Once described as a perfect picturesque appearance of a young noble from the streets of Theed, Rymi has become almost unrecognizable in the time since due to her turbulent and strife-filled lifestyle. Still, the visage of a fair Nabooese girl still exists between the cracks as evident from her feminine features and former noteworthy appearance. What was once the home to sharp, bright blonde strands of hair and deep brown eyes has faded in recent years to take upon more of a “dirty” look. Two notable scars rest upon her face; the first running shortly across the top of the bridge of her nose, and the other running underneath her right eye down to her cheek.

Physically speaking there are few who would find Rymi as particularly imposing or intimidating, which in consideration of her height, gender, and build isn’t too surprising. However, just because Rymi is smaller and most certainly a feminine human she doesn’t lack for bruises, definition, or conditioning. Life is difficult on the Outer Rim, and Rymi has had to push herself beyond even the conventional military training she was put through as an adolescent. Rymi has forced herself to be quicker than her enemies and doesn’t lack in strength with her methods, which do show underneath the synthetic cloth that she most often wears.

Rymi’s standard kit accommodates for a very simple appearance of synthetic weaves and materials— a cloak, jacket, tunic, pants, and utility belt. Anything else is circumstantial and largely irrelevant. The lack of weight keeps her light on her feet and able to maneuver through crowds in her affinity for daring escapes.

“The war molded her, but the Empire changed her.”
- Yarilo Kriant

• Sarcastic
• Impulsive
• Cynical
• Overzealous
• Practical
• Loyal

Rymi Ketres was born in the great city of Theed on the planet Naboo some thirty-one or so years ago. Her parents were lesser nobility that were loyal to the elective monarchy that represented the people, though it was only her father who had any prestige at all to his name. Rymi’s father was Draloe Ketres, a fighter pilot and officer of the Royal Naboo Security Force, and was a man that had served with diligence and cunning for the majority of his military career; a fact that was heightened by his noteworthy efforts on keeping the sector safe from pirates and other insurgents, as rare as such incursions were. During Rymi’s early childhood Naboo had entered a time of peace and prosperity, though the possible threat of any enemy never left her father’s mind; as he often said— “It is better to be prepared than be caught with your pants down.” A sentiment that Rymi would later in her life wish that many other Nabooese took to heart.

Just short of the eighth anniversary of her birth, a shadow began to loom over Naboo with the enforcement of the Trade Federation Blockade— a precursor to the Invasion of Naboo and the battles that would take place despite the attempted mediation by the Jedi Council and the Galactic Republic. When Draloe entered his Starfighter it would be the last time anyone saw him alive. As skilled as her father was, ultimately he could not best the automated defense fighters of the Trade Federation; another addition to the many lost against the fight to stop the subjugation of the planet and the people who called it their home. It would be a tragedy that Rymi would never forget.

Following the defeat of the Trade Federation peace returned to Naboo, though it was a fragile sort; but even more fragile was Rymi’s psyche. The bright, optimistic, and hopeful young girl was replaced by one who obsessed over her father’s death and vowed to bring the type of profiteering injustice the federation thrived on to an end— or at least as much of an end she could do in her lifetime. As time went by, Rymi found herself enrolled at a royal academy and following that the Royal Naboo Security Force; following completely in her father’s footsteps. A fact that was remarked on by close family friends and mentors (like Yarilo Kriant) often. But what was also spoken of was Rymi’s inherent talent at starcraft piloting and tactical awareness; it was as if she was possessed by the spirit of her deceased father. This talent would later come to be tested in The Clone Wars.

During The Clone Wars the young pilot was tested often by the Separatist threats to the Republic— though somehow she didn’t perish out of her arrogance or impulsiveness, even when facing down her old nemesis’ in the Trade Federation. The Republic, knowing full well of her impulsiveness and obsession were quick to use her skill to benefit their field of the battle as even if the war was named for their clone army, there were many non-clones who operated; Rymi was one such individual. The war however would end in “murky” territory and when the republic rebranded itself as an empire just prior to the defeat of the Separtists, Rymi’s natural Nabooese spirit began to wonder what exactly was going on. The records are unclear about the brief period between the end of The Clone Wars and the beginning of Rymi Ketres’ freelance career as well as the reasons for it, but a fair assumption is Rymi wasn’t too keen on Moff Panaka’s appointment or the events that began to occur as followed.

As a freelance operator Rymi continued her goal to fight the spirit of The Trade Federation and anything that represented an ethic or belief she was opposed to. She worked as an independent fighter pilot against pirates, worked as protection for a one-time smuggler, operated as a sort-of bounty hunter, and blocked profiteering in several sectors under various aliases. Eventually she ended up being a “ethically-inclined” smuggler-for-hire though she adamantly claimed she didn’t accept any job she was offered. There were standards.

However, Hutt’s don’t like people with standards.

Unsurprisingly, the most significant piece of equipment Rymi has continued to use without variation is the sidearm she has the most experience with— the Theed Arms S-5 blaster pistol. The high damage blaster is not only a nostalgic affection of her time within the Royal Naboo Security Forces (and its sub-branch, the Royal Space Fighter Corps) but also the same blaster that her late father, Draloe Ketres, used during the time of his military service before his death when she was a child. Beyond the S-5, Rymi’s equipment is situational with the exception of the utility belt she holds many useful items such as explosives and tools within. One would not be wrong if they assumed she had a vibroknife or hold out blaster somewhere on her person.

Awareness: Even before the end of The Clone Wars, Rymi was taught to keep her wits sharpened and perceive her surroundings— a fact that has extended into her freelance career where she has relied on being quicker than the people she has occasionally made “appropriately upset”; so it’s safe to assume that her reflexes are quick and that she keeps that in mind when she was outmanned and outgunned outside of a ship.

Firearms: Rymi is not an expert marksman by any definition of the term, especially with her policy of shooting blindly when the situation is drastic— though it could be argued that she is a fine enough shot should she lean back on her military training and actually aim in the first place.

Piloting: Rymi Ketres was seen as a gifted pilot since the moment she enlisted in the Royal Naboo Security Forces. She fought in the tail-end of The Clone Wars, and consistently offered her skills as a freelance pilot and fixer rather than being landlocked following the war. She’s familiar with small fighter starcrafts the best, though she isn’t inexperienced within a light freighter or similar vessels either.

Security: Knowing how to bypass a lock has come into handy when Rymi has found herself outside of her starcraft, though she isn’t a skilled hacker or saboteur by any means. She knows her way around a security spike and when to recognize a door can be forced open, but that’s about it.

• Her father, Draloe, is deceased and has been since her sister was two.
• Her younger sister, Rian, is an imperial agent within the newly structured Galactic Empire.

At a touch over two meters and hale all the way through Xymone is a picture of health from the flat of her heels to the tip of her hullepi. Built tall and meated to the bone--though a hand wouldn't sink far before meeting muscle she is plush in all the right places--her enviable athleticism doing little to detract from the fullness of her figure. Her voice is a melodic trill thanks to the jawless, tendril heavy mouth so emblematic of her ilk, an aspect oftentimes repellent to other sentients but held in the highest and most intractable esteem by this confident Khil. These sensile breathing tubes easily the most animated facet of her many expressions and seat of her self-assumed 'exotic charm' it is not uncommon to spy a preening hand pass through their ranks to subtly assess if they're presentable. Xymone's skin is a deep dark grey pebbled along the arms, legs and back with the heptagonal hallmarks of an ongoing addiction with 'slappers', an externally applied performance enhancing drug.

Possessed of a pragmatic propensity to place something thick between herself and bone rattling impacts Xymone favors a bulky set of Belnarian armor that was at one time bespoke. Fashioned from composite plates sandwiched between several sheets of insular synthetic material etiolated endorsements form a fragmentary filigree over much of the repurposed raiment she wears. The thing a sectional sportswear skeleton repaired and refitted so heavily as to hardly resemble itself, piecemeal straps and hard padding partially replacing an absentee sleeve. Though this wouldn't seem out of place on someone tailgating the hottest new ultrasport the carbon scoring and deep gouges are, each a point among the running tally of a deadly game she's taken into overtime.

Polite and friendly for a woman so quick to adopt an 'us and them' mentality Xymone is the Khailian contradiction made manifest. Competitive to the core and ambitious yet somehow carefree, a creature of arrogance and compassion that pursues profession and pleasure with an equal and impressive devotion. Always a bit too willing to put herself out there and experience new things she is no stranger to disastrous misadventures, an optimism and cultural belief that anything can be overcome with enough effort often seeing her through. As a direct result however she often breaks down under prolonged stress if progress isn't forthcoming, reaching for a chemical kick-me-up to carry her over the hump and even worse off should it fail her.

A companionable enough person before, after and during the time it takes to know her Xymone is quick to grow possessive of the friends she makes for fear of being abandoned, always reaffirming friendships through horseplay and physical gesture. Over time growing so bold as to eat off the same plate or drink from the same glass as someone she's taken a shine to and sure to have a quickfire quip or unsightly insinuation for those that may take offense or discomfort from such actions. For a sympathetic sort she takes an irritable glee in finishing her companions sentences in exaggerated imitation, often prefaced with 'look at me, I'm so-and-so...'

Nothing if not a compulsive showboater that aches for the shower of accolades she's grown accustomed to Xymone places undue stock in the sentiment and praise of others, this shallow self-assurance of her worth a bitter balm with which she soothes a damaged ego. Though closely guarded the anxiety she harbors has played silent partner to many a brash outburst, needless risk and sudden surge of violence.

Though not inherently cruel she harbors an impressive capacity for devious, vindictive behavior when her loyalty is called into question and has sometimes waited years to avenge relatively minor slights, as a certain blind Bith can attest to. Not being uncharacteristic of her people she sees such behavior as a retaliation rather than overreaction, though would be just as readily appeased by a heart felt apology. Which would be fine if she wasn't such a sore loser at games of chance, quick to feel cheated despite herself.

To this day she remains good friends with a pair of Aqualish she'd made an impromptu alliance with on Ando. Pybba and Tward have drifted into dirtier lines of work since the chance meeting and attempt to kill her from time to time mind you, but they're damned amicable about it all the same. As twins they've an infuriating habit of insisting she can't tell Aqualish apart and an infuriating habit of being exactly right.

Eldest offspring to come from the well-planned pairing of Qitat and Ysget (A duo of decorated athletes) excellence was always expected of Xymone. She delivered, and when the public eye expected her to overshadow her parents she did not disappoint. Where other children were pampered she had been prepared and thus groomed for greatness exploded onto the amateur circuit during her debut. Latest in the legacy her parents wished to cement Xymone had been shaped into a superb specimen and all her energies directed at the sport of Lu'Kratan, a 3v3 ball game which incorporates an obstacle course and wrestling. Krat as it's known in the common vernacular was said to have arisen from the rituals and war dances pre-modern Khil used to settle disputes and traditionally the pursuit of women. Though off-leagues for men and a myriad of imigrant species met with only lite resistance the later reformations saw staunch opposition.

One such mouthpiece during the high point of her career playing for Belnar City she went on record saying "Krat's always been more than just a game to me, it's about who we are and where we came from. I never thought I'd have to sit here and appeal on behalf of my heritage." During the above debate proceedings devolved into a shouting match, with Xymone insinuating integration was a slippery slope that would lead to droids replacing players. History remembers her as being on the wrong side of the argument, because not more than a year later she was squaring off against a mixed race team that included Sscusk Tolmz. A self-described full time Trandoshan that had long lobbied for his chance in the lime light Sscusk was a media darling already billing the bout--win or lose--as a triumph. He would come to be vindicated.

The match in question was a spectacular hard fought back and forth that would see Khil dominance in the sport challenged for the first time. By the final quarter it seemed a certainty that despite her best efforts Xymone would be stripped of the championship she'd sacrificed so much for, something she felt she could not allow so desperately at the time. Though a vocal campaigner against doping the waning icon saw no other out; not wanting to disappoint her parents, partners or the true fans she made the biggest mistake of her life.

Had she been more adventurous as a child she'd of known about the intensity of 'slapping' for the first time, had she been a more responsible adult she'd have weighed the risks more carefully. There were a million different ways that next hour could have gone and in the years since Xymone has agonized over them all. It had felt so unreal, she couldn't believe what she'd done even as she was doing it. In the aftermath of the highly illegal takedown that saw speculation as to whether Sscusk would ever walk again, let alone play on a professional level a disgraced Xymone faced criminal charges and a doping scandal. The evidence of performance enhancing drugs in her system called not only her own past achievements into question but those of her parents and teammates.

Stripped of a life's work due to a split second decision the relatively light sentence she received was of little consolation, what wealth she'd had after the settlement frittered away in self-imposed exile from her homeland. Unable to adjust to civilian life, a crushingly depressing job as a taxi driver and resentment that seemed to linger when she was recognized she ended up admiring the skyline from atop a railing one lonely night on Andor. Xymone never did determine one way or the other if the pair of Aqualish that approached her had any idea what they were interrupting, but they certainly made it belligerently clear they knew whom. Somehow they'd enticed her into replacing the suddenly absent third of their trio in an underground Krat match, if nothing more it was a chance for her to say a final farewell to the sport that had divorced itself from her.

She was unprepared for how good it felt to be in the thick of the raw, no-holds-barred bastard child that was waiting for her; the time honored trials and wetlands of the sport boiled down to the basics of six bodies, a ball and some mud. The wash outs arrayed against her couldn't compete on her terms and didn't try to, using every cheap trick in the book to keep her on her toes; it was the most she'd enjoyed herself in years. Pybba and Tward cheated her out of much of the purse naturally, but it was a slight she could swallow to be back in the arena. From that day she dove headlong into the seedier side of the sport, beating her body back into fighting shape and then some--unable to will herself free of the potent rush 'slapping' offered and no longer needing to hide her addiction. She played wherever there was money to bet, slowly growing accustomed to the higher risks, infrequent firefights and looser interpretation of the rules.

Trekking from planet to planet, flophouse to flophouse, alley to ally slowly shaped her into the sort of person best bestowed a generous berth when passing by, her ability to plant boot firmly to ass written over every inch of her. That was about the time she was approached by a man that promised to make her either very wealthy or very dead and in no uncertain terms told her she'd be throwing an upcoming event. She'd decided that particular Twi'lek didn't need both front teeth to tell his Hutt no, and proceeded to make the biggest mistake of her life for the second time.

Gamorreans and the occasional Gank-Killer were par for the course from there, outmatched, outpaced or otherwise eluded at every turn, but always around the next one. If you think you've beaten a Hutt however, you didn't notice that they'd changed the game you've been playing. In the end all it had taken was a winsome smile, a few good jokes and a night of whirlwind-drinking on some backwater rest stop for her to wake up with one hell of a headache surrounded by similarly bewildered strangers.

This Khil combatant's arms and armor make a decisive statement: bigger is better. Armed with a Gamorrean vibro-axe acquired off one of her many porcine assailants and preferring to lob explosives over aim a blaster she is anything but subtle in a firefight. Her well worn and carbon scored armor weathered from forgotten frays yet not in disrepair; a Belnarian holdover from her time as a performance athlete. Between points A and B she usually relies on a beat up old repulsorlift that has seen better days. Bought used and then some the Arrow-23 seats five (if it wasn't missing a seat), boasts military grade plating (that should have been replaced years ago) and a spacious cargo hold (that doesn't quite lock anymore). Aside from these and a few sundries Xymone is usually nosing about with her personal secretary.

Having made a career out of tying other very strong people into knots while waist deep in what equates to a mudhole melee you'd best not put anything you want back in arms reach if her blood is up, extremities included. Though no gymnast Xymone's an efficient climber and can traverse irregular terrain and obstacles even while under great duress--especially wetlands and marshes like those found on her home planet. Sculpted by a lifetime of practice and repetition her throwing arm is a precision cannon and pulling even the most poorly flung projectile out of the air has become involuntary--she had to get in the habit of throwing grenades back because she was already in the habit of catching them. She coordinates well as part of a small group and picks up on non-verbal cues quickly. Xymone is a pretty bad driver all things considered, but doesn't think twice about turning a chase or game of chicken into a destruction derby. A khil so solidly built that it bears mentioning twice. She can carry a tune for a mile and makes very good smoothies.

She prefers chipper tunes like Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes break out single "Mad About Me", can't eat solids and finds herself supporting most of the empire's policies while still being nonplussed with how human-centric things have become.