The Gift

[Artemis Lux]

VAIN HOLLOW

The carpet was beautiful. Even from where it was rolled into a tight, thick coil, the plush crimson velvet shone under the moonlight with all the iridescence of blood, offset by ornate gold patterns that decorated its richly fringed edges. This was no ordinary carpet. No muddy boot nor common foot would ever tread on something so fine or so magnificent. This was a carpet made for a prince.

“Watch your footing, men! Precious cargo we have here!”

A swarthy trio of Mandalorians carried the carpet on their sturdy shoulders, two carrying each end and one holding up the middle, while a fourth directed their precarious footsteps. It was a stormy night on Panatha, and the trail winding up to the formidable mountain fortress of Vain Hollow was rugged and steep. The Mandalorians were quite far from their ship now, its steely outline barely visible through the downpour, as they marched upward and onward with the carpet balanced high in their arms, ever closer to the citadel gates that seemed to rise out of the earth like sharpened fangs.

“Are you well, my lady?” One of the men murmured, lowering his head to whisper closely against the carpet. “It won’t be much longer. We’re almost there.”

The rain beat down heavily, and the sky gnashed its teeth in hideous bursts of thunder and light. The men toiled up the side of the looming crag and emerged near the top, stopping only when a finely armored guard shouted down at them from his watch.

“You there! What business have you with our Lord and Prince?”

“A tribute for the God of Panatha—a gift from Mandalore! A symbol of friendship in these ever-changing tides of war!”

The guard did not reply but instead raised a comlink to his mouth and spoke imperceptibly. After a moment, seeming to have received consent for the newcomers’ passage, he nodded his head and motioned for the Mandalorians to enter safely through the gates. Once inside, a small troop of guards led them deep through the vast halls of the great citadel, to its Apex . . . swiftly and directly to him.

“My Prince!” A guard announced, sweeping out one broad arm. “A gift has arrived from Mandalore!”

On cue, the Mandalorians shuffled into the behemoth’s lair. They slowly knelt and lowered the carpet to the smooth stone floor, giving it a gentle push and unfurling its crimson coil . . .

. . . and suddenly, all at once, the whole world seemed to move in slow motion.

Like a goddess she came.

Long, sinuous limbs, slender curves and valleys. Rolling one shoulder over another with all the molten grace of a dancer. Like Venus the woman came, rolling out of the unfurled carpet and landing low like a lioness, poised to strike and, if necessary, to kill. Brilliant green eyes, almost feline in their calculating appraisal, slowly lifted.

“Darth Prazutis.”

The woman dared to speak, the cultured accent of her voice pushing past the full swell of her lips and ringing out into the air like a call to arms.

She was rising to stand now, dark curls spilling over her fair shoulders and down her back in a crowning glory of black, the thin fabric of her tunic flowing and resettling around the petite curves and lean muscles that so clearly comprised her womanly form, impossible to hide.

“Goliath of Panatha,” She murmured, taking one slow step forward. “The Butcher-Prince. The Destroyer.” With every title, she claimed another step. “The Dark Titan. Lord of Destruction.”

The woman paused.

“Braxus Zambrano, Arch-Prince of Panatha.”

Her eyes held him tightly, glimmering up to him like fearsome stars. She was closing the space between them now.

“My name is Artemis Venusia Lux. I’ve come for your help.”

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Vain Hollow, Panatha

​The mists ever present over the dangerous Iron Mountains hung particularly thick on the dark and stormy night. The very skies torn asunder like an open wound with rain falling like the tears of some omnipresent goddess. Fort Zambrano, Bulwark of Vain Hollow always carefully screened and analyzed those coming through especially those with diplomatic tags and gifs for any of the Arch-Monarchs of Panatha. However with the powerful thunderstorm and an violent dispute occurring between two in the line, [member="Artemis Lux"] fortunately experienced one of the rarest mix-ups and was cleared through. Due to the thoroughness and efficiency of the infamous Blackblade Guard, legendary mandalorian and jedi killers they rarely ever had such mix ups.

When they arrived at the massive Vain Hollow Citadel it was almost surreal at how impossibly large it was. The entire citadel was carved into, under, and built onto one of the largest mountains in all of the Iron Mountains. Wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement a vast, and elite army filled this fortress while zealous crews and slaves toiled away within keeping it operating at peak efficiency. While most of the halls on the way up were comprised of dark metal or carved directly from the elegant black and gold speckled walls, the upper levels were different.

Artemis was brought to the royal wing and more specifically to the Throne Room. The royal keep that was added onto the citadel was designed entirely with a rich black marble. These halls were utterly filled with paintings, sculptures, busts, vases, various works of art all depicting infamous Sith Lords throughout history, and even scenes of battle. No doubt ancient and highly expensive artifact pieces such as vases were located here. Chandeliers hung from the massive ceilings as well.

The Throne Room.

The Arch-Prince of the Panathan Empire, God-Prince of all Epicanthix sat situated atop a massive black iron throne a set of ornate, yet ghastly black and gold robes hung off his massive frame while a dark crown lined with rubies situated atop his head. A pair of Imperial Sentinels flanked either side of his dark throne and the chambers perimeter stood members with the elite Crownguard. To those initiated in the force a billowing darkness rolled off the man like a choking fog, smothering those around, while a pair of luminous sulfuric eyes stared out. Braxus appeared every bit the dark god the Epicanthix people depicted both him, and the God-King as. The Sith Lords eyes fixed on the new arrivals and as they unrolled the beautiful carpet gift...

[member="Artemis Lux"]?

​A women rolled out sprawled atop the carpet like a lioness betraying her petite form, while a mane of black curls hung loosely past her shoulders. The cultural accent of Mandalore hung to her words as she approached, dropping name and title. The pair of sentinels stepped forward blocking her path to the throne axes readied to strike. But just then...a small gesture by the Arch-Prince through the air sent them and the approaching Crownguard right back to their posts. How she passed through security at both Fort Zambrano, and the secondary check down below were incidents he would investigate later, but for now the petite, stunning woman from Mandalore had his interest, the only thing keeping her alive.

​There was a malevolence in his eyes, an unnerving blackness to them as they fell hard upon Artemis. An utter cold strong enough to send shivers down ones spine and a terror strong enough to break hardened warriors washed over the group of Mandalorians. "You come all this way, to ask for my help Mandalorian? How far have your pathetic people have fallen." ​Braxus said, leaning forward in the throne.

​"Give me a reason why I shouldn't have you killed, plead for your life." ​Braxus said, he'd see how she would respond to his clever words, no visual cues on his face giving anything of his intentions away.

 

[Artemis Lux]

Artemis Venusia Lux stood there like a phoenix rising from the ashes, forged out of fire and blood. The small, finely carved muscles that rippled beneath the pale olive of her skin told of the strength that coursed through her body, the birthright of every daughter of Mandalore, while the full curve of her hips spoke of her power to bring forth the next generation of warriors.

She, herself, was a warrior—a huntress, a strategist, a woman of noble blood. Mother of soldiers. Leader of men.

Above all else, Artemis was a survivor. She would not have made the dangerous pilgrimage to Panatha if she was not. Mandalorians were a particularly xenophobic breed; they stuck to their own kind and bore grudges of many sizes, shapes, and colors toward outsiders. Artemis was no different. Etched into the very fabric of her DNA was a fierce loyalty to her people, and a ferocious love for her family that could flip her from a tender mother to a savage lioness in an instant, like a kill-switch at the first sign of danger or threat. The depth of her love ran violent and deep.

All of that was gone now. It had been gone for more than three years. It was taken from her the day that the Jedi killed her husband and their only child, ‘in the name of peace, order, and democracy.’ It deteriorated with the now crumbling planet of Mandalore, all that she once knew and loved scattering across the stars with the dispersion of the Mandalorian clans. She, who had once had everything, now had nothing. Her family, her people, her planet. Her rank and title as a diplomat. Her power, her purpose. All of it was gone. Artemis was utterly alone.

‘You must always find a way to survive, my darling Ari,’ Her father had whispered to her as a child. ‘Always.’

That . . . is why she was here. Here, smuggled inside a carpet, straight into the home of the one breed that the Mandalorians were sworn to fight as bitter enemies: the Sith. Perhaps the two groups loathed each other so much because they saw the same strength reflected back at them in each other like a mirror. This Sith Lord in particular—a full-bodied Epicanthix—had the strength of fifteen Mandalorians.

The galaxy, her whole world, was vastly spiraling into ruin. He was the only man with enough strength, enough power, to keep her from spiraling with it.

It was a bitter truth.

​The energy that surrounded the behemoth Prince was sulfurous and all-consuming. Artemis had sensed it on him like some sort of heavy, alluring cologne when she had rolled out from within the carpet, but as she stood before him now, it pressed in on her slight form like a near-suffocating embrace. It devoured her. The full swell of her chest rose and fell heavily with each breath, but the woman stood proud and tall--as tall as she could stand in the face of the Giant.

He was enormous. The way that Artemis looked at him, though . . . the way that she looked at him suggested that, in her mind, she was just as enormous as he. Those defiant green eyes regarded him as though she towered two feet above his masterful head, as opposed to well over a foot beneath him. She was a little thing in his shadow, but her posture could have moved mountains. Her gaze alone would have killed a lesser man.

She did not spare his guards so much as a passing glance as he pushed them back through the energy field around them. Artemis only had eyes for the Prince.

"My mother held the heart of Mandalore in her palm," Artemis said, moving ever closer. Unafraid. "Like my grandmother before her. And my great-grandmother. For generations, the women in my family ruled over fearsome killers and pulled the strings of the Mandalorian war machine. I come from a long line of warriors and diplomats. It is in my blood."

She was still moving closer . . . ever closer, like a stealthy lioness.

"The Jedi killed my family--slaughtered my only son in front of my eyes. I will not sleep until I have put every last Jedi under my knife. A goal that I am certain you share."

She would not wait for him to agree. There was no time.

"But that's not why I'm here. Mandalore is crumbling. My people have scattered like stars. There is nothing left now. I am alone while the bloodhounds of the galaxy bite at my heels. They would devour me if I were a lesser woman. I come to you for asylum--for safe haven. The safe corners of the galaxy are growing fewer with each passing day."

Artemis stopped now, directly in front of him, daring to draw herself closer to him than his own guards. She lifted the smooth curve of her chin, black curls tumbling past her shoulders, looking up at him with brilliant green eyes that regarded him with all the calculating strength of a feline. Fearsome despite her small size. Utterly inexorable.

"But I know all about you, Your Majesty. From one warrior to another . . . you are the only man with enough strength to keep the hounds tight on their leashes. The only man with enough resources, enough power, to keep the devils of this world at bay. Allow me to stay, and my services in diplomacy, in strategy, are yours."

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Pride.

​The raven haired lioness radiated it like her own force presence clearly visible in how tall she stood, how she stared deeply into the face of a Sith Lord. [member="Artemis Lux"] never wavered as Braxus stared down at her with a gaze that so often scythed down the strongest willed men, yet she never buckled. The woman was by all appearances a small thing physically she was made to look tiny in the presence of the gargantuan Imperial Sentinels standing before her, and all of those who towered around her. Artemis Venusia Lux was well built, she could make any Mandalorian proud to fight by her side. But it was her presence that stood far larger than she could ever hope to achieve physically. The people of Mandalore were warriors much like the Epicanthix and one needed to stand out in more than just the physical if they hoped to rise above and stand out. Around the Amazonian woman radiated the dignifying aura of a leader among men, the alpha of a pack of wolves.

The Arch-Prince leaned back in his throne as she began her plead for mercy, the one chance he'd give her. Anyone else who managed to do what she had done so far, to stand as high as she dared to stand would've already been killed, struck down the moment the carpet unraveled and she began to move towards him. Despite the cold and unreadable expression on his face Braxus was impressed at what she had done so far, curiosity drove him to stay his guards hand. He gave the mandalorian one chance to impress him like she had already done so far. Artemis did not disappoint. The lioness regaled the tale of her past and the proud bloodline of leaders, strategists, and diplomats she came from. She spoke of the harrowing details of how she stood on the cusp of real power on Mandalore before the dogmatic Jedi robbed her of everything she held dear, from her family to her very own clan gone. A grin formed on Braxus's face as her hatred rose at the very mention of the Jedi her subtle approach filled with emphasis and aggression, a stalking beast.

​But she was right.

​Mandalore was crumbling following the disappearance of Ra Vizsla, greatest Mandalore of the known age. The clans were falling into stagnation and just recently a great cataclysmic event rocked the capital to its very core. When he was given his last update the casualty reports were still climbing with each passing day. But while the Mandalorians had been laid low always they rebuilt, always they pieced their sector of space back together and came back stronger. How long it would truly take remained to be seen, but still here she was. A survivor running from the gnashing teeth of hounds seeking to devour her yet instead of turning and enduring her crucible, she changes the rules. Artemis Verusia Lux pleaded for his asylum, his mercy in sparing her life and defending her from the hounds at her heels. The lioness readily offered her services, her skills to sweeten the bargain and secure her position.

​But it was a gamble.

​In truth she had nothing left but herself, everything else worth something had been robbed from her in the past few years of her life. But a willingness to adapt and betray her own people, and skills he had yet to truly see for herself, along with an cunning and sharp mind he bore witness to so far. "It's a dangerous game you're playing by coming here Artemis Verusia Lux. You come to my Empire, my home with nothing but your name and a telling story, yet you ask me to give you my favor." ​Braxus said shifting his weight in the throne. "Yet so far I've seen fortune carry you here and well crafted words to speak of your skill. I have yet to see what your true value is. Strategists and diplomats I have."

​"Furthermore Mandalorian. Your misguided belief of their foolish ideals will get you nowhere in my Empire. There is but one crown, one set of ideals my people adhere to." ​Braxus leaned forward slightly before continuing "A test will be required."

 

[Artemis Lux]

​“A test?” Artemis raised the smooth arch of her brow. All the while, the ghost of a smile tugged at the dimple in her cheek—a subtle challenge. “I would expect no less from a prince. How else can you be certain I won’t slip into your bedchambers and slit your thick neck while you sleep?”

The huntress tossed her proud head.

“If my people’s foolish ideals have taught me anything, Your Majesty, it is how to survive. I assure you I did not travel this far with ill intentions. If I have fallen so low as to stand here asking for your help, you may take great comfort in knowing that I have fallen very low indeed.”

The insult rolled off her tongue with so much elegance and wit that a weaker man might have thanked her and asked her to insult him again. Braxus was no such man. As Artemis held his smoldering gaze, she knew that he was right. She was playing a dangerous game.

The Butcher Prince—the Giant of Panatha—was just that. Fearsome. Enormous. Lethal. No man, woman, or child alive did not know of his dreadful exploits. He slaughtered thousands out of habit and waged warpaths that threatened to bring the whole galaxy to its knees. Gazing up at his masterful form, Artemis knew that he had earned every title attached to his name. She knew why his people revered him as a god. He was swarthy, handsome, terrifying. He could crush her body with the squeeze of one hand . . .

. . . and yet, he did not.

Artemis knew that she had captured his interest, and she was intelligent enough to use it to her advantage. It was the only thing keeping her alive. Men seemed to prefer beautiful women alive.

There was something else there, though. Something in the way the princely behemoth leaned back in his throne and looked at her with those primal, savage eyes—something in the way he then leaned forward, absorbing the full weight of her words. Artemis could not pinpoint just what it was, exactly, but something deep within the pit of her belly stirred.

There was no turning back now. It was exhilarating.

“Test me.”

Artemis commanded, her voice coming out like the low, warning purr of a feline. Green eyes flashed up toward him as if she, herself, was a queen—even more than a queen, a conqueror.

“Test me,” She purred. “And I will put your greatest strategists and diplomats to shame.”

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Again.

Once more [member="Artemis Lux"] spoke as if she stood as tall, as if she held something over him. The aura of arrogance surrounding the woman who stood like a Queen, and the defiant gleam in her eyes showing she would never be intimidated boiled his blood. But on the face of this Dark Titan, this Conqueror there was no visible reaction. No explosion of anger and rage occurred around them and he held the same cold expression on his face. Braxus kept his fear inspiring gaze bearing down on her vibrant green orbs.

Then it happened.

The Sith Lord formed his left hand into a pincer sign and pushed his two fingers together. Artemis would feel the sudden jerk as an invisible iron vice was closed down on her throat cutting off swiftly her ability to breath. While she gasped and choked for air he simply he gazed down at the mandalorian with fury in his eyes, but quite suddenly he chuckled "You forget who you deal with, woman. You sneak your way into my home with nothing, no advantage, no leverage, nothing to offer. You give me nothing but your word and skill and expect everything. I hold your life in the palm of my hand." Braxus said, leaning forward.

"You mean nothing to me. Your death would mean nothing but trash littering the floor of my throne room. If you wish to remain alive you will show the respect a monarch is to be given." He would let her choke until just before her faced would turn blue, right before the end of it all he would release his grip on her neck. "Your life depends on whether or not you pass, Artemis Venusia Lux. Failure is not an option." He said. Braxus would then command the black power of the dark side using his anger and hatred to smash through the defenses of her mind to ensnare her in an iron grip. Everything turned black around Artemis's vision with the exception of her and the Arch-Prince now standing. The environment around them suddenly changed and now they stood in the beautiful courtyard of a stunning, large cathedral.

All around banners and symbols of black, almost hydralike skull with many tentacles jutting from it sat on a yellow field trimmed in black. The sun was setting in the distant night sky choked black from billowing clouds of smoke carrying into the skies above, an storm of fire burned on the outskirts of the city. All around men wearing black, gold, and red robes surged all bearing pendants to some dark, malefic god while others wore armor encrusted with its symbol carrying a myriad of blasters.

However the oddest part was that not a single one of these individuals seemed to see the dark pair, they didn't even achknowledge them. "Lead the defenders to victory against their attackers, and you will pass. Fail and you die along with them." He said. Just then the Arch-Prince suddenly disappeared. Quite suddenly one of these priests came barreling through the open gates around the cathedral, entering from within the massive city. "Your holiness! Your holiness!" He called out seemingly to her. "We have been betrayed! The Emperor he was who the legends promised...he, he's here. Your holiness it's a bloodbath all throughout the cities the faithful are being slaughtered. The Blackblade Guard march on our walls at this very moment! All ten thousand!”

 

[Artemis Lux]

​The Giant looked at her with the same dark, eerie stillness that seemed to precede storms in nature. He, himself, was a force of nature—wild, unpredictable, the maker of rules. For the first moment since she rolled out from the carpet, Artemis was afraid. His silence frightened her more than anything else could.

It happened in an instant.

Those large, thick fingers curled into the most delicate of pincers. Artemis watched it all happen as if in slow motion. She could not breathe. The air in her lungs expelled at his command as if drawn out of her petite body and into his waiting hand. Her slender throat tightened, and she felt the rise and fall of her chest give way to constricted stillness. He was literally squeezing the pride out of her, forcing her obedience and taking from her what she would never willingly give.

Artemis wanted to scream. She wanted to spit in his face like an angry cat. She wanted to make good on her threat of using her blade to open his neck from ear to ear and watch his blood weep a crimson baptismal into the earth. She wanted to do a great many things, but she was utterly powerless in his hands. For the proud Lioness, there was no greater punishment other than death.

Death did not seem like such a far-off thing now. Artemis could see it glimmering enticingly in the distance as her sight began to fade from lack of oxygen, memories of her slain friends and family swimming into view. Her hands crept up her throat, the full bud of her lips parting as if to kiss death tenderly when it arrived. Through it all, however . . . through it all, her brilliant green gaze still pressed into Braxus, faint but fierce, resolved to hate him to the bitter end.

But he would not give her the luxury of death.

The God of Panatha released his masterful grasp, and Artemis could not help but buckle forward onto her knees, gasping—even whimpering—as the crown of her obsidian curls bowed into the floor. To Artemis, kneeling at his feet was worse than death. She would have gladly died standing. For a moment, she simply allowed herself to breathe, jealously drinking up the oxygen back into her strained lungs, coughing with each breath. He had hurt her, such a large man wielding his strength against such a small female.

But Artemis, indomitable Artemis, would only be bent, not broken. She rose to standing once more, hell in her eyes and fire in her belly.

The deep thrum of his voice was the last thing she heard:

“Your life depends on whether or not you pass, Artemis Venusia Lux. Failure is not an option. Lead the defenders to victory against their attackers, and you will pass. Fail and you die along with them."

The throne room faded into merciful oblivion.

Artemis no longer stood in the throne room at all. In fact, she was certain she had traveled quite some distance away from Vain Hollow and stood in the midst of what could have only been either a far-off hellscape or a scene from a gruesome nightmare. It was Panatha, but not Panatha as she knew it. Screams curdled through the billowing smoke that hung in the atmosphere like natural-born fog, carrying with it the odious scent of freshly spilled blood. Artemis could feel the terror of a thousand souls squeezing in on her from all sides. What should have felt like a fever dream felt utterly real.

“Your holiness! Your holiness!”

Artemis snapped to attention, eyes flickering from the magnificent cathedral looming before her like a beacon to the priest emerging from its gates.

"We have been betrayed! The Emperor he was who the legends promised...he, he's here. Your holiness it's a bloodbath all throughout the cities the faithful are being slaughtered. The Blackblade Guard march on our walls at this very moment! All ten thousand!"

For a moment, Artemis was confused—but only for a moment. She responded as if born into her role. “How many of our men are ready to assemble?”

“Not enough, your holiness! They outnumber us ten to one—nearly a quarter of our men have already deserted, fled for their lives. The Blackblade Guard will slaughter us all!”

Artemis felt her stomach curl, but on the surface, she merely nodded. There was no time for panic. No place for weakness, no room to be soft. Not here. Not now. Instead, her mind launched into its most instinctive, methodical calculation—refined for strategy and survival.

‘Fail to defend—run—we die.’ She thought. ‘Defend—stand our ground—we die.’

It was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation, and Artemis knew it with increasing dread. She felt the weight of a thousand lives, and their deaths, pile onto her shoulders. One-by-one. It was excruciating. All around them now, the hulking shadows of the Guard began to circle and prey like wolves.

“Take what women and children you encounter down into the cathedral cellar,” Artemis murmured, extending one hand to hold fast to the priest’s arm. “I will gather what men we have remaining.” She gave his arm a squeeze, hardened green eyes boring into his own. “This is an impossible victory. We cannot win. Whether we flee or whether we fight . . . we will all die.”

Artemis released his arm, drawing herself up to her full height, giving all the impression of a small but mighty warrior princess.

“I intend to die fighting.”

She turned and made to plunge into the smoke.

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

As [member="Artemis Lux"] charged headlong into the embattled streets what she saw could only be described as a living nightmare. In the blackish hellscape of burning buildings lay a wide steet so littered the bolt and blade ridden bodies of the fallen, their robes and armors stained thick with crimson blood. So much blood had been spilled on the street that small puddles surrounded her, their crimson waters soaking into her clothes. All around her were the screams of the dead and dying, even those who surrendered or deserted were swiftly torn down. The soldiers at her side were riddled in a storm of fire from the demons clad in black.

Then he came.

A dark man clad in an set of black and gold armor similar to the demons strode forward: a Destroyer. The man was massive in size with his black hair cut short while his face remained clean shaven. It was unmistakeably Braxus Zambrano, his luminescent sulfuric yellow eyes staring down at her, lightsaber in hand. However as he approached everything stopped. Once more darkness engulfed the two and the visage of a younger Braxus stared her down with a malefic grin on his face: "Well done." The dark prince said.

Suddenly she was back in that dark throne room kneeling before the Arch-Prince. "You are correct. The test wasn't designed for you to win, it was designed to test your intelligence, your awareness, among other traits." Braxus said. "The truth of what happened there should be obvious to you." He added. The Purge of the Cult of Nemeroth was a proud moment in the early days of their reign. The idea that the cult of their ancient ancestor still remained, and still held great power in the modern world boiled the blood of his nephew.

In a great system wide purge they wiped the cult from the world, leaving nothing but the old ruins of the great cathedral in Qocia as a symbol for what happened there. "I will accept you into my service Artemis Venusia Lux. However. You will show the respect befitting your new god, or your life will not be yours to keep."

 

[Artemis Lux]

​The dark figure emerged from the smoke like some sort of knight in shining armor, but twisted. He did not wear gleaming robes of white nor ride in on a noble steed. He did not scoop Artemis into his arms and carry her off into the sunset. There was no sunset—the blood-red sky was clouded over in smoke. He wore black and gold armor and radiated death. Even with his unfamiliar yellow eyes and face that looked as though it had traveled back in time, Artemis would have recognized him anywhere:

Braxus Zambrano, pulling her from the depths of his virtual hell and back into reality. She had passed his test. She had won his wicked game. The vision he had so artfully created pulled away like a veil of cobwebs, and all at once, the throne room re-materialized around them. They had returned to the present day; what had felt like hours to Artemis, had been mere minutes—mere seconds.

As her body fell out of the vision to the throne room floor, she found herself back on her knees, breathing heavily as if she had just emerged from a drowning pool. It took Artemis a moment to remember where she was or how she had gotten there. Her small hands touched the cool stone floor, slowly caressing down to the edge of the red velvet carpet that still lay spread from where she had unfurled herself from its secret coil. Everything came rushing back to her in a wave of memory. Every last detail.

From high above, Braxus’ voice boomed down like thunder over her raven head, from where she was still bent to the floor. Of all that he said . . . his last words struck her the most.

"I will accept you into my service Artemis Venusia Lux. However. You will show the respect befitting your new god, or your life will not be yours to keep."

Artemis slowly lifted her head, that inexorable mane of dark curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Green eyes flashed dangerously, locked dead on the man who would now become her Lord and Sovereign.

“As you wish . . . Your Majesty.”

S O M E T I M E LA T ER . . .

“It’s been ages since I’ve had a lady to dress in the castle! The other servants have been whispering—they say you arrived hidden in a carpet, this very night! That you demanded an audience and a position with the Arch-Prince and got them both. In all my years of service, I have never heard of such a thing. Is it true?”

Artemis stood in the washroom of the small living quarters that she had been provided, while the rosy figure of an older woman fussed and flitted, to and fro, brandishing brushes, perfumes, fabrics, and jewels.

“It’s true,” Artemis replied quietly, allowing the woman to guide her onto a cushioned seat in front of the large, illuminated mirror.

Artemis studied her reflection. She had been bathed and scrubbed until the smooth olive of her skin glowed like honey, faint tinges of rose filling the apples of her cheeks and highlighting the full swell of her lips. Perfume was dabbed into the crook of her neck and on each of her palms, and obsidian jewels sparkled from both of her ears. The old woman worked diligently to tame her wild black curls, combing them into silken ringlets that poured all the way down to the small of her back. It had been so long since Artemis had been afforded these small luxuries. As a diplomat, and as a daughter of nobility, she was no stranger to them—but war, and the ongoing destruction of her planet, left no room for luxury of any kind. For a moment, looking back at her fine image in the mirror, Artemis felt an intermingled pull between guilt and relief. The Arch-Prince certainly spared no expense in outfitting his advisors.

“You look beautiful, my lady. Let’s get you dressed. I think this is your color.”

A full gown of the deepest red slipped over the slender curves and valleys of Artemis’ body and clung to them lovingly; the modern design was cut low in the back to leave the smooth plane of her back and shoulders exposed, and with every movement, the loose fabric flowed freely and pleasantly around her legs. It was lovely and quite comfortable, fitting Artemis like a glove—and the older woman was right. Red was her color.

There came a knock at the door. Artemis’ breath caught in her throat. It was time.

Several winding corridors—and what felt like an eternity—later, Artemis was led directly to the meeting hall where she was told they would be gathered for dinner and a briefing, the subject of which would be revealed in due time. He would be there, too. With one quiet breath, and the commanding rush of her crimson gown . . . Artemis ventured through the door and brought the room to a grinding halt.

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Some time later…

Braxus Zambrano stood in his chambers dressed down in a black doublet with gold buttons lining the center, his massive neck was exposed revealing a set of nasty scars peaking out. A pair of matching black trousers encircled a set of dark combat boots. Finally atop his head sat the dark crown ringed in rubies, the symbol of his divine rule. Braxus had just finished preparing when the doors of his chamber swung open following a series of sharp knocks. Inside came a rather tall epicanthix male clearly aged by the lines of his face. The mans eyes were ringed in the familiar sulfuric yellow further adding to the intimidation of his chiseled features.

Lord Commander Zaddion Bruul of the Crownguard.

“My Lord.” He said, bowing. “I am concerned about the dinner preparations in particular the newcomer you’ve allowed, I-” The man was swiftly cut off as the Arch-Prince raised a hand in the air to silence him.

“You needn’t worry about her. She will prove to be a great asset to us, and all of our Empire. I have forseen it.” Braxus said. In truth he only saw fragments of the vision that the force decided to send him. One thing he was sure of though: [member="Artemis Lux"] presence on Panatha and in his court was good. Despite her misguided beliefs in Mandalorian culture, Braxus had faith. She had figured out his test, saw through its puzzle when many others had not. She was gorgeous, intelligent, cunning, and radiated an aura of power and leadership. Artemis Lux would bring him fortune at his side.

Once her beliefs were broken.

When she swept into the great dining hall an elaborate dark table sat before them lined with every variety of food and drink, while members of Panatha’s elite and the ruling governing body of the Pacanth Reach sat around the table, nearly all of them gaudily dressed. The Arch-Prince sat in his throne at the tables head his eyes glancing over at her as she entered. They lingered on her form before he spoke “This is Artemis Lux, she is the newest addition to my court.” Braxus said, looking over at her “Come Artemis please sit.” He gestured at an empty seat.
A team of gaudily dressed servants stood by the telltale mark of slavery sat in the form of phoenixes tattooed onto the sides of their faces.

[member="Artemis Lux"]

 

[Artemis Lux]

The whole world seemed to stop and stare as Artemis stood in the threshold. Nearly all of the probing eyes were male; a quick assessment told her that her gender was vastly outnumbered here. Most of the eyes who watched her were curious, but some of them . . . some of them, Artemis could feel their contempt cut across the dining hall like knives. Outsider. Mandalorian. Temptress. These were the men Artemis felt certain were questioning the Arch-Prince behind closed doors. How dare you let her join us? How dare you let her in? For a moment, she might have felt self-conscious—but instead, she merely lifted her chin and wrapped herself up in pride as though it was battle armor. In a den full of hungry wolves, her vivid green eyes sought the Alpha.

There he was.

Braxus was seated at the end of the long, elegant dining table in a throne fit for a King—the King that Artemis knew he would be one day. She might have shuddered at the thought of such a violent man wearing the crown if she had not been overcome by an entirely different sensation. He looked quite well this evening, and Artemis found that there was some twisted comfort in seeing his face, if only because his was the only familiar face there, and all the others did not look nearly so pleased to see her. She noticed his dark gaze linger, and she returned it. He called her name and motioned for her to sit.

There were two chairs open: one between a set of particularly mean-looking gentlemen who glared at Artemis with yellowed, smoldering eyes, as if silently daring her to come as close as an inch, while the other was situated near the end of the table on the right-hand side, closest to Braxus. Either seat was a gamble. Artemis decided to choose the evil with which she was most familiar.

The Lioness, gliding past the line of servants without a glance, delicately held the sides of her crimson gown and lowered herself down to the seat closest to the throne. The chair felt cold against the opened-back design of her dress, the bare skin of her shoulders and back pressing against the smooth metal. It was almost enough to send a chill down her spine, but Artemis maintained her composure. Every movement she made spoke of her noble breeding. Now more than ever, it was important for these people to know just who she was. Her presence, if nothing else, commanded their respect. Claiming her seat, the cultured accent of her voice came out as a quiet but powerful murmur.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Artemis turned her head to Braxus as she spoke, the crown of her shining dark curls falling behind her shoulders and grazing the exposed small of her back. A wonderful scent floated by with the motion, and she was gratified to note that each ringlet still smelled of the fresh rosewater from her bath. It was a small comfort in the shadow of the murderous Giant, whose only mercy toward her seemed to be based on curiosity. She resolved to keep him interested. She resolved to stay alive.

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​In she came like a storm sweeping across the room.

​The gazes of the High Lords - the Panathan Empires planetary governors were noticed as they fell hard on the newly arrived Lioness. The telltale scowls forming on their faces in the briefest genuine moments told him everything he needed to know: Outsider. A mandalorian snuck her way into the palace with blind luck and a bit of ingenuity, they were less than pleased. However these looks quickly vanished from their faces as the Arch-Prince spoke. Despite the words of their Arch-Prince he made clear his will of her standing on his council. They wouldn't dare challenge him or move against him for all of them worshipped him as their god.

​Most of them zealously took trips when time permitted to the proud capital city of Canthar, to prey in the great temple levels of the Hasi' Sulemi where the holy church deifying him and the God-King was located. They might have reservations about the decision, but his word was law. They'd trust his word or they'd be replaced it was that simple.

​Artemis swept into the room in an elegant scarlet dress temptingly exposing her shoulders and a portion of her back, while her once ragged dark mane was now delicately brushed by careful hands, the scent of rosepetal water hit his highly attuned nostrils as she sat down. Every move across the room and every shift [member="Artemis Lux"] carried herself just as highly as any one of the noble blooded leaders in the room. Except there was something greater about the presence she carried, especially being dwarfed by virtually all of them. The brilliant blaze behind her emerald eyes told more then her words ever could.

But still he felt defiance in her hateful stare, and defiance he could not stand for.

It needed to be snuffed out.

So he hatched a devious plan to bleed the defiance and pride from the Lioness, burn out her loyalty.

"Let us begin...and discuss the Mandalorians." ​Prazutis said, his gaze shifting towards Artemis briefly before looking at the others. A voice soon rang out "Your majesty, Mandalore is in ruins after the recent cataclysmic event. The death toll is climbing in the tens of millions. Morale seems to have been laid low in the aftermath." ​One of the men said.

"The Mandalorians while a political enemy will cause us no trouble. They still haven't found the culprit of who caused the event to occur. They're too foolish to see this plan could've only come from within." ​Braxus said. In truth he spoke with a duality, one with truth and the other to continually degrade Artemis.

 

[Artemis Lux]

So this was how it was going to be. Artemis knew exactly what Braxus was doing: dangling her love and loyalty for her people in front of her face, waiting for her to bat at it like a ferocious little cat. She should have expected as much from him. She should have expected more little mind games, more pushes and pulls in the power struggle between them that had begun to build like a smothered flame, just waiting to explode into wildfire.

He wanted to break her, and in return, she wanted to break his nose. Desperately.

Artemis felt her knuckles clench and tighten from where they lay, folded like little birds in her small lap underneath the table. The smooth plane of her back straightened, and if Braxus looked at her closely enough, he would be able to see the flicker of multi-layered emotions working behind the otherwise cool exterior of her elegant features. After a moment, her clear green eyes flashed to lock onto his swarthy, devilish face.

" . . . what does His Majesty suggest?" The Lioness asked, her voice low, the taste of his formal title feeling bitter on her tongue. "That one of my peo--that a Mandalorian was responsible for this tragedy?" She had caught herself. "--that a Mandalorian would sentence his homeworld and his countrymen to death?"

Artemis shook her head, the glory of those dark curls framing her face like a silken mane.

"This is the greatest humanitarian disaster of our time, and you would point your finger at the very people who suffer. You are right that they will cause you no trouble--they will all be dead. That's all very convenient for you, isn't it?"

The words, as she said them out loud, sliced open a wound in her heart that she had fought desperately to patch, with all the success of sticking a thumb in an overflowing dam. It was futile. Her heart ached for Mandalore. What hurt most of all was the hideous realization that she could do nothing. Her husband, her child, her family, her planet--all dead. Mandalore meant nothing but death and destruction to her now. For a weaker woman, it would have been unbearable.

But Artemis was a survivor.

She allowed the full weight of her words to hang onto the near-electric atmosphere between her and Braxus, before the fearsome green light in her eyes softened--but only fractionally. The effect was akin to a murderous lioness shrinking down into an angry kitten. Her claws were still there, even if her fangs weren't.

"Forgive me, Your Highness. I forget myself."

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​A grin peeked out of the fringes of his face as [member="Artemis Lux"] lashed back violently, the mere mentioning of her people bringing the lioness's claws out.

​It was all expected.

​The Dark Lord was skilled at the art of manipulation and deception when it came to others, and Artemis was one he knew how to play. It was her devotion to such a miserable, failing people that he would break down, forcing her to choose between survival and her people in order to push forward. Slowly the Destroyer would work the woman over with situations like the one they found themselves in now. While she was proud and the fire blazing behind those brilliant emerald eyes told him of her loyalty, there was a struggle behind them. Artemis wouldn't be able to hold up for long against his crushing manipulations.

​It was fated.

​She was intelligent, cunning, and ruthlessly efficient with a radiant aura of leadership he needed at his side. Not to mention a warrior born and raised, the woman's presence eclipsed even some of his own advisors. When he glared down to her the room fell silent. The words spilled from his mouth with a chilling fog that was cold as ice, a completely apathetic attitude "The amount of dead Mandalorians your kind have stacked does not concern me, Artemis. Whether your miserable people live or die is of no concern. They've dug themselves this grave with their foolish ways, now they must lay in it." ​Braxus said. For a moment he picked up the milky green alcoholic beverage Absinthe, savoring its licorice taste before speaking once more.

​But this time it was different.

​The words rolled off his tongue in the language of mando'a as if he was a native speaker directed to Artemis. "Narir va tekuva at jorhaa'ir at ni emuurir Ni kar'taylir naas be gar betyer, Ti'puri'r Lux."(Don't presume to speak to me like I know nothing of your culture, Lady Lux)

 

[Artemis Lux]

Artemis froze. His voice . . . those words. They were her own. Artemis wanted to drink in his voice like water, so parched was she for the comfort of her homeworld. The sound of her people tumbling past his lips was so warm and familiar that she felt something crack and almost splinter within her core. It was unexpected. It was excruciating. For a moment, all Artemis could do was stare hard into the table--biting back the strata of fresh emotion that had washed over her like a wave.

​Breathing in. Breathing out.

Momentarily tamed, the Lioness lifted the brilliant emerald of her eyes to push searchingly--almost gently--into his own eyes, probing deep inside their smoldering depths. Questions, so many questions, hung all over her face like faint, glowing stars.

"Gar kar'taylir ner joha (You know my language)," Artemis murmured, quiet and low for only Braxus to hear. The cultured accent of her voice curled exotically around the words of her native tongue, rolling past the full bud of her lips with loving, tender ease. "Biai? (How?)"

All fell silent.

Artemis held Braxus' gaze, but for the moment, a droplet of defiance had trickled out of her heart. She regarded him now with an expression that fringed on curiosity and lingered dangerously close to grudging respect--if for nothing more than his mastery of Mando'a. Game recognized game. As the noble Panathans began to stir around the table--clearly unsettled by the private words exchanged between their Prince and the dusky, exotic outsider--the glimmer of what appeared to be subdued, almost grim amusement ghosted at the corners of Artemis' mouth. The spark returned to those inexorable green eyes, flashing up to him like a beacon.

"Ni narir va mirdir gar burc'ya emuurir mhi jorhaa'ir bid tgida (I don't think your friends like us speaking so intimately)."

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​There was a very distinct difference between his own version of Mando'a and hers.

​While he was fluent in the language and pronounced it as if he was a native speaker, [member="Artemis Lux"] was a native. A mandalorian born and raised the words of Mando'a spilled from her mouth as easily as an exhaled breath. The articulate words of a highborn native speaker. It was clearly evident to all in the room regardless of how well they understood, which language she had learned first.

Braxus couldn't hide the amused grin on his face as her look of stark defiance and a restrained fury, the tense grip on one of her knives loosened and for a moment the lioness's fury fell away. Artemis's iron clad exterior cracked at the nostalgic words reminding her of home, and he anticipated they flooded her mind with precious memories of the past. It came to him however that she had a past he knew nothing about.

But then again so did he.

While there were the occasional article on the known war criminals of the Zambrano line, anything published with substance was hard to find. There was nothing beyond a certain point that was truly known about the Sith Lord. So she had no idea of his hybrid species, nor of his extensive past prior to his rise in the Sith. A long brutal period in his life that he often considered to be his own crucible, his own dark time where he truly had lost who he was, if he ever knew in the first place. A period where he devolved to his base state to simply hunt and kill man. Braxus simply grinned as he let these images fall away, listening to her words of curiosity and watching as her eyes lingered on him in a different manner then he'd seen so far.

"Meg val narir ra narir va emuurir cuyir be nayc bu'gar'a at ni." (What they do or do not like is of no concern to me.) ​Braxus said the perfect pronunciation of the Mando'a tongue , eating a piece of the succulent smoked meat on his plate, before speaking to her once more. For now the fire in her belly faded on the outside, replaced by a strong curiosity to know more of the Arch-Prince of Panatha beyond the infamous tragedies he was involved in. The Sith Lord paid no mind to the foppish lords about as he drank the absinthe sitting beside the plate, his gaze into Artemis's eyes holding strong.

​There was a fascination in the glimmer of his own eyes as well, studying every line on her face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Cad olyay a ruyaor yirhaou ni gar narir nakar'mir Ti'puri'r Lux. Ni ganar kaplyr gar lalat bal ketyu de gar srukre akaanir tyitr, daorida at tengaanar ni nalkahya kat bal Ni kapr cuyir dinuir baova at tengaanar gar." (There's a lot about me you don't know Lady Lux. I have mastered your tongue and many of your own fighting styles, continue to show me disrespect and I may be given cause to show you.)

 

[Artemis Lux]

Braxus grinned. The effect of his lips pulling away from those pearly teeth was not at all unlike a Lion baring his fangs: deceptively handsome from afar, dangerous and potentially lethal up close. Artemis was a discerning woman. She was not prone to the mawkish vapors of the weaker members of her gender. To be sure--as a refined, educated, and trained daughter of nobility, she could gleam, glide, and converse like the most delicate of gentlewomen. However, that was the extent of the similarities between those wilting violets and the Lioness. Artemis saw Braxus for what he was, and--even as she basked in the rays of his swarthy light--she knew that his indulgence was all that stood between her and the crush of his shadow. Braxus was the special sort of devil who could warm you with his favor and just as quickly snuff your life out into dust.

However, Artemis was not immune to his smile . . . but she would not be drawn in by it. Instead, she offered him a wry smile in return. It was an exchange of poker faces between two equals, neither one entirely willing to give up the cards they held just yet.

"Va'io liser akaanir emuurir a Mando, bruk a Mando--nayc kayariatr biai hra'ne kaysh cuyir, gar Kapalyr."
("No one can fight like a Mandalorian, except a Mandalorian--no matter how large he is, your Majesty.")

Artemis took a slow, steady drink from her own goblet of absinthe and looked at Braxus with glittering emerald eyes--the eyes of a politician, and of a woman who enjoyed quick wordplay.

"Daorida at dema ni bal Ni kapr cuyir dinuir baova at tengaanar gar."
("Continue to doubt me and I may be given cause to show you.")

This was not a threat. Rather, it was a subtle slip of humor in response to his grin, and a natural byproduct of speaking in her native tongue. Artemis felt comfortable. Such was the effect of Braxus wrapping her up in her own language; in such foreign territory to Artemis, and under such dire circumstances, it felt as though they had slipped into their own private sanctuary where she was free to speak, to jest, and to simply be.

It felt good.

Artemis took a moment to delicately sample some of the smokey meat on her plate. She could not remember the last time she tasted something so tender and delicious. It had to have been before Mandalore went under. She took another small sip of her absinthe--the flavors of the alcohol and the meat were complementary--and then set the goblet back down, returning her vivid gaze to Braxus.

"Teh meg Ni joruur, gar shi taylir pirimmuy adate oyayc. A taoase kayunr. Ni malyasa'yr jatne emuurir at cuyir pirimmuy. A Ni va subay cuyir be tarbr at gar meh gar narir va bu'cina ni."
("From what I gather, you only keep useful people alive. A wise policy. I would prefer to be useful--but I cannot be of service to you if you do not trust me.")

It was here that Artemis paused. One long, dark ringlet tumbled silkily over her bare shoulder and down her collarbone as she gently leaned toward him, lowering her voice to a murmur.

"Va'io olar liser motir teg mhi, ner Re ti'pur. Rejorhaa'ir ni er yirhaou gar ni narir nakar'mir."
("No one here can understand us, my Lord. Tell me something about you I don't know.")

Those sharp green eyes flashed, first to the noblemen around the table, and then back to Braxus. She smiled, but even her smile was predatory--sharp, strong, lovely--looking at him as if they shared some sort of wicked secret.

"Er gar ganar va o' rejorhaa'ir mies katcurye ruug'la jag."
("Something you haven't even told these feeble old men.")


[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​It was...interesting.

​When the pair began to converse in the foreign tongue of Mando'a it isolated them from the rest of the room. The others were trueblooded epicanthix who might've spoken a few other languages but the Mando'a was certainly not among them. There was a moment of relaxation and privacy between the pair as their world shrunk down to just them, the rest of the room just faded back into background noise while he spoke with [member="Artemis Lux"]. There was a fascination to learn about the woman who stormed into his life - correction: rolled into his life from atop a brilliant scarlet carpet. It certainly was something he never saw done before not successfully if it had been attempted. But no one who tried sneaking into his palace was so beautiful, so intelligent, cunning, strong, and defiant like she was. It wasn't just that she defied his commands.

It's that she carried herself as if she was his equal, as if she stood on his level in all areas. In fact it was almost as if she thought herself dignified enough to stand above him. But her arrogance wasn't blinding to her common sense, she knew all too well of the unique position that he put her in. However this was a setting he wasn't at all used to being in with Artemis. It was so personal and unique to them, they could speak and no one could ever hope to understand. So now the formalities could be dropped, the care taken could be dropped, and he could speak with her on a level few others could understand. "Ni shi taylir jatne o'r ner ceoapr. Mies meg bu'lya u'a tas katkta narir va kyr'yc ori munit. Asas par bu'cina? Bu'cina cuyir sartamura Ti'puri'r Lux." (I only keep the best in my court. Those who prove themselves less do not last very long. As for trust? Trust is earned Lady Lux.)

"Er gar narir nakar'mir? Urnr Ni malyasa'yr geroya be'u. Ni ganar ganar dilida katlase careers a'yaou Ni tekra'ira at godhood, bal Ni cuyir chaaj'yc ruug'la ui gar mirdir." (Something you don't know? Alright I'll play along. I've had several different careers before I ascended to godhood, and I'm far older than you think.) ​Braxus said downing another swig of his drink before continuing "Bal Gar?" (And you)

 

[Artemis Lux]

"Biai munit narir gar mirdir Ni malyasa'yr kyr'yc, Gar Kapalyr?"
("How long do you think I will last, Your Majesty?")

Artemis smiled at him over her goblet of absinthe, full lips pressing together and clear green eyes regarding him with sharp, feline curiosity. She did not want to think about what would happen if she didn't last--that is, if she proved herself less than satisfactory in her new role as advisor to the Butcher Prince. Failure was not an option. Failure, she knew, meant death. Artemis had already escaped death once, by leaving the vastly deteriorating Mandalore far behind. She was not keen on meeting death so closely again.

Death was far from her mind now.

With every word of Mando'a that she and Braxus exchanged, Artemis found herself melting deeper into the private bubble they had created. It was a slippery slope, but the same refined instinct in her gut that so frequently whispered for her to either fight or run, was the same voice that urged her now to stay. Perhaps it was her strong survival gene. Perhaps it wasn't.

The Lioness had, for the moment, retracted her claws and replaced her fangs with sincere interest, hewn into every elegant curve and angle of her face as she gazed up at the Giant. He was an enigmatic figure, the sort of man who seemed to have come into the world exactly how he was now, powerful and fully-formed. It was difficult to imagine Braxus in any other way--younger, without any titles or crowns--but as Artemis absorbed his words and studied his face, she understood that the hulking figure to her side was just the tip of the iceberg of Braxus Zambrano.

She wanted to dive in. She wanted to know more.

"Ni cuyir misidiye gar nalku'na ba'slanar ni ti sto tionas."
("I'm afraid your answers leave me with more questions.")

As she spoke, Artemis raised an eyebrow, but the glimmer in her eyes belied her curiosity. She took another sip of absinthe, beginning to feel its warmth radiate from her lips and out to every corner of her body, relaxing her muscles and her tongue.

"Ni? Ni... Ni emuurir at butura, at redalur."
("Me? I . . . I like to paint, to dance.")

A small, subdued smile tugged at the dimple in her cheek, as if remembering moments from her past. Lashes lowered, then lifted.

"Mando b'ami'r cuyir e'lyrea at akaanir alongside etie vod. Ni cuyir tratyc at cuyir a verd, a kyr'amur. A redalur bal butura gotal'ur ku'nr aalar katlase. Sto wibitiva."
("Mandalorian girls are taught to fight alongside their brothers. I was raised to be a warrior, a killer. But dancing and painting make the world feel different. More civilized.")

Artemis paused. Her green eyes fell serious.

"Mies cuyir sarcurye bal vaule ca'nara. Solus va subay du'a mias mribiataor e munit."
("These are violent and chaotic times. One cannot afford such trivialities anymore.")



[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

"Mhi hwa haa'taylir." (We shall see.) Braxus told [member="Artemis Lux"]. The Arch-Princes response was just as hopeful as it was foreboding to the new advisor as he downed another swig of the green colored absinthe.

​Unlike Artemis the Sith Lord was highly accustomed to drinking the alcoholic beverage, coupled with his size it took more than one of the beverage to have an effect. But unlike most Braxus never drank to get drunk, he never drank to wash away any memories and never inhibited himself with too many of the addictive and powerful beverage. The truth on his face masked by the stone cold visage of the monarch. But with each passing moment he too found the claws of attack retracting inward and in their void a genuine curiosity and interest in his new advisor took place. Just as he placed inklings and pieces of bait from his past to keep her interested, so did she with him.

​A painter and a dancer.

​Both were things he could respect and admire about her. Few mandalorians expressed interest in the finer arts and truly had hobbies outside of the realm of fighting and war to the degree painting and dancing were. So Artemis was a warrior, a leader, and a cultural artist who could appreciate the finer things in life. Furthermore she was one of the few who could stand right alongside him and her unmatched courage let her fire right back at him, instead of submitting in fear to the Arch-Prince. The constant battle created a constant friction between them as the Destroyer clashed against the claw bearing Lioness. But oddly it seemed that just as quickly a fight could break out it could also quickly die out.

"O'r mies mesetye ca'nara bic b crucial par solus at nalya gatle at meg val cuyir. Narir va rala ca'nara am meg gar cuyir, gar am ca'nara." (In these turbulent times it's crucial for one to remain true to who they are. Do not let the times change who you are, you change the times.)