Rarius....
.....Bres ap Erinne
One can not help but take a moment to stare at the man known as Bres ap Erinne of Vanir’s Fjord, as He strolls by. His appearance alone is enough to send shivers racing through a girl’s soul. Standing 6’11" and weighing 395lbs, broad muscular chest and wide shoulders that could easily support four kajira slung precariously over them. His arms, the size of a normal man’s leg, heft His axes with little effort, grasped firm in hands large enough to encircle a tamit and hide it from view. If one were to chance looking into His piercing dark blue eyes, they would find them raging pools of passion, no matter the endeavor, be it fighting or furring, the dark depths swirled with enthusiasm for life itself. His long mahogany hair reaches to His waist, plaited in a warrior's braid, and tied with a soft strip of leather. Firm, massive legs clad in soft leather breeches, rigid black tanned hide boots reach to His thighs, the blood red cloak billowing around Him in the winter months. In the warmer months He dresses simply in boots and loincloth.
His Father was from Scotland and His Mother from Ireland. He, Conor KinRowan, and she, Bri'd, were together when an Acquisition took His mother to Gor. His father followed and killed the one responsible for taking His Love, but she had already been collared and branded, and found her belly, she was quietly enraptured and content in her enslavement. By this time, his father found this world stirred His blood, and He was happy to call this planet home. And So, as a Gorean he kept her as his slave. However, the ways of Urth were difficult to overcome as well, and slavewine was not used. Eventually she became pregnant. Not wanting a child born to a slave, for he would not have his son a slave, He freed the girl and FCed her for the Year. His son they named Bres. As the child grew , He was educated in the arts of war, of the laws and skills of the Brehon, of His mothers home, was trained to be Fianna, though none existed here.
The child learned the ways of Gor as well. He learned to fly with the Great Tarns, to ride the thundering Kaiila, to drink the life giving paga from weaning. Becoming proficient in the skills of the red caste.Yet, all to soon, he learned true growth and strength of adulthood. His Father's camp was attacked by raiders, while Bres Himself was out on a raid.
Bres knew before he reached the camp that the raiders had been there. He had himself often been in the company with death and danger not to smell one or the other from a distance. It now piqued His senses, that instinctive warning while he was still a ways from camp. Halting the enduring kaiila he rode, His countenance one of stone, head bent, signaling those that rode behind Him to halt as well, He listened. The iron blade of the axe in His belt reflecting the light of the day, but He remained as still as an animal scenting the hunter. At last He lifted His head and rode on.
Reaching the camp, it took but a glance to know, His Homestone, His family, all he had known from childhood had been destroyed. His glacial blue gaze took in all that lay before Him. The bloody and broken bodies of the males, from youngest to oldest, dead upon the ground, weapons clutched in their now cold hands. He had known much of bitter and tragic events, and the memories were often bleakly visible in His stormy dark eyes. Yet, none could compare to the rage that dwelt there as he looked down at His own mother, sprawled dead upon His fathers body. A final assessment confirmed that the females were apparently stolen. All around Him lay the smoldering remains of His home.
Once attending to the burials of the fallen camp, He took the few Rarii that remained, and together they began tracking down those that had taken away all that he had ever known and killed them, one by one.
By the time the task was complete, He had grown to full manhood, and responsible for the men that had served beneath Him during this grueling duty. During the course of time, he had found a man as great as He had ever known. A man who saw Honor and courage as He did, whose wisdom raised His spirits and gave Him guidance and direction in life.
Thusly, Truen Harte Werreour became His second, His Friend, His Brother. Together They built Tahemjula in the Thentis Mountains, reachable only by Tarns they thought.He then took girls to pleasure Him, serve Him. first girl and trainer, a lovely red silks known as zaharii, and the beautiful yellow silked pleasure slave kaila. He also acquired two fresh and untouched beauties, aly and fianna.
Life again began to look good for Bres, He had Tahem Jula, a bevy of beautiful slaves, His past now but a buried memory, life did seem pleasing. Yet, as is often the case on Gor, disaster again was to strike and change the course of His life. While away searching for a good target to raid, Tahemjula was set upon from out of nowhere. All was again destroyed, that He had cared for. Only zaharii survived, having hidden in the grottos where she was bathing. Even His second, lost to the raid, or so He thought.
Recovering His hidden horde of coin he set off north to find His destiny. His heart torn from the loss of the men and slaves that He had stood responsible for, he wandered, searching, for what He yet did not know. Then on a bitterly, deathly cold night, while seeking shelter, He stumbled upon a Fjord..... Vanir’s Fjord.
