Alayna Tamexo's page

Bluff: 6 Cha + 10 rank + 3 FCB = 19
Kno (arcana): 2 Int + 5 rank +3 FCB = 10
Kno (geography) 2 Int +10 rank (headband) = 12
Kno (nature): 2 Int + 5 rank +3 FCB = 10
Linguistics: 2 Int + 2 rank = 4
Perception: 2 Wis + 10 rank = 12
Profession (courtesan): 2 Wis + 10 rank + 3 FCB = 15
Slight of Hand: 3 Dex + 10 ranks = 12
Spellcraft: 2 Int + 10 rank +3 FCB = 15
Stealth: 3 Dex + 1 rank = 4

shocking grasp* CL +2, shield, mage armor, obscuring mist, heightened awareness, ear-piercing scream* DC 19, CL +1, magic missile*, hydraulic push DC 18, CL +1
*Blood Havoc spell (+1 per die rolled)

gust of wind* CL +2, fog cloud, web, resist energy[i], shatter DC 20, CL +1, invisibility, darkvision
*Blood Havoc spell (+1 per die rolled)

lightning bolt* DC 22, CL +2, storm step DC 21, CL +1, air geyser* DC 20, CL +2, battering blast* DC 20, CL +1, elemental aura* DC 20 or 22, CL +1, displacement
*Blood Havoc spell (+1 per die rolled)

shout* DC 22, CL +1, black tentacles, aggressive thundercloud (greater)* DC 23, CL +1, enervation
*Blood Havoc spell (+1 per die rolled)

lightning arc* DC 24, CL +4
*Blood Havoc spell (+1 per die rolled)

Avenger: A close family member or friend was assassinated by the Red Mantis. You have taken it upon yourself to avenge their death by slaying the Mantis God. As such, you have done what you can to study the Red Mantis and learn how to counter their tactics. You receive a +1 trait bonus to damage rolls and rolls to confirm critical hits against Red Mantis members. Additionally, when you are flanked by a member of the Red Mantis, the bonus to their attack rolls is only +1.
Aeromantic Affinity: One of your distant ancestors was either a powerful aeromancer or a creature of elemental air, granting you greater skill with air magic. You treat your caster level as 1 higher when casting spells with the air or electricity descriptor.
Broken Mind:
You’re used to living with your own madness.
Benefit(s) You gain a +2 trait bonus on saving throws against madness and confusion effects.
Mark of Slavery
You were enslaved for part or all of your youth, and marked as such with a brand or tattoo that still reminds you of how you were punished whenever you failed to do what you should.
Effect: Whenever you fail a skill check, you take a –2 penalty on any skill check or attack roll you attempt before the end of your next turn unless it is a part of retrying the failed skill check.

Whenever you cast a spell with the [electricity] or [sonic] descriptor, increase the save DC by 1.

Whenever you cast a bloodrager or sorcerer spell that deals damage, add 1 point of damage per die rolled. This benefit applies only to damaging spells that belong to schools you have selected with Spell Focus or that are bloodline spells for your bloodline.
This ability replaces the sorcerer’s 1st-level bloodline power or the bloodrager’s 4th-level bloodline power.

At 3rd level, you gain resist electricity 5 and resist sonic 5, and treat wind effects as being one step less severe. At 9th level, you treat wind effects as being two steps less severe and gain blindsense 60 feet against concealment from natural or magical fog, mist, or weather effects.

At 9th level, you can command a stroke of lightning to strike from above in a 5-foot-radius cylinder 60 feet high. The thunderbolt inflicts 1d6 points of damage per sorcerer level; half of this damage is electricity and half is sonic. A Reflex save (DC 10 + 1/2 your sorcerer level + your Charisma modifier) halves this damage. Creatures failing their saves are deafened for 1 round. At 9th level, you can use this ability once per day, at 17th twice per day, and at 20th three times per day. This power has a range of 120 feet.

Alayna is a young human girl just entering womanhood. Though average of height, she is of exceptional beauty with flawless skin, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. Her hair is a dirty blonde that always has a windblown look. She rarely wears clothing that exposes the skin, however, because of the elaborate tattoos that pattern her skin along her back, arms and stomach marking her as a slave of the Sivlamlik.

Alayna was caught in a nightmare from which she couldn't wake. It had started out as a perfect morning, bright and cool after the night's gentle rain. She had gone out early to fetch some eggs for breakfast from the coop, Shep loping along at her side. She had reached the chicken coop when the old dog started growling at the door, hackles raised. Thinking that mean old rooster had come back, Alayna threw open the door. What she saw in the dim light was horrific -- a red-and-black monster with cold, unblinking bug eyes. Shep barked once and lunged at the monster -- she'll never forget the pained yelp as he was cut down mid-jump. Alayna turned and tried to run, tried to scream, but she slipped on the wet grass. Something struck her from behind and her world went black.

The nightmare continued. When she next woke she was in a sack, arms and legs bound, and her mouth gagged. Someone, or something, was outside, carrying her. Every time she moved, she was struck. Every time she whimpered or cried, a vise-like grip squeezed her painfully. She learned quickly to stay still.

The nightmare got worse. She was hot. She was hungry. She was thirsty -- gods was she thirsty. Her muscles ached for being bound as she was. The ropes rubbed her skin raw, and then it got worse. The slightest movement was agony, and the sack she was in was handled roughly. She heard voices -- harsh, unpleasant, in a language she didn't understand. She had long ago emptied her bowels and bladder and the reek inside her sack was unbearable. She didn't know how much time had passed. She had started to fall unconscious or in such a delirious state that she couldn't know if she'd missed hours or days.

The nightmare wouldn't end. Her sack was dropped roughly onto the ground. A knife tore open the sack and she emerged like something being birthed. Her eyes blinked at the dim light filtering through rough slats. A bucket of water was pushed in front of her, but the gag stayed in place. She was so thirsty that she did what she could, plunging her face into the tepid water and sucking what moisture could be squeezed through the gag in her mouth.

The nightmare was relentless. She was in a stinking room with other bound and gagged prisoners. Her entire world pitched and rocked unpleasantly. She guessed that she was on a ship of some kind. Someone in front of her managed to work his hands free of his ropes and pushed himself up. Before she could grunt at him to free her next, a dark shape emerged from the shadows and drew something across his throat. She screamed behind her gag as hot blood sprayed her face. He went limp and fell to the floor in front of her. The shadow disappeared, not bothering to get rid of the body. She spent the rest of the voyage staring at the dead man, too terrified to move.

The nightmare was all she knew. Light spilled into the room and large, gruff bodies moved in and grabbed her and the others who'd survived the voyage. She was picked up and carried out into dazzling brilliance. The sun burned but the air was fresh and salty. She could barely open her eyes for how bright it was. She was thrown into an enclosed cart, and the familiar darkness returned. She and her fellow prisoners endured a bumpy ride until again the bright sun was let in. She was dragged inside a tiled room where her bindings were cut. She was pushed roughly into a pool of water. Her limbs could barely function and she struggled to keep her head above the surface even though the water was only a foot or two deep. She heard others splash and sputter in the water as more of the captives were thrown into the pool. The water quickly got brown and disgusting, though she could barely stop herself from gulping down huge swallows. She was picked up and moved to another pool, and then another, and then another. At some point her soiled clothes were removed. After the series of baths and the filth was scrubbed from her hair and skin, she was herded into another room with the rest of the captives. Anyone who spoke was beaten severely, so she said nothing. She endured a thorough inspection -- face, eyes, mouth, teeth, hair, nethers.

After the inspection, one of her captors pointed to her and a few of the other prisoners. He announced, "Sivlamlik," and her real nightmare began.

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It might have been nice, had it not been so ominous. Alayna couldn't recall quite how she got here from the bathing rooms, to this "Sivlamlik," but it was a far cry from her treatment since her capture. She was fed to get her strength up. Older ladies bathed her thoroughly, rubbed ointments on her bruises and lacerations, and doused her with sweet-smelling perfumes and oils. She was clad in diaphanous white, while her hair was brushed and styled. Her youthful skin needed little makeup, but her eyelids were lined and lashes darkened, and her lips stained a vibrant red. Her nails were cleaned and lacquered, and her ears, neck, wrists and ankles were adorned with jewelry.

She was then given a tray of bottles and drinks and sent into paradise. Men and women lounged upon fur-upholstered cushions, or soaked in scented pools of steaming water. Tables piled high with mouth-watering delights were everywhere -- savory meats and decadent sweets assaulted her senses. Alayna's stomach growled, but she knew better than to risk even the tiniest morsel. Trying to keep the glasses from rattling on the tray she held, she stepped into the pleasure palace and offered what she carried. The ones enjoying her labor (her masters? She shuddered at the thought, but what else could she consider them?) spoke in a harsh, frightening language that she didn't understand. She did her best to guess what they wanted and for a time she was successful.

Until she saw someone step before her in red-and-black armor with an insect-shaped helmet straight from her nightmares.

She shrieked in terror and the tray went crashing to her feet. In seconds she was whisked away from paradise into the cramped rooms just behind the wonderful facade. She was savagely beaten for such an insult to her new masters.

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Alayna awoke, hurting everywhere. She was in the dark again, though she could tell someone was there, watching her. She dared not move.

The person spoke in that harsh language. She was female by her voice, but Alayna couldn't understand. She stayed quiet and afraid.

"You don't speak Infernal? Learn. Learn fast," came the voice out of darkness.

It was the first time someone had spoken to her since her capture and she couldn't help reaching out like a drowning man for a rope. "Please. Can you help me? I don't know-- where am I? I can't be here. Please?"

The voice scoffed. "Girl, you need to understand this fast: You're in the Sivlamlik. You're a thing, now. A toy for the Red Mantis. You're in white now, but the day you bleed you will be theirs for the taking. There's no escape; there's only survival. And you survive by total submission. You belong to them."

Alayna could offer nothing to the voice but a shocked, despairing sob. Her voice quavered as her mind rebelled against what she was hearing. "My parents... they have some money. Maybe they could--?"

"Your parents are likely dead. The Red Mantis are assassins. Worshiping their mantis god Achaekek. They kill for him, and they're rewarded here. You're nothing but an object of pleasure for them. Or, you will be. Sorry to break this to you, girl. You sound like a good kid. You know what? Here." There was the sound of something scraping along the ground, and in a patch of pale moonlight Alayna could see the glint of a blade. "Your only chance to escape. You know what to do with it."

She stared at it for a long time, thinking about possibly ending her life. She ached all over from the beating but it paled in comparison to her despair over her parents being dead. I could make it quick. Wouldn't that be best? Join Mom and Dad with Pharasma?

She dragged herself painfully to her knees and crossed the floor of her cell to the small knife. She started to reach for it, but paused. It didn't feel right to her. Something was off. She pushed herself to her feet. Heart thudding, she kicked the knife back towards the voice. Tears streamed down her face as she found herself acknowledging that escape was not going to be so easy. Terrified of the retribution that would come if she failed to kill herself, she admitted to the darkness, "My life is not mine to take, is it? I belong to the Red Mantis."

"Good girl. You're getting it."

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She had passed her first test and earned her first tattoo. A Varisian woman, Kiphra, placed vibrant blue stripes down her legs and designs that wrapped around her ankles. Symbolic shackles in place of the real ones.

Alayna's life stabilized somewhat; serving the Mantises relaxing in the Sivlamlik while giving them a feast for their eyes. She learned fast or she was beaten. She picked up Infernal quickly, lest she get an order wrong and suffer for it. She became adept at applying her own makeup to cover her bruises and fatigue. She endured the leering gazes by most of the men and some of the women, and dreaded the day when spots of red would show up in her white garments.

She passed more tests. Temptations were extended before her. Plates of food were left out where surely a single grape would not be missed. A door was left cracked open that suggested a means for freedom. She left each of them alone.

More tattoos were inked into her skin. Each time she was rewarded, Kiphra would add another exotic design, sometimes on her back, sometimes along her arms, and sometimes elsewhere. During those long tattoo sessions, Kiphra taught her some of her native language. When Alayna understood enough Varisian, the tattooist said, "You've a storm inside you, girl. These tattoos, they may be your shackles now. But maybe someday, just maybe, they'll be your way of letting your spark out."

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She was not allowed her real name, though the various Mantises to whom she tended called her various names. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. The months accumulated, but she didn't have the sense of time to truly know how long it had been. The days flowed together as her mind became singularly focused on tending to and pleasing her masters. She was just another object of pleasure in the Sivlamlik.

She grew deft at pilfering morsels of food, or doses of drugs for the other playthings who had become addicted to the abundant and varied types of intoxicants. Too many of her fellow objects found escape in them. She didn't like seeing the other servants go through withdrawal symptoms, so she mostly abstained from the ample array of drugs available in the pleasure rooms for fear of becoming dependent. Though she occasionally would chew a leaf of qat or take a harlot sweet on the days after she received a beating to keep her movements fluid and graceful.

She heard and saw things, and learned not to react. Even as other playthings were being abused directly in front of her, she wouldn't bat an eyelash and continue serving her masters. She overheard their gossip, though most of it she didn't understand. There were those that she could comprehend, such as rumors about some sort of "Pact" of individuals that had come to the Mantis' island with the plan to destroy the assassins. Her heart didn't so much as flutter with hope. After all what good could hope do her?

Rumors of the Pact grew. At first it was a joke amongst her masters. As time wore on, however, they grew increasingly concerned. The Pact was still at work. More whispers about their actions. Some of her masters that frequented the Sivlamlik stopped showing up. Unfamiliar names were whispered, the members of the Pact. Then she heard one she recognized, though she had almost forgotten it. Talivar Tamexo. Her father.

======================
Her original identity was buried deep, and for survival's sake, she left it there. Her masters' anger at the Pact had been growing for some time. She killed her hope again and again, each time she stepped into the pleasure halls of the Sivlamlik to serve and please. During each period of rest, that accursed hope revived in the darkest corners of her mind.

A Mantis she had never seen before arrived in the Sivlamlik one day while she was rubbing the shoulders of one of her masters who had deemed her a favorite, Jagen. The new Mantis's (still frightening, but she was used to them by now) mask was off, revealing an unremarkable man with bland features. Many of her masters were like that, but she'd gotten very good at identifying them anyway. His ordinary face was twisted in anger as he realized the toll the Pact had been taking while he was away on other missions.

"Wait. They got Mannee? Korvan? Erandlon?!?" He looked exasperated. "Why haven't you killed them yet?"

Jagen shrugged the shoulder that she was rubbing. "They're ghosts. They disappear for days, show up where we don't expect them. But they'll eventually strike one of the places where we've laid our traps. It's only a matter of time."

The plain man snorted. "You're on the defensive? Is this what you're reduced to? Are you afraid to strike out at them, Jagen?"

He rose from his cushions, angered. She stepped back and moved to the wall, ready to return the instant he desired. "You're the one who left Talivar Tamexo alive! If you had killed him when you slew his wife and took his daughter, we wouldn't have this... winter sorcerer to contend with!"

The man crossed his arms across his chest, looking neither cowed nor chagrined. "He wasn't in the contract; he wasn't even a threat. I don't do freebies." His eyes grew distant for a moment as he replayed the old contract on Maria. "The daughter..."

His eyes fell on her, standing silent and still with her eyes downcast. His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, leaning to get a better look at her face. "Hello, pet. How are you liking the Sivlamlik?"

Without raising her eyes, she bows deferentially. "It is an honor to serve the almighty Achaekek."

He was standing in front of her, still clad in his armor that made him look like a humanoid, red-carapaced insect. "Look at me." She dutifully raised her head and looked at him. "What is your name?"

"I have no name but what I'm given. What would you like my name to be?" she replies, completely submissive.

The mantis before her rolled his eyes. "Very good, but I want to know what your name was. Who were you before you came to the Sivlamlik?"

Her eyes grew wider as fear began to bubble up from her well-hidden sense of self. "I-- I was no one. I was nothing. I had no life from before, my only purpose is to serve--"

She was cut off by a vise-like grip seizing her throat and pushing her against the wall. The mantis's other hand grabs a sawtooth sabre from his back and holds it menacingly in front of her face. His voice becomes soft, but terrifying. "You're doing very well. You've passed your test. Now. Tell me your old name, or I kill you."

Her eyes were wide with fear. She had a moment to wonder where her soul would end up, since she had been forced to pray to Achaekek plenty. A part of her thought about saving her life by giving the man her name, but she came up empty. "I... I don't remember," she croaks out when he let some of the pressure off her neck.

"All right, then." The sawtooth sabre spins in the man's hand and he drives the blade deep into her gut. Incredible pain courses through her as it goes in, which then turns to white-hot agony as he withdraws the serrated blade.

Her legs went limp, and she slumped to the ground when he relaxed his grip on her throat. The pain grew distant, even as she looked down and saw the blood spilling from her abdomen and pooling on the tiled floor. She gasped for breath a couple times, hearing the shouts and objections from Jagen as if from far away. She glanced up at the mantis, recognizing him at last as the one who killed her mother, her dog, and took her to this place. Thunder sounded in her ears as her eyes filled with sudden defiance. "I am Alayna Tamexo, daughter of Talivar Tamexo. And he's going to kill you."

That bland, plain face grinned sadistically as he tapped her with a wand and said a strange word. Suddenly, her wound started to heal. As the pain began subside, her terror rose. She screamed as the gaping tear in her stomach stitched itself back together, depriving herself of the death that she thought was going to be her escape.

She screamed and screamed and screamed as she was dragged out of the Sivlamlik.