I've been desperately wanting to play Starfinder ever since it came out, and I've had... mixed success, to put it lightly. One of the latest attempts was this here Captain Davir Karst, a man who's allegedly a space pirate, smuggler, and a charmer. All while being (legally) dead.
Mechanically, he's a Borai Space Pirate Solarian, melee based, and Captain oriented. Getting him up to level 3 should take little time. Nat'raly. Flavour-wise, he's a Diasporan-born, cant-slingin', blathersome scoundrel of a man. Yet, his 'live fast and die young' motto has hit a particularly unusual roadblock, since he appears to be at step three of his two-step plan, and on an alien planet. Redemption, meaning of life and pondering of the soul are definitely on the menu for him, even if he looks about as honest as a grav-car dealer.
Backstory:
Kashtu considered himself, in all regards, a rather adventurous, even daredevilish type. After all, a scavenger has to be ready for anything in space, whether when to dodge a pirate ship, pretend to be an upstanding citizen when a Stewards' cruiser rolls in, or even when 'rescuing' cargo under pressure from a seemingly derelict light transport, with a Castrovellian Orbital Enforcement frigate on the long-distance scanners.
His loader-bots started shuffling off the cargo, a rather large amount of contraband alien, ahem, controlled substances. The Port Authority guy would be on his 'break' for no more than ten more minutes, and that alone took a substantial amount of Kashtu's dwindling finances. The bot, though, was almost done with the important stuff, so the scavenger pointed his attention to the last, unusual piece of salvage. A single lifepod, a piece of debris piercing the transpared aluminium lid. Scans, obviously, showed no lifesigns. Although..., an impossibility shocked Kashtu from staring at his wrist PDA. The pod was looming open.
"Now, then, m'good man.", a ragged, deathly voice with a chipper undertone announced from behind him, the fake warmth of the voice supported by the unnatural feel of 'cold' and 'sharp' in the back of the lashunta's spine. "Turn 'round, and stay out of m'thoughts, ye mind-speaking mind-peeker." The daredevilish instinct within Kashtu evaporated like mildew under a jet engine, as he swallowed and turned around to stare at the man in question.
A tall, thin human, he pondered, though he immediately scratched that assumption from his head. Humans, Kashtu knew, didn't have ashen-gray skin, nor viciously glowing red eyes. The man in front of him, however, was in possession of both, a flashing white smile and a weapon seemingly made of solid darkness pointed at Kashtu's chest. The man looked disheveled to no end, a wekk-old stubble on his ashen chin, his hair a mess, and his miner's longcoat covered in dust, over a bruised and battered marine armour. "With yer lips, tell me where am I? I'm guessin' planetside, by the sunshine outside."
"C-Castrovel. Sir.", Kashtu blurted out rapidly with his thickly accented Common. "Ah.", the other man's voice replied roughly. "Well, that explains the lashunta!", he laughed out almost manically, as he lowered the sword. Kashtu felt his heart beat for the first time in thirty seconds. The zombie pirate's eyes seemed to scan Kashtu's cargo bay, and a small smile crawled onto his face. "Ah, ye're one o' my people. In that case, Captain, I reck'n I'm in your debt." Tapping his hand on the last remaining crate of contraband, he snapped his fingers. "So keep that. Debt paid, before the int'rest sets in. Ha!", he roared out, before leaning in a terribly physical and close hug onto Kashtu's terrified shoulder. "Now, m' fellow captain. Where's a man's got to go and celebrate his wake 'round here.", he whispered in his ear.
The answer in his ear, Davir Karst, formerly Captain of The Impromptu Getaway, strolled out into the Castrovellan sun, greeting it as he'd greet a mother. "Oh, ye old Sun, aren't ye a darn fine beauty!"
Scratching his teeth with the lollipop's stem, Davir shrugs. "Eh, the lad with the large robot and larg'r vocabulary's got some points.", he laughs out. "Though, I'm thinkin' that gangers aren't like us honest taxpayin' gentlepeople, ruled by logic 'n 'profit 'n higher causes o' th' sort.", he laughs out, gesticulating wildly.
"Y'see, gangs and criminal org'nisation are like...", he scratches his stubble, for a moment, before snapping his fingers. "Like binary stars. Conflict and keepin' the rest in check's their entire existance an' recruitment an' all. So if, say, one does somethin' for themselves, like get paid t'take out a much reviled unionist fer miner's rights..." He waves his hand. "The barycentre of the gangers becomes our little Dock 94, and our heroic selves just get swallowed in the gravity pool." He sticks the bitten stem of the lollipop behind his ear, and scratches the other.
Pointing two fingers towards both Burlap and the serious-looking lashunta, he grins. "Ah, gentlemen! Why compromise when y'can have both!", he raises his hands, pointing towards the ysoki. "Ask the members politely, until", he gestures towards Soryn, "they give ye someone specific. Everyone wins!"
Turning towards Chiskisk, he raises an eyebrow, and the first honest-sounding words for the day come out from his mouth. "To be fair, I came here to do a job with m'old acquaintance Duravor. An' some bastird went and shot him. So if ye're coverin' expenses..." A cutlass appears in his hand, as Davir Karst raises it to the air. "Ye just need t'point me in the right direction. I'm not a gamblin' man.", he grins, "But I think we can find the Level 21 Crew somewhere around Level 21 of the station?"
"Ah, if it isn't the lovely office of the buc'neers of fate, the corsairs of exploration, and the Trade Company of enlight'ment!", Davir grins with a knowing twinkle in his eye, seeing the Starfinder Society's opulent Lorespire Complex. The bastards have it cut out for them, plundering and exploring under the nose and protection of the Collective. And if they weren't that darn selfless, I might've even considered joining!, he laughs out, as he joins the other two towards the secretary. "Not only this, my keen eyed'n'eared friend, but also some might say the two are toited tighter than Eox and the Corpse Fleet.", he shares his own bit of rumour in Velocity's ear, before smoothening his hair. "We're all a bit shaken, 'strue.", he nods grimly at the receptionist, as if he wasn't grinning madly a moment before, before reaching for the jar of sweets.
"Though if I may my dear friend here's timeline, he obviously didn't sent us after he passed. Dead men rarely say anythin' of importance, trust me on that.", he adds with a smirk on his ashen complexion, biting the lolipop with the ravenous bite of a starving ghoul. "It's said that Chiskisk's the one t'speak to, since, eh,", Davir struggles with the alien name's pronoun for a moment, "Ol' Duravor's last meetin' was with the individual in question."
Rolls/OoC:
Culture:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22Hah! And they never said I'd be good at Int skills. No. Wait. I said that. Diplomacy:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10To see us through faster, ideally?
"Found this on the victim. Has a description of...well, of the heroes here."
"I think heroes' might be a little t'much. But I'll take it.", he laughs out, waving in a friendly manner as they leave. "Goodbye, ye Collectivist jackbooted tosspots.", he hisses, the wide smile still on his face. Turning towards the green man, Davir shrugs. "Well, it's not like they gave us the datapad. Plus, if I was that Pathfindin' Chiskisk charact'r, I'd be very worried if the dwarf I was goin'ta meet was, well. Five and three-quarters space-wastin' chasers and a hoverin' robot obsessed with myself." He fixes the worn blaster tucked in his belt, before shrugging. "I'd say we go'n'see that Chiskisk right now, before the best bars and canteens open."
Davir is sitting on a crate, his legs dangling from the crate's edge as he regales the officer. The sound of his gauntlet scratching at the stubble covering his gray, almost leathery chin is vaguely reminiscent of the sound of walking on gravel. "Eh, the bastirds had it comin', after they shot down my fellow ore-reaper Duravor." He shakes his head. "After that, it was personal. Shame I find out he's touched so many lives to great values, only aft'r his passin'.", he sighs, regaling the rest of the impromptu 'heroes'.
"My plans, eh. Life's rides plans rough-shot, Lt. Canber, trust me 'fore ye trust a dead man.", he laughs out, before shrugging. "I feel like we ought t'have a wake fer Duravor. Then - I'll let the stars' shine shepherd my course.", he laughs out. Like hell I'm telling you jack, hound.
As he turns to leave, the fake Captain Davir Karst pats Anton's shoulder gently, before raising two empty hands at Vivian's defensive reaction. "Ease up there, I didn't shut ye down fer personal reasons, my lovely!", he argues with the robot, before nodding at the boy. "Don't bother the good Lieutenant fer work. I've had more jobs offered 'round here than I've had warm meals." He laughs out. "Unfortunately for them, I've got 'bout two marketeable talents...", he starts saying as he gently nudges the boy away from the lieutenant and leaning down into his ear. "Do ye a favour. Ye stop lookin' and forget all about the real Captain Davir Karst, and you might just find him. But not. In. Public!", he adds with a hiss at the end, before rising up from the whisper with pointed fingers as if he just said a saucy joke. "...and that's why they're called quasars."
Cue facepalm when I realised that my weapon had a non-lethal setting... Oh. Well.
Davir sheathes out his cutlass from the second man's body, before smacking himself in the head. Leaning his head backwards and staring down the almost imperceivably sparkling white edge of the weapon, he exclaims. "Oh. That was a thing.", he says, as he flicks the blade's edge, before casually tossing it behind him, the blade collapsing into a miniscule(r) singularity.
Shuffling slowly towards Duravor's corpse, he sighs, seeing the rest gathered around very much the same man he's looking for. Oh, Karst, my boy. You found yerself a little constellation of convenience., he outwardly grunts out, before shoving his hands in his pockets. "Eh.", he says, gesturing theatrically to take off a non-existing cap. "I don't much know how much ye voiders knew 'bout poor ol' Keel here.", he shrugs, speaking out in a surprisingly clearer voice, the graveliness lending itself well to the eulogy. "Probably a lot more than meself, that's fer sure. But.", he sighs out, pulling the sides of his coat downwards. "the old dust-raker was one of the few honest men I knew. The third one out of about five. And the stars glow a little dimmer fer his loss."
He takes a step forwards, before bowing over with an awkward twist, whispering to the dwarf. "May the Drift be gentle, and her embrace kind."
That done, he affixes his non-existant hat back onto his head, and his smile shines once again as he glances at the crowds. "Ye lovely Absalomians, Absalomettes and the kind!", he roars out, bowing deeply. "Savin' ye was our pleasure, no doubt. While I'll be more than welcome in acceptin' yer gen'rous gratitudes, the most important thing is that ye say to the authorities that we were simply defendin' ye. And vouch for us receivin' a..." He overly leans to the side over the ysoki, whispering with a theatrical hiss. "Psst! Mist'r Burlap. What's the highest civilian medal 'round these parts?", he asks in a theatrical whisper.
Well... That's not usually how this behaves. Almost surprised at the reaction from the sword in his hand, Davir quickly shrugs, pats down his coat and runs across the docks. Leaping across the pallet behind which another ganger with the same uniform as the one bleeding and screaming on the ground, lashing out with his cutlass as he does so. "Hey, ye Drift-bound bastird!", he barks as the horrid, pitch black blade is brought down upon the ganger. "Ye're in my cover!"
As the laser flashes past Davir's face, his eyes flare open for a minute. "Now hey there, pal! That's not a way t' welcome tourists!", he shouts back, as the red glare from his eyes appears to intensify, flaring out with an eerie, crimson glow. Breaking into a stiff, gangly sprint, he bares a mouth full of teeth as he stampedes towards the man who shot at him. Or at least, towards an armed man, unfortunate enough to be on the side Davir saw the laser come out of.
As he approaches the laser-armed ganger, his smile grows wider. Suddenly, a foot-and-half long blade of pitched darkness in the shape of an antique cutlass springs around Davir's hand. "See, here's the thing!", he barks out with a terrifying, gravely laugh. "A gang is just a pirate crew that's too dumb t'fly!", he shouts in the man's face, before burying the vicious weapon into his unwary foe's gut all the way to the hilt. "And ye shot my mate, ye void-breathing latrine-scented bastard."
Rolls/OoC:
Attack, Charge:1d20 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 4 - 2 = 17 Damage:1d6 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11That's 3 from Str, 3 from Cha (Soulfire Infusion), 1 from Photon Mode (the red glow), and 1 from the Crystal.
Shuffling to get passed the crew of the shuttle, Davir follows the others with patience, gently offering the people in front of his line to proceed before him. Thankfully for most, his boots are already firmly on his feet, as he stampedes out with loud steps, placing his hands on his waist. "Well isn't this a fine snap of life on Absalom Station." he exclaims as he spots Duravor Keel's form in the distance, before letting out an ear-piercing whistle with his fingers, followed by a wide, melancholic wave.
His slow, shuffling gait, however, is interrupted as a lashunta man barrels in his shoulder, rifle drawn and shouting at someone to move. "What's yer problem, there, pal?" Davir's hands raise in overplayed indignance at the rude individual. "If ye're late, should've taken the earlier shuttle!"Damn big city collectivists, thinking the multiverse revolves around them.
"Don't worry, lad.", the gray-skinned man stretches a flashing smile at Anton, before sending a longer look at the floating robot. "Let me give ye a piece of advice. Never be sorry f'r tryin'."Ah, the Impromptu Getaway. My grandest achievement and grandest f#@!-up. He sighs deeply. After a short ruffling through his boot, he chucks the Apple-Pocalypse juicebox into the boy's hands. "Here's a little consolation prize from the consolation Davir Karst. Now, where'd ye scavenge that fine loot, then?"
"Meetin' an old friend.", shrugs Davir as he gives the new arrivals, and Velocity in particular, a long lookover. "From my mining days.", he adds with a grin. "Though, I could take a detour with Burlap here. If there's no princesses left, I reckon I can settle for the Queen." The business comment from the lashunta seems to raise the gaunt man's humours, as a low laugh leaves his throat. "That's an excellent way t'answer a question without revealin' anything." He lowers his brow. "You're startin' a career in politics?"
Turning back towards the half-elven woman evading the authorities in a vastly familiar way, Davir points a finger at her. "And what 'bout yourself? Feel it's only fair you answer your own question, miss."
I think the glowing eyes are part of the 'almost-but-not-quite-undead' deal Borai are - judging by the Alien Archive book. But anyway, welcome to Starfinder!
Shaking the ysoki's hand with a stiff grip, Davir nods. "Ah, pleasure, fellow spacer. I grew up on and around Heorrhahd, but home's where the heart is, Burlap.", he adds thoughtfully, as he reaches for another snack. The blurt from the young man, however, interrupts him, and the floating robot seems to surprise him. The robot's question in particular seems to send him into confusion, as he takes a wide step back, bumping towards the table. What the schist? Keep yer cools on, boyo! Ye're getting done!, he stumbles a little, before he pulls the tails of his coat, putting his arms on his waist and a disarming smile on his face.
"Woah, there, robotic lass!", he grunts out at the hovering robot. "No offense, but if ye want me for an impromptu getaway, ye'll need t'buy me dinner first." He sniffs the air, then adds dismissively to Anton. "It's a common name, mine! Although, that's a real forward robot you got there." Happy for the interruption from the Shirren, he returns the wave. "It's like walking into a bar, isn't it."
Just mentioning, there's no visible flying solarian orbs... yet!
Shoving the donut in his mouth with a single bite, the man laughs at the question. "Cheers, like. Hadn't eaten in... weeks.", he thanks in a muffled voice. "Didn't think they made sergeants that handsome.", he grins, before shaking his head. His attention seems to be drawn away to the screen, where the question of the attacks near the Diaspora's being discussed, as he rubs his chin. Well, at least they're not onto me yet. And besides, I'm dead.
Turning back to the ysoki with the crisp uniform, he continues. "Pard'n my manners. No military, just a former miner off to meet an old friend in this overpriced and overstuffed space station.", he deflects with a grin, though it's clear that a simple miner the man is not. Unceremoniously wiping on the tablecloth, he extends a hand, blackened veins swimming along the surface. "C... Davir Karst, pleasure t'make your acquaintance.", he says chipperly to the room. "And where did you serve, mate? Can't quite pin yer accent down."
Congratulations! I was actually getting my own diploma sent to me this Friday (as I couldn't make my own graduation ceremony), so enjoy it for me as well!
On one of the triple seats, a man is quietly snoring, huddling a pair of military boots as if they were a baby. Tall and thin like a spacer, he would appear as a rather handsome human, were it not for the almost ashen gray, corpse like skin covering his face. A jet black three-day stubble adorns his face. Dressed in a set of worn and dinked heavy armour and a thick leather overcoat above it, a pistol is tucked into his belt, a fearsome visage, only undercut by the mismatched socks he's wearing, one baby blue, the other a zig-zagging pattern of white and red - and with a hole from which a gray big toe's poking out.
A pop from the woman with the colourful hair, however, seems to wake him up, as he opens his eyes with almost staggering surprise, before he locks his gaze with her. His eyes are red, but not the bloodshot red of someone suddenly rising, but almost glowing crimson. He inhales deeply, before leaping out of his seat with a crunching noise, as if his joints haven't moved in ages.
He blinks around a couple of times in sleepy confusion, before locating the food table, shuffling through to grab a juicebox. A horrible sucking sound later he appears to drain it, before unceremoniously throwing another one in one of his boots. "Y've got the right idea, y'know.", a raspy gurgle with a thick Diasporan accent leaves his mouth as he nods at the ysoki with military bearing, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, before his eyes glare at the rest of the room.
"Well isn't this a pack of col'rful individuals!", he exclaims loudly, before shrugging. "Those late-night shuttles are always an experience." Bending his arm in a stretch behind his back, his shoulder seems to pop with a tear-jerking crunch, before he glances back at the ysoki and the halved donut in his left hand. "You gon to have that? The jam ones are m'favourite.", he asks with a serious tone.
Thanks! I'm more concerned with errors and flat-out bad options than optimization, so this is exactly the kind of feedback I was looking for.
I love the idea of a professional colonist!
In Starfinder, from my experience, it's incredibly hard to both to be bad (unless you dump your main ability score), or to be incredibly optimised, which I really, really like. And mostly unlike Pathfinder, being bad with skills can be very, very bad, as it may leave you stranded in space or destroyed by an enemy ship!
Only really big mistake you can make is take Deadly Aim before the double-digit levels, IMO!
All in all, build looks great, don't you worry.
I'm somewhat worried about skills, myself, but there's not that many ways that a Solarian can be a great skills character early on. I'll stick to blathering and scallywaggering, and try to at least excel at those, I think.
Okay, I...I like this. I'm feeling better about this. I couldn't "technically" afford any "armor" but I like that. It represents his naivete just starting out, and gets across the feeling that he wouldn't survive on his own without Viv. It helps to get across what a great, big, dangerous 'verse it is, and how he needs to grow up, but he's not alone.
Just like the party. =)
I've never seen anyone use Barricade, but I'm gonna try. It means that he needs to learn to live by his wits, and he can't just depend on some armor stopping the blows for him.
If you've got the maths right in your alias (which I'm assuming you have, but it shows both Themeless and Roboticist?), you can nab a Stationwear Flight Suit. Not that useful, truth be told, but unlike normal clothes and hopes, it allows you to have access to oxygen, in the event you need to go to SPACE!
