V nice! Love the updated art!
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Same here, and the pregen links lead to the same 15 page document. What’s the plan, Paizo?
LOVE the new look. I don't suppose we could have it for realsies?
I think the only Guide updated post-COM is Jimbles’ fantastic guide for Envoys.
Uplifted Owl BearsI think Owen Stephens has those in that 3rd party Starfinder Legacy Bestiary thing he's doing... Owen and Alex put out several nice SF renditions of PF races: tengu, kitsune, nagaji, vishkanyas, samsarans, ganzi, kobolds, grippli, vanara, dhampirs, and wayang, including their own expanded takes on most of the planar scions.
Samsarans, aphorites, duskwalkers, shabti, Dreamlands cats. And if we could inject from elsewhere, aurin, chua and mordesh from Wildstar!
Asenath unfolds herself from the buggy, stretching her wings out behind her with a sigh. She fingers her pistol, unsnapping the holster to ready for a quick draw, but leaves it in its cradle for the moment. Flipping her wings against her back, she opens her comm. "Not my lane either. I'm ready to go high and cover if it's needed."
The box on page one of the document gives the wrong names for Episodes 2 and 3. Also... yay!
Happy to the Holidays! Everyone enjoy the break!
Are we picking up Jarix's question before or after Asenath and Barb go to strap into their armor? Nat's land speed is 10 feet slower than the others in normal circumstances, though that's cut to 5 feet slower in high gravity -- I suppose due to strixian feet being built differently. Her fly speed matches the others, but as she relies on her feathers for flight, until she can afford a forcefield armor upgrade I am assuming her wings are not armored. She's willing to participate in combat with her current armor because she can tuck her wings down and mind she doesn't expose them to fire. But flying in heavy gravity and poor wind conditions will cause her to lag significantly behind. She could stay behind or pilot the buggy.
Asenath nods. "I don't suppose Twizzle managed to sneak some spare UPBs into the cargo hold, or maybe hid some under the toilet paper?" As she speaks, she begins turning the ship in a lazy arc back toward the planet, inputting the landing coordinates afresh.
Are you still recruiting? I have a level 5 mystic. She has spent centuries as a nanny and schoolteacher and likes to summon shadowcreature kittens and skittermander whelps. The whelp that come to her summons most is a little guy named Grimstrike the Devourer. He's REALLY popular on the gladiator circuit near the Archipelago -- so much so that Envar Tamm hired him as a corporate shill for Arch Energy. So.. there's that. And yeah, Ziggy. Isn't he having an affair with Historia-7? He's probably doing all this to impress her. However it rolls out, someone's gonna have the fudge the report to Naiaj so she doesn't pull out whatever hair she has left by the roots.
May be interested -- I have the rulebook but no supplements.
"So we're all a bunch of adrenaline junkies. Well, I aim to please," calls Asenath over her shoulder. Her hands flash in the air. "If we don't get that pup down this time, pray to any appropriate gods we don't get stranded out here having to call for a tow. I'll try to keep the cannon in play as much as possible, may it please the Lady."
Asenath silently spreads her wings behind her chair, pressing crossed hands to her chest for a second before abruptly thrusting forward her fists. One sketches a full circle as the other opens to an open, inward facing palm. She brings the fist to meet her palm in soft movement, holding another second before withdrawing her wings and resting her hands in her lap again.
Asenath holds her breath as she traces another intricate pattern in the air before her, all of her consciousness collapsed down to the world of her HUD. On the viewscreen, the stars begin a wild shift, curling endlessly to the left. She closes her eyes and lets her hands rest in her lap.
Thank you, Lady of the Void. May we always listen in reverence to your silent wisdom.
We think of it this way: telepathy operates like a walkie talkie in the mind of a sentient creature. Because it exists as a possibility in the Starfinder universe, it is a potential for all sentient creatures unless the creature has been specified to be deaf and/or mute to it. Creatures with telepathy of any form are capable of turning their walker talkie on and off at will. Depending on the strength of the telepath, when they “push to talk”, they may be able to broadcast on a single frequency or on a range of frequencies at once. They may possibly, as in the case of the Detect Thoughts spell, also be able to tune into the equivalent of an ultrasonic set of frequencies. Creatures without telepathy cannot turn their walkie talkies off at will. As with most creatures, they uncontrollably broadcast their thoughts in an ultrasonic range that most telepaths are not naturally attuned to. Their walkie talkie device allowing for deliberate telepathic two-way communication *can* be switched on by a telepathic creature who wishes to communicate. With the device operating and the telepath tuned into the correct channel, the non-telepath is able to “push to talk” mentally to the telepath simply because that’s the nature of a walkie-talkie. The device is automatically switched off once the telepath has no further intention to continue the conversation in this way. While there are some means for certain creatures to listen in on either regular telepathic communication (as with the Intercepting Ears magitech augmentation) or the natural ultrasonic frequencies (as with particularly powerfully telepathic races or through the use of the Detect Thoughts spell), this is not a function of typical Limited Telepathy.
Asenath gasps as the HUD corrects itself and the whelp winks out of her forward arc. With the sound of a muffled WHANG through the hull, the astral beast flickers back into the port arc. "Dammit," she swears. "Never had one do this in a sim before, but they did warn us there were different subspecies. Once Mayhem gets his shot off, if you guys can get me some nitro I'll see if we can't give this pup a ride he won't enjoy. Get your spacesick bags ready!" As she chatters, she furiously engages various holoscreens to recalibrate her piloting systems to close contact ship combat granularity. Should have done this in the first place. Get your head out of the nest; you're thinking like a cadet....
“Maybe we stock up on scopolamine patches at the next pharmacy we can find, offers Asenath over shoulder. As she speaks, her wired hands flash in the air, the right tracing into a delicate spiral and the left furiously translating it into inputted commands tapped into her holo-HUD. The ship itself responds with a tight, curving slice through space, keeping the whelp on her proximity view the whole time. The targeting indicator flashes green as the whelp seems to slide into the forward arc, and the strixian lets out a satisfied grunt. “All yours, boys!”
And kudos to Quinn for last weekend's Pax Unplugged by the way... the Paizo room was stupendously well organized, welcoming, and a BLAST. We spent a good two thirds of our time at the con in there.
All crystal clear, thanks! In other combats I've observed against Whelps (in other sessions), it has always been fairly difficult to gain piloting initiative, so I'm expecting to usually go first. Luckily, we have enough bonuses to my piloting rolls that I'd always make my stunts, and can usually expect to succeed at Maneuvers, Flybys (when we can manage them) and Flip & Burns (very useful when you're usually going first). Nat herself, naturally, will probably need another round to pick up on all this.
I have a question about token orientation and how it influences piloting and gunnery in a PBP — and apologies for the technical nerdery (cue “Nerdage”); this is my first time piloting with a static slide. I noticed that the front facing orientation of the tokens didn’t change in the move even though both ships had turn moves. In past starship combats I’ve played, one of the most important functions of the pilot has been to plot movement with an eye to using turns to rotate the ship in such a way that the ship has its best chance of ending piloting phases with the foe within multiple overlapping firing arcs, which allows multiple gunners to fire on the enemy simultaneously. In the ship’s current orientation, the Whelp is not within the forward firing arc (and Asenath was hoping to just pass through leaving the creature to its own inscrutable hobbies in this round, not having been ordered to assume a firing position). Now that the whelp has clearly aggressively engaged and its actions seem hostile, as a pilot Asenath’s responsibility would typically be to try to end her phase with the whelp within the firing arc of the forward gun as often as possible while the forward shield will support it (because we have no guns on the port or starboard sides, this would ordinarily be the only facing which would allow for two gunners to act), or if/when the forward shield is depleted, to use turns during movement to keep the strongest shield facing the whelp since the turret gunner can fire in any arc. Do we use the orientation of the token the same way in PBP? Should I be using my turns to point the front end of the ship at or away from the monster in the same way I would in a tabletop, and “read” the orientation of the whelp in the same way? I remember in Star Trek, virtually all weapons were depicted as though they had unlimited firing arcs, and orientation was rarely depicted as a factor in ship combat.
Asenath sighs. "No worries, Captain ... although I could use a new set of sharkskin luggage if that wiggler wants to snack on us." She tips her seat back until the cradle engages and calls up her holo display, slipping her hands into the controls.
"Nooooo tasty tasty little strix here, young man," she muses. "Or.. starships, or whatever the hell you eat."
Since this is a Besmaran Whelp (augh, we just fought one in Society last night and I have a boon for it... sob), once the SO scans it and identifies it, can Asenath try a Life Sciences check? She's only a plus three but would that be a viable second source of info about these jerks? Also:
Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand....
Asenath disengages from the HUD long enough to throw a thumbs up to Mayhem. Anything for you, handsome. She slides her hand back into the wire glove and rotates her cradle a quarter turn to her left. When it clicks into place, the tiny lights along the edges of her fingers shift from steady green to white. She raises her hands before her face in a gesture of prayer, then rotates her palms against one another in large, then smaller and smaller arcs, calibrating the size of the rift being calculated by the Drift Engine. Abruptly she stops and pulls her hands apart and the white lights begin to flicker. She moves them down, hovering palms forward before her chest. Okay, you degenerates, I got the rift as close as I can; there appears to be minimal space dust to tear out of the here and take into the there with us. Hope you took your ginger pills and updated your wills. Here we go! Her voice drops and takes on a different timber. Dancing white, silent flight, let us slip the doors of sight, let us dance among the light... With the last syllable, she pushes forward with her empty hands and the very air seems to tremble and spark as the ship enters the Drift.
As the cosmos turns, may we feel your silence in our hearts. Help us to dispel tiredness, overcome difficulty. Build relationship, inspire diligence. Deliver excellence, develop trust, merit praise. Watch over us as we journey the spaces between. Beloved Shadow, may we be the light of your love. Asenath eases herself into her station. She folds her wings neatly around the back of the pilot's cradle, stretches out her arms, and flexes each of her fingers in turn. "I'll teach you to cook if you like, Jarix," she offers idly, most of her attention drawn away by her controls. She pulls on a connected set of delicate wire gauntlets. At the final clearance from Docking control, she draws and holds a deep breath, eyes locked on the holographic display. Green energy crackles from her fingertips and ripples in her eyes as she collapses her concentration down to an intense mutual awareness with the navigation system. Asenath raises her hands, her fingers dancing and flashing like the flight of a pair of butterflies. In response, the ship begins to ease itself silently along the cleared pathway to the hangar airlock.
So sorry for the extended absence! I immediately came down with con flu and a bad case of housework compulsion when we got back.
Asenath favors Ezra with an obedient, deferential smile -- and a cheeky salute, popping ramrod straight and touching a black wingtip to her right temple. “Yes sir! No fraternizing with the boss, sir! Thank you for your feedback! You need have no concerns on that account. And may I offer again my apologies -- I was rather thinking of your pastoral relationship to your crew, as a superior in the Church of Abadar. I won't think of it again.” Aaaaaand just like that you’ve absolved us of any obligation to have a shred of respect for you, Ezra. Way to go, Middle Management Screwup! She cuts her eyes to the lashunta woman -- captain, yes, called it and favors her with a wink.
Asenath suddenly feels a prickle on the back of her neck, noticing an almost expectant lull in the conversation behind her. Tearing her attention away from the charms of Officer Derrett and his tale of roommate woe, she swivels her head impossibly back to peek over her shoulder. Ezra Tellestria, her boss -- in all his foppish, resting-b!@@$-face glory, stands among the rest of the crew, cutting her -- and apparently the defiant one -- the insincere smile and subtly punishing stink eye she remembers all too well from pilot corps orientation. Whoops, she breathes, trying not to blanch. She turns back to Derrett -- wouldn't do to appear too whipped in front of Mister Face Down on the Ground -- with an apologetic grin. "Looks like we need to cut this short," she whispers to the amused guard. (Those eyes! That smile!) Then, more loudly, "Drinks when I get back? You're not allowed to say no." She taps a stern finger on his chest and reseats her bag, turning away. "Bring the roomie!" Putting on her best look of unconcern, the pilot bridges the few steps over to join the group, sensing she's just missed some sort of... shenanigan. This might not be so dull after all. She nods at the boss. "Brother Tellestria," she lobs into the silence. "A pleasure." There, you see? I can match you smirk for smirk. Don't give us that smarmy look; I'll get your precious whatever-you're-sending-us-for back safely. [b] "And please accept my apologies; what did I miss?" [\b]
Asenath stops short at the entrance to the bay, heaving a sigh. Whirling red lights, stern indecipherable babble over the intercom at the far side of the dock -- it was just as Fayna had warned her, three booths down the wide corridor when she had stopped off at the shirren's Starbeans & Hudson News for a last Elysian Cuvacara Froth and a subscription renewal code for Polyworld Cuisines Illustrated. Got it for you right here, Nattt, the motherly telepath had clicked and hissed at Asenath, sliding her cup forward across the counter. No tttime to dawdle today, I hear you need ttto getttt on in there. Something up. O-Oh! Oh, really? Why, what's... I don't think I missed any messages... With a frown, Asenath had fumbled in her pocket for her comm unit and her credstick. No, no, you won'ttttt have, assured Fayna, touching the strixian's hand with one dry, gentle claw. Ssssssshirren gosssssssip network. Ssssssssounds like sssomeone'ss poking about your sssssship and that new guard is being a bitttt... overzealousss. Asenath still marveled at the shirren's ability to convey the impression of a knowing smirk when she spoke telepathically. She had grinned uncertainly at Fayna, reaching again for her credstick. Thissss one issss on me, fledgling, the shirren had demurred. Go and sssssmile atttt that young man, meettt your new people. Hylax will go with you. And yes, now her path is blocked by onlookers watching a commotion going down by her ship. Ugh. My ship. Like I've been training ten hours a day so some random Protean can delay us because he needs to stick it to The Man. She tilts her head around, noticing a lashunta woman pushing her way through the crowd with purpose. Lashunta woman, that's... probably the captain? They really should have gotten us together before today, she grimaces, darting into the wake the other woman created.
Strix look, for the most part, like drow with bird feet and big black wings. It's tricky to find a female strix image online because no art exists for the Starfinder era, and the Pathfinder era strix women mostly ran around in brief tops and miniskirts. Here's a less elaborate drow woman in what could pass for modern garb, so I'm adopting her for Asenath. Mentally add big black crow wings. And her corrected Character Sheet.
In the Pathfinder era, the Strixian racial language and Azlanti would be assumed to be just barely mutually intelligible, at least probably having enough cognate words that they realize they sound rather similar and can get the gist of each other's ideas when speaking about low-tech and abstract topics like family and power and freedom. Would it be safe to assume that this would still be the case, or would the languages have drifted too far apart by now to carry any of sense of recognition or similarity?
Asenath sighs with pleasure as she moves through the docks, her wingtips quivering each time she looks through another hangar opening to spot yet another gleaming, top of the line Abadar ship. Paint them? Or Fly them? Or both? Her contract with Abadar contains an addendum enlisting her services as a technical illustrator in certain capacities "to be determined," whatever that means. To be determined. Someone in Abadar recruiting definitely knew the kind of non-legalese to draw her in. To be determined, she muses, pausing to allow a tour group of curious/bored schoolchildren in parochial uniforms pass by with their shepherding AbadarCorp deaconess. As in not pre-determined, not a life of being an agreeable Strixian wife and respectable political helpmeet stretching out before her. Not wasting any more time growing more and more disappointed with this person you made such exciting plans with. She smiles and nods to the harried deaconess, who meets her eyes with a humorous Abadar help me... feigned desperation as she loses the reins on a diminutive ysoki pup making a break for a vending machine in the corner. Stretching out one sleek wing, she blocks the little malingerer's path and gives him a cozy, gentle push back toward his group. "It was a good try. But I'm sure you have snacks waiting for you at the end of the tour," Asenath says to the little boy with a wink. He grumbles and shrugs, nods, and turns back to rejoin his group -- turning at the last moment to repay her wink with one of his own. She laughs. Yes, this was the best decision she could have made, even if she had to impoverish herself temporarily to do it. Let Aaron clip his own wings, let bury himself in protocol and neighborhood policies and homeowner association disputes in some hope of future rewards. As for me, the raven-winged woman muses, adjusting and reclasping the strap on her haversack as she spots the signs directing her to Dock 42 and her own gleaming, Drift-capable promise, I'd rather spread my wings and leave my future to be determined.
<< GLITCH GREMLIN DETECTED IN THE MATRIX >>
Asenath, Strix Ace Pilot Technomancer divorcee and artist. +11 to Piloting, +7 to Computers and Engineering, +3 Dex. She's best suited to fly the ship, but could jump on a gun or into the SO or Engineer seat if she needed to. For those who don't have Pact Worlds, the Strix now live on Verces. Being congenitally sneaky, they like to secretively visit and/or live in a secretive tall arcology/spire called Qidel, the Aerie of the Sun, on the Fullbright side. Even so, they participate peacefully enough as full planetary citizens. They're mostly over their grudge against human types since nobody really remembers what it was all about anyway, and have succumbed the general peer pressure of Verces in deciding that TECHNOLOGY ROCKS, YO. Basically they're your typical raven neighbors who bring their awesome potato salad to all the block parties but never invite anyone over for a cookout. She and her husband recently split, only semi-amicably. He's getting more and more (a bit too) stodgy to further his political ambitions, while she discovered in graduate school that she's actually rather a free spirit who wants to paint and travel in the spirit of Weydan. His lawyer was better than her lawyer (the Strix are all about the community and less sympathetic to going off to do your own thing and find yourself), so she's having to start over financially. She's kind of a hottie. With big black wings.
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