Post by Dominion of Zabéara on Jan 1, 2015 23:10:38 GMT
“Drink!”
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, growled at his empty chalice, curling his lips in annoyance at the baeshènzi barkeep who, not expecting yet another barrel of his strongest drink to be finished so quickly, was not close by, but across the large, dimly lit room attending to other customers.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, slammed his fist on his comically undersized (for a D’kali, at least) table, and then stomped his foot on the cold, stony ground. Finally, he took aim at the barkeep with his huge chalice. He was drunk enough to think that throwing objects at the provider of intoxicating substances was a good idea, but sober enough to make sure the cup hit its mark.
The chalice was returned fully loaded. Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, glorified security guard, forgotten has-been, grumpy old warrior, downed the entire oversized chalice as he counted down the minutes for another wave of drunkenness to wash over him. He stared woefully at the bottom of his cup. ‘’Such is the piss that serves as the Dominion’s strongest drink. Nay, not sufficient to be even honoured with such a name, but only in mockery of it. I have had my thirst and need for strong drink better quenched by the drinking reservoirs of conquered cities, wretched and contaminated with rotting corpses.’’
And on he went. The more he drank, the more he spoke as such. It was inevitable, then, that it would eventually in one way or another turn ill. When it did, it was in the form of a dozen very drunk off-duty Dominion sailors, who took offence.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, remembered what the head diplomat had said: ‘’don’t cause an interstellar incident when planetside. You are a representative of the Hegemony, and your actions will…’’the voice drowned in the increasingly drunken D’kali’s head as he grabbed one of the Dominion sailor’s drinking cups and downed it in a single gulp. Pathetic, why did these midgets insist on weakening their drinks so?
The fight was no more a fight than a Dominion drink was a true drink. Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, barely had time to finish all of the drinks once held by the sailors, now reduced to crippled bodies on the floor, cowards fleeing or cowering in dark corners. Suddenly well over a dozen security officials armed with crowd control weapons rushed in, demanding his immediate surrender.
About 3 minutes later, Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, was sitting alone, playing around with one of the riot police’s stun guns, zapping himself curiously. These baeshènzi did not have drinks on them, but at least they did have some amusing toys. At this point he noticed the room was largely empty, so he went and helped himself to entire barrels of drink.
The next group of Dominion personnel were more fun. Full-fledged warriors armed with deadly combat equipment, most noticeably very long, thin, needle-like laser rifles. The aged D’kali was forced to use tables and other obstacles for cover, obscuring visibility with smoke grenades he picked up from the last batch of Dominion security forces, and then closed in for close combat.
A few minutes later, Lokzar was sitting on a stacked pile of barrels, taking in turn big gulps and pouring some on a few wounds from one. In his drunken stupor he vaguely realized there would likely be repercussions for this in the morning. But it was by far the most fun he’d had since getting his cursed diplomatic assignment.
Suddenly the iron doors of the tavern swung open again. No yells. No demands for surrender, no opening fire. Lokzar looked up and smiled widely, flashing his teeth in happy anticipation. These new baeshènzi were different. They were dressed in intricate traditional plated armour, which wicked curved blades, spear-guns, and bright, colourful feathers sprouting tall from large, pointy helms. Patriarchal guards. Silently and with seamless, deliberate, perfectly coordinated movement they assembled into the tavern and surrounded the drunk and tired D’kali in a semicircle two deep.
The ensuing fight was glorious and great fun. At first, Lokzar managed to break several of the patriarchal guards, hurling a couple against a wall, with their broken bodies landing on the floor with a satisfactory thud. But there were many, and they were skilled at using their small size to their advantage. One slid beneath the great D’kali’s legs and gashed him with his curved blade. Lokzar crushed his head with a heavy stomp just as two more patriarchal guards simultaneously jumped on his shoulders and inserted their blades into his back and neck. Bellowing, Lokzar threw them off and continued fighting, but within a minute his sight blurred and his balance began to fail him. Poisoned blades. Always with the poison, damned baeshènzi cowards, swore Lokjzar as he began to stumble. His final image was of the patriarchal guards assembling around him, still in total silence, before everything went black.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy awoke in a dark dungeon. He noticed his wounds had been bandaged. A fellow D’kali, an embassy guard awaited him on the other side of the bars. Noticing that Lokzar had awoken, he growled. ‘’ 7 dead baeshènzi, 29 wounded. Stupid old fool, you’ve really done it now. Your fate is out of our hands, the Blue Patriarch himself has insisted on taking possession of you.’’
Lokzar shrugged. More patriarchal guards. At least he may get to have a bit of fun again before the end, he thought as guards came and dragged him off to see the Patriarch.
Three Months Later
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, former guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, personal guard of the Blue Patriarch of the Dominion, returned to his spacious home a forested area of the Patriarchal Palace. He surveyed the wealth in his home. Boxes and boxes of precious jewels and metals were stacked up in corners. Being the personal guard of the Patriarch definitely had its benefits; it had made him a very wealthy D’kali. It also had a good sense of novelty, with everyone staring at him in awe: everyone save for senior Dominion officials, who instead mostly regarded him with jealousy. Why does only the Blue Patriarch have such an exotic guard?
Why indeed? After all, for all the perks and celebrity of his job, Lokzar wished for the company of other D’kali. Someone to drink and fight with, for truly these baeshènzi were poor companions in either endeavour. Besides, he needed to keep sharp.
He sat down and penned a note:
‘’Brother Xoqta, do not embark upon another campaign against the Veritas to pay for your incessant gambling debts. Instead, come to me, and I will show you wealth, glory, and adventure beyond compare. Enclosed is a week’s pay of mine here in the service of a Patriarch, it should more than cover the voyage to the Dominion for you and a few good warriors.
Your brother in blood, Lokzar’’
He placed the letter in a box, and scooped up a handful of precious gems, dropping them in the box on top of the letter. Ordering a slave to mail it off, he sat to himself and smiled.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, growled at his empty chalice, curling his lips in annoyance at the baeshènzi barkeep who, not expecting yet another barrel of his strongest drink to be finished so quickly, was not close by, but across the large, dimly lit room attending to other customers.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, slammed his fist on his comically undersized (for a D’kali, at least) table, and then stomped his foot on the cold, stony ground. Finally, he took aim at the barkeep with his huge chalice. He was drunk enough to think that throwing objects at the provider of intoxicating substances was a good idea, but sober enough to make sure the cup hit its mark.
The chalice was returned fully loaded. Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, glorified security guard, forgotten has-been, grumpy old warrior, downed the entire oversized chalice as he counted down the minutes for another wave of drunkenness to wash over him. He stared woefully at the bottom of his cup. ‘’Such is the piss that serves as the Dominion’s strongest drink. Nay, not sufficient to be even honoured with such a name, but only in mockery of it. I have had my thirst and need for strong drink better quenched by the drinking reservoirs of conquered cities, wretched and contaminated with rotting corpses.’’
And on he went. The more he drank, the more he spoke as such. It was inevitable, then, that it would eventually in one way or another turn ill. When it did, it was in the form of a dozen very drunk off-duty Dominion sailors, who took offence.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, remembered what the head diplomat had said: ‘’don’t cause an interstellar incident when planetside. You are a representative of the Hegemony, and your actions will…’’the voice drowned in the increasingly drunken D’kali’s head as he grabbed one of the Dominion sailor’s drinking cups and downed it in a single gulp. Pathetic, why did these midgets insist on weakening their drinks so?
The fight was no more a fight than a Dominion drink was a true drink. Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, barely had time to finish all of the drinks once held by the sailors, now reduced to crippled bodies on the floor, cowards fleeing or cowering in dark corners. Suddenly well over a dozen security officials armed with crowd control weapons rushed in, demanding his immediate surrender.
About 3 minutes later, Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, was sitting alone, playing around with one of the riot police’s stun guns, zapping himself curiously. These baeshènzi did not have drinks on them, but at least they did have some amusing toys. At this point he noticed the room was largely empty, so he went and helped himself to entire barrels of drink.
The next group of Dominion personnel were more fun. Full-fledged warriors armed with deadly combat equipment, most noticeably very long, thin, needle-like laser rifles. The aged D’kali was forced to use tables and other obstacles for cover, obscuring visibility with smoke grenades he picked up from the last batch of Dominion security forces, and then closed in for close combat.
A few minutes later, Lokzar was sitting on a stacked pile of barrels, taking in turn big gulps and pouring some on a few wounds from one. In his drunken stupor he vaguely realized there would likely be repercussions for this in the morning. But it was by far the most fun he’d had since getting his cursed diplomatic assignment.
Suddenly the iron doors of the tavern swung open again. No yells. No demands for surrender, no opening fire. Lokzar looked up and smiled widely, flashing his teeth in happy anticipation. These new baeshènzi were different. They were dressed in intricate traditional plated armour, which wicked curved blades, spear-guns, and bright, colourful feathers sprouting tall from large, pointy helms. Patriarchal guards. Silently and with seamless, deliberate, perfectly coordinated movement they assembled into the tavern and surrounded the drunk and tired D’kali in a semicircle two deep.
The ensuing fight was glorious and great fun. At first, Lokzar managed to break several of the patriarchal guards, hurling a couple against a wall, with their broken bodies landing on the floor with a satisfactory thud. But there were many, and they were skilled at using their small size to their advantage. One slid beneath the great D’kali’s legs and gashed him with his curved blade. Lokzar crushed his head with a heavy stomp just as two more patriarchal guards simultaneously jumped on his shoulders and inserted their blades into his back and neck. Bellowing, Lokzar threw them off and continued fighting, but within a minute his sight blurred and his balance began to fail him. Poisoned blades. Always with the poison, damned baeshènzi cowards, swore Lokjzar as he began to stumble. His final image was of the patriarchal guards assembling around him, still in total silence, before everything went black.
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, honoured guardian of the D’Kali Embassy awoke in a dark dungeon. He noticed his wounds had been bandaged. A fellow D’kali, an embassy guard awaited him on the other side of the bars. Noticing that Lokzar had awoken, he growled. ‘’ 7 dead baeshènzi, 29 wounded. Stupid old fool, you’ve really done it now. Your fate is out of our hands, the Blue Patriarch himself has insisted on taking possession of you.’’
Lokzar shrugged. More patriarchal guards. At least he may get to have a bit of fun again before the end, he thought as guards came and dragged him off to see the Patriarch.
Three Months Later
Lokzar, champion of Xoxaz, victor of the dralisa plains, terror of pantia, pride of his tribe, former guardian of the D’Kali Embassy, personal guard of the Blue Patriarch of the Dominion, returned to his spacious home a forested area of the Patriarchal Palace. He surveyed the wealth in his home. Boxes and boxes of precious jewels and metals were stacked up in corners. Being the personal guard of the Patriarch definitely had its benefits; it had made him a very wealthy D’kali. It also had a good sense of novelty, with everyone staring at him in awe: everyone save for senior Dominion officials, who instead mostly regarded him with jealousy. Why does only the Blue Patriarch have such an exotic guard?
Why indeed? After all, for all the perks and celebrity of his job, Lokzar wished for the company of other D’kali. Someone to drink and fight with, for truly these baeshènzi were poor companions in either endeavour. Besides, he needed to keep sharp.
He sat down and penned a note:
‘’Brother Xoqta, do not embark upon another campaign against the Veritas to pay for your incessant gambling debts. Instead, come to me, and I will show you wealth, glory, and adventure beyond compare. Enclosed is a week’s pay of mine here in the service of a Patriarch, it should more than cover the voyage to the Dominion for you and a few good warriors.
Your brother in blood, Lokzar’’
He placed the letter in a box, and scooped up a handful of precious gems, dropping them in the box on top of the letter. Ordering a slave to mail it off, he sat to himself and smiled.