The Breaking Point
Short Exerts of Trisskar Vanders exploits
Short Exerts of Trisskar Vanders exploits
“M’lorrrd, General, Darmuk” Lady Rae announced with hands extended in greeting. Pronouncing each word clearly for all those around them to hear, as if the very title was worth such a worthy note “It is so very good to see you! Has it really been so long?”
Lady Rae was a respected Zygerrian noble. She was especially known for her ability at raising some of the most top quality of servants, a few of which were purchases by the high queen herself. A mark on the house of Rae that she carried with utmost pride and flaunted to her under class men whenever possible.
Zygerrians were feline in appearance, however biologically related to baseline humans. Lady Rae had deep red and black markings, elaborate gold patterns dyed into her fur. She was a young noble and slaver, but she did her job well.
"So good to see you again Lady Rae," Darmuk said on a growl as he gestured to the floating frame next to him. A carbonate block of what appeared to be a sleeping child "I have a challenging one for you."
"Oh...oh my!" Lady Rae gasped as she approached the table "M'lord you honor me! My guards did not say you were bringing gifts!" Lady Rae trailed a clawed finger across the surface cheek of her new toy "You shouldn't have."
Darmuk gave a rumble as he crossed his arms and eyed Lady Rae, watching cautiously as she looked over his ‘present’. "I take it you like it then?"
"Oh indeed!" lady Rae exclaimed “It will be a fine addition to the house of Rae. For no animal is too challenging for my staff. But...what’s the occasion?" the lady questioned, turning her piercing gaze from the framed table to the Lord General "Any 'special' requests?"
Darmuk growled like an angry cat. "I want her ground into dust and reshaped into something far more useful. I don't care how but I want her to suffers for the insults paid," he hissed out. "I will however be gone for a time. I'll be back though, just needing to lie low as I'm sure you know how that goes."
Lady Rae chuckled pleasantly and placed a clawed hand on his chest "yes...i know how it goes" She gave an audible purr "by the time you return it will be the perfect specimen for your pleasure m’lord, this..I promise you. I owe nothing less after all"
“Look what we have here!” With a firm push, Triss felt herself fall down the steps, yelping out in painful surprise as she sprained her ankle in an attempt to catch her fall on the way down. Firm hands caught her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake so that she would look up at her new Master. The face of the man was scarred and burned, cybernetics visible on one side of his face, and the grip on her shoulder’s told her it wasn’t just his face that had been modified with machine.
“Well now, aren’t you a pretty little thing” the gruff voice of the man chuckled down at her. “I can see why Lord Darmuk wishes to keep you alive.” Triss, in her defiance spat a wad of spit on the cyborgs face, cursing at him in the sith tongue. But despite all her effort, all those around her merely laughed as if she were a small child throwing a very humorous tantrum. It was then that the horrors began as she was passed from one set of hands to another, each making comments and pawing at her. Some asked her questions on what she had in her pouches and side satchel, another had snatched up her saber commenting on how well it had been designed, while others still began to get far more personal. One sleezy initiate stroked her soft braided hair and purred pleasantly, commenting on how nice she smelled.
Once she had been stripped of all her possessions, and robes, she was pushed to the ground, sputtering as mucky water and mud splashed up and all over her front. The room they were in was far different from the blank, white tunnel she came from. The place was foul and dirty, a hole dug out of sections of the earth with dirt walls and splintering work desk and table. Chains pegged to the walls and ceilings for obvious uses. Perhaps once, this room was as white as the tunnel beyond the door, mucked up and dirty as years of work proceeded within it’s walls. Triss, dared not speculate. She was given no chance to respond to her abusers, this is how it would be from now on. A feral animal like her needed to be kept under guard at every second or risk losing control of their chains.
Firm hands grabbed her once more as they yanked, pulled and tore at the remaining garbs clinging to her until she was stripped bare. Flanked on both sides she was held on her knees and bent forward, forced to watch as the master took her belongings piled in front of him and slowly began to throw them into the fire built into the muddy wall. Her clothes flared up instantly as the flame licked out at the new fuel offered to it. Her satchel and utility belt was soon to follow leaving her saber as the last of her possession. Grinning knowingly he picked the precious weapon up in hand and gave it a firm twist, releasing the core and gently pulling out the violet crystal that Bryen Nargon, A Jedi Apprentice had gifted to her. The shell and core of her saber were tossed into the fire with the rest of her diminishing items. And the crystal was gently placed on a stone in front of her.
Triss hissed inwards as she realized what was about to happen, her muscles tensed against the firm hands holding her as she began to struggle and before she could stop herself she began to beg, tears in her eyes “N..no please!” It was a waisted effort as the Master laughed watching her, he had found one weakness and was quite sure he would find more. With a heavy, steel plated boot he stomped down upon the precious gem shattering it into tiny peaces and grinding them under foot before kicking the powdered shards out into the murkey water, the violet dust vanishing into the muck in front of her. Triss cried and struggled as she attempted to leap at the Master. Oh how she wanted to wrap her hands around his thick neck and strangle the life out of him!
The Master however had only just begun. Retrieving a sharp knife from the work station he approached his subject with a disturbing, gleeful smile across his scared face. Hands gripped her bangs, forcing her to look to the ground as the Master grabbed ahold of the long tail of raven hair and with short work cut it from her head, the remainder of her hair falling short at chin level as he stepped back, holding the soft lock in hand and pressing it up to his face, he then inhaled deeply before nodding to his servants.
What happened next Triss would never repeat to anyone, the savages that pawed and groped at her did well to take away every last sense of security. She only had herself to blame, she had failed, and in this moment she would have no doubts of that failure. Perhaps she deserved the abuse, the fists, boots, leather and chain straps that beat against her flesh while much more beat at her humility.
Darkness had taken her at some point during the abuse, her body and mind finely giving out after hours of their reckless and violating work. It didn’t last however, she had no idea how long she was out, be it several hours or only a few moments she couldn’t say. All she recalled was her back being pressed against rough wood. Limbs and body straped down with heavy and rough leather straps, restraining her from movement. A sharp sting to neck caused her to jerk in shock as the familiar fire of adrenalin rushed to her blood stream, it would be enough to keep her awake. Yet another key rule to the process of breaking, sleep deprivation was a useful aid at ripping down stubborn and defiant wills.
Triss struggled to open gold struck, emerald orbs, the smell of a hot iron causing her nostrils to flare and her throat to burn as she coughed due to the fumes of burning metal. A scratchy and grubby finger stroked her right shoulder, tracing the lines of her Bladeborn Mark of protection.
“Aaah I know what this is” he whispered in her ear “How very careless of you....” he chuckled knowingly, having caught a few protected subjects before. There was only one way to deal with these kinds of subjects, and not many could survive the process. Still...it had to be done, it would do them no good if the Bladeborn were to find them and cause delays in their work. “We can’t go having that now....can we?”
Triss understood, it didn’t take a genius to know what was coming next as the stinging smell of hot metal grew stronger. She squirmed and struggled, she begged, cried and screamed for their mercy. She had already lost everything she held dear and now they were washing away what remained. The Bladeborn mark was her heart and soul, given to her by the man she had grown to love so deeply and passionately. It was the last she had of him aside from his sword, which she could see by the fire being melted into a large pot, a stone mold resting near by to create the collar that would be the final mark of her slavery.
Gold flecked, emerald eyes looked around wildly...she noticed in the haze of her vision that the servants of the Master convened in a circle around her, all with their hands out, heads bowed and chanting in low tones, she realized the haze was smoke from the fire, smothered out by a wet blanket, lights were dimmed and for once since her capture she could feel the ebbs and flows of the force once more. Except this time, it crackled and hissed around her, her first thoughts leaped to the effects of the plague, but it didn’t quite feel like that. Something was terribly wrong however, she could not grasp it, she couldn’t use it to retaliate against her abusers. It was almost as if she were fighting a tug of war, her grasping one end of the rope desperately, and her abusers held the other. No matter how one described it, she was outnumbered seven to one.
As Triss struggled and begged for Mercy, the ‘Master’ stepped up in front of his subject, strapped to the table and smiled “Let us see how strong you are” he commented before raising both hands and pressing them against the temples of her head. Upon contact Triss arched and screamed out in pain. The Leather strap muffling the sounds as the ‘Master’ joined his servant's in chant.
To Triss it felt as if molten lava had been poured on top of her. It’s sheering hot liquid slowly trailing downwards, clinging to every inch of skin while the energy within the masters hands pulsed through and inside of her. With each pulse memories of her past were brought to focus, then suddenly sliced, as if someone had taken a knife to each one and shredded them each in two. She fought, oh how she struggled for each and every memory brought up and sliced before her. Unfortunately the more she struggled the worse the pain got.
She lived and died many times that night, reliving every horror and pleasure of her past life, then watched as an invisible thread cut through each one. The memories were still there, the experience, knowledge and wisdom that she had gained....but something was missing from them...something unseen and...special.
The severing ritual ended with the hot iron being pressed against the Bladeborn Mark on her shoulder, charring the flesh until there was nothing left but the common brand of a slave. She was now simply the property of the highest bidder, and as the bindings were released, her body slumped helplessly into a shivering heap at the Masters feet.
She was unable to account for what happened afterwards. And only later when she had gain consciousness did she learn from the other slaves that she had been in a feverish dream state for many weeks...at least...according to the guess work charts some of them had made to keep track of days. There were no night and day here, no set schedule or routine, here...time was lost, save for what they could create amongst themselves.
When Triss gained strength enough to move about, she was put to work with the rest of the slaves. The work was dull and pointless, and it all took place in one large chamber hall. The walls, like the tunnel she was brought down, were all white, tall and apposing statues of the ancient sith lords stood along them, made of stone and scrubbed several times a day by a slave, forced to repeat the same chant of submission over and over.... Some slave speculated that the powder used to scrub the statues were made out of the bones of those that had died here, Triss, after her experiences with bone dust in the past...wasn’t about to argue that assumption, nor was she going to think on it.
Death....she had attempted it several times. It was only until the Master had issued two guards to watch her did she eventually find, even that small thread of hope, to be useless. Day by day, chant by chant, she slowly broke under the weight of submission until one such morning the Master had come to check on his subjects. Each scraping as low on their bellies as they could place themselves under his gaze, crying and begging for his mercy. When he walked past Triss, expecting the usual defiance and public display of punishment did he find his brow lifting in surprise as the green eyed slave slowly knelt at his feet, her gaze cast downwards in tired defeat as she silently and without word pressed her forehead against the cold, white stone in front of him.
Smiling smugly he leaned over to one of his personal servants then stepped over the girl to continue his rounds. The usual display of public punishment of the green eyed slave were dropped that day, as were all the hopes of the slaves that looked to her as a beacon of hope. If she could keep fighting, then perhaps one day they could as well...mutters of shock and fear whispered throughout the chambers as each of the slaves went back to their work, some even shooting glances of disappointment her way. She truly became an outcast then....loved by no one...not even herself. A failure unworthy of life or death.