws back his lip at that in a touch of a Warrior sneer, ever one for Bravado. He says in Klingon, "If they find no accord in me, they send me to a woman who was their peer and whom I would sooner join! Q'PLA!" Gr'laH waits for Nathan to find his stance before leaving his own. Never one to wait once the moment is finalized. He's bounding foreward in a roar the moment his opponent's feet are settled. He's for the direct approach, blade slashing out at Cristobal's forearm. Can't fight with what he can't hold, after all.

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Primitive Weaponry (Dk'tagh) skill vs Cristobal's Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill and Fails!

Cristobal tries to control the nervousness in him, but fails...until Gr'laH's blade comes towards him. Almost automatically, his wrists twist, and the blade flicks to the side to slide Gr'laH's dk'tagh away from him. When this happens, a look of calm overtakes his face. He steps to the side and strikes downward, the sword slashing at Gr'laH's leg.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill vs Gr'laH's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Gr'laH staggers past Cristobal as his blade is passed harmlessly by. The bite of the blade into the back of his leg causes the old buzzard to release a roar of renewed rage. Lavender blood begins to fleck the floor as Gr'laH finds his balance with a bit of a growl. A surefire way to turn a friendly bit of bladework into a real bloodbath? Nickel and Dime a Klingon. Gr'laH's one eye blinks sharply for a moment before he spits onto the deck and comes stalking foreward once more, first slowly and then more rapidly. He says in Klingon, "KNOW PAIN!" It's not the most inventive battlecry. But it's sincere. And if the slashings have been replaced by a D'k tagh which is simply a punch-loader? That's purely happenstance. He is, technically, still /holding/ the blade. Ahem.

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Cristobal's Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill and Succeeds!

Talesin actually takes a step back as the blades connect, flinching away, glancing over at Ghorev worriedly, hands unclenching enough to allow one to massage at his temple in an absent gesture. That hand is shaking, just a little, and his skin has paled a great deal.

Well he has to Nickel and Dime, seeing as how neither are likely to give any Quarter. *cough* /Anyway/, Cristobal grunts as he takes the punch in the chest and takes another step back. Need to stay out of range so the bigger Klingon can't do /that/ again. Meanwhile, he slashes at Gr'laH's other leg. Slow the Klingon down, then take him down.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill vs Gr'laH's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Ghorev makes a 'no worries' gesture in Talesin's direction.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Was afraid he'd realize that he's faster with his fists that with any blade. And it makes it that much harder to block since I don't want to hack his /other/ arm off. Damn...May need to slash a little harder than I'd hoped..."

Gr'laH attempts to step back from the counter-strike of Cristobal's blade, but the tip slices a crease through the thick hide of his leggings and draws a strangled growl from the lips of the old Warrior. As before, a bubbling of lavender blood begins to soak through, decorating the floor in a rather morbid bit of color. He says in Klingon, "I could have killed you once, Nathan!" Gr'laH rasps that out as he begins a slow limping circle about the human. He says in Klingon, "I felt your pulse weaken. Your breath wheeze beneath my weight. I showed you mercy. Somehow I feel this is no mercy. This is pity." Gr'laH staggers forward to attempt the old standby. Faceplate to forehead with a blade feint.

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Cristobal's Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill and Succeeds!

Cristobal tries to bring his blade to bear in time to keep the big ridged forehead away from his own. His arms pushing against Gr'laH weaken the blow somewhat, but it still strikes, knocking him back. He steps back again and regroups, bringing his blade up. "Winning by destroying your enemy is a simple task. Far simpler than when your opponent is not your enemy, and such destruction is a loss as surely as it is a victory. This is not pity. This is strategy." And so is this: Cris slashes downward once more, aiming to dig his blade a bit deeper into the flesh, trying to sever a tendon or in some way bring the big Klingon down."

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill vs Gr'laH's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

. o O Gr'laH's running commentary is cut off nearly as cleanly as the strike which answers him, "He fights well. Too well. Well enough that he holds back. Well enough that he knows no pass--"

Gr'laH attempts to stagger backwards once more, but is rather effectively slashed across the thigh once more. The deeper strike draws a howl of pain from the Klingon as his leg buckles beneath him and he topples to the deck on a knee. His blade clatters to the deck as his palm is forced open to catch his fall. Even that gives out, forcing his stump out from his side to brace against the deck. Purple tinged blood trickles down to pool about his knees as he gathers up a breath and roars his way back up to his knees, takes up his D'k Tagh, and powers himself back upright again, if only on one leg, the other dragging along as he lurches forward like a wounded animal. He says in Klingon, "BLEED!"

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Primitive Weaponry (D'k Tagh) skill vs Cristobal's Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill and Fails!

Cristobal is the antithesis of the roaring Klingon. He evinces no emotion. No satisfaction with the edge he has taken, nor any pity at the pain he has inflicted upon Gr'laH. Even now, a reddish mark is visible on Cristobal's head where Gr'laH struck it, but he either fails to notice the pain or simply ignores it. He keeps his distance, and brings his blade up to block Gr'laH's attack, metal clashing against metal. He counters with a quick slash at Gr'laH's complete arm, just below the elbow, while stepping backwards.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill vs Gr'laH's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Ghorev watches *intently* now, perhaps memorizing, perhaps simply filing away skills and maneuvers in case of later encounter.

With the slash to his arm, Gr'laH's roar becomes deafening. The arm falls to his side, the blade to the deck once more, and Gr'laH seems quite content with it. Far from useless, it has simply ceased to be as useful. His advance doesn't quite stop, but it is far more lumbering, awkward, and wholly difficult. Bleeding from four wounds, the Klingon just keeps coming, balling up his fist for as strong a punch as the wounded arm can muster, straight around the blade towards the side of Cristobal's head. His stump is used to fend the blade away. What's he going to do? Cut his arm off more?

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Cristobal's Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill and Fails!

Cristobal brings his sword up in defense. The blade fails to do more than put a crack in the leather of the sleeve Gr'laH's armor, but it gives him enough leverage to push the arm away from his head. Cristobal bends his knees, dropping himself low and darting forward, his blade making a quick slash at Gr'laH's hip as he runs by the big warrior.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Primitive Weaponry (Sword) skill vs Gr'laH's Dodge skill and Succeeds!

Gr'laH overextends in missing his strike and the passing attack succeeds without much difficulty, slicing another gash into the Klingon's side. He lurches forward in an attempt to regain his balance, his 'good' leg wobbling a bit before buckling beneath close to five-hundred pounds of meat and muscle. In keeping with the axiom, Gr'laH goes down hard if he goes down at all. His head even bounces off the plating of the deck, doing little more than bringing the old buzzard back to his senses. His blank stare is replaced by a growl as his single eye scans about for the blade he'd dropped. Ah. He flails for it, finds it, and begins using its point to drag him across the floor. Finding purchase is, naturally, difficult. It screeches, scrapes, and occasionally skips away altogether. But he's making ground. Until, seemingly beyond all reason, the blade snaps at the tang and Gr'laH is left staring rather mutely at the broken weapon. He flings it away, attempting to drag himself by the stump. He gets about two more feet, having painted a purple swatch across the floor this far, before he collapses back to the floor to wheeze out some words as his eye looks about. He says in Klingon, "I... can't see. The stars. From here."

Cristobal's eyes light up. He steps forward rapidly, keeping his sword at the ready just in case. He says quietly, "You'll see them again, my friend," placing the heel of his foot lightly on Gr'laH's neck, "for you will not die this day. You have a wedding to attend." He steps back away from Gr'laH and turns to look at Talesin. "Ensign, now!" he snaps, pointing at the downed Klingon.

Talesin rushes forward, medkit in hand, "Yes sir." his face is pale, his hands all but shaking as he rushes forward, opening the kit, looking like he might just faint, himself.

Ghorev waits, silently. The battle, after all, is done, and even were it not, his role is solely to witness.

. o O Cristobal thinks "I've...done it"

It's rather difficult to tell just how Gr'laH feels about all of this. He grunts softly as the boot finds his neck, and continues his wheezing breaths all throughout Cristobal's reply. His eye continues to search about even as Talesin closes the distance to his side. His brow knits slightly before he notes in a mirthless chuckle, "Betazoid." Why that's amusing, only he might fully know. Whatever the facts of the matter, his eye blinks slowly first once, then twice, then slides shut as his breathing evens out.

Talesin frowns, "He's got some deep wounds. We need to get him to sickbay." he glances up, nervously. His hands aren't /quite/ shaking, now, but it's obvious that the bloodshed has more than upset him. He looks to Ghorev, "Sir, according to tradition, can there be more medical personnel than myself?" the kit is open now, and dark eyes move to search through it, almost unsurely.

Ghorev asks quietly, "Do you require more assistance, Ensign?"

Cristobal walks over towards the blue case. He falls down to his knees and exhales deeply. He rubs at his forehead with a wince. Ok, that hurts now. He pulls some type of cloth out and wipes the lavender blood from the blade, then places the sword back in its case, closing it up.

Talesin nods, "Yes, sir, I'm going to need help..." a faint, weak smile, "I've never had to deal with something like this before..." he bites his lower lip, turning his attention to the patient, dark eyes obviously worried. "I wasn't expecting something like this, sir, but I should have."

Cristobal pulls the case over his shoulder. Only now does he walk over towards Gr'laH, standing back to allow the Ensign to work, but peering over the man's injuries. He's pretty sure he avoided hitting anything vital, but peering around at the blood he sees worries him.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Hell...I didn't mean...damn you Keth, close up those wounds now."

Ghorev says, "You can summon someone else, or I can arrange for a direct site-to-site transport to Sickbay and you can him there."

Talesin nods, "Site to site transport, sir." a frown, and he sighs softly, looking to Cristobal, "I expect to see you there as well." it comes out as surprisingly stern, and as much like an order as the Ensign can manage.

Cristobal arches an eyebrow and says, "I'm fine, but I'll be there." He walks towards the turbolift.

Ghorev says, "Ensign, move along. Notify Dr. Park as you go so he doesn't wonder." Then he taps his combadge. "Ghorev to Operations. I need a site to site transport. Lock onto my location, and beam the Klingon lifesign you find in my vicinity directly to sickbay."

"On it, Sir." There is a pause as the Operations crew organizes the particulars. "Engaging now, Sir." There's another brief pause as Gr'laH's bloody body fades away into sparkling vapor.

. o O Cristobal thinks "The day has arrived. The battle is won. I will see you shortly, Churas."

Shaft has arrived.

GAME: Shaft is joining this location.

Talesin nods, standing and frowning, moving toward the turbolift as well, medical kit in hand, a frown obvious as he moves, hands shaking slightly.

Cristobal walks into the turbolift, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

Ghorev waits for the others to vacate, then makes his own way to the lift. His job here is done, after all. He witnessed, and then he --- oh. Wait. "Ghorev to Engineering. Get a cleanup crew on Level 25, Cargo Bay 4. There's been an accident. Don't slip in the lavender mess."