The Gorean

I would first like to say that this character likely won’t be played again; the man who played her Master is still the only one who can and likely ever will control her collar. I have yet to meet someone who can play with the understanding and passion that he plays with. Also, I do not actively look around or play in Gor. That being said, she is still listed here because I love her concept. It’s not often that I have my characters so blindly loyal to a person, as this version of Meka is. Without further a due The:  

Barbarian in Gor

Name: Meka - Barbarian

Age: In her 20’s

Appearance:

Attitude: Often Meka is quiet; she’s to some extent very unsure of herself as she is barbarian to Gor. Though she knows the tongue well, even if it is heavily accented, she often will speak in English.  She is beyond fiercely loyal to her Master and is eager to please him, even if at times she doesn’t exactly know how, or finds she’s not as refined as other Slaves of Gor and decidedly far more shy. There are times when she gets herself into trouble, possibly by doing something unwitting, or when her emotions swell a bit high. Yet with the understanding guidance of her Master or the corrective lick of his whip, she falls easily back into place.

History:  She’d been down and out on her luck, flunked out of college, in debt, with one foot out on the street as rent was overdue.  She had a dead end job that didn’t pay enough and nowhere else was hiring.  One night on her way home, she was captured. She’d bitten and clawed and yet there was no escape.  She hardly remembered much else, being placed in a tube, it seemed she very much wished to forget and blocked it mostly from thought

Awaking in the new word was frightening and traumatic enough to rob her of her voice.  Like a few of the girls she was silent and nothing could make her use her voice, unlike others who shrieked, screamed, and pleaded in earnest. Not even when the whip struck her flesh, did she do more than whimper. It was not that she was numb, the pain flashed in her brilliant green eyes and her body did move, it was merely as if she’d forgotten what her voice was for, save for small cries.

She’d been lucky that day, her Master had been traveling by and seen her tiny form on the block.  He purchased her for her exotic looks, impossibly dark skin, marked with thin lines of ink, and emerald orbs that stood out against her complexion like gems. Infinitely he was patient with her, teaching her, watching as she coped and pushing her to do so, and after while her voice came back even if she did not speak much at first, not knowing the language.

It wasn’t so often the whip tasted her flesh, she was ever grateful to the man; she understood enough to know he protected her and that her care or lack thereof was solely in his hands, as such she did all she could to please him in thanks.

If He commanded her to stand in one spot and continue to stand there until she saw a white Tabuk, she would do so. If eventually He came back and told her to walk across flaming coals, she would say nothing and force her weary body across them. Should a time arise and His life were at stake, gladly she would give up her own so that He may live, in payment for Him having kept it safe and attended.