Tracinoa T’unavor's page

Traits:
Potent Concoctions (Toxic Secretion and Drow Poison)
Elven Reflexes

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Skills:
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Acrobatics +10, Climb +3, Craft (Alchemy) +20 (+26 for poisons), Disable Device +13, Escape Artist +7, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +11, Knowledge (Nature) +14, Perception +12, Sense Motive +7, Sleight of Hand +13, Stealth +10, Survival +7, Swim +3

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Defenses:
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AC: 14, Touch: 14, Flat-footed: 10
HP: 39
Fort: +6 Ref: +9 Will: +3 (+5 vs. Enchantment)
CMD: 18

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Offenses:
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Initiative: +6, Speed: 30ft
BAB: +4, CMB: +4
Melee:
TWF: +1 Virulent Rapier and Masterwork Dagger: +7/+6 (1d6 + 1/1d4, 18-/19-20, x2)
Toxic Secretion: +8 (Touch) (See Below)
Ranged:
Light Crossbow +8 (1d8, 19-20, x2, 80ft increment, 50 bolts)
Other
Sneak Attack +3d6
Toxic Secretion Contact; Save: Fort DC 21/22; Frequency: 1/round for 2/3 Rounds; Effect: Sickened, Dazed, 5 Damage; Cure: 1 save
Additional Notes: Can be applied to a weapon or touch attack with a swift action 11 times per day

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Feats:
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Brew Potion, Throw Anything, Racial Heritage (Nagaji) (Re-fluffed as House Tracinoa teachings), Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse

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Extracts:
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Extracts Known:

Level 1: Heightened Awareness, Reduce Person, Long Arm, Monkey Fish, Blend, Illusion of Calm, Disguise Self, Obscure Poison, True Strike, Expeditious Retreat
Level 2: Alchemical Allocation, Barkskin, Blur

Extracts Per Day:

Level 1: 6
Level 2: 4

Extracts Usually Prepared:

Heightened Awareness, Expeditious Retreat, Blur, Alchemical Allocation, Barkskin, (Open Level 1 Slot) x4, (Open Level 2 Slot)

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Discoveries:
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Concentrate Poison, Mutagen, Sticky Poison

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Equipment:
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+1 Virulent Rapier The steel of this blade forms short twisting grooves to better spread poison.
Alchemist's Kit, Dungeoneering Kit, Mithril Chain Shirt, Drow Poison x6 (Crafted, DC 16/17), 335g

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Alternate Racial Traits
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Blended View: Darkvision 60ft, Low-Light Vision
Drow-Trained: Weapon proficiency (Rapier, Short Sword, Hand Crossbow)

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Appearance:
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Tall and lithe with a dancer's frame, T'unavor eternally smells like a spice cabinet gone slightly off. He shares his mother's pitch-black skin and thin lips, however, the human side of him is far too pronounced to confuse him for a pure-blooded drow. Besides his green eyes, his skin is a matted skein of pale scars and burns and the flesh of his ears, once delicately sweeping, has been reduced to tatters. On most days, his skin has a sheen to it that you can't help but feel is unhealthy.

He prefers loose, dark clothing with as many pockets as possible though now he's dressed in a slave's rags. He usually carries his weapons strapped securely to stop them from swinging about too much.

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Personality:
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T'unavor is acerbic and quick-witted, with a love of puns and word games. When he's feeling stressed he takes refuge in audacity and, after killing something, will often pull out a notebook and jot down notes on how his poisons affected the creature in question. He's also very insecure about the tattered state of his ears, to the point of cutting his hair to cover them.

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Goals:
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First things first: Escape. He did it once and he can do it again, if he can find a poison more effective than the Jubilex-damned guard's ale.
After that: Well, we'll see. He's smart enough to know that he can't beat centuries-old drow at their own game, but maybe stupid enough to try anyway. Otherwise, he'd like to own his own garden someday.

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Background:
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The court of Matron Valisiva was moving with regal grace along the Endless Tear, the Matron herself hearing and redressing grievances against the House itself. The woman obsequiously bowing before her was barely a noble, a fly in Tracinoa's ointment; she had misstepped in the intricate societal dance of the drow. Matron Valisiva allowed herself a small smile: the woman's rounded belly provided the perfect punishment. In the cool, crystal voice of an attendant the punishment was declared: the half-breed would be brought to term and live as a testament to the mother's shame. The child came six months later; it was T'unavor's last sight of his mother.

T'unavor was beginning to hate rocks. Worked or rough, boulder or riverside pebble, T'unavor had seen them all, his cheeks pressed against them as he was whipped or branded by the bored House drow. Still, today would be a good day, he could feel it. A new assignment was coming, carrying him away from the endless scrubbing of the Endless Tear and towards some less monotonous destiny. Looking up at a pause in the whipping, he saw the foreman walking towards him with a grin from ear to ear. His heart sunk. That was not a good sign.

Six months later, T'unavor was eating lunch. The House Tracinoa gardens were a sprawling expanse of shrubbery and foliage, each plant more poisonous than the last. A prick of a thorn, an errant brush from a leaf, a single moment of inattention would turn a slave to fertilizer. But T'unavor was still alive. In fact, he had thrived - he proved a natural at caring for and, he was slowly learning, using the plants that surrounded him. Suddenly, he went very still. A rat had appeared, darting out from under a bush to snag a bite of T'unavor's bread. One bite, though, and it made it six steps before collapsing. Shudders ran up its legs and spine as it tried, futilely, to to run. And then to breathe. And then to live. All the while T'unavor sat and watched with academic interest; six steps was an improvement. Idly, he grabbed the now dead rat and took a bite. It was time.

The guards at the postern gate lay dead at their posts; both paralyzed and left to suffocate. T'unavor was a dozen miles outside the city and had slowed to a loping jog. His packs straps were chafing his shoulders; his weapons, including a beautiful rapier he had taken from one of the guards, were slapping against his waist. Pausing for a moment, he took a length of cloth and tied them more securely before straightening and standing perfectly still. One, two, three, he counted four crossbows facing him, attached to four duregar he could swear weren't there before. Then, a fifth one appeared out of nowhere. He was holding manacles.

Not again...