GM Kate's Commencement [closed] (Inactive)

Game Master Kate Baker

Tuudak shifts uneasily and worries at the end of one horn with his thick fingers. "Which corporation, if we can ask such a thing?" Hopefully one of the less scrupulous ones...

"Bluerise Tower is a private office structure maintained by multiple corporations and legally protected to the point that even the station’s Stewards have difficulty entering. Why these corporations need such absolute sovereignty over their own affairs is a question of great interest to many people-I believe the companies know more than they let on, and the Society needs to stay informed in its vulnerable state." She lists a few specific corporations for you.

Tuudak nods and strokes his goatee. "Ah, corporate black site. Very well," he says, grinning, "I can assist the Society with a clear conscience! Where might we find the information vigilante in question?"

Historia-7 transmits the address to a flat in Drifter’s End, a district in the station’s Ring known for providing cheap housing to vagabonds of all sorts.

Anything you want to do before heading over?

"Does anyone have experience dealing with, ah..." Tuudak screws up his face and searches the air above him for the right word, his furrowed brow dimming the light of his left eye. "The station's more adventurous elements? I can't say I encountered them very often in my star charts and archives." He brushes imagined dust and feather stalker down off his robes.

I'm ready to head out!

"Well, I grew up in a neighborhood not much nicer than that one. There's a reason I moved away, though."

The coordinates that Historia-7 gives you point to an apartment that resembles a cement cube, with several tomato plants in plastic barrels sitting on an otherwise barren porch. Boxes of nutrient broth, gardening tools, and various cultural knickknacks clutter the floor of the flat, leaving barely any room for visitors to sit down. The plants are being hand-pollinated by a young human man.

Null recalls the question they asked Historia-7.

Null steps forward to the boy and says...
Kake it away, Tate!

..."xxnndid you hack into Bluerise Tower’s computer systems?"

The boy looks up at Null and blinks a few times. "I...what?....No...."

"Now young man, you're not in trouble or anything. We're just looking for information. You can tell us."

He turns his attention to the nuar. "No...really! I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (18) + 0 = 18

This kid has no idea what you're talking about.

"xxwwwould anyone you live with know what we're talking about?"

The boy continues to look at you confused for a few moments, and then opens the door. "Grandma! Grandma, there are people here asking weird questions about computers."

A woman's voice responds from inside. "Well, Jubair, if we have guests, why don't you invite them in for tea?"

Jubair shrugs at you and heads into the apartment, leaving the door open behind him for you to follow.

Zaldekan enters the apartment, with Zoomy not far behind.

"Oh, tea! How lovely!" Rafflesia mutters excitedly to herself, scurrying in behind Zaldekan.

"Ah, thank you kindly." Rogers strides in, trying to keep a friendly face while also positioning himself between his friends and any potential dangers inside.

As you enter, a wizened old woman in a blue-and white abaya begins preparing tea. She sets out mismatched cups and mugs for everyone.

"My name is Ceren. What exactly brings you here?"

"Well" Rogers begins, looking around to his allies. "We have reason to think that someone here may have...acquired some very interesting data. Don't worry! We're not the police, and we're not CorpSec! We're hoping to take a look at that data, ourselves." The big soldier tries to look as non-threatening as he can, a difficult task with his wide horn-span. Any time you wanna jump in here, y'all...

Pokya tries to awkwardly sip from the tea cup and says "We also may have a mutually beneficial proposal if that person who may have acquired the data is interested in this kind of activity with a bit more... resources... at their disposal.

Ceren looks at you curiously, then looks concerned. She raises her gaze up to the ceiling as though lost in thought and after a moment, her eyes go wide.

"Oh. Oh, dear. I, uh, I think that was me. There it is in my neural implant. Bluerise Tower? Ooooooh dear."

Jubair's jaw drops, and Ceren waves her hand at him. "Well, you see dear, I was something of a renowned hacker in my younger days. I retired when the ol' noggin stopped working quite right. Even now, I sometimes do things without remembering, and I suppose I must have slipped into old habits. Well, I'm happy to give you the data, but I hope you can help me in return. It won't be long before Bluerise comes looking for me, and they'll kill me for sure! There's only one thing to do: you've got to help me fake my death."

She nods her head as though the matter is decided and sips her tea.

"Uh...huh." Rogers' jaw practically hits the floor as the woman so calmly and pragmatically reaches such a life-altering decision. "I...guess we could do that, sure." Turning to his compatriots, he shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands, clearly at a loss. "Any of you know...anything about this sort of thing?"

Rafflesia’s notched ears perk upon hearing the word “death.”

”What do you have in mind?” she squeaks excitedly.

Zaldekan blinks out of his trancelike state to the sight of a flower-patterned mug in his hands.

How long have I been staring at my tea?

He shakes his head and refocuses, eager to hear of Ceren's plans.

Null nods at Ceren.

Aging presents many challenges.

Null unclips the miniature computer from their chest and holds it out it to her, tapping the universal data port with their finger.

"xxiiif you wouldn't mind."

Ceren rummages around in a drawer and finds a cable. She inserts one end behind her ear, and attaches the other to Null's computer.

"There it is! And so we have a deal. I need a couple of hours to collect my things. And Jubair will have to come with me, of course. I know a park we can meet at; it's usually pretty quiet that time of day. Remember, Bluerise has to think I'm dead! And I'll need a new life, too!"

So you need to fake someone's death.

In order to keep things moving, I'll list the options from the scenario, but don't feel limited to these! You can absolutely use other skills as long as you explain what you're doing. Please make one check each for Death Certificate and New Identity.

Death Certificate

-Fake her body: find a corpse somewhere (did anyone play Into the Unknown?) and use Disguise or Medicine to make it look like her.

-Hack into the Station Records: Computers check

-Go to the mortician's and claim an unclaimed body is her: Bluff

-Bribe a mortician to file a fake report: 100 credits, if you trust them!

-Relevant Profession check

New Identity:

-Set up a new alias: Bluff, Culture, or Disguise

-Lean on contacts to set her up: Diplomacy

-Get her a job in your field: Profession (any)

-Forge new documents: Computers

I will try to hack records and set her up with a journeyperson's position in the station's electrician's union.

Hack into the Station Records—Computers: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (16) + 11 = 27

Electrician's Job—Profession (electrician): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (4) + 14 = 18

I'll forge new documents for her new job as an electrician, and I can help pay for the bribe if we choose to go that route (I have 50 credits covered).

Forge new documents—Computers:: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Profession (any)? Well, ok...

"You know," Rogers says with a smile, "there's always work for a caring and patient professional, teaching the pilots of tomorrow how to fly." He shrugs, clearly showing how little excitement he expects at the prospect. What the hell do I know about faking someone's death?

Profession (piloting instructor): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24

Oops, reading comprehension fail. Here's for the 'faking death' check:

Having shown those awful 'Red Bulkhead' videos countless times to aspiring teenage pilots, Rogers thinks he has a pretty good idea of what the corpse of a vehicle-crash-victim looks like, and uses this 'expertise' to advise those prepping the fake.

Profession (piloting instructor): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

If, for some inexplicable reason, you're not buyin' that totally legit skill justification, then call that roll a Bluff with a modifier of +0.

"Oh, this is just what I was hoping for! How fun! I think I know just the person to fake a death certificate..." Rafflesia grins mischievously.

Rafflesia's a coroner! Can I get a bonus for being "in the biz"? Hehe.

Yes, you definitely can!

Just to recap after some time away, Null, Zal, and Rogers have made their checks! We still need checks from Pokya, Tuudak, and Rafflesia, who does get a bonus for being a coroner.

So her new job is an electrician for starship engines, I guess?

With a side-gig as a driving instructor.

Is it true? Is the website stable? It seems to be! We still need checks from Pokya, Tuudak, and Rafflesia to move this bit forward.

What a delightful turn of events!

Tuudak gingerly sips his tea through the exchange, pleasantly surprised at his companions' variety of backgrounds and resourcefulness. He perks up when Rafflesia mentions a death certificate. "If you handle the paperwork, I know just the place to acquire a, ah, convincing Ceren alternative."

If everyone agrees, he makes his way to the Puddles to check in on a particular vat farm. He spends some time chatting with the owners before getting down to business.

"...Well, you've given me plenty to think on! I admit I'd never considered vacuum-brining, and if the results are as good as you say, I need to give it a chance! I'm afraid I didn't come here just to talk culinary techniques, however..."

Attempting to talk shop about Absalom Station's ysoki population's pickling enthusiast subculture, thus ingratiating myself and letting me take a body!
Culture: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

With the body procured, everyone is able to create a death certificate in the system and use Rafflesia's coroner contacts to pass the body off. You make substantial progress toward setting up a new alias with professional contacts, taking advantage of her technical skills to put her in a position repairing vehicle electrical systems.

You have a couple of hours remaining until she's asked you to meet up. Would you like to go ahead and do the Acquisitives mission?

”Well, that’s our good deed done for the day.” Tuudak scratches his chin pensively. ”That was a good deed, wasn’t it...?”
Works for me!

Me too. Let's do it!

xxiiit is all relative, Tuudak. In the meantime, let us see what the Acquisitives require of us."

"This corporate espionage is exciting! Do you think, if we become accomplished enough, that the Starfinder Society might broadcast our exploits?" His orange eye twinkles. "I've always entertained the idea of being a filmed nuar."

You head back to the Lorespire Complex. The plain white doors of the specific office slide open to reveal a stark, dimly lit room. The chamber is bleak and expressionless in its emptiness—no vanities line its smooth black walls, and no signs of use mar its smooth black furniture. The only occupants of the suite are a bug-eyed tadpole wriggling in a glowing blue aquarium and a reptilian vesk seated behind an onyx desk. The vesk gestures to a number of chairs in front of him, his features sharply illuminated by the light of his desk’s green holoscreen.

“The new graduates,” he greets, in a low and pleasant voice. “Good day. I am Radaszam, though since you are here, I should hope you already knew.

“I trust you are aware of our Society’s traditions, so I will cut to the point. I have a minor situation that needs resolution. One of our members, a human named Laboni, had a rather public altercation with a junk scavenger from the Spike. You might be more familiar with the scavenger than I, actually; he is a ysoki
who fancifully calls himself Ratrod? I am told he runs a popular racing competition that has, hmm, several hundreds of thousands of viewers on the station’s infosphere. For some reason, Laboni felt the need to tell him that any ‘real’ mechanic could easily beat the garbage that Ratrod and his associates slap together. Now that Ratrod has issued an infosphere-wide demand that she race him and prove it, Laboni doubts she can back that claim up.

“Embarrassing, isn’t it? Not really the sort of troublemaker that suits our Society. Perhaps she would be better suited to the bottom of a... no, no, we cannot afford to throw her out, not after so many Starfinders were lost in the Scoured Stars. Besides, we can’t let people think we are so weak that we can’t control our own members, or that we cannot stand up to a scrapyard junker. No, I would like you to assist Laboni in winning this race. Show our detractors that even the least of our Society is not someone to be trifled with.”

I wonder how quickly this vesk would discard us, should we make a misstep.

xxwwwill helping Laboni not reinforce her boastfulness and create a larger problem for us in the future?

"Although I agree we might be encouraging bad behavior, Starfinders should help Starfinders in their times of need. Maybe we could convince her to change her ways as well.

"Yes, I'm not entirely convinced this is the right approach, but still, better to save the Society face in public and deal with her in private."

Unless you have other questions, you can head out to the race!

Ratrod’s racing circuit is a hollowed-out section of a mountain of spare parts in Botscrap, the track specifically sanctioned by the ysoki-dominated Salvage Union that controls most of the yards. When you arrive at the competitors’ entrance, a small robot greets you.

"Welcome to Ratrod's Races! All racers must follow the rules or be banned from the track. Racers and their pit crews are to build and improve their vehicles from the available scrap around the racetrack. Vehicles built at previous junkraces can return. Racers can fire upon other competitors during the race, but firing into the audience is grounds for immediate disqualification; racer weapons must be nonlethal and may affect only opponents’ vehicles."

Tuudak drums blunt fingers against his right cheek, considering Radaszam's assignment. "Hmm. Racing? Rogers, that sounds like your department! I expect we can take care of things." He bows to the vesk before exiting with the others.

---

He talks to his companions about the venue while they're on their way.
Culture: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17, to see if I maybe Know Things?

---
"Goodness! Surely we don't look the sort who would fire at spectators?" Tuudak is aghast at the robot's final sentence, a palm spread wide across his chest. "Well, we'll have to show rather than tell. Does Ratrod provide tools for assembling vehicles, or do we need our own?"

Tuudak, it definitely sounds like you've watched the show before! You know that trash talking really gets under Ratrod’s fur and people have been wondering whether there will be more harsh words exchanged before the race.

A woman in her late teens wearing paisley clothes and a bright white lab coat runs up to you. "Are you the Starfinders? I'm Laboni."

She seems a bit sheepish about the situation.

"I know I shouldn't have said it, but you know how it goes. Everyone was talking trash and I just got carried away. I'm so glad you're here; there's no way I could actually win this thing on my own."