Day 421.2
M. Koril

I would like to report that I won the challenge, but I cannot. It was impulsive and reckless of me to accept a bat’leth challenge from a seasoned Klingon warrior…and truthfully I doubt he expected me to. But neither did he expect me to pick up the blade I was offered and swing it properly. Our combat lasted longer than either of us expected. He was slowed by age, but he was efficient with his movements, and powerful. My small size and speed helped me, but I do not have the benefit of years of practice with the bat’leth. I made a somewhat desperate thrust at an opening he left. He blocked it and recovered so quickly that I never saw the swipe at my legs coming until I was on the ground and watching a blade falling toward my head.  I rolled, but knew it was going to be too little too late. It was all going to end on an arena floor in the Klingon capitol. How strange. I flung my blade in his direction as I rolled. I had literally nothing left to lose.

The Klingon’s blade never landed.

“There would be no honor in killing you tonight, Cardassian,” he grunted offhandedly, and stood up, towering over me. I didn’t dare move, except to peer over at his face and see the stare he was leveling at me.

“Come. Buy an old warrior a drink. I want to know how you learned to wield the blade of a Klingon.”