“If thost wishes to claim my blade, thou must prove thyself worthy” a booming voice echoed from the Unforgettable Champion as he stood over a broken Klingon. The hellish landscape set ablaze with molten rivers of Gre’thor dimly lighting the battlefield.

Martok winced as he pressed himself to his knees, his Bat’leth broken and all but shattered remnants of a life long since tarnished. Clutching its shards the blade cut deep into his palm, reminding him of the first time he raised his fathers ‘alngegh. ” I carry the weight of not only my people, but the honor and blood of my ancestors fifteen generations past. You may have bested me in strenth, but I’ve already won!” Flinging metallic shards at Kathless, Martok swiftly cleaved the makeshift ‘alngegh into the side of his knee and reached out to strike the final blow with what could only be described as the Klingons most inestimable of artifacts.

“Hear me! I will claim what belon..”

Abruptly, Norg’s door swung open filling its archway with a rather rubenesque ferengi of venerable age who glared at her son and his silly dice.. “NORG! How many times must I tell you to STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR TOYS! How could I be burdened with such a failure of a corporate tycoon? Honestly, Its as if !”

<Her voice shrilling voice seems to fade into a droning hum in the background>

Now I Know what you’re thinking. How could such a handsome and imaginative entrepreneur allow himself at MY age to be caught living with his mother? Its quite simple really, even a mother can be guilted into caring for her believed misbegotten children if she forgets one of the most valuable rules of acquisition. The best deal is the one that brings the most profit. Of course there are some… measures that have to be taken to ensure I have a one hundred percent profit gain free of expenditures, but what’s a little entertain..

“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!?! THATS IT! YOU’RE GOING TO STARFLEET!”

Entertainment? Its just a simple game of… wait? What did that old bag say?

And just like that I was dumped off at some dead end station with no latnum, no credits, and no idea how I was going to make my capital empire grow.

“Next onto the transporter pad… You with the big ears, you’re clearly not deaf!” Pulled from his inner monologue, Norg picked up his satchel and stepped onto the transporter pad as he looked over his, perfectly legitimate and unequivocally not counterfeit documentation. “And so my adventure begins, that flamboyant cardiassian had better come through” He mumbled.

-Norg, Ferengi Civillian