A warrior's fate
Kilrathi... a true warrior's race. For generations they are born and braced with the idea of becoming great warriors. It is said, that when a Kilrathi warrior dies by natural causes or illnesses then the fate of his spirit is to be judged by “Sivar” himself...
Fortunate is the warrior who meets Death in Battle; no true Warrior should die in bed with his claws sheathed.
“Wake Up... Wake UP!!! we are late...”
It was this smell in the air that brought back many memories from his youth, the days of great glory. A good portion of light rays managed to sneak into his hardly opening eyes. There wasn't anything else that could disrupt him from his deep sleep except from this intense smell and the male's voice.
“I said! Wake up. It is morning! We'll have to be there before midnight.”
Fortunately, the sun's light started slowly to clear his vision but the face that was still forming over him wasn't a familiar one.
Valgkh nar Alkir, used the rich striped fur of his paws to help him clear out the picture of his nearly awaken eyes.
“Who are you old kilrah'hra? And how do you dare to push me with your stick?”
Valgkh made a sharp jump by pushing his back towards the ground where he was lying down that managed to elevate his giant body vertically to the ground without even moving his paws. It was mostly a move to demonstrate his superiority against the old low-born kilrah'hra.
“It doesn't really matter who I am or how they call me. What matters the most to you right now, is my function.”
Within a split of a second, Valgkh extended his claws from his right paw and pointed them right after the old kilrathi's-like throat.
“Give me a good reason not to kill you right now; you low-born”
The old kilrah'hra used his stick to move the warrior's claws away from his throat with a remarkable apathy.
“First, your moves do not intimidate me for I am as blind as your pride makes you. Second, I am your guide to him.”
The old male pointed with his left finger to the necklace he was wearing.
It didn't take much time for Valgkh to understand what the old kilrah'hra was talking about. It was just too difficult for him to accept the fact that “he” the master of his hrai died after he had a good night's sleep. The smell of the birha's red flowers was there to prompt him that he couldn't just sleep the previous night on his quarters on board the hrai's flag ship located near the Border Worlds territory on Epsilon sector and wake up the next morning somewhere in the middle of Kilrah's orange jungles.
Their walk through the Kilrah-like jungle, with the old kilrah'hra leading the way, was rather informative as he possessed a very strong knowledge for each and every sort of thing that crossed their road, from animals to plants or herbs. Most striking was his incredible sense of navigation the sort that only a well trained scout could acquire. If only he had his vision, the seasoned warrior thought.
As the time passed by, Valgkh realized that botanology and scouting weren't the only virtues that old male possessed. His points upon war tactics and Kirathi philosophy were unimaginable for a person who's only function was to escort the dead warriors to the god of war. Soon, his contempt for the old man turned into respect and not much later into a true admiration.
“So, tell me what makes you think that your spirit belongs to the unhonored?” The old one asked with his useless sight locked into the far distance of the path.
The warrior responded but he didn't care to look at him. Either because he though that it was futile or due to the fact that he couldn't expose his true embarrassment to him. Although he was an old blind kirlah'hra.
“Honor shall flow to the warrior who does his duty, for his Clan shall earn glory by his deeds. Honor shall flow to the warrior who meets death in battle, for his name shall be remembered. Honor shall flow to the warrior who strikes down his foe, for he shall win victory for his people.”
“As it was written. But please care to tell me again. You had your battles and you won every and each of them, right? You were victorious in your time. Does death in battle means so much to you and your hrai?”
Valgkh, rose his gray white striped paws and looked at them. He murmured something behind his stabbing teeth but he didn't have the power or the will to extend his voice.
“I thought so!” Said the old one with a grin in his face.
The discussions about victory and honor kept for a while more and the more the warrior was to talking about his siblings and their achievements in their battles the more his pride was drawn in his face.
Finally the path came to a dead end. The sun was almost hidden behind the rich trunks of birthas. Every second later, the sky was getting darker and darker, soon enough it was crowded with millions of stars. An experience that brought, Valgkh memories from his days on Kilrah when he was trained to become the kilrathi he came to be.
“Warrior...” The old kilrah'hra pointed with his stick to nowhere. “this is where our journey ends.”
“You lost the road you old blind fool!” Valgkh erupted with anger just like the volcanoes did once on Kilrah. “There is nothing here!”
“Exactly.” The old kilrah'hra answered with same cynical way he did when they first encountered each other. “There is nothing else you can do that your descendants won't do for you.” And he turned his back to him while he was moving away from him. In the end he disappeared into the void.
“Wait! I ought to meet Sivar! I must be judged for my actions.”
Before the old one's figure was about to disappear in the background, his voice managed to reach the warrior's hearing.
“You already did.”
Dedicated to the ones we didn't have the chance to say goodbye to them.