Kolos: The Missions of the Kah’pow! - Part I

[Dr. Sebastian Hartmann]

[D'Ghor - IKS Kah'Pow(!) - Mess Hall]

D'Ghor growled his approval and attacked. His bat'leth spun and whirled in increasingly complicated moves. The crowd grew quiet as the large blades sliced through the air, clashing together for mere microseconds before the opponents pulled back and tested for weaknesses in the other's defense.

,,You are skilled, Son of K'Dorr!" snapped D'Ghor between blows. ,,Your moves are quick and clean! Everyone, watch this warrior for he will win us honor!!"

The attack continued and D'Ghor tossed increasingly complicated moves at the younger man. His bat'leth flashed in circles coming in at D'Khor at odd angles. The XO pushed the engineer backwards toward the wall as the attacks flew with more and more ferocity.

Then, with an audible pop, D'Ghor's left shoulder flew out of its socket.

,,No matter!" he growled and continued his flurry of attacks one-handed! ,,It's an old wound!"

[Lucien Dupont]

[As D'Khor | IKS Kah'Pow | Mess Hall]

D'Khor gracefully parried every attack as D'Ghor continued to whirl at him persistently.

He could hear the voice of his father, K'Dorr, in his ears. "You must allow your movements to flow, D'Khor. The Bat'leth is not just a weapon, it is an extension of yourself." - from grueling training sessions that dominated his teenage years.

[D'Ghor - IKS Kah'Pow(!) - Mess Hall]

Then, with an audible pop, D'Ghor's left shoulder flew out of its socket.

,,No matter!" he growled and continued his flurry of attacks one-handed! ,,It's an old wound!"

This was it! With the one handed flurries D'Ghor was clearly more open. D'Khor took a deep breath and immediately went on the offensive. Even with his disadvantage, D'Ghor was able to defend adeptly and was able to avoid the attacks by simply backing up and giving up the hard-wond space gained through the contest.

After a few more moments, D'Ghor had himself become backed up towards the wall. With a series of grunts D'Khor suddenly and swiftly goes on the offensive using quick, precise strikes. Targetting the opening created by his dislocated shoulder, it seemed only a matter of time before D'Khor claimed victory.

[Dr. Sebastian Hartmann]

[D'Ghor - IKS Kah'Pow(!) - Mess Hall]

This fight was over. D'Ghor knew this, but capitulation was not his way. Despite the loss of his left arm, he fought on. D'Khor was no fool and attacked quickly and cleanly direct on his weak side.

D'Ghor released his hold on his weapon and spun his bat'leth around his own back. The metal sliced through the air in a kind of hands-free spin attack, clearing the space. The surprise move left D'Khor exposed for a brief moment. D'Ghor caught the bat'leth in his doninant hand and jabbed forward, expecting to take his opponent off guard.

But the young man was fast. With one quick flick of his wrist, he caught D'Ghor's bat'leth in the tines of his own and twisted. Off balance, the move wrenched the sword from the old man's grasp.

This fight was over.

D'Ghor leaned forward, his good arm on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

,,I yield, son of K'Dorr!"

He held up his hand and met the engineer's eyes.

,,You, my friend, a fight well! You have your father's precision. I lost no honor this day... Come, let me refill your drink!"

The crowd roared.
,,D'Khor! D'Khor! D'Khor!"

D'Ghor stood and draped his right arm over D'Khor's shoulder and led the two of them back to the table. Then, quietly, his voice raw and his breath heavy, he whispered in the younger man's ear:

,,nuqneH, nuq 'oH targhwI'vam yItlha' qachmey Hutlh DujwIj wo'?"
What is a weapons master like you doing in the lower decks of eingineering?

[CJ Dawson]

[As J'Rar]

Watching from the shadows, J'Rar kept a close eye on the battling Klingons. She spat on the ground when she heard D'Ghor about his old wound. "Qi'yaH" she stood up, causing the chair to fall. Her eyes on the crowd, waiting for the show to be over. She had her fair share of battles but the battles of Klingon men... She growled and laughed a little. "Fools" she folded her arms.

Before D'Ghor and D'Khort could take place she stood in front of the two Klingons. With burning eyes she looked at D'Ghor, shifting to his shoulder. "Fool, couldn't just let this go huh." her eyes serious. "Do you want to do it yourself or shall I help." she wasn't the most gentle one to do it. But right now she was the only one who could help him get it back in his socket, correctly.

[Calindra Hejaran]

[Mess Hall of the Kah'Pow]

Kolos stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room as he clapped his hands together with a resounding thwack, silencing the noise of the mess hall. His voice was steady, commanding, and brooked no dissent.

"Well fought!" he began, nodding toward D'Ghor and D'Khor. "Both of you have brought honor to this hall tonight. But our battles are not confined to feasts and duels."

He turned his gaze to J'Rar, his eyes sharp and decisive. "J'Rar," he said, "escort the combatants to the bridge once you've tended to their wounds. Hopefully you can fix D'Ghor's shoulder on the way, though he might not need it to impart wisdom, we might have a change of plans that would require him wielding his bat'leth soon."

Kolos then turned to the merchants, whose faces betrayed curiosity and unease. "You, esteemed heads of House Paq'la, will join us. The situation may affect your interests as well. Your perspective will be useful, and your voices, heard."

The merchants exchanged glances but nodded in agreement, their intrigue outweighing hesitation.

Finally, Kolos's voice rose, addressing the rest of the officers scattered throughout the mess hall. "All senior officers, to the bridge with me! The glory of the Empire calls, and we will answer it together."

The room surged with purpose, warriors and merchants alike moving swiftly to follow Kolos's lead. The captain marched from the hall with his head high, his steps echoing with the confidence of a commander who knew the weight of his duty—and welcomed it.

The transition from the raucous energy of the mess hall to the structured intensity of the bridge was stark. The air shifted, and every Klingon present felt it—the anticipation of battle, the readiness to serve, and the promise of honor yet to be won.

[IKS Kah'Pow - Bridge]

Kolos sat in the center of the bridge, his imposing frame reclined but alert, radiating authority from the command chair. The room hummed with activity as the officers filed in, taking their respective posts. The glow of the consoles painted the bridge in sharp crimson and gold hues, a reminder of the vessel's readiness for battle.

The doors swished open one final time as J'Rar entered with D'Ghor and D'Khor in tow, followed closely by the heads of House Paq'la, who lingered near the back, their curiosity palpable. With a subtle nod, Kolos acknowledged their presence, then scanned the room, ensuring all his senior officers were accounted for.

When silence fell, Kolos leaned forward in his chair. "Comms officer," he said with calm authority, "report."

The comms officer turned, his face grim. "We intercepted two distress calls from the Hanasa system. The first, from the planetary governor, reported that they were under attack. The transmission ended abruptly—likely cut off mid-broadcast."

Kolos's brow furrowed, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair. "And the second?"

The comms officer hesitated briefly. "Our attempts to reach the governor have only been met with apologetic responses from automated systems, followed by immediate disconnections. We suspect interference or deliberate obstruction."

The bridge crew exchanged wary glances, the weight of the situation sinking in. Kolos's jaw tightened as he considered the implications. He rose slowly from his chair, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "I ask what would my officers do in this situation?  Speak freely, but consider our mission, the strength of the Kah'Pow, and the honor of the Empire."

[James Ramort]

[Kar'an, Son of Tun]
[IKS Kah'Pow | Bridge]

The Bloodwine had been good, maybe a little bit too much so.

Kar'an was a seasoned drinker. One did not make it far in Klingon Society if one wasn't. No matter if there were battles to celebrate or numerous glorious occasions in a Klingon Life to celebrate, the Bloodwine was never far.

The Federation baQa's would tell them something about the social traditions of bonding through drug induced states of euphoria. He had to sit one of their long winding talks one time when a past ship of his had to serve in a diplomatic mission with the weakarms. Some blue lieutenant had captured him and drawn him into a long winding talk about so many boring things. Not much honour to be earned that day.

Today was one of the days he had partaken in the joys of Bloodwine a bit too much again. He knew his body would soon clean him of the effects of the alcohol. His secondary liver kicking in to clean the fog right out of his brain, for now he could enjoy the freedom it would grant to his literary dreams a little longer, but his glorious duty was calling him again already.

The battle earlier had gone past him. He was sure, if honour was to be one, someone would have woken him to immortalise the event in song. Like this, he only needed to know he had to serve his commander again. A klingon too drunk to fight, was a Klingon most unhonorable.

"May they not be hold by death, oh preeminent among warriors.
Our blades shall draw the enemies last breath and bring them to a fate evermore goarier.

Those who dare attack our colonies in the dark, cutting the fanfares of their battle behind purposeful interference have no honour. Duty commands us to aid our brethren in this struggle. Dispelling the petAq! "

[Calindra Hejaran]

[Commander Kolos - IKS Kah'Pow - Bridge]

Kolos turned his gaze toward Kar'an, his lips curling in an amused smirk as the warrior's voice carried across the bridge, his poetic fervor still laced with the remnants of bloodwine. The seasoned warrior's secondary liver would clear his mind soon enough, but for now, his words were spoken with the fire of a true Klingon.

"Your words ring true, Kar'an, son of Tun," Kolos said, standing from his chair. "And you are correct—those who strike from the shadows with dishonor do not deserve a glorious death. They deserve only our steel and the cold void of space."

He stepped forward, casting his gaze over his officers, each waiting, eager for his final command when one of the Merchants stepped forward.

"Commander Kolos," he said, his voice measured but firm, "this is a detour. A costly one. The Shackleton Expanse does not wait for warriors to chase distress calls. Time is honor, and we have commitments to keep. Delays—especially unnecessary ones—can damage our standing, weaken our bargaining position."

Beside him, Bekkhar, the older of the two, nodded gravely. "We are grateful for your escort, but we must weigh our obligations. This situation may already be beyond help."

Kolos listened, his expression unreadable. When they finished, he nodded solemnly from where he stood, steepling his fingers in thought before responding.

"I hear you, Gor'vath. Bekkhar," he said, his tone even, acknowledging their concerns with the respect due to their station. "Your time is valuable, and your house has much to gain from continued trade. I do not take such concerns lightly. I believe it is only six hours, as detours go," Kolos added, his tone neither demanding nor dismissive—simply matter-of-fact, which was soon confirmed by one of the nav specialists.

"Anyone else have any insights? Speak now."

[Dr. Sebastian Hartmann]

[D'Ghor, som of D'Kara - Bridge of the IKS Kah'Pow(!)]

"I have insights to share!" The old man stood up, still dragging a bit in the left shoulder.

"It is not right to let a call for help go unanswered! We are not Ferengi, grabbing for strips of latinum, we are Klingon and we rise to the call of adventure.

"House P'lesh has governed Hanasa for two generations. The current planetary governor, Tavosh, is the son of my good friend Thovor, who ruled Hanasa in his youth.

"The local population, the Hageet, resisted the Empire when House P'lesh arrived, but have come to accept Klingon rule. Importantly, dilithium deposits in the system make Hanasa vital to the maintenance of our fleet.

"In short, we must go to the aid of our comrades. We must do this in the name of the Empire, in the name of friendship and to answer the call of glory!"

D'Ghor, having said his piece, steadied himself on his good arm and took his seat again with a gentle thump.

[Calindra Hejaran]

Kolos listened intently as D'Ghor spoke, the elder warrior's passion and conviction unmistakable. He respected the fire in his words—D'Ghor was right. To ignore this distress call would not only be cowardice but a betrayal of their duty to the Empire.

Kolos turned his gaze to the merchants, measuring their reactions. Gor'vath crossed his arms, his expression tense. Bekkhar exhaled, shaking his head slightly before speaking.

"Old warrior, your words are stirring," Bekkhar admitted, his voice laced with a mixture of respect and exasperation. "But you are not the one responsible for balancing ledgers and securing the future of a House with nothing but wit and steel. It is easy to throw yourself into the fires of battle when your House does not depend on every moment spent in transit."

Gor'vath grunted in agreement. "Dilithium is important, yes. But so is our cargo. If we are delayed too long, we risk losing contracts, weakening our House, and for what? House P'lesh should be able to defend what is theirs, or they are not worthy of keeping it."

Kolos let the words hang in the air for a moment, then slowly rose from his chair, stepping toward them. His eyes burned with quiet intensity.

"You are both correct, in your own ways," he admitted. "A warrior does not live on glory alone, and a House does not endure without trade and diplomacy. But this is a imperial ship, and the Empire does not endure without warriors willing to defend it. If House P'lesh falls, it is not only their honor at stake—it is the Empire's strength that suffers. Would you rather see the flow of dilithium threatened? Or worse, in the hands of those who would deny it to us?"

Bekkhar and Gor'vath exchanged a glance, knowing full well the implications. It was not just about honor—it was about power, control, and security.

Gor'vath sighed, running a hand over his ridged brow. "Six hours," he muttered. "I will not pretend this is good for us. But if there is profit to be found in ensuring the safety of Hanasa's resources, then we will accept this course."

Bekkhar smirked. "Perhaps a merchant's tale will be written about this yet."

Kolos gave a curt nod. "Then we are in agreement." Not that Kolos would have ignored a Klingon Outpost requesting aid, but he wanted the merchants to reach the same conclusion. He gave his cha'Dish a nod that D'Ghor has come to understand to mean 'thank you old friend,' before he turned back to the crew. "Comms, inform the Mavola and Path'ela about the course change. Helm, set course for the Hanasa system, maximum warp. Let us see who dares challenge the Empire."

As the Kah'Pow dropped from warp a few hours later, the bridge crew leaned forward, eyes sharp on their displays. The Hanasa system stretched before them, a bustling sector of Klingon-controlled space where industry and war readiness intertwined. Even from this distance, system traffic was evident—shuttles darted between the inhabited worlds, freighters offloaded cargo at the shipyards, and the imposing silhouette of an orbital fortress loomed against the glow of the nearest star.

But what caught everyone's immediate attention were the three K't'inga-class battlecruisers moving deliberately through the system. Their formations were not that of idle patrols or mere ceremonial displays—they were tactical, shifting with intent.

[Dr. Sebastian Hartmann]

[D'Ghor - IKS Kah'Pow(!) - Bridge]

The XO on a Vor'cha class starship does not have a defined station. They have no chair. It is the nature of their role to be watching over the shoulders of their officers. They are literally and figuratively on their feet and ready to respond to their captain's orders.

As such, when the Kah'Pow(!) came out of warp, D'Ghor stood between the navigator and helm stations, watching their readouts.

(Image source: Cygnus-X1.net)

It took less than a second for the K't'inga cruisers to catch D'Ghor's eye and he reacted quickly.
"Yellow alert!"

He turned around and barked a quick order to the weapons officer.
"Keng, I want our shields ready at a moment's notice. Wait for your captains order."

He turned back to the helm master.
"Kar'an, get me the names of those ships and pull up the data on their commanding officers."

Then to the Kar'an's apprentice.
"D'Korr, Have you ever executed a baqghol maneuver before? I need you to be ready for one."

Finally, he turned back to the captain.
"Commander Kolos, the Kah'Pow(!) is ready. Your orders, sir."

[CJ Dawson]

[J'Rar - Bridge - IKS Kah'Pow(!)]

J'Rar wasn't one to intervene with higher communications. She just did what she had to do at that point. When the Kah'Pow(!) dropped out of warp they immediately saw the three K't'inga cruisers. Yellow allert was up and everything got in motion. Her scans revealed there were no Klingon lifesigns on any of the ships before them only to reveal something else disturbing.

"Commander Kolos, my scans show no Klingon life signs. They are.."[/color] Her eyes grew wide and immediate anger replaced her normal voice. "Bloody Hageet! qaStaH nuq jay'?"(What the hell is going on?) She said with a growl in her voice. She looked between D'Ghor and Kolos.

[Otis Trapps]

[Klingon - D'Korr]
Lost as D'Korr woke up from some where in the ship. He does not recall how he got where he was. He was bellowing singing, drank blood wine and he was here. He snorted, got on his knees, and stood up. Nobody was around to see him or did they? Doesn't matter. The habit of dozing off was to common, the crew does not know that.

He bellowed on some tune, and headed to the bridge. To his puzzle he took a left, realized where he was and he had to turn around go the right direction. Right. His pup was following behind him.

"Commander Kolos, my scans show no Klingon life signs. They are.."[/color] Her eyes grew wide and immediate anger replaced her normal voice. "Bloody Hageet! qaStaH nuq jay'?"(What the hell is going on?) She said with a growl in her voice. She looked between D'Ghor and Kolos.

"No Klingons signs," as he said entered the bridge. "We are late? Revenge!" Then he hiccuped. He smiled.

[Dr. Sebastian Hartmann]

"Commander Kolos, my scans show no Klingon life signs. They are.."[/color] Her eyes grew wide and immediate anger replaced her normal voice. "Bloody Hageet! qaStaH nuq jay'?"(What the hell is going on?) She said with a growl in her voice. She looked between D'Ghor and Kolos.

[D'Ghor - Bridge - IKS Kah'Pow(!)]
D'Ghor stomped across the bridge, his boots clanging against the utilitarian floor, and looked over J'Rar's shoulder to confirm the scan.

He growled with frustration.

"When we took this planet, the Hageet barely had the knowledge to escape their own gravity! How could they possibly be working our cruisers?!"

Like many older warriors, D'Ghor did not always register how many years had passed since the days of his youth.

"No Klingons signs," as he said entered the bridge. "We are late? Revenge!" Then he hiccuped. He smiled.

D'Ghor whirled around to stare down the latecomer.

"D'Korr the fatherless! D'Korr the drunk! toDSah! I will share your conduct with the captain. Now, look at me!"

The XO grabbed the apprentice by his shoulder pads and stared into the younger man with fire into his eyes, searching. The two men were close enough to smell each other: sweat, drink, adrenaline... A long second passed and the bridge was silent.

"yIntagh! If I didn't need you for your skill, I would have you thrown in the brig this instant! Qah'wl'maH Hurmwl'! Take your post and prepare a bagqhol maneuver. And if your actions endanger this ship, I will send you to Gre'thor myself!"

[Otis Trapps]

[As D'Khorr]
D'Korr barely registered the force of D'Ghor's grip, though the fire in the XO's eyes was impossible to ignore. The insults—*fatherless, drunk, toDSah*—hit their mark, but he refused to let them sink in. Not here. Not now.

But deep down, the sting was real. He knew what this was. A test. Another one.

No matter how many scars he carried, no matter how many times he fought and bled, they still looked at him like an unsharpened blade. Too young. Too reckless. Not enough discipline. He lacked the skill of warriors twice his age, and he knew it. He felt it every time his foot slipped where it shouldn't, every time he caught himself overstepping, every time someone like D'Ghor gripped his shoulder as if they were deciding whether or not to break him.

D'Korr hated it.

His jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, but he didn't drop his gaze. He met D'Ghor's stare with something raw—something that wasn't quite anger, but not far from it.

*"D'Korr the fatherless, D'Korr the drunk..."* His lips curled into a smirk, but there was an edge to it now, sharper than before. *"You forget D'Korr the undefeated."*

The bridge was silent. He could feel every eye on him, waiting to see if he would crack, if he would fold under the weight of expectations he never asked for.

*"I have stared down the throat of an enemy whose breath alone would turn the stomachs of an entire human colony!"* he growled, his ridges flaring. *"And I did not waver. You think I will tremble now?"*

It wasn't entirely true. That battle—his first real one—had nearly broken him. But he had survived. He had fought. And he would do so again.

He shrugged off D'Ghor's grip with a sharp movement, adjusting his armor as if shaking off the doubt clinging to him.

*"I am *already* prepared for the bagqhol maneuver, Commander. Unless you doubt my skill? Perhaps you'd prefer to fly us into Gre'thor yourself?"*

His words carried more weight than just defiance. He knew he wasn't the best pilot on the ship—not yet—but by Kahless, he would prove he was *worthy* to be here.

He turned to his station, his hands finding the controls with steady, practiced ease. Even as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard, *"Besides... if I were truly drunk, we'd already be in battle."*

His heart pounded as he focused on his work, shutting out the whispers in his own head. One day, they wouldn't question him. One day, they would speak his name with respect.

But today, he would settle for not crashing the ship.

D'Korr turned to his station, hands hovering over the controls. His fingers curled, flexing once before settling in place. The doubt gnawed at him, but he buried it beneath instinct, beneath fire. This was his post. This was *his* ship to fly. He would not fail.

"Besides..." he muttered just loud enough, his voice carrying across the tense bridge, "if I were truly drunk, we'd already be in battle."

A sharp beep echoed from his console—an incoming transmission or a shift in the enemy's position. His eyes flicked to the display, then to the others on the bridge. Something was happening.

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite concern. "Orders, Commander?" he asked, turning toward D'Ghor—or perhaps someone else willing to challenge him.

The silence hung there, an opening for anyone to step in, question his readiness, or test him further. And deep down, that fire in his chest burned hotter.

He was ready.

[Calindra Hejaran]

The tension on the bridge was already thick as the XO and helmsman locked eyes, their disagreement palpable. But before their clash could escalate, a sudden alert from the comms console cut through the moment like a d'k tahg through flesh.

"Captain!" the comms officer barked, his fingers flying over his console. "Intercepting a subspace-wide band transmission. It's coming from within the system."

Kolos turned his gaze from his officers and gave a single nod. "Put it on the main viewscreen."

A standard Klingon subspace transmission header appears along with the Imperial Seal before the image is replaced by a shocking sight.

Sitting in a chair is presumably the former planetary overseer of House P'lesh, but he is clearly dead with his bat'leth piercing his chest and pinning him to the back of the chair.

Standing next to the chair is an older Hageet, his head tilted forward so all of his eyes locked into the camera. Klingon blood stains his scaly skin, and his tongue laps out to clean his lips of it before he speaks. The few Klingon words he uses sound strange coming from his alien mouth.

"I speak to the Klingon starships that have just entered my star system
and the Chancellor of the Empire himself! Hear me! I am Sakmet Yanap, but
may address me as ruler of this world.

"The cowardly and dishonorable petaQ of House P'lesh have been overthrown.
No longer will such beasts reign over this world and her people. No more
shall we be whipped and treated as animals, feasted upon by the gluttonous
beasts that invaded us many cycles ago.

"We invoke the right of Honored Subjects and demand to be recognized as House
Hageet. If this demand is not met and Klingon forces attempt to deny us the honor
that we deserve, that which you so desire here will be destroyed.

"Qapla'!"

The transmission winks out, but not before someone interjects in disgust. "Is it me or was the governor was sitting in his chair and his own bat'leth used against him!? He did not die as a warrior!"