Artemis Lux
g o l d d u s t w o m a n
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Freedom isn't free at all. It comes with the highest of costs: the cost of blood.
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FULL NAME: Artemis Venusia Lux
MONIKERS: Ari, the Lioness
HOMEWORLD: Mandalore
FACTIONS: Mandalorian Empire
RANK: Warrior | Diplomat
FORCE SENSITIVE: Unknown
KNOWN LANGUAGES:
Mando'a, Concordian,
Galactic Basic, Huttese,
Minnisiat, Taarja
AGE: 30
SEX: Female
SPECIES: Human
ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
MARITAL STATUS: Widowed
HEIGHT: 5'5" | 1.65 m
WEIGHT: 122 lbs. | 55.34 kg
BUILD: Slender | Strong
HAIR: Black | Curly
EYES: Green
SKIN: Olive | Fair
DISTINCTIVE MARKS: One beauty mark
and one dimple that emerges when she
smiles, both on her right cheek.
GEAR:
Beskar'gam 1 (heavily dented and worn)
Beskar'gam 2 (a gift from [member="Kad Tor"])
PLAYBY: Lena Headey, Queen Gorgo (300)
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S T R E N G T H S
Bold. Cunning. Willing to sacrifice.
Pragmatic. Resilient. Fiercely loyal.
Trained for war. Educated to lead.
Light. Strategic. Quick on her feet.
W E A K N E S S E S
Hardened. Inflexible. Self-isolated.
Grudging. Prideful. Emotionally repressed.
Small. Easily overpowered in combat.
Xenophobic. Blindly devoted to her people.
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Artemis is a proud woman clothed in dignity and strength, with a hidden might underlying her feminine repose. High cheekbones lend her face a patrician elegance, complemented by expressive green eyes and a mane of obsidian curls that is her crowning glory. Her body is shaped by slender curves that mark her as inexorably Woman, but it is the lean, finely cut muscle that ripples beneath her olive skin that marks her as Mandalorian. She is petite, but neither delicate nor breakable, with legs made for speed and arms capable of wielding a blade as if it were an extension of her own hand. What she lacks in brute force, she compensates for in dexterity and grace—whether in flowing skirts or shining armor.
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in Artemis' words
I remember my youth falling like rain, gently at first, and then all at once until it was gone, washing away my innocence like a flood. I was a high-born daughter of Mandalore and the pride of my father's heart, despite not being the son he wanted. My twin brother died in the womb, and with him, our mother. As a child, I often wondered if I had murdered them, but my father assured me otherwise. 'It was your strength versus theirs, Ar’ika,' He would whisper, kissing my head of wild curls and tucking me into bed. ‘Your strength won.’
That was the beginning of my legacy of loss, and my history of survival.
My formative years were unremarkable. In the heart of Keldabe, I was groomed, polished, educated, and trained for militant-political greatness, like all daughters born under the Mandalorian banner. They built our minds for cunning and our bodies for strength, both for fighting wars across the stars and for bearing children at home. We were the true warriors of Mandalore, carrying its future on our strong shoulders and giving birth to the most formidable soldiers in the galaxy. At eighteen, I took what had once been my mother's place in the heart of Mandalorian diplomacy, becoming a key component of the mind behind the war machine.
I met my husband two years later. Balon was a fierce military strategist and a kind man. We soon married and had our first and only child, Pax, a strong son with my green eyes and his father's dimpled chin. Our family lived in relative prosperity for years, until the wars came. One after another, each new faction swept through like a plague. The First Order, the One Sith, the Republic. The most abhorrent of all were the Jedi.
'In the name of peace, order, and democracy,' they killed my son and husband. Balon was the target of their cruel energy blades, but my brave son leapt in front of his father and met their fatal power first. Pax was seven when he died in my arms. Balon followed soon after. Three years have passed since I last kissed their lips, but not a day has come and gone that I don't trace the outline of their faces in my memory. Not a day has come and gone that I haven't plotted my revenge.
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