Slave name- dylan
Sex- Male
Age- 22, at acquistion. Stabilized.
Origin- Barbarian (earth).
Taken from Northern California.
Bay Area, San Francisco.
Date of initial enslavement- The 3rd day of the Third Hand
of the Month of En'Var in the year 10,151 CA.
Manner of initial enslavement- Capture, Voyage of Aqcuisition.
Previous slave names- angelus cadere x, Thrall dylan, Her safire, LCs dylan, xv dylan vx.
Current owner- Varin Yngvar.
Previous owners-
Lady Gina of Ar, Lady Amaya La Celle, Port Kar.
CeIantra (Ar), Amanita Vernia (Ar, White Water),
Merchant0fGor(Ar), Lady Zia of Ar(Ar),
Shey of Gor (Lake Ias), Emily Thornhart (Tafa),
Elixabethxx (Jorts Ferry.
Hair color- Golden blonde.
Eye color- Emerald green.
ATTRIBUTES
Skills & training- Red silk pleasure slave,
RGCP registered healing slave.
Cooking, cleaning, tending compartments, heavy labors,
medicinal herbs, gardening (medicinals, vegetables),
serves, dance.
Known aversions- Darkness (slave box, confined spaces),
slave goad, slave gruel.
Known likes- Anything that has to do with water.
Cooking, outdoors activities.
Temperament- Highly intelligent, and curious about his surroundings.
Easily motivated, and eager to please.
Very competitive and prone to anger when provoked.
Questions authority and looks for flaws or inconsistencies.
Vital, and possesses a slave belly that is easily aroused,
although in some circumstances when a firm hand is not given,
he often disassociates and doesn't respond to touch.
Literate or illiterate- Literate. Reads and writes in Gorean, speaks archaic Gorean.
Type of brand- Block kef, left outer thigh.
Teardrop brand (personal) with the initials LC,
over his right pubic region.
Other marks/piercings - Ear piercing hole left ear.
Status- Red silk (kajirus)
MEASUREMENTS
Weight- 50 stone (app. 195 pounds)
Height- 57 horts (6'2")
Measurements (in horts, chest, waist, hips)
Chest: 32 horts (38)
Waist: 25 horts (31)
Inseam: 28 horts (34).
Wrist ring size- 7 horts (9 1/2')
Ankle ring size- 9 horts (11")
Collar size- 14 horts (16")
Endowments- 6 horts (8 1/2")
His Past
Lights looming on the horizon growing larger and larger.
Blinding.
Sounds of metal collide and twist beyond recognition.
The metallic tang of blood.
The drift into unconsciousness.
The siren's sound dimming.
The pain.
It was a warm summer evening, when Dylan Thomas Savage asked
his parents, Sheila and Glenn, for a trip to Mr. Frosty's,
a favorite local ice cream shop in the the city of San Franscisco, California.
The young boy, only five, begged and pleaded to go,
and his parents finally acquiesced.
It was a wonderful family evening spent together,
laughing and discussing the day's events.
His parents made future plans to take Dylan to the beach,
as the five year old had just begun to enjoy surfing.
Then something changed those plans.
Dylan had been buckled into the back seat half asleep,
the remains of an ice cream orgy still left on his chin.
His parents sat in the front seat, with his Dad driving,
laughing and discussing various topics.
Then a pair of bright lights appeared around a bend
in the highway.
Soon, the sounds of laughter turned into screams
of terror,
as a semi plowed head-on into his parents' vehicle.
The impact killed them both instantly.
The young child was flung out of the car still attached
to the seat, unconscious and bleeding, but alive.
The doctors that treated him said it was a miracle
that the boy made it through the night.
Dylan spent a month in a coma before awakening with all his senses intact.
Little did he know that all he had ever known was now gone.
He took the terrible blow as a child would, his curious mind
asking questions like, "Are they in heaven? Can they see me?"
With no other living relatives, Dylan found himself at the mercy
of Child Protective Services, and placed into a foster home.
Dylan was highly intelligent, as was his father,
a worker in a biotechnology firm.
The little boy internalized his pain, grief and loss.
As he tried to adjust to being in a new family, his foster mother,
Ana Martinez, was cruel to him. Only desiring the state money
that came in for Dylan, she rarely spent it on him.
The child often went to school, with hand-me-down clothes,
and shoes that were well past their age.
Ana took in other foster kids too, some from very violent backgrounds.
In the Martinez' household, Dylan was often targeted because he was smaller
and brainy, as compared to the other children.
He got beat up alot by his foster brothers, as a result.
When he disclosed that an older boy had been sexually molesting him,
Dylan was immediately placed in yet another foster home.
The pattern of abuse and neglect scarred Dylan.
He missed his Mom and Dad, who had died.
Over time, the wounds healed, but remained festering
under the surface.
He saw social workers and psychiatrists throughout the years as he grew.
They all said he was very gifted, but had a problem
with his temper.
His file read, "Prone to periods of intense rage,
followed by depression over his various losses.
Difficulty bonding."
Dylan went through two more foster homes, the last one saying
they could not handle the young boy who was now eleven,
and starting to break expensive household items when he became angry.
At the same home, Dylan was beaten so badly by the foster mother's boyfriend,
he actually felt safer running away from home and living on the streets.
To survive, Dylan foraged food from garbage cans.
The young boy was victimized by older men looking for a good time.
At thirteen, he was found by police while living
in a box with another runaway
and placed in a hospital for a period of time.
When he was discharged, he was much improved and more focused.
His clinical notes stated, " A gifted young man,
who with the right family, and guidance he can be
easily encouraged to become a productive individual."
So he was placed with the Barbarak family in San Fransisco.
Kylie and Joseph became his foster Mom and Dad, Dylan their first child.
Rejection had become Dylan's nemesis, and he wasn't easy to like
because of so many interrupted placements.
They loved the rather obstinate blond haired boy,
and eventually with them he became the gifted and
focused young man he was intended to be.
He stopped running away, concentrating on study, and of course girls.
With the encouragement of the Barbarak's,
Dylan adjusted to life with them,
and finally started to learn about love and family.
His intellect flourished in their household,
as he went through his teenage years.
His love of surfing, wind sailing, camping, and
skateboarding was a top priority in his life.
He tried out for his high school swim and diving
team, and lettered in it. Dylan's bedroom became a
huge shrine for all the trophies he had won
in swim meets and diving competitions.
At the same time, the lanky blonde haired boy
was filling out and becoming more attractive to girls.
Blessed with a smooth complexion and no blemishes
due to a very healthy diet, girls flocked to him
and his athletic build.
He was really shy around girls however, and turned
more to his books when he wasn't playing sports
or skinning up his knees on the skateboard ramps.
In school, Dylan took advanced subjects to challenge his mind,
and zipped through every course within a few months time.
His teachers advised the Barbarak's that because
Dylan was so gifted,
they needed to send Dylan to UC Berkeley to take courses
there that would be more suited to his intellect.
Rather than graduate with his high school class, he opted for early release,
and transferred to UC Berkeley for the fall semester.
At the University, he became the youngest in his classes,
mostly geared for people two to three years his senior.
Dylan held his own, trying his best to fit in with the older crowd.
He applied himself, and came to the decision that he wished to become
a trauma doctor, to help people hurt in accidents, like his parents.
He competed still for the University's swim and dive team
to relax himself and remain focused.
The Barbarak's adopted Dylan as their own child,
finally closing a chapter of his life.
His Path Takes A Detour
Dylan was well into his second year of medical school
at UC Berkeley,
his dream to become a doctor bright on the horizon.
He had grown into a quite handsome man of 22, engaging and fun
to have at fraternity parties, beach festivals
and of course
a powerful source of information when it came to study groups.
It was as if he had a photographic memory for the thick textbooks,
it so amazed his friends and study group partners, that he was
nicknamed "Dexter"--named after a brainy cartoon kid with his own laboratory.
He found spending time on rounds exciting, as he learned to treat
and care for patients, checking vital signs
and determining what to do for emergency cases.
He was bound to become a successful doctor,
but his plan was altered one fateful night.
He was heading back to his dorm after some studying
at the lab,
when a man stepped from the darkness to ask him the time.
Dylan didn't think anything of it when he looked
at his watch that the man was very big and he had
a strange accent. Being kind, he gave the man the
time, and directions around campus as it appeared
the stranger was a bit lost, and dressed up rather
warmly for a California night.
He had barely turned to leave, when a second man
slipped up from behind, and slammed him into the
bushes.
Stunned at first, he stood to challenge both,
having learned to fight to survive at a young age.
Dylan punched one man in the face,
causing his nose to break,
before he was pinned to the ground by the other man.
Dylan struggled as he was given a strong sedative
by injection, the burning in his thigh felt
as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
When he awoke, Dylan was naked and in a cage.
There were other large men, and women rushing about.
Some were covered up like women in the Middle East,
faces veiled, and other women where kneeling,
barely dressed. They spoke to him in a strange
language, laughing, making comments he couldn't
understand. His mind whirled, in its confused state.
Finally, a man with a huge whip attatched to his belt
approached the cage, and spoke to him.
His words were in English, and his voice harsh.
"You are a barbarian."
"You are slave."
"This is Gor, and you are now property."
"You will call all free Master, or Mistress."
His emerald eyes widened in shock at the man's words.
Dylan being a free spirit, rebelled at this lowering
of his status. Once valued for his mind,
it was rendered virtually useless in this new world,
he came to know as Gor.
All his efforts were centered on training him
as a proper kajirus, but dylan had no plans on
becoming one. He resisted at every turn,
at risk of being beaten severely or even killed.
For punishment, he was hit with the slave goad,
or placed into the dark confines of a slave box
to break him further into the mold of slave
that the free preferred.
It only brought out more of his past horrors,
the dark confining spot causing him to panic
with claustophobia.
The Mistresses at the slave pens found him rather
attractive for a barbarian slave, and felt
he may be well placed for service at a Mistress'
feet, once trained. For a period of time,
he was placed in the stimulation cages, teased
unmercifully for days without release,
and beaten again, until the two sensations
began to blur.
It was then he began to show signs
of his slave belly, through the intense
stimulation he was enduring.
Over time, Dylan began to show signs of change.
What stirred him into doing his best the free found,
was watching the other boys as they went about
their daily rituals. They noticed how competitive
Dylan was, and used that to their advantage.
Dylan was stirred to anger constantly,
feeling deep sensations of rejection
when other boys were selected for use and he was not.
So he began to comply with the learning
of the Gorean language, picking up words
and phrases quickly. He moved on to simple
serves and etiquette around the free,
but for some reason, he was bought by a Master
who needed help upon his ship as a work slave.
Subsequently, dylan found himself abandoned by the man,
who welched on a wager somewhere along the Vosk River.
His ownership changed many hands from that time to the present.
It is his hope that whoever holds the keys to his collar
would be able to unlock the mystery of the boy within.
I could already begin to feel the wine.
I was still half on my elbows.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked.
"Treat you as you are," she said, "a man of Earth,
a weakling, at the mercy of a Gorean free woman."
I regarded her frightened.
"Lie back pretty Jason," she said.
I lay back. The furs were deep about me.
I felt the inflexible clasp of the steel
on my ankles and wrists.
Then suddenly, lightly, like a cat, she slipped
to the couch beside me.
"I do not understand," I said.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Own you," she whispered. "Use you for my pleasure."
I looked at her with horror.
She smiled and then thrust the whip, crosswise,
in my mouth, between my teeth.
She then aroused, and raped me.
Fighting Slave of Gor, p. 132
