Tavi Vex

Identity

Ability scores

Saving throws

Skills

Weapons

Languages

Inventory

• Half-Vest · 2 kg
• Blaster Pistol · 1 kg
• Tool Kit · 1 kg

Backstory

Tavi Vex was born on Chadra-Fan, a world perpetually threatened by the tides, and she grew up understanding that survival had nothing to do with size or strength. It had to do with knowing exactly how something worked before it killed you. She found work young — too young — in the lower maintenance warrens of Nar Shaddaa, where the Hutt cartels employed anyone whose fingers were small enough to reach inside a power coupling without a torch. She was fast, she was meticulous, and her senses were sharp enough to smell an overheating circuit before a diagnostic droid would flag it. For a few years, that was enough. She told herself she was saving for passage to Coruscant, to the Republic's great technical academies, where a mind like hers could become something with a name attached to it. Then came the job that went wrong. A cartel overseer — a Nikto named Gresh — hired her to service a communications relay buried inside a rival's warehouse. She understood halfway through that she wasn't there to fix anything. She was there to let someone in. She didn't run fast enough. When the enforcers came through the door she'd unknowingly unlocked, three beings died in the corridor, and Tavi watched from inside a ventilation shaft too narrow for anyone larger than herself, clutching her toolkit to her chest, breathing recycled air and the smell of blaster discharge. She doesn't talk about it. But her hands shake slightly when she's asked to work on comm systems, and she finishes the job anyway, because stopping would mean admitting something she isn't ready to name. She made it off Nar Shaddaa by repairing a freighter captain's navigation array in exchange for berth passage. She has almost nothing — a half-vest she bought off a dead woman's cot at a waystation, a blaster she's never fired at a living thing, and tools she maintains with something close to reverence. She is not charming. She doesn't inspire confidence in the people who look past her without seeing her. But she sees everything: the stress fracture in a ship's hull plating, the false readout on a medical scanner, the lie inside a correctly formatted document. What she wants is proof — a legitimate certification from the Republic Bureau of Technical Standards — that would let her work openly, legally, without owing anyone anything. She's been reaching for it since she was eleven years old. It keeps moving. She keeps following it, with nothing in her hands but her kit and the memory of a corridor she still can't explain her way out of.

Roleplaying notes

- **Sharp Eyes, Quiet Pride:** Your Expert-level Perception is instinctive and constant — describe noticing things before anyone asks, details others overlook, and make it feel like a reflex rather than a boast. - **Strength Is a Liability She Knows:** With a STR of 6, Tavi never attempts anything requiring physical force without visible hesitation or a workaround — she scouts for tools, leverage, or allies before she ever uses her body as an instrument. - **The Ritual Check:** Before beginning any technical work, Tavi physically opens and reorganizes her toolkit — a grounding habit born from Nar Shaddaa, a way of confirming she is here, she is prepared, nothing is hidden. - **Trust on a Long Delay:** Tavi is cooperative with allies in practical terms but emotionally guarded; she shares technical knowledge freely and personal history almost never, treating warmth as something earned in increments over time. - **Terse and Precise:** She speaks in short declarative sentences, defaults to technical vocabulary even in casual conversation, and fills silence with observation rather than small talk — she will describe what she sees before she describes how she feels about it.