Outpost III - GM Alex's SFS 1-01 The Commencement (Inactive)

Game Master Terminalmancer

Reflex: 1d20 + 3 - 1 ⇒ (18) + 3 - 1 = 20

After the first person cuts themselves on Brivarius sharp, pointy body, people seem to steer clear.

"Shall we head back to Zigvigiz? Since it sounds like he wants us to give album to Historia-7 in person, perhaps we should talk to her about what she wants us to do." Brivarius says through a yawn.

Thank you, Brivarius for your generous offer but I will pass. I never liked Strawberry Machine Cake.
Please stop pushing everyone! If you all do not stop, I will bring some hazard from another dimension. My eyes start to glow blue

Reflex: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20

I am up for talking to whoever you all want.

Vreelin, in between humming along to his new music, suggests the party should head back to Ziggy and then onto Historia-7.

"It'll be so cool to see Ziggy's face listening to this music!"

I second that Vreelin, let us see Ziggy's excitement and jam out. And then let us head to Historia-7.

Ziggy almost stands up as you return to the warehouse! They ultimately decides to remain seated in his folding chair, though.

"Friends! Good work! Not only did you get us a new base of operations, but you also got Historia-7 some music! I am sure it will cheer her up. You should go deliver it in person!"

"Thank you for joining the Starfinder Society. It's really great to see new people stepping up and making the Society a success! We'll need agents of your caliber in the future. Please take care of yourselves!"

Sounds like Historia-7 is your next target?

The Lorespire Complex, home and heart of the Starfinder Society, is a striking campus dedicated to knowledge. Communal labs and historical departments study the Archives’ massive collection of artifacts and texts, gathered by generations of agents from across the galaxy. A quick search of the directory indicates Historia-7 frequents the Archives’ Cortex, a computerized matrix containing digital records of the Starfinder Society’s most prominent discoveries.

The android (slide 10) reclines on a raised chair and is plugged into the local infosphere when the doors open. The neural cables detach themselves from her neck as she swivels in her seat to address the new arrivals. “Greetings, Starfinders,” she says calmly. “I am Historia-7. If you are seeking a mission from me, please be aware that my request requires both discretion and speed. Do not accept it if you feel incapable of working within these parameters.

“I discovered someone recently hacked into Bluerise Tower’s computer systems and stole a large amount of sensitive data from the resident corporations. I wish to be privy to this information. I managed to trace the hacker’s location through many proxies and erased the trail so that station and corporate security should be delayed in their pursuit. This deception will not fool them for long, so you must move quickly to retrieve the data before they can recover it. I will leave you to decide what to do with the hacker afterward, but should it be feasible, I believe that person would be an asset to the Society.”

Brivarius gestures to themselves, "Hacking is outside of our skill set, but we will do our best to help. Please share any details you have about the hacker."

Vreelin nods. When Historia-7 finishes, he chimes in.

"Yes, ma'am! We will be quick and discreet, retrieving the data and the hacker. As Brivarius said, do we know anything about the physical appearance or other identifying characteristics of the person or people we're after?"

Historia-7 leans down and grabs a gift bag, which she hands to you. "Zigvigix has asked for me to provide you with this. He instructed me to tell you that it was for your assistance with the warehouse incident." Inside, you see a note, along with a set of basic iridishell armor, a pair of incendiary grenades I, and 400 credits.

Historia-7 then replies, "Bluerise Tower is a modern-day fortress both physical and virtual. The internal networks are cordoned off from the outside Sphere by powerful adaptive network monitors and the physical security is so tight that even the Stewards need to make an appointment to get inside--and they need to be escorted when they get there. Why the Corps need such high security--and, essentially, sovereignty--is an interesting question, isn't it? And another interesting question is, why would someone who lives at this address, a run-down apartment in Drifter's End, be the one hacker I've ever encountered who can break through the security? I wish I knew more about them, but I don't--so that's what you're off to do."

She continues, becoming even more intense--yet monotone: "Remember, though--not only do we want to find and, perhaps, recruit this hacker--but your primary mission is to recover the data they exfiltrated from Bluerise. The Corps won't be vulnerable for long, and I think they know a lot more than they're letting on, about all sorts of things--including, I think, the Scoured Stars Incident. This could be the Society's only opportunity to find potentially lifesaving intelligence."

The coordinates that Historia-7 gives you lead to an apartment that resembles a cement cube, with several tomato plants in plastic barrels sitting on an otherwise barren porch. A screen door reveals a cluttered interior, and a young human man seems to be hand-pollinating the tomato plants.

Gabrod responds Historia-7, I agree with my comrade we will accept your mission with haste and secrecy. Let us head out.

As they traveled, he thought about it as he fiddles with his serums, "I may have dabbed with computers and engineering before becoming a doctor, if we need some assistance with that."

How would you all like to approach the apartment?

Gabrod responds Historia-7, I agree with my comrade we will accept your mission with haste and secrecy. Let us head out.

"I must admit that 'haste and secrecy' are not my pail of fish, so to speak." concedes Sir Feighnswelle.

As they traveled, he thought about it as he fiddles with his serums, "I may have dabbed with computers and engineering before becoming a doctor, if we need some assistance with that."

"Likewise, technological baubles and noise makers hold little allure," the morlamaw acknowledges. "I suppose I shall sit back a bit, perhaps hide in a nearby bush and remain inconspicuous, until my *ahem* skills are needed?"

"I can do do haste jolly well, but stealth..." Winston gestures at his midsection with a flipper.

Vreelin whispers excitedly from the party's location a ways away from the apartment. [smaller]"Oh, I know! We could approach the young man and pretend to be interested in hiring the hacker for some sort of job. If the person lives here, or maybe is the man, we might be able to at least begin a conversation. After all, we are trying to recruit the person. Maybe we can do them a favor in exchange for the data?"

Osho whispers to Vreelin, I think that is a great idea, I can pretend to be interested in hiring the hacker to uncover, if any experimental research into witchwarper's creating rifts into other realities from the Institute of Extraordinary Minds. I excel at bluffing people.

"We are better at being diplomatic, but we are interested in seeing Pact World approaches. I will do my best to aid your bluff." Brivarius states.

"Deception? Why it reminds me of my days in the ring." notes Feighnswelle, his eyes looking off to the distance bringing to his mind a fondly-recalled memory.

"Feint and jab. Feint and jab." he quietly reminisces.

Osho takes a couple quick steps ahead of the group. As I approach the target, I say Hello, wow you have some nice tomato plants. I stop in front of the porch. Maybe you can help me, I heard that a computer expert lives here. I am in need of someone with those skills for a job. Are you interested?

The young man with a tiny brush looks up from his work. "Oh! Oh my!" He brushes off his pants, and stands up straight. "Did you receive my application? For the call center? I know I'm not the computer expert you advertised for but I promise I can learn! I've been watching vids about building networks! I know it's not the most modern system but I just watched one about setting up a 'token ring'. I think I almost understand it! I--I--" he stammers, perhaps noticing the expression on your face, and changes tack. "I could be apprenticed to a more experienced employee, maybe?"

"Unless... is that not why you are here?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1

Sir Feighnswelle doesn't know what to make of this person.

Master hacker? Herbalist? Painter? Spy?

The massive pinniped quietly remains behind the "cover" of a nearby bush.

As he approaches, Vreelin tries to figure out how this young man is reacting.

Sense motive+expertise: 1d20 + 6 + 1d6 ⇒ (7) + 6 + (5) = 18

He then thinks on his Computers training to make some more assessments.

Computers: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

After determining some of the particulars of the situation, Vreelin ops to turn up the flattery.

"Hello, sir. While we aren't here on the behalf of the call center, we are here for a very important reason, and from a very important employer. And we need your help, if we can count on your discretion. We are looking for someone especially skilled in offensive computer operations for a time sensitive matter. Do you know of anyone here whom we could talk to? If you can assist us, I can put in a good word with our organization, which could open up potential options for future projects, apprenticeships, or even employment. Can we count on you?"

Is it Bluff? Diplomacy? Vreelin is trying to be more diplomatic (and has an additional +1 to Diplomacy over Bluff), but if he's stretching the truth a little too much, Bluff is fine.

Bluff +7 or Diplomacy +8: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 7 + 1 = 10

Well that could have gone better. Probably just confused the poor guy.

Brivarius chimes in, "we definitely have more interesting positions than a call center would be."

Diplomacy to aid: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 Bluff is a +3, so would also aid.

I take a couple of steps closer to the target. Like my partners have said, we are not here for a call center job. We are here for someone especially skilled in offensive computer operations for a time sensitive matter.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (17) + 0 = 17

We are aware that someone in this house has the necessary skills to deal with computer security, which needs a certain amount of secrecy. Our organization notices people who show a certain skill set and they have noticed you. If you are the person we are looking for, our organization will pay you accordingly.

Bluff: 1d20 + 8 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 8 + 3 = 26

The man stammers. "I--what on earth are you talking about? I don't know anything about that! You might as well ask me what the Starstone looks like! Actually--I think I have a better idea about the Starstone. What makes you think I know anything about this? Am I going to get arrested? Is AbSec going to come--"

A wizened old woman in a blue-and-white abaya hobbles out of the cubist apartment and puts her hand on the young man's wrist, calming him down. "Jubair, I know this is troubling, but I find that the worst of our problems seem approachable if we have a good cup of tea and think them through. And... you lot. Why don't you all come in? I'm sure we can work this out. Oh, and you can bring your walrus friend as well." She motions at Sir Feighnswelle.

She ushers you into the flat. The floor is covered in boxes of nutrient broth, gardening tools, and various cultural knickknacks. Osho is forced to seat himself on a countertop. Despite the invitation, the three large-sized creatures can't all fit in the tiny studio apartment, and at least one of you lurks outside, your head through the door.

"It seems you've already met Jubair, my grandson. I'm Ceren, although most of the children around here call me Grandma C. What seems to be the trouble?"

Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18

As he was thinking about the man and his application, but when the apartment was opened up for the group, he decided to wait outside, leaning in and saying, "Ma'am, do you consent to any sort of testing that might happen? I am a doctor and I want to make sure to ask before running scans on you and your boy, if I may?"

Vreelin dips into "nice young person" mode after flubbing the initial introduction.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Ceren. My friends and I," Vreelin goes around the table (and window) introducing the rest of the group, "are here on a bit of a sensitive matter. Jubair seems to really have an interest in computers. Is there anyone who lives in the apartment, or maybe visits often, that has inspired young Jubair's interest in computers and coding? We're actually looking for a bit of a computers expert to discuss a potential job on the behalf of our organization."

Diplomacy take 2: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

Better!

Osho nods to Dr. Apati as he stands near the door. I say to Grandma C I would love a good cup of tea and continue our conversation inside. Osho heads inside, sits down across from Grandma C and inspects his tea for any toxic substance or poison.
Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

May I call you Grandma C as well? Are you aware that someone in this house has the necessary skills to deal our computer issue? As my friend has said we are looking for a computer expert and someone with some amount of secrecy. Our organization notices people who show a certain skill set and they have noticed a person in this house. If any one here is the person we are looking for, our organization will compensate accordingly.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Grandma C nods to Osho. "Yes, yes, young one, of course! And that goes for the rest of you as well. Now what kind of tests are you talking about?" she asks, as she fills up an old glass teakettle with water and sets it on a burner on the counter. "I'm very particular about my medical care! It's the only care I seem to get, some days!"

The woman hobbles back to a small chair and sits down in it, staring at Jubair, the young man. After a few seconds, she breaks out into laughter. "Oh, he does fine! I just like to tease him sometimes. I don't know what I'd do without him."

Jubair looks nonplussed as his grandmother talks about him as though he wasn't there.

"But what do you want with Jubair? He's bright and hard working, don't get me wrong, but he doesn't know a firewall from an encrypted partition! Perhaps in time. It's so hard now, not like when I was young. Unfiltered, unmonitored connections to the infosphere are harder and harder to come by these days. And this doesn't sound like that call center job, and surely you don't want me, so why don't you just spit it out? Why are you really here? You're hinting at secrecy as though you're looking for someone to break into a serious system."

In the background, the water in the teakettle begins to boil.

Imma try and do a computers check to try and tell her what we need through computer code, as to have some sort of secrecy in case we are being watched.

Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

He tries to communicate the reason they are there through binary, hoping that she would catch on, and that others that might be trying to eves drop wouldn't.....

Every time I try and do something cool, I roll super low. Could I have taken 10 on that GM?

Sure, that's fine. We'll call that a 20!

Dr. Apati attempts to avoid eavesdroppers by communicating in binary, and while it's slow going, his broader message is received: it's something they need to be really careful about.

"Jubair, why don't you go water the plants?" she says, rapping on his chair leg with a cane. He looks confused at all of this and is badgered out of the house by his grandmother. "Grandma, is this about those vids with the soap opera star you downloaded? I told you you shouldn't be watching leaked--" She closes the door on him after ushering the rest of the big folk inside.

She seems a little more... steely, now. "So, what kind of business could he have gotten into? I appreciate the old-school flavor, but I've got some old active EM countermeasures I grabbed from a decommissioned starship around here somewhere, if you'd like to help me set them up, dear?" She nods to Dr. Apati, who can easily arrange the devices to cover the obvious points where signals might leak out of the concrete bunker.

She plugs a holo-attachment into her comm unit and mutters, "It'd damn well better not be those vids. I thought I'd wiped them all when the kids checked my netdrive, and--" All of a sudden her eyes go from the glazed look of a person using a holographic HUD to the glazed look of someone seeing something they weren't expecting to see.

"Well, I guess that'd be it. You must be looking for me. I don't remember doing this, but I seem to have hacked into the Bluerise network. I wonder what I was thinking. What can you tell me?" she asks, looking pointedly at the Doctor.

Grandma C, the hacker (slide 11)

"Oh, and you can bring your walrus friend as well." She motions at Sir Feighnswelle.

"It's pronounced, 'morlamaw', Madame," mutters the Starfinder in response. He says nothing more, but silently accepts the invitation to enter her home. He scoots up to comfiest chair that he can find and plops into it.

"Now what kind of tests are you talking about?" she asks, as she fills up an old glass teakettle with water and sets it on a burner on the counter. "I'm very particular about my medical care! It's the only care I seem to get, some days!"

The morlamaw gives a multi-tusked grin when he sees the woman head for the tea kettle, but his whiskers bristle when he sees the woman fill it.

"What can you tell me?" she asks, looking pointedly at the Doctor.

"That one most certainly should not use whatever merely passes out of one of this station's taps for tea, Madame!" exclaims Sir Feighnswelle. "Why on Arniselle, we'd use nothing but the freshest sea water. How else would you ever hope to top off your cup with a nice, frothy brine?"

Vreelin, clearly not having a good day connecting with this apartment's residents, begins a soft, melodic hum to himself as Grandma C talks to the doctor. He chimes in as needed.

Diplomacy assist if needed: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11

The streak of rolling poorly continues...

"Morlamaw, you say?" the aging woman replies. "Put some glasses on you and I'd call you John Lennon. But morlamaw I wouldn't have guessed. Seems they've got a name for everything these days!"

As she fills her teakettle, the old woman extends one finger from her off hand in Sir Feighnswelle's direction. "And it'll burn you all the same if this old woman were to trip and spill it on you by accident. I'll trust the Station purifiers any day. 'sides, there are all kinds of animals that do all sorts of unsanitary things in the seawater, aren't there? Yourself included, I wager. I don't want to drink any of that!"

"You're not too far off in your assessment of my faculties, though. Early onset dementia. They got a fix for it, some cyberware to replace the stuff that's rotted out, but they didn't get it in me fast enough. I forget some things, now and again. I get these... holes."

She begins pouring some piping hot (nasty Absalom Hydro tap-)water into some cheap plastic teacups.

Vreelin resists with all of his (several? who knows!) heart(s) to get into a discussion about certain John Lennon-esque morlamaw's he's heard about, but never met. He tries to focus on the conversation at hand instead.

"Ms. Ceren, unfortunately we don't know what you were thinking, either. But, the data you've acquired --specifically, what it is-- is of considerable interest to the Starfinder Society. The Society is also in need of computer experts with your considerable skill! Perhaps we could work out some kind of an agreement? An internship for Jubair too, perhaps?"

Osho notices Grandma C is taking a liking to the Dr and Sir Feighnswelle. I try not to cause much notice and cast Charming Veneer on the Dr.

The Dr. gains a +1 circumstance bonus to Charisma checks and Charisma-based skill checks. Additionally, a creature affected by this spell can attempt a Diplomacy check to gather information in only 10 minutes. The creature can only be affected by this spell once per 24 hours. I think this is a good way to use this spell.

Thank you Grandma C for the tea. I take a cup and drink it.

The woman nods to Vreelin. "That'd be nice. Jubair needs... guidance. More than I can give him out of my old shovelware vids. I can't... I have no idea what I was thinking."

"Sometimes I get in these moods, y'know? Where I think I'm still the young wisecracking hacker, best in the world, never been caught. I don't remember much that happens when I'm like that. Probably for the best. But the real me, the one you see here? There ain't no way I'm gonna outrun anyone anymore. These feet don't even fit in my old boots! Just wait until you get varicose veins--I bet you won't fit into your old secondskins either!" She sticks out a swollen foot and points at it.

"I'm probably screwed anyway. If it's not AbSec, it'll be Bluerise, and I hear they're not as nice as they used to be. I'll give you the data, but take care of Jubair for me, will you? He'll need someone when I'm--oh, but wait! I've got it!"

"New plan, young stuff. I need you to kill me. Think you can do that?"

Brivarius looks taken aback. "Kill... you... That is most horrible. Could we assist you in receiving an appointment with a doctor instead? Would you like to visit with a psychiatrist?"

He perked up at the mention of needing a doctor, "Ma'am, if you need of medical assistance than I am your doctor! My rates are low, but fair, just sign off on the consent form and I will give you a proper check up."

He will try and give her a scan with his medlab, and take 10 on a medicine check for a 18

"'sides, there are all kinds of animals that do all sorts of unsanitary things in the seawater, aren't there? Yourself included, I wager. I don't want to drink any of that!"

"Well, I never!" replies Sir Feighnswelle indignantly.

The morlamaw seethes, but remains silent. "I'll show you 'unsanitary things'! He thinks to himself.

When the old woman mentions that he may be right about dementia, the pinniped's demeanor changes. Has she read my mind?! The thought gives him concern and he unthinkingly takes a sip of tea, which he manages to swallow.

"New plan, young stuff. I need you to kill me. Think you can do that?"

As the copaxi protests aloud, the morlamaw nods profusely. "Most certainly! Do you have a method in mind?" he asks, rolling up his sleeves.

At the mention of killing, Winston pokes his head in the door. "I was told there would be no murdering of civilians on this mission. Did Zigivix give us the wrong bloody mission briefing again?"

Vreelin can't believe his ear-like sensory organs.

Kill her? Is she serious?

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 + 1d6 ⇒ (18) + 6 + (3) = 27

Somewhat disturbed that his teammates seem almost eager to meet Grandma C's request, Vreelin tries to jump in.

"Now, Ms. Ceren, maybe we should resort to, uh, ending your life as a last resort? Maybe you could go into hiding? Or take a nice, long vacation somewhere far, far away from Absalom Station? I'm sure the Society would be willing to help get you out of the mess using less..." Vreelin turns one of his three eyestalks to look at Sir Feighnswelle "... less permanent measures."

Grandma C I cannot believe you would want to leave Jubair. I glare at the group members so eager to kill her.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (4) + 0 = 4
I believe you have more to give then you know.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Grandma C laughs at, or with, Dr. Apati--you're not sure which. "Young man, perhaps later! I've got some dying to do. And no," she looks at the solarion. "I need help, but not like that!"

To the morlamaws, she adds, "Well, I've got some ideas! How about you both keep and break your word to your boss?"

"So what I'm thinking is that I've already screwed myself, right? Bluerise has probably got someone coming after me even if I don't know who. And they can find anyone, right? But who can't they find? People they aren't looking for!"

"So what I'm thinking is, how about you all kill me virtually? You know, hack into some newsvid studios, plant some stories. Gimme an obituary in the news. All that's extra, though. The last time I faked my death, all I did was get myself a death certificate--I can think of a couple ways to do that, some of them even including a corpse!--and a new identity. I can't do it myself--I'll probably forget something! Besides, they'll be poring over my devices. But they barely know you exist!"

"So whaddya say? Death certificate and a new identity? And, of course, you offer to help Jubair out."

Crosses his arms to think about it, then nods as he says, "Sure, just let us know what you want us to do with your grandson, and I don't think we are that worried about some hired goons, after all, we are Starfinders.... I think that is the phrase to say after all."

"'Death certificate and new identity'?" Sir Feighnswelle parrots. Turning to the izalguun, he comments, "Hired goons, I can handle. The rest, I suppose, will have to be up to you."

Not sure I have any applicable skills for this particular task.

Grandmother Ceren lightly raps Feighnswelle's side. "Just means you're not being creative enough! I bet you could find yourself a dead body, couldn't ya? Or make one! Now there's a skill I bet you've got. Anyway, there are lots of ways around this particular problem... you just might need to put your heft into it, if you know what I mean.

She turns serious and looks at Dr. Apati. "Well, we'd need to lie low for a while. Maybe you could take him on after we're clear? He deserves better than his dear old grandma ruining his life because she can't keep her hands off other peoples' secrets. I might not have more to give but I can make sure I don't take too much from him." She nods to Osho.

Ceren stands up and says, "Any of you lot got a box? Let's get to going! I want to get my stuff if I'm goin' on the lam again! Just like old times." She knocks on the closed door. "Jubair? Jubair! We're packing up! Come help!"

A confused looking young man reenters the apartment. "So, uh--where are we going, Grandma?"

"Hurry up! I've got to die. Don't ask. Don't worry, you're stuck with me anyway."

Jubair remains confused.

"Tell you what, Starfinders--I'll keep packing up take care of some business. I'll meet you at the southernmost bridge in Jatembe Park in six hours and you can tell me how wonderful my new identity is. Sound good?"

Ceren's asking you all to help fake her death! There are two main requirements she's identified, and a few ideas have been bandied about. They'll all require some sort of skill check, of course.

First, you need to get her a death certificate of some sort. You could hack the coroner's computer system to generate a fake death certificate and enter it in the system. (Computers check.) You could also, it's suggested, procure a body yourself and do something to it to make it appear to be Ceren's. (Disguise or Medicine once you've got the body. Regarding finding a body, you might be able to buy one from an unscrupulous coroner, perhaps.)

Secondly, Ceren wants to have a new identify to live under. You can set her up with an alias and fake background with Bluff, Culture, or Disguise. You can use a separate Diplomacy check to build her a social network of friends and neighbors. You could use Computers again to forge her papers. If you have a job, you could always try to help her get a job, besides--although she might be picky.

Failures matter--you don't want to screw up too much or the papers and identity will be easily seen through! You'll also need to make multiple checks, so everyone can pitch in to make Ceren's new identity a reality. Creative solutions are encouraged.

Ceren putters about the apartment. "I'll be here a bit if you need me, but I should go see some people before I kick the bucket!"

Jubair says, "I can't believe you're doing this again, Grandma." and sighs.

Brivarius enjoys the scent of their tea while thinking for a minute. "I have made many connections since leaving Tabrid Minor as a political commentator. Ms. Grandma Ceren, would you be interested in a position editing video or producing special effects?

Profession (Political Commentator): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31

Vreelin, perhaps surprisingly, produces a disguise kit.

"I can help with the new identity. And dressing up a body, if we get one."