Urg sat on the bed in his quarters of his ship and pulled on his boot, stomping it to set the heel. Standing up, he pulled a thick leather coat on and then then raked his hands through his hair and pulled the mass of unkept black together into a ponytail that he tied with an elastic band with a bright yellow bead on it. On the bead was a ‘happy face’.

He walked out the door and down the passage and into the conference room. Inside, his ‘delegation’ had already assembled. The Andorian that had comm’d the Lieutenant Governor, a Klingon with a purple hand-print stain on the left side of his face, a Bolian, and a Ferengi. Urg looked at them all, dressed in the armor of House Duroc, and he grinned. “Glad to see all of you. Everyone eat their fill? Good. Everyone sober?” and he grinned more wickedly. “Mostly.” and he laughed loudly. “All right. Let’s go see how these stuffed-shirt bureaucrats handle House Duroc.” and the assemblage laughed and stood. Walking out the door, Urg paused and looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know this Lieutenant Governor. But Karlson is family. You will show him respect. Undrrstood?” The only response was a unison slamming of their fists against their chests. Urg grunted in acknowledgment and they made their way to the shuttle bay.

A half-hour later, they arrived at the docks. Boarding a large taxi, the ‘contingent’ made their way to the Hekla Hotel and entered the building through the service entrance.

Urg, Son of the Builder, Lord Duroc