Diana Veneris
Sword of Mercy
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NAME: Diana Veneris
NICKNAME: Di
FACTION: Unaligned
RANK: High-born
HOMEWORLD: Eshan
SPECIES: Echani (Near Human)
AGE: 20
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 5’4”
WEIGHT: 115 lbs.
BUILD: Petite
EYES (natural): Crystalline blue
EYES (emotional): Violet
HAIR: Moon blonde
SKIN: Porcelain
FORCE SENSITIVE: Very.
PLAYBY: Emilia Clarke, Daenerys Targaryen
VOICE SAMPLE: Emilia Clarke
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STRENGTHS
- Deeply empathetic: strangers often mistake Diana’s empathetic nature for sweetness. Although Diana is ‘sweet,’ her strength is something far tougher and more durable than mere sweetness, which will likely harden over time as she sees more of the world. Diana’s vast well of empathy enables her to love and champion the most lowly and downtrodden of society, in whom she sees herself reflected like a mirror. Diana is unafraid to fight for her ideals.
- Quick to learn: the constant dominion of her uncle ingrained initial subservience into Diana, but she was quick to understand that her life was her own once she gained her freedom. What Diana lacks in worldliness, she compensates for in sharp mental dexterity and resilience.
- Intelligent, well-spoken: for much of her life, Diana was deprived of her freedom, but not of her education. Although she was not permitted the same training of others her age, particularly of other high-born daughters, she was allowed books. Diana devoured literature and taught herself everything that her peers learned from their schoolmasters; she took great solace in her studies, often viewing books as her only friends in lonely hours.
- Quietly determined: when pushed into the ground, Diana takes root like a seed and blooms. She has a strong sense of self that drives her to confidently persevere through hardship and pull herself up over challenges with sturdy resolve. Much like her perceived ‘sweetness,’ those unacquainted with her are quick to assume that her quiet temperament equates to softness or weakness—two grossly mistaken descriptors.
- Preternaturally gifted: the most notable component of Diana’s physiology, and the catalyst for most of the events in her life, is the archaic brand of Force sensitivity that provoked her people to label her a witch. Her preternatural gifts are unusual in that they resemble the powers associated with primordial eras of the galaxy—ancient, difficult to understand, and far rougher and more wild than their modern counterparts. The enormity of Diana’s power is alarming and might one day become a great asset, but it cannot be discussed without also referencing it as a weakness (see below).
WEAKNESSES
- Sheltered by exile: Diana is driven by idealism, naiveté, and an unrealistic black-and-white code of what she perceives to be just and unjust. She is young, but her inexperience is principally compounded by her life in exile and often renders her disproportionately reliant on others. Until she grows more streetwise, Diana is regrettably quick to trust.
- Impulsive, devastatingly untrained: the almost primeval form of Force sensitivity imbued in Diana is wild and nigh uncontrollable. Her unusual powers are more destructive than productive, almost a curse; Diana can neither control nor summon them at will and often feels as if they control her. Emotion is the largest trigger for their manifestation, which is often unintentionally violent and has resulted in calamitous—and frightening—bursts of telekinesis and biokinesis. The full extent of Diana’s powers are unknown as of yet.
- Resentful of her heritage: despite being raised a pariah among her people, Diana cannot slough away the features that make her distinctively one of them—her silvery hair, nearly translucent blue eyes, pale skin, and her warrior-like propensity for combat that is natural for all Echani. She works hard to separate herself from her oppressors, however, which has deepened her feelings of isolation and left her without a sense of home or loyalty.
- Prideful, stubborn: once Diana sinks her teeth into an idea, she will bite down, hard, and refuse to let go until thoroughly persuaded—whereupon she is prone to pouting like a child. This is the one wrench in her otherwise relatively advanced maturity.
- Latently ruthless: there is a seed of ambition buried deep inside the seeming sweetness of Diana’s soul, and an utter ruthlessness toward those she views to be oppressors that, if left unchecked, could make her just as cruel as they are.
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Diana is frequently described as angelic, though that would be a misnomer. Diana is simply Echani, bearing all of the physical hallmarks that render her species distinctive. Much to her chagrin, she is the consummate Echani woman, unable to mute her race and often attracting unwanted attention from those unfamiliar with her kind.The cushion of her lips is quite full and plush, complementing the general softness of her facial structure. Her skin is pale as moonlight, rivaled in lightness only by the crowning glory of her winter blonde hair, which is long and weighed down by thick, loose curls. The large, rounded shape of her eyes, framed by long lashes, renders her gaze quite soulful, despite her eyes’ piercing, almost translucent blue color—and despite their strange tendency to smolder into a deep violet when angry or upset. The changing color of her eyes often precedes her sporadic eruptions of Force-driven power.
Diana is a petite woman, standing just under average height, with a slender build that is equal parts curved and strong where appropriate. Her body is naturally adept at combat, and she often dresses in loose, flowing robes that are conducive to movement. Her favorite color is blue, as reflected in much of her wardrobe.
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Diana did not adopt Nairobi; Nairobi adopted Diana. The diminutive, unusually white-furred loth-cat—clearly the runt of the litter—appeared outside Diana’s door as if she knew that the exiled Echani girl had no other friend in the world. Diana named the scrappy kitten Nairobi, after a heroine in one of her favorite children’s books, and immediately the pair became inseparable.
Nairobi is rare for her species, with a silvery pale coloring and deep amber eyes. Though no longer a kitten, she is still quite small—but her lofty, temperamental attitude suggests that she views herself as much larger than her actual size. Nairobi is a proud and independent creature but fiercely loyal to Diana, following the girl wherever she goes and often riding along in her rucksack. Nairobi is a fearsome hunter of rodents and can be quite protective of Diana; she will not hesitate to bare her sharp teeth at strangers, even those with good intentions.
Once Nairobi’s heart is won, however, she is the most loving of companions. The depth of comfort she provides to Diana is fathomless; the feline is often the only presence who can quell the unpredictable storm of emotions that trigger Diana’s bursts of violent power. Nairobi can sense the onset of these spells before even Diana can sense them; she will often hop into Diana’s arms or lap before they occur—with or without success.
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in Diana's words
“I did not mean to kill my uncle. He was a cruel man, more my slavemaster than my caregiver, but he did not deserve to die in such agony. I do not remember what I did to incur his wrath that morning—it did not take much. ‘Little sorceress!’ His gravelly voice had bellowed, like so many times before, just as the hideously unforgiving ridge of his knuckles met the tender flesh of my cheek. I crumbled to the ground, as I always did, but instead of clutching my face and counting the blocks of stone in the floor until he finished his ritual punishment—fifty-one blocks in total, and I usually had to count them thrice—I turned over my shoulder and faced my tormentor anew. In that moment, I knew everything had changed. I knew I was no longer the frightened child who would bow beneath my uncle’s thumb. What I did not know was how, or why.I did not know what I was.
‘ . . . your-your eyes,’ My uncle murmured, his face sheet-white as he stumbled backward and gaped at me as if I were a monster. ‘What about my eyes?’ I asked, startled by the eerie stillness of my own voice, wondering if it was truly mine. ‘That wicked, horrible violet!’ He spat, indignation and anger replacing the initial wash of fear over the twisted contortion of his face, silvery and pale just like mine. ‘I know what you’re doing, girl—witchcraft—and I won’t stand for it in my household.’ Before I understood what was happening, I rose from the floor, as if compelled by some force much larger, and much greater, than myself. I squared my shoulders and felt an untold fire fill my belly, threatening to consume me whole. ‘This is not your household,’ I said dangerously. ‘It never has been.’ This made my uncle roar. ‘Impudent child! I should have killed you when your parents had their little accident. Do you know what really happened that day? Do you know how your parents really died?’
I knew, but I never replied. The fire within me had burst.
The grim details of my uncle’s death are hazy to me now. One moment, I stared down my uncle as he stalked forward and made to clutch my throat—the next, I was screaming like a creature possessed, the weight of my own powers ripping forth my body and surging outward. Without lifting a finger . . . without raising a hand . . . without meaning to at all, I snapped my uncle’s neck and watched him fall, just by looking at him. The only thought I had as his life drained was to wonder whether he was counting the blocks of stone in the floor from where he lay, motionless.
The death of my uncle was the start of my freedom, but my story began much earlier than that.
I was born on Eshan, the only child of Tristophan and Iona Veneris. My father, like all Echani, was a fiercely respected warrior, while my mother sat on the high council of women who ruled our culture. I have great conviction that my parents were good people, but our time together was brief. My uncle, Draygar, always resented my mother. He grew up in her shadow and became a volatile, unpredictable man. He was prone to delusions and often cited dicta from Thyrsian culture—the male-dominated derivative and counterpart of matriarchal Echani society—believing that our people would be better off following their lead. I have no proof that he killed my parents. I was only four when they died—a rogue house-fire was the commonly agreed upon story, though some whispered that I killed them—but I remember watching my Uncle Draygar smile.
That was the day I discovered my powers.
The violent outburst of unusual power I had as a child, watching the sheeted figures of my parents removed for burial, obliterated a fourth of the neighboring home and sent two of their children to the medical bay. I do not know who labelled me a witch first—my uncle, or the horrified bystanders—but that moment defined my every second, my every hour, until my uncle’s death. I was shunned by society for my frightening, preternatural nonconformity, no doubt spurred on by the fear-mongering of my uncle, so that the only person I had in the world was my uncle. He took over my parents’ homestead and assumed the high-ranking military position once held by my father; he even managed to worm into my mother’s open political seat, despite male leaders being few and far between in our culture. Everything was unfolding as he had planned.
Everything except for me. I was the variable my uncle could never have anticipated. Now I understand why he kept me locked in the south tower of our home for all of the years following my parents' death, why he beat subservience into my body until my voice barely rose above a whisper, why he kept me like a slave until I purchased my freedom with his life. He was afraid of me, and I cannot blame him—sometimes, I am afraid of myself. I did not understand my strange and violent powers back then, and I do not understand them still . . . nor do I understand what I am, where I should go, or what my purpose is in this life. All I know is that the entire galaxy is at my fingertips. I will leave Eshan and never look back."
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