#breholf

For the second time in a day Breholf awoke with a start. The back of his head thundered in time with his heartbeat as if someone was battering a frantic retreat on the battlefield. His source of a rapid pulse was utter panic. His arms and legs were immobile and Breholf himself was held aloft in a spread eagled position. Once he came to his senses, at least as much as his torpidity would allow, he realised that he had been stripped of his skintight armourweave and left bare as the day he had been born.

A hunched over figure was in front of him tending to a task that Breholf couldn’t summarise. Though he was awake and slowly coming to a more alert state the thumping of his head had not yet abated. A groan left his lips as he jostled in the restraints which were encasing his hands and feet. A gel-like texture could be felt like cushions around the end of his limbs though it did little to relieve him of the strain at being made to hover above the ground.

The sound of Breholf’s struggles caused the figure to turn and the young Mandalorian blanched at what he saw. As if someone had taught a spider to stand, wear clothes and operate medical equipment the creature had six arms; two of which were made of silvered metal. The mechanical limbs ended in a collection of injectors, scalpels, staplers and saws. None of which seemed like a good idea to put against his skin.

“Good.” the creature chittered. “Good. You are awake. My lady will be pleased.” With six eyes of a cardinal hue it watched him. Each seemed to blink independently from one another. The stocky creature turned its face away which Breholf only noticed it to have been branded; burnt flesh and fur in the shape of a letter or sigil he did not recognise. The Mandalorian however knew what it meant. He had seen it before. The strange alien, like himself, was a slave though their roles within the household obviously differed.

With one of its organic arms the spider reached forward to press an intercom. “Duchess?” he growled into the device.

A familiar, cool and feminine voice crooned over the speaker. “Yes, Doctor Elaris?” she responded.

“Your last slave to be inspected has awoken. Forgive me if it has been too long. I did not wish to risk damaging him with a forced revival.”

There was a silence and the sound of someone ruffling on the other end of the device. “I shall be there in but a moment.” A click closed the line and ended the conversation.

Breholf decided it was time to speak out. The strangeness of this doctor’s appearance was too new, too alien for him to just ignore it. “What...what are you?” he grunted as he tackled with the words in his mouth.

Another chitter came from Elaris as he stepped closer until Breholf could feel the arachnid’s bristles against his skin. “Harch, young man. I am a Harch. And a doctor. A bloody good one I should think. But your job isn’t to ask questions. It is to kill and die at the pleasure of our mistress. I am merely there to make sure you are salvageable.”

Elaris reached for a nearby button and with a delicate digit pressed it down. The restraints around Breholf hummed forebodingly and all of a sudden he felt every muscle in his being convulse and tighten up like taut wire. He could smell something like a heavy thunderstorm had rolled through the room. After what seemed like an eternity the convulsions stopped and Breholf fell forward with a gasp following by a cry outwards.

“And you have not been given leave to question.”

“Starting with me are you, Doctor?” a shrill voice rang out.

Breholf lifted his head which felt like someone had cast lead inside of it. A haze clouded his vision until it sharpened. His eyes beheld a beautiful creature; feline in feature; lithe with a coy smile. Breholf noticed her sky-blue tunic and given that the Duchess said she’d be joining the pair in the medical bay even his addled wits came to the conclusion that this was his new owner. Beside her was a large reptilian he knew to be a Trandoshan but with his powers of observation hamstrung by the shock he had received he wasn’t able to determine if he was a slave or employee. Was there even a difference?

Soft hands cupped the Mandalorian’s face as she kept his head aloft and prevented it from slumping forward. She inhaled deeply with her nose but an inch from his face. “Young.” she said as her hands released his cranium and ran down the front of his chest. Her nails etched along his flesh and down every rise and dip of his body that was offered out to her. “Strong.”

Finally her hand came up over his left breast where his heart roared beneath the surface. There her pointed nails played over the ink that had been etched into his body. “And Mandalorian. Oh you are everything your kind stands for.”

At that Breholf realised he was right. He had indeed been targeted for his heritage. The Mandalorians were among the most feared warriors the galaxy had ever seen. Bred from birth to fight, honed into killing machines, their culture practically defied war itself. As mercenaries and bounty hunters they could turn the tide for those with enough credits to buy their loyalty; no matter how fleeting it was. If, however, they conducted their Crusades then left uncheck they would pillage, conquer and burn all they could reach.

As a lone Mandalorian he was easy prey for slavers since when surrounded by clans of armoured and heavily armed warriors it was indeed a difficult notion to take one alive.

“Tell me about him.” said Alvaria ordered Elaris, her pink glossed lips curving into a cruel grin.

Elaris inclined his head as Breholf once more managed to lift his head to watch the interaction. A defiant emerald fire blazed in his eyes as he listened intently.

“The blow to his head has not caused any lasting damage. Apart from that particular mishap your property is in fighting shape. I believe we can begin with the implantation procedure. Judging by his biogenetic data I can surmise he is at least twenty standard years of age. A perfect candidate ”

“Excellent!” the Zygerrian woman said as she clasped her hands together as if someone had told her she had won a prize. Her heels clacked with each step she took back to Breholf which was but a short distance away from the six-eyed-and-armed doctor and her reptilian aide.

The young warrior turned his head and watched Alvaria grow closer. A breath hitched as she boldly grasped at his length that hung between his toned thighs and give him a firm grip. “I forgot to mention virile. My oh my. I best keep you away from the pleasure den, shouldn’t I?” At her words or simpering expression Breholf didn’t react as he was too busy trying to think of something, anything to keep the swelling of arousal at bay. In a dubious stroke of luck it seemed it didn’t need to for her enclosed hand over his length and his balls below fiercely tightened causing his eyes to widen and a hiss of agony slid from his lips.

With her hand still in a vice-like constriction around his manhood Alvaria spoke. “I would not get the wrong idea, Mandalorian, for as beautifully crafted as you are you’ve not earned my interest. Instead think of this as a lesson. Pleasure and pain. For I will give to you the former beyond your wildest dreams; perhaps if you impress me enough even from my own body. But for now you will experience the reality of your new found situation and not even your foolish warrior pride or gods or code will stave away the paroxysm of my lash.”

She released her palm and for the first time in his time within the medical bay Breholf let out a genuine sigh of relief despite the now aching sensation between his legs. “Pain, Doctor Elaris. Pain. For this one I say we skip the anesthetics.”

A guttural laugh came from the Harch as he brought Breholf’s restraints around so he faced the floor; back pointed towards the ceiling. There was a sound of clattering and equipment being shifted. Soon the Duchess’ heels echoed away from him and soon the Mandalorian was left in the hexagonally limbed male.

Then he felt it. A cold sharp pain which made his fists ball up inside the restraints. It was like someone was running an icicle along the part of his back just before it connected to his neck. The sensation became deeper and Breholf’s eyes flew wide open along with his mouth which let out a snarling cry of protest. Something dripped from where the feeling had taken place and oozed down his skin.

The slithering continued until what was causing it became apparent. A single crimson raindrop splashed in front of him followed by another and several more. His cries became screams, tears of pain blinding him. Something was pushed into the incision at the back of his neck then sewn up again. It was quick work. Relatively speaking. Breholf soon found himself back upright this time faced with two Zygerrian guards; the feline men dressed in gear armour and carrying blaster carbines.

With a click the restraints released him and he fell onto his knees. Breholf took some time to gather his breath before attempting, successfully, to get to his feet though his legs were shaking. Wordlessly the guards pointed to a set of clothes. If they could be called that. A long blue tunic and simple leather boots.

“Inside your neck.” the doctor began. “Is a microdite charge. You know what microdite is, yes?”

“A small power explosive related to detonite. I get the implications.” Breholf replied glumly.

It took Breholf some time given the pain he was under but finally what little modesty he managed to scrape together had been secured before he looked to the guards.

“What now?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

“You follow.” the closest guard ordered. “You stray, we kill. You stop, we kill. Human understands?”

Not about to get into the debate of his genetic background Breholf just raised his hands as the galactic sign language for understanding.

“Good. Human not stupid. Like most. You follow.”

In the darkness Breholf Talesa prayed to Hod Ha’ran for safe delivery. He did not know where he was or who the other bodies he was pressed against were. All the Mandalorian knew was that he was in the back of a wheeled transport. He could tell by the way the engines roared and the vehicle dipped and jostled along what was supposedly a rocky road. In the murky cargo bay of the truck Breholf’s nose and ears did for him what his ears could not.

 The black sharpened these senses for him. He could smell sweat, urine and the hot breath of the beings around him. In short he could smell fear which was understandable. Breholf could hear the whimpers, mewlings and growls of those trapped as he was. Like himself he surmised that they had no idea where it was they were heading to.

   Breholf’s head thumped and his memories were scattered. He remembered drinking at a feast on some Outer Rim back-water and being dragged towards a room by a rather voluptuous blonde human before the world went dark when he was celebrating his eighteenth birthday. He must have only awoken or if he had before Breholf had no recollection of any moments of consciousness as only then had he realised how hot the cargo bay was from the way the bodies had been so tightly packed together.

 He jostled his wrists and found they were bound together with force-cuffs. The Mandalorian sighed out and slumped against the wall of the truck’s bay and simply waited for them to arrive to their destination. The truck shifted and he felt himself slide a little. They had started to go uphill from what he could tell. Hopefully to a place where he could get some fresh air from the stink that had practically invaded his nostrils. The heat had made his mouth dry and Breholf knew that without water soon he’d begin to feel the effects of dehydration which he also knew were not pleasant in the slightest.

Finally after what seemed like a small eternity the truck screeched to a halt and the doors flew open. Sunlight hit his eyes which had become so used to seeing nothing that Breholf felt them sting. Being nearest to the door he was hoisted out by a hair of hands and dragged roughly along the ground. As soon as his eyes adapted Breholf began to look around where exactly he had been absconded to.

At first he looked at the building which seemed to be a villa. Marble pillars of alabaster white held up a gold-coloured roof. They had been taken to a square; he and the other captives. Races from various worlds both unknown to him and familiar such as the reptilian Trandoshan and even a red-skinned Sith. The people who held his proverbial leash however were utterly known to him. Everyone in the Outer Rim knew of the Zygerrians and they were feared for a reason.

   Not even the Hutts themselves, the crime lords which so many aspired to be like, could match the Zygerrian slave trade for its brutal efficiency and sheer scope. He eyed one of the feline-faced guards with a glare. Though Breholf had made sure he had given him the hateful look at the back of his head so as not to cause trouble for himself. Once all the captives were gathered in the square he stole a look around once more.

The grounds themselves were beautiful. Emerald grass with a pond cut into it. Both were kept pristine and flower beds blossomed with a spectrum of colours. Had it not been for the fact he had binders upon his wrists and was completely held here against his will Breholf decided it would have been a lovely place to relax after a campaign or raid. He couldn’t tell the scale of the villa but it had many open doorways to allow the cooling summer air to waft around. Given that the sun sat above them and battered the hilltop with its merciless rays Breholf was indeed happy for that small boon.

Soon a woman appeared on the balcony above them draped in a sky-blue finery with jewelry glinting in the sunlight. The guards went around, pushing Breholf and the others forward with the butts of their rifles before the woman spoke in a sing-song voice as she swayed a hand towards them.

“Ladies, gentleman and sentients of an undetermined nature.” the Zygerrian female crooned out to them below her. “My name is Duchess Alvaria Tyross. And you have the utmost pleasure of being my property. You are no doubt wondering what, exactly, you are here for? And so as the merciful woman that I am I shall erase your ignorance.

“Look to your fellows.”

At her command everyone, Breholf included, looked to their left and right. To his left was a Pureblood woman with eyes like smouldering suns. A collar had been placed over her and another woman for what purpose he did not know. Though the snarl upon her full lips and the utter enmity in her eyes that told Breholf all he needed to know. She utterly despise everyone in a five parsec radius. As such he took a slight step to the right as if that would somehow mitgate the damage.

Alvaria continued from her perch. “You are to be my champions in combat. All of you, I’d hope, would have knowledge of the sublime arts of warfare. To the east lies a great city of the Zygerrian Empire. Within it is your goal; a large stadium of glory and immortality for not only myself but for you my fine subjects. However your time here could be considered as...a trial. Only two may leave here alive. So after my lovely doctor sees to you and deems you fit for service to me I suggest you do not get comfortable with those who are not your assigned fellow.”

As the woman took a sip of wine Breholf used the time to try and get a better look at his supposed owner. Given the distance and the intense sunlight such a task was a challenge. He huffed and decided to spare his eyes the pain of glaring up into the golden shimmer. It had become clear to him why he had been plucked away from a feast by these slavers. Especially if blood sports were in their mind. He was a Mandalorian. Even at eighteen years old he had a somewhat imposing look. Five years of war against the enigmatic Eternal Empire had gifted him steely muscle, broad shoulders and a bloodlust fitting to his people. With dark skin, bright green eyes which shone in the dark with a semi-luminous glow and hair as white as virgin snow his mish-mash of genes had given him a look that stood out of the crowd. Breholf made a mental note to dye his hair if he escaped.

The woman raised one hand and let out a shrill command “Now. To your cells.”

Upon the duchess’ words the guards used their rifle butts to shove and thump the captives towards the more outward buildings of the villa. It was only unfortunate for Breholf that a guard inadvertently thumped him onto the back of the head.

Name: Breholf Dariak Talesa

Age: 20

Gender: Male

Orientation: Bisexual

Marital Status: Married

Birthplace: Concord Dawn, Mandalore Sector

Species: ½ Human, ¼ Echani, ¼ Zeltron

Physical Appearance and Traits

Like most young Mandalorians Breholf is a physical powerhouse in raw, untamed potential. Standing at six feet and seven inches he’s well noticed both on and off the battlefield especially when donning his battle armour. Scars run down the dips and curves of his taut stomach and pectorals as well as the left side of his face narrowly missing his eye. Along the left side of his chest Breholf has his clan’s sigil as a tattoo; a snarling wolf surrounded by two crossed swords and the Crusader circle representing their adherence to the concept of ‘holy warfare’.

His hair and eyes seem to garner the most attention. While father’s dark complexion Breholf also possesses bright green eyes from his progenitor.Such is their luminosity that it’s said a Talesa can always be seen in the dark; a beacon to both friend and foe alike. His hair is snow white; neat yet thick and a hallmark from his mother and her Echani bloodline.

Another interesting trait comes from his Zeltron heritage. While not in possession of the empathy and airborne pheromones of the infamous pink-skinned hedonists Breholf’s skin and fluids secretes them in high enough concentrations that ingestion causes lax inhibitions and overall enhances his charm and attractiveness. He lacks the Zeltron ability to sway opinion and as given his close proximity to allies in ship barracks and trench lines he has elected to use a suppressant injection to temporarily nullify these effects.

Breholf is rarely seen without his armour in some shape or form; heavy battle plates painted black for turning weapons fire, blade or claw. Made from durasteel his armour or ‘beskar’gam’ has saved his life more than once. Other times he elects to wear his skintight bodyweave which is typically worn beneath his armour to act as a seal. Should he be in a more informal venture Breholf has clothes to suit clubs, bars and diners though dislikes more flashy fashion.

   Personality

Unlike most Mandalorians who write off the ways of outsiders as foolish, strange or weak Breholf has a healthy curiosity for various cultures and ways of thought. Through his travels across the galaxy when fighting the Eternal Empire he’d often collect items from both his foe and whatever civilisation they had conquered or vanquished. It is not enough for Breholf to know ‘what’ but also ‘why’ and ‘how’ when discovering new concepts and technologies.

While affable and friendly to those who pose him no threat or challenge Breholf lives for the hunt. Be it in the midst of a pitched battle or stalking some monster on a hostile world he has a bloodthirsty edge that’s typically satisfied by such activities. He is not as outgoing or as brash as his older sister Jaxyana and so is used to taking a back seat which suits him fine as Breholf tends to enjoy observing before making a decision or a reply. Other times however his youthful eagerness takes over and he’ll throw himself into the fray without a second thought especially if a comrade is in peril or prestige is to be won.

Breholf prides himself on having something of an analytical mind and is not opposed to actions that can circumvent conflict to attain goals such as non-violent actions and lateral thinking. If pressed into a corner Breholf will, as an instinct, fall back upon bloodshed.

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I guess this cheeky little shit has taken over from my main and old OC, Garmas. Breholf is sorta the ‘face’ of me on the internet which helps that he’s a handsome devil.

While not on SWTOR any more he does serve as a lovely Sci-fi/Star Wars character that can slip and slide into the eras because I love to abuse creative power.

Also! The art as you see above is done by this lady here:

http://dingoat.tumblr.com/

12th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon - Ishgard

In the attempt to lift our spirits the First Mate, Miss Kat, took myself, Miss A’kaia and Master Breholf out beyond the city to a small village to enjoy the surroundings. 

While it all began as a simple and fun snowball fight it soon escalated to tackles, magical snow movement and threats of possible flash grenades. Overall I received a snowball to the face, leaving abrasions. I also fell while trying to flee what I thought was a grenade....because I cannot gauge the limits of Miss Kat. But, to be fair, I brandished a wand and dumped a chunk of roof snow on her. Miss Kai and I had a giggle...

There was much laughter to be had. And then began contemplation. I tried to explain why being in the city bothered me so much. But they just didn’t understand. They started worrying about ghosts and the undead and strange things. Kai started to come around, but it was frustrating and Kat just walked off. 

When we caught up and explained that nothing here spoke, she began to tell us that elements don’t talk, that it was all superstitious, that we were being stupid. Kai looked offended and hurt at her sister’s claims. I was so taken aback, that I couldn’t speak right away. I looked around the damaged landscape and the elements reaching out to be healed and heard. Thankfully after several go-rounds, she decided to end the conversation and we walked home in silence. 

Journal Entry

7th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon

Market Day! It was a fun time in Limsa Lominsa with Miss Kat, Miss A’kaia and Master Breholf. Or is it Ser Breholf? Also a person they knew well enough, but they shouted like a loon in the market. Master Breholf escorted me through the market, helping me with purchases of herbs, vials, and supplies. Even offered to help me carry them, but I declined. 

He also was kind enough to buy me my first dagger. Boot dagger...because according to Miss Kat I must have one. So he clasped it to my leg right then and there as the sisters returned from the dress vendor....dressed as high society waitstaff and in jest starting referring to me as ‘their lady’ and adverting eyes and all that goes with it. I didn’t know what to do. They were hilarious and terrifying all in the same breath. Finally, they changed into the dresses they wished to purchase and we moved along.

We bumped into an old ship member. They all talked about significant others, weddings and who is with who. I didn’t know what to do...nothing to contribute. So I wandered off for a bit. 

I have a few appointments this evening and then maybe I will try to strike up a sparring match to learn how to use this dagger.

5th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon

I don’t know what to say. I woke up in my own bed this morning. Last night with Corsa’ir opened a door into a world I do not believe I should see. While it all ended on a positive note...it began on a stressful one. 

Frederic Lou. His face is in my memory now. That horrible laugh, false pleasantries and harmful intents. The way he so carelessly inflicted pain on Corsa’ir through another like a lazy coward. Casting insinuations of my professional and freedoms. All over a sister, stolen soul stones and greed. 

I was so upset by it all that I had a nightmare of his face. I gave him my name and I feel I will regret that. I told Master Breholf what happened this afternoon.

But the night ended back on the ship and doing the evaluation on Corsa’ir...after healing his throat at the casino. He drank heavily, I tried to focus on work. There was a weird moment with him and me at the end, but I will chalk it up to drink. But I am tired of people patting my head.

I know I typically write more, but I just don’t know how to yet process my thoughts on this.