[RD3 EVENT] - REFLECTION DAY 3 - BIOGRAPHY

Captain Ustegius

This Battle hardened captain; first started out as a lowly science lieutenant who was interested in only the scientific phenomenon that was exotic particles coming from nearby black holes and trans subspace wormholes. Generally looked down upon for his "weak" approach to the empires regime, he only had a life of exploration and science at heart.

That was until T-day.

His current partner at the time was lieutenant commander Thayn, who they had known each other for half a year or so now, and enjoyed beating each other's high score on the holodeck phaser games.

However, on Stardate 2259.55 lieutenant Ustegius was aboard a nebula class vessel escorting some rebel scum to a prison planet when he got the news.

Rebel Romulans had attacked Vulcan high command with a thalaron bomb.

Everyone on board died.

And Since T-Day Ustegius has never been the same.

His hatred drove him toward anger and aggression, quickly rising through the ranks, swapping from science to command, and learning Klingon battle tactics and a skill with a Dk'tagh from a wise Klingon master Med.

He swore to decimate the rebel fleet and get revenge on them.

Command was impressed with his thirst for destruction and gave him command of the I.S.S. Pandora.

An older, but capable odyssey class starship, which served him well.

He seeks for an end to the rebels, and an end to his broken heart.

#reflectionday3 #mirrorbio

Terran Empire Intelligence Report - Classified
Keywords: #reflectionday3 #mirrorbio


Full Name: Gwydion Sebastian
Known Aliases: Arquitenius of Borg

Arquitenius of Borg first came to the attention of the Terran Empire after following up on reports of ships which had vanished near Rura Penthe in the Beta Quadrant. Investigation of the last known coordinates of one such vessel, a freighter identified as the S.S. Angtharkay, found no trace of the ship, but wide-area scans picked up faint traces of gamma radiation near the site from which the ship's last known communications had originated. Finding little else, the search was abandoned, with only the I.S.S. Apana remaining behind to perform a final sweep of the location and to file a mission report. 

When the Apana reported in, however, it wasn't to file a report, but to send a distress call.

"To all ships within range: This is the I.S.S. Apana, and we are under attack. Shields are at 10% and dropping. Attacker is flying what appears to be a heavily-modified Icarus-class escort. Our warp drive was disabled before we could get our shields up. The pilot calls himself Arquitenius of Borg, and has threatened to destroy our ship if we do not immediately surrender. Please send help immediately."

The fate of the Apana would be unknown for several years, until it was disabled during an attack on an Empire supply convoy. The ship had been heavily modified with Borg technology, and some of the crew were found to have been the same crew manning the ship when it disappeared. They had, however, been fully assimilated by the Borg.

Attacks like those on the Apana have become increasingly common, as a more independent-minded breed of Borg has appeared following the victory against the Collective in 2371. Particularly damaging have been the attacks of Arquitenius. Arquitenius, known as Gwydion Sebastian prior to his assimilation, has displayed a cunning and independence not typically attributed to the Borg, and seems to have been given free reign by what remains of the Collective to attack and assimilate ships and crew throughout the Beta Quadrant.  He has, to a very large degree, been successful. Borg attacks have been on the rise again in recent months, including the assimilation of entire colonies in regions of space not easily defended by the Empire.

Efforts by the Terran Empire to stop Arquitenius have, thus far, proven fruitless. His base of operations is unknown, and his attacks have been much more frequent of late. It is also still not clear what he hopes to accomplish with these attacks. Are these merely acts of piracy, or is Arquitenius spearheading a new resurgence of the Borg?

Keywords: #reflectionday3 #mirrorbio

Identity: Aelynnor the Devourer
Other Titles: Devourer of House Khaelon, Butcher of Krocton Segment, Slayer of D'Deridex IV, Assassin of Praetor Tal'Aura, Defender of Rator III, Conqueror of Nequencia Alpha, Punisher of Achernar Prime, Liberator of Constanthus.



Aelynnor, like Shinzon, was a product of typical Romulan civilian cloning programs of the 24th Century. She was designed to incorporate Commander Sela’s genes along with Reman telepathy, Vorta telekinesis, and Gorn strength. She was a tool, a soulless monster, devised for but a single purpose - that the Romulan government might one day replace Commander Sela in case Sela and the Tal Shiar proved too conciliatory.

Like others of her kind, she was abandoned when a new government came to power. They were a cadre of failed monsters; darkest of the dark, beautiful and terrible to behold. The unstable genetic manipulations coupled with a lack of nurture created savage, feral creatures; none more so than Aelynnor who killed her first Romulan at age 4, ripping him apart from groin to jaw, feasting on her favourite victual - his livers. Where a child would search an adult’s face for signs of love and recognition, Aelynnor would search their heads for soft tissue and nerve junctures to puncture, rip, shred, and maim.

Eventually Aelynnor was captured by transporter and sold in the great slave markets of Krocton to the House of Khaelon as hunting prey. Expected to live no longer than a Great House’s hunting season, she instead hid amongst the thalium-rich rocks of the Valley of Chula which scattered the hunters’ scanners. Biding her time, she stalked her hunters, ambushed them, and devoured them for nourishment.

The Devouring of House Khaelon provoked outrage and admiration in equal measure. Her talents were recognised by the great generalissimo, D’Tan the Kinslayer. Recaptured, enslaved, and whiplashed into a Superior Romulan Operative, this monster now unquestioningly serves the cruel will of D’Tan’s Romulan Power Regime, a rising supremacist faction determined to destroy the Tal Shiar and its crippling doctrine of peace and diversity.

Terran Empire Intelligence Report - Declassified
Keywords: #reflectionday3 #mirrorbio


Full Name: Janice Rand
Stationed: ISS Imperator 
Ship Class: Mobius Temporal Warship

Biography:
Living her days out in a labor camp, Janice Rand, would look at the stars in hope that with every new one she counted, the Terran Empire would conquer another. As a prisoner of war she fell under the constant lash of a Klingon guard who took no pity on the fact she was a young human girl. 

Before her time in the camps she was the proud daughter of Terran Commander Irene Rand. Irene, won several accommodations for her ingenuity on the battlefield, including the Fist of Valor, and the Conquest Initiative Dark Heart Medal. They lived in idyllic luxury on the Sirus Prime colony that was once home to the Terran Elite. Beautiful pine covered vistas that resembled her home back in Montauk on Earth.
However, these days Irene served as hairdresser to the Klingon Priestess to ran the holy camp. 

This was not like any POW camp, it was managed by a Kahless the Unforgivable religious sect. Each morning Janice and Irene would head toward the Priestess’s overlook acropolis to clean, braid and coif the hair of the head mistresses all the while listening to the Klingon women practice there season about how the Terrans mere miserable Ha’DibaH, which roughly translates to dogs. They believed that only pure labor could bring these beings into the merciful eyes of their high Emperor. A motto of Kahless was that he was not forgiven as Mojler killed him on site for being a wretched soul. But it was Kahless’s wish that the slaves work to bring him to Sto’vo’kor. 

And so the slaves worked day and night on or around the compounds to help and keep Kahless in Sto’Vo’Kor. It was “the paths of the slaves to take,” Girkla would chant from her acropolis to the slaves and her coven below. She often reminded her people of their status. To Girkla, anyone not Klingon, was instantly considered  a lower echelon in society. Girkla, often would show them how large a gap that was. 

Janice was lucky for her early life, do to her mothers actions and well done work, Janice revived preferential treatment to most slaves. Girkla’s daughters needed a personal hand servant so she became one at an early age. For her this was easy, the children preferred to hunt and play so Janice was just another friend to them. 
 
Eventually, Girkla grew jealous of Janice as she grew into a young women, sharing interests with the only human boys left on the colony. This would not do for the high priestess, she was to catch the eyes of all the men. Girkla, for her own enjoyment, had Irene publicly shave Janice’s hair in front of the men, to show them that “human females were hideous without their hair.” 

For the first time in Irene’s life, she cried, as each strand of golden hair was steered off. Janice watched as Irene silently sobbed to herself as she watched herself be shorn like a sheep. Janice sat still and stared out to the crowd blankly waiting for the event to end. She caught the eyes of the slaves as she stoically endured this public shaming. 

Janice knew, it was just hair that would eventually grow back, but under her skin grew a rage darker than anything she has felt before. It was the sting on betrayal. She had been a good daughter, good servant, and obeyed the law of the land, and prayed to the same gods the priestesses did, an for that she was shamed. She knew in that moment she could do no wrong and still be made into puppet. 

Days passed, and Girkla had mirrored windows put on buildings that were on the path for Janice and Irene to the acropolis, for the sole purpose of making them see themselves. “An attrition of vanity,” Girkla called it, “for humans must see themselves to know themselves.” And like that, Janice finally saw her full image since the camp. She had become gaunt, dirty and shorn. She knew this was not the life for her. 

Many long sleepless nights passed as she laid silently plotting her move. She planned every detail, the walk through the courtyard, the slipping into the acropolis, the timing of the guards, she would have her revenge. 

One afternoon, a Klingon supply run of gagh and blood wine arrived by jumper from a Klingon Dignitary who was pleased with Girkla’s work on the planet. From a her duties as the children’s hand servant Janice watched mindlessly as the jumper was off loaded, and the barrels were piled aft of the craft. Tagor, a Klingon guard who was assigned to to the off load caught Janice’s gaze and confused her mindless staring as a sign of her looking at him. He called her over and invited her into the shuttle, which she respectfully did. 

Tovar proceeded to come on to Janice, which ended up as his final mistake. She quickly killed him, and shut the loading door to the shuttle. Her long planned out escape was suddenly thrown away, and the new plan of shuttle escape was realized. 

She fired up the thrusters and maneuvered the craft slowly up. As she took off she saw men dispatched in her direction as she most likely did not clear the final launch sequence with ground control. She realized quickly that her mandatory training on learning Klingon scripture paid off. She was able to find the arm disrupters button and took aim on soldiers heading her way and fired. 

As she was up in the air, she soon realized that even for a light craft it was armed with torpedos. On her final accent before heading off she aimed a warhead at the acropolis, what was once her home and prison, she fired. She knew the priestess was on there with her children, she knew her mother was in there with them, she knew once she fired, there was no going back. And with that she left her colony in ruins and set course for Earth. 


Janice was awarded a medal of valor for her actions on Sirus Prime and was given a commission of lieutenant in the Terran Militia. Due to her quick thinking and ability to act covertly when needed she was placed in the Terran Temporal Division. She would pilfer technology from the future and bring it back to the past to help aide the Terran empire. But to her, nothing compares to the special time of year, when the subspace eddies in the time stream begin to overlap in the badlands and she can easily move between universes. She likes to keep an eye on her Prime counterpart of whom she keeps in touch with, if not only to share hair tips. 

Name; Five of Seven.
Alias; Fifth.
Title; First Prime Fifth. Leader of The Liberated Borg Hegemony.


"Torrents of water, torrents of time, like a torrent The Liberated Borg Hegemony will rid
the galaxy of the Terran Empire!"


Biography;


In a desperate move by the Terran Empire to defeat the Resistance, they captured a Borg Sphere and began experiments to free the Borg Drones to bolster their rmilitary. However, after 10 long years the Empire abandoned the project and left the Drone "Five of Seven" adrift in space with the liberation process incomplete. The young Drone child drifted in the derelict Sphere for two decades with no connection to the Borg Collective, slowly he fought for control on who he once was and completed the liberation process. The Drone, unable to remember who he was before being assimilated, took the name Fifth. As a species high intelligence, he was able to absorbs all of the knowledge of the histories, cultures and technologies of the many races within the Borg Collective.

Long Live the Queen!;
Proceeding the two decades adrift in space, Fifth was able to repair the Borg Sphere and complete the Liberation process on the 11,000 Drones that had remaind silent and disconnected from the Collective. Upon completion of this liberation, Fifth was seen as a hero to the many species who now knew the taste of freedom once again. Fifth was filled with angry for the Terran Empire and the Borg Queen, this began his first mission: Operation Checkmate.

The now liberated Sphere was filled with some of the greatest minds the Borg Collective has assimilated and in unity, with a liberated mind and their own free linked minds they began the operation to destroy the Borg Queen. The planning took five years to complete to gather the nesessary technology, allies and battle strategy.
The Allies consisted of; 

The Na'kuhl - defeated before they were able to dissrupt the timelines and upon seeing the destruction of the Terran Empire, joined the Hegemony. With their ability to change timelines, they became vital in Operation Checkmate.

The Krenim Coalition - With the aid of the three species within the Coalition, fifth was able to help defeat the Vaadwaur. This alone was enough to secure the Krenim Coalition into the Hegemony.

Admiral Daniels & The Iconians - Having seen the temporal incurrsion on Admiral Leeta 200,000 into the past, Fifth and a Strike team travelled back further in time to save a few plants within the Iconian Empire before Leeta's time travel to wipe them out to use their technology to overthrow the Emperor.

The 5 years passed and the Liberated Borg Hegemony grew in numebrs and it was time to implement Operation Checkmate.

Operation Checkmate;
The recounts and details of the Operation are classified...

Information available; searching...

Operatiob Checkmate was intitated successfully.

Borg Queens back up 'units' -  destroyed by Neural Psychic Virus combined with compromising Borg Protocols.
Alpha & Beta Units seperated from the Collective link - Destroyed.

Borg Queen - Neural Psychic Virus, compromised Borg Protocols, Temporal Neural Fracture (details of this process as not available).

Conclusion - Borg Queen and all traces of her have been removed from the Borg Collective. Liberation Protocol innitiated.

End of available information...

Borg Liberation Protocol;

Information available; searching...

The Borg Collective have been liberated. Liberated Borg are fight at the forefront of the Liberated Borg Hegemony.

New collective neural link developed; Liberated Borg able to communicate via freed subspace link.

Liberated Neural Link; Hidden Protocol information not available. Data suggests that any Liberated Borg seperated from the Borg will not suffer.
Each is now an individual. Safety protocols test - attempts to use the link to introduce Neural Psychic Virus to affect all Liberated Borg has failed.


The libration of the Borg from the Queen has placed Fifth as the leader as of the Liberated Borg Hegemony as First Prime. With the Allies they gained to free the Borg from the Queen's control, they now face the new resurgance of the Terran Empire. The Resistance that had been spreading through the quadrants has been defeated and the reamining survivors have joined the Hegenmy.

Standing now as the only power equal to the Terran Empire and the fate of the galaxy, the Liberated Borg Hegemony now for new plans to begin the war to defeat Admiral Leeta and then the Emperor. Keeping well hidden in a Temporal Flux Pocket the Hegemony are not yet in the sights of the Empire, but word has spread and Admiral Leeta is sending all of her spies to seek out and attempt to destroy the Hegemony before they can strike.


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"Veni, Vidi, Vici - The Foolish quote of the Emperor! 
Dangerous Freedom over Peacful Slavery - The Hegemony will liberate 
the galaxy from his Empire."

Mirror Kitten

Mirror Universe Invasion front, day 9
“General, rift opening right next to us,” the Klingon science officer let K’Marrak know.
“Alright, let’s close it down, Lonkasu. Then cloa-,”
“Incoming fire out of the rift! Brace of impact,” Lieutenant Sharo interrupted the General. After the incoming fire, General K’Marrak, visibly annoyed at being so rudely interrupted, regained his composure and attempted to give his orders again, but the Orion tactical lieutenant interrupted once more: “That was disruptor fire, sir. And transphasic torpedoes. Not Terran Empire it seems.” K’Marrak ordered the rift on screen.
As a Somraw Raptor flew out of it, K’Marrak ordered it incapacitated. The seven disruptor beams made quick work of that. After the rift was closed, K’Marrak hailed the Raptor: “This is General K’Marrak of the Prime Universe Bortasqu’ vessel I.K.S. Akatosh to Mirror Universe Somraw Raptor. Identify yourself!” When visual connection was established, K’Marrak was surprised to see who he was talking to.
“This is General K’Marrak of the I.K.S. Akatosh. Although your Akatosh seems a bit heavier than mine, General.” The Mirror K’Marrak had a lot of scars and bandages on his face.
“What do you want, General. Your battle is not here.” Mirror K’Marrak was not amused at this statement:
“My battle is NOWHERE, General! The Klingon Empire in my universe has fallen. The Empire does not exist anymore. Qo’nos lies in ruins and Feresa Prime has been turned into a massive enslavement camp. You see this? (Mirror K’Marrak ripped of the bandage from where his nose is supposed to be - it was an open wound that immediately started bleeding again) I was tortured for years in the Terran encampments.” The sudden blood loss visibly weakened Mirror K’Marrak and he had to sit down. His medic (Prime K’Marrak recognized him as the Gorn Zhig - his Prime variant was also a medic on the Prime Akatosh) immediately came over and treated the wound. Afterwards Mirror K’Marrak continued: “You see, General, I have nowhere to turn to. If you are anything like me, you know I do not care for honour as the Klingons do, but I will not whimper away in some forgotten corner. It is beneath me - and you.”
Prime K’Marrak calmly thought about it all for a few seconds. There was no way to know what would happen with two K’Marraks in one universe, but he did know it was not right either. One K’Marrak was unique, maybe even special… But he had an idea.
“I cannot allow you to stay in our universe, General. But there is a Terran Dreadnought about to invade our universe. I order you to not whimper away in a forgotten corner. Understood?”
Mirror K’Marrak had to think about it for a bit and then stood up, looked Prime K’Marrak right into his eyes and proudly proclaimed: “For the Empire!”

Muninn: Hopes Gamble

Humanity with the aid of the Vulcans had thrown off the shackles of the Alliance. We secured a new future that was not slavery and hunted throughout the stars for sport. Brave captains with an eye for a better future strove to bring humanity back to the forefront of galactic powers. The Commonwealth was to be the fulfilment of Spocks great plan, the one that everything was gambled upon and from that Commonwealth; men of sight and power rose up. They extinguished the dream of galactic peace to once more raise the blade of the Terran Empire.

I grew up among the slaves, lithe and fair. My family saw no value in a son that was so gentle looking and so easily mistaken for a girl, to carry favour or to just barter their way out of the miserable rock that was our home. My family had me altered, adjusted to be more forming to how my body was and my nature. Sold me for favours with our captors and in time they got their wish, they where free to leave the slave colony. I think their blood was the first on my hands, I was created to be their tool, in the ended I was forged into a weapon instead.

I remember watching the shuttle rise into the air, and the cold hand of a Cardassian officer resting on my shoulder. I was shoulder hight to him and already a young woman. The device was placed in my hand and his voice whispered in my ear. “They are at your mercy, freedom awaits them if you only press that little button my dear.” My finger moved before I ever had a thought about it. Amber and crimson light flared in the sky before the wreckage crashed into a hillside drawing cries and gasp from those near by. The Cardassian let me keep the detonator, a memento or maybe a collar to remind myself that I was no better than my slavers now.

Only a few year passed before I was wearing smooth clothes that draped my crafted form in a manner that would have given a few Orions a run for their money. I was used to the my officers attentions, used to being dead in the eyes and something he used as decoration. His prized Terran beauty, my prize was his eyes when I pulled the blade from his gut before slashing through his throat. His body crumpled before me, that cold Cardassian blood staining the fine silks he kept me wrapped in. Phaser fire rained down on their fixed emplacements, slaves ran for cover. Even the Vulcans showed fear, I showed rage taking up arms calling for others to rally. The Cardassians fell before disruptor bolts and blade. Some brave ones tried to fight back, but their pets and prey now held the weapons. It was the Klingons of the slave colony that gave a real fight for us but in the end it was numbers. The other slaves would start to fall back only to be pushed forward again by their jeers and a thin Woman stained in blood charging into the middle of the fight.

When the Empires ground forces started to land there was little fighting left to be done in our colony. What met them where the gurgling screams of our keepers and the erratic pulse of weapon fire. The first Terran captain I would meet beamed down before me as I sat bloodied and cold upon what was once the flag of the Alliance. His eyes were as dead as mine, his voice crisp though holding some kind of accent that left his R's rolling. “Take the strong and any who looked like they actually fought, this one give her a proper uniform befitting a Terran. Girl you are now an Ensign under my command refuse and you might as well just shoot yourself now.” I shrugged before being tagged for transport. It was the last time I saw that rock, later I learned that those what where not deemed good enough to become solders for the Empire where just left to fend for themselves with what ever was left down there after the fighting.

Over the next few years I learned how to be a Terran officer, learned that a cold heart was my shield. And that my body was much a tool to be used as ever, though now one that I controlled for my own gain. It was slowly though that I did begin to change, learning the History official and otherwise of the Empire of how the Commonwealth rose at first defeating the Alliance only to be snuffed out from within. Of the mirror universe where Terrans worked to live in peace and blood shed and treachery where not the currency of personal growth. It appealed to me, I started to spend my free time finding others among the crews of ships I served upon that wanted something different then the constant warfare and conquest. It would be years and many dark adventures before a chance would be presented to me.

Through one means or another I climbed the ranks, there where bodies left behind me sometimes those that wanted to keep me under heel other times; other times it was the bodies of those that were to be conquered by the empire. I remember the last Captain I served under, a far more jaded man than even the Cardassian that kept me as his pet. His death had a great cost with it, planned carefully with each detail down to a little kidnapping. The son of our armada's admiral had been a pawn in this, he was a passenger and under the care of this man. To be trained and raised up to the highest standards of the Empire. Our captain failed to keep him safe, failed more to believe the people the Cardassians who held him captive. His ego was such that he personally fired the torpedoes that levelled their base. When our admirals forces arrived to claim the base and his “Victory” they found the body of his son, soon our captain found himself floating in space.

I was promoted to Captain of the I.S.S. Iron Maiden, it had cost me my eye to set everything up. Some dignity to let a Cardassian cut my face as I let him take that rotten brat of the admirals. It cost my ship a third of her crew, that I had to carefully place into harms way. And the life of our captain and an entire base of Cardassians. I now had my command, I had a crew cultivated for my plan to escape this wretched Universe, and that chance came.

We warped into the badlands with a scouting force, those in command had allied themselves with a group called the True Way. I was disgusted to meet them, no better than those I had known of their kind. Though I guess even in a mirror some things are the same. They came with a single ship to guide us and help form a beach head to invade the Federation from. We moved to be the first ship threw, our hull shadowing over those in our group. Emerging on the other side I ordered our aft weapons to fire disrupting the rift sealing our guide and scouts behind us. Freedom was close, looking forward I ordered a course set for Earth and to hail the Federation.

It took me ten years of careful planning, murder, sabotage, warfare and luck. So much luck but it came to fruition, for the first time I started to feel something other than the cold span of hate and misery. The faces of those I found some trust within seemed to brighten as well, it was a gamble, we all choose to take and this time we won. A better life, or at least for the first time for any of us the Hope of a better life than what awaited those in the Empire.

You see Admiral there is my story, we fled and betrayed, we used everything the Empire taught us to be to escape them. I will give you everything I have on the Terran Empire, my ship and myself. I simply want a better life for my crew. A purpose for myself and those that feel the same as me. I am tired of bloodshed and watching my back all the time. So everything I have I am offering to the Federation for a very fare price. A position as an officer for myself and any of my crew that would like to serve in Star Fleet and for the rest of my crew peace just a peaceful life. I think that is a fare deal.

In the mirror universe Tempeq, Leader of the House of K'war, was never assimilated by the Borg and thus also never liberated. Therefore he never became  a great warrior, instead he chose another honorable career: singing operas. His autograph card and the following letter were found at Vauthil Station in a shuttle with a dead ferengi on board:

Dear honored sister Ish'qar!

I know it is unusual that I, as the head of our noble house, get in touch with you in a way like this, but it is very important that nobody else knows about it. The messenger, this little pe'tagh of a Ferengi called Sleg, has proven himself as trustworthy. In case you haven't killed him yet you can use him to submit your answer, he has already been paid.

All of our businesses here in Kristaq'veng are in a good shape. The rippleberry fields prosper well, next month we will get our first harvest. Let's hope that we find some Vortas here on Qonos, to whom we can sell the fruits - I don't want to be forced to sell them on Cardassia Prime.

One good news is that they finished the restauration of the Great QoQvaS'a' Opera House last week. It now features a plateau in front of it, with some fountains and statues of Kahless and Worf. It looks great on that hill, the QoQvaS'a' Opera has really regained its dignity and honor. But the best is:

They accepted my application as Great Baritone of Kristaq'veng, I will sing the leading role in the new production of the 'Victorious Conquests of Emperor Worf' in the big re-opening ceremony. It is a great honor for me and a big stepstone in my career to become the Great Baritone of Qonos! Sadly, an unexpected shadow appeared which darkens my success, and this is why I write you this letter.

In the Worf-Opera, and I think you are familiar with it, there is the aria in the second act about the long way to the glory of our empire, you know, the part where all previous emperors are mentioned in the correct order. I wanted to be precise, so I added a verse where I sing about all emperors before the klingons prevail, beginning with the great empress Hoshi Sato. It is a nice part, I switch to tenor and present a variation of the theme a major sixth up, garnished with some upper mordents, which sound amazing with the reverb in the new hall. All of the QoQvaS'a' musicians took out their knifes to applaud me when I presented it for the first time in a rehearsal and the maestro gratulated me, they even killed a Tarq that night to honour my artwork. We all thought it would be a wonderful addition to the great re-opening ceremonies for the QoQvaS'a' Opera House.

Nevertheless, the Obsidian Order was not that amused when they learned about it. They called me a traitor in the name of the alliance, can you imagine that? Now they want to hinder me from singing in the great re-opening at all! My career might be over! Whispered rumours even say they plan to assasinate me for my, as they call it, impiety. I don't know what to do, their eyes are everywhere here on the homeworld, that is why I have to ask you for help.

I heard of a Cardassian named Garak, he ought to be the right hand of that bajoran fury on Terok Nor. Could you speak to him while you are in the Alpha Quadrant? It is told that he likes Klingon Operas for some reason, and perhaps you can get to him to speak a word for me. The house of K'war would owe him a favor, if he would be able to help me and stop his colleagues from the order. Tell him he gets a special place in the Opera - I can even sing a verse about him!

Keep your head up high sister, and don't die while you are asleep! There is only one way to get to Stovokor and to get your own opera: Die in combat! This said, fight well!

Qa'pla!

Tempeq, Head of the House of K'war

ORIGINS

Jakor sat alone in the corner of the dim yet crowded bar, trying to clear his mind and just take in the space he found himself in now. He had spent the day with the engineers living at the mining colony, helping make repairs and exchanging information about running their equipment better on what little equipment they had--the Terran Empire made it almost impossible to get new equipment and the most efficient materials to the mining operations.

Jakor watched. Despite the long day, the general mood was lively. These people were used to visitors on their colony so he didn’t attract unwanted attention. He gulped down half of local ale he purchased. While each colony’s local brew was unique, Jakor didn’t have much of an opinion on them. They were alright but more importantly they helped with blending in. Or at least gave him something to do while waiting for Tovan.

He and Tovan had met a few years after the destruction of Romulus. Jakor had been drifting around for a few years with other Romulan refugees, but in a sea of unknowns the constant quest of a young man for something to occupy his mind and hands had two outcomes: trouble or engineering. Thankfully, his head for theories and delight in making things fit together led him to engineering in a mining colony on Hfihar. After his third day of work, Jakor had an opportunity to introduce himself to Tovan. Well, the devastatingly handsome man from colonial security with the dazzling smile and soft, kind words.

Then, the young men, through a stroke of good luck, were both near the central hub when a ship D’Vex was on stopped for trade, supply, and basic maintenance. Acting as a recruiter for the rapidly expanding Galactic Resistance Movement and with its growing ranks of Romulans unwilling to serve under the rule of the remnants of the former Romulan governments or the Terran Empire.

That’s how the two Romulans ended up on this colony, Virinat. While they did travel around to colonies for legitimate work, they also smuggled information and documents between GRM members when encryptions were not always reliable against the Terran Empire or their increasing raids on mining colonies with large populations of former Romulan citizens.

Jakor saw Tovan swiftly moving through the crowd towards him. But something was wrong. He stood up to greet Tovan, whose face was betrayed to Jakor that they needed to leave. While he generally had great difficulty reading other people (reading other people and concealing his own thoughts and emotions from his body language), Jakor knew Tovan. From their tentative romantic intentions towards each other on Hfihar to their politically and romantically passionate--but discreet--relationship and their close work together for the GRM now, Jakor was slowly learning how Tovan operated.

Tovan embraced him and muttered into his ear. “Terran ships incoming. We need to get defenses secured now.” Smoothly, he was ushered out of the bar and towards his first battle with the Terran Empire. But as we know, it will not be his last.    

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Intelligence report:

IN A UNIVERSE where traders from all over the galaxy travel the treacherous trade routes of the alpha quadrant with riches in their freighter's holds fueling their dreams of power and fortune... a band of Terran Empire deserters turned pirate, wreck havoc on the open seas.  Running from the law while looting from the innocent, a drama unfolded on the pirate ship formerly known as ISS Sentinel, in the year of our Emperor, two thousand four hundred and sixteen, giving rise to new power...

Viscous, yellow mucous dripped slowly from Voleron's nose and tears of agony streamed from his raw, bloodshot eyes as the photonic projectile launched into Captain Bastian's back as he stood, the recoil from the phaser rifle rippling through Voleron's biceps.  The concept of friendship and love were foreign in this universe, causing Voleron bewilderment at the churning feeling of despair that built in his gut.  "People are disposable creatures", Voleron reminded himself of wise words once imparted to him by his paternal grandfather.  "Their purpose is to fulfill our needs until our needs are met... then strike, while the iron's hot."  Life in this universe revolved around the truth of that idiom, yet Voleron's heart bled for Bastian in a manner with which he was beyond unfamiliar, his body reacting in a way with which he was unaccustomed. 

The turbolift reached its destination and its doors slid open, depositing Captain Bastian's crumpled and lifeless body onto the frigid deck plating of the bridge.  Smoke from the photon discharge of Voleron's phaser billowed out of the lift, revealing Voleron's grieving figure to the bridge crew who had turned to bear witness to the spectacle, several of whom wore a bemused expression at the perplexing emotion worn on Voleron's face.  His tears betrayed his inner sentiments and like a drop of blood falling in predetorial waters, two of the bridge officers elected to capitalize on the moment of weakness that they sensed, readying their weapons in Voleron's direction.  But Voleron was a predator in his own rite, having bore bloody witness to his own parent's deaths and the deaths of many of his comrades in battle. 

Voleron jolted himself from his trance-like state to full consciousness, taking deadly aim at the closest of his opponents with his rifle, as he dove out of the confined space of the turbolift.  Torpedoing his body horizontally through the air, he brought his weapon to bear, discharging a fury of photonic energy into the navigator, ravaging his body as it jarred from side to side with each impact.  Voleron shifted his focus to the tactical officer before him, who had discharged his own energy weapon at him, the beam of energy slicing through the flesh of Voleron's shoulder, sending blood spatter in all directions, and causing him to react with shrieking pain.  Only momentarily deterred, Voleron plunged the bayonet on his rifle into the chest of the officer, who collapsed to the deck where he had stood.  In that moment, all of Voleron's recent grief re-surfaced: a crazed energy that was channeled into his fists which descended upon the tactician's face with hellish and merciless fury until scarcely any semblance of the former humanoid remained. 

As Voleron's exhausted limbs forced the conclusion of his counter-attack, he summoned what remained of his body's diminished strength, thrust his head back and discharged a blood-curdling scream of anguish as the remainder of the senior staff looked on.  With this unquestionable display of dominance now complete, the crew turned back to their stations largely un-phased, accepting the change of command without further debate.

Bloodied, wearied and emotionally exhausted, Voleron collapsed into the Captain's chair on the bridge, slowly swiveling in all directions to make steady and calculated eye contact with every member of the remaining bridge crew, searching for any additional indication of traitorous challenge to his new found authority.  Finding none, Voleron relaxed, slouching back into the command seat.  Pulling his black, leather combat gloves slowly off of his hands finger by finger, Captain Voleron shed a final tear for Bastian, whose captaincy he'd just plundered, but whose tenderness under the sheets, he'd surely miss. 

"Dispose of that, would you?" Voleron commanded of the ship's helmsman, motioning over to Bastian's lifeless body which was preventing the turbolift doors from closing.  "It depresses me."