Farsurrwag the Bleachling's page

"Oooooh! I am a HUGE fan of chaos! I say we delay an additional month!" Farsurrwag suggests.

are you guys going to run?

Perhaps, I misunderstood. If by "going to run", you mean run for the vehicles and drive away since we already have what we came for, it sounds like a good idea to me.

are you guys going to run?

Unfortunately, we are "cornered" on the map and don't have any place to run to. If possible, Farsurrwag would use his remaining move action to head "north" at maximum speed. It would provoke an AoO, but he has no safe place to "Step" to at the moment.

Mute provides cover as the doctor moves back.

Two creatures move and attack the dwarf and the bleachling.

damage green 10, hagithia 7Farsurrwag 8

Ouch! That's into hit points, which means I can use this reaction for the first time:

As the creature slams against the bleachling, Farsurrwag begins to cackle and laugh uncontrollably. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He then stabs at the creature with his glove.
Melee (injection glove) v orange: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13
Damage (P): 1d4 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1
Biohack: if a hit, orange takes -2 penalty to AC

"I'm already laughing, so you can keep your ten tickles to yourself!" Farsurrwag snorts as he moves into position and turns his needler another tentacled terror.
Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v green: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Damage (P) plus biohack: 1d4 ⇒ 4
If a hit, green takes -2 penalty to AC

"Is that what we needed? Seems like we pissed of the locals and out stayed our welcome. Time to perform the most ancient of tradition: Getting The Farsurrwag Out of here!"

The bleachling pauses for a moment. "Wait a minute-- I'm Farsurrwag!" He turns his needler on the nearest tentacled terror.

"You keep an eye on the aberrations and I will approach the coral to extra the information we were sent for," suggests Farsurrwag. "You may want to approach them before they approach you."

"After all, keep your friends close, but keep the anemones closer!" The bleachling erupts in a fit of laughter as he heads to the coral and attempts the procedure.
Life Science: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13

"Let sleeping invertebrates lie, I always say," quips Farsurrwag. "It's when they start telling you the truth that you should start to worry."
Life Science: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

"After all, that's a strong indicator that they've grown a spine!"

"I'll make you all knit sweaters!" She looks at Mute. "Especially that nice young man!"

"Oh, don't put yourself out for this one," Farsurrwag replies, pointing to Mute. "Just look at all of that thick, insulating hair! Why, he's already been making nits sweat quite profusely for some time! He regularly souses louses!"

The ship descends to the city of Gruddonar. Gruddonar’s buildings are suspended above the sea on massive stilts and connected by an intricate network of rope bridges. Though over 200 feet separate the buildings from the ocean, a damp crust of plants and minerals covers all but the upper reaches of the stilts.

The gnome surveys the horizon in all directions. "We have the coordinates for the 'wet safe', all we need, I suppose is a way to open it. I suggest that you all keep any eye out for a series of small, low-lying coral islands. After all, we may need just such a set of keys!"

Farsurrwag tries to stick the final strike.

Melee (injection glove) v blue: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Damage (P): 1d4 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
No biohack in this one at present.

Having stuck one ysoki with a biohack, Farsurrwag positions himself to fire on the other.
Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v blue: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
Damage (P) plus biohack: 1d4 ⇒ 3
If a hit, blue takes -2 penalty to AC

Farsurrwag turns his tactical needler pistol loaded with a biohack and fires on the next ysoki.
Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v green: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Damage (P) plus biohack: 1d4 ⇒ 4
If a hit, green takes -2 penalty to AC

As Farsurrwag is struck, the bleachling begins to laugh uncontrollably.

"Hahaha! Hoohoo!" he cackles madly.

The gnome then pokes at the ysoki with his gloved hand.
Melee (injection glove): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
Damage (P): 1d4 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2
No biohack in this one at present.

Not wishing to be got, Farsurrwag draws his tactical needler pistol with a biohack and advances to fire it at one of the ysoki.
Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v orange: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Damage (P) plus biohack: 1d4 ⇒ 4
If a hit, orange takes -2 penalty to AC

Farsurrwag grabs a helmet and places it on his head. As the helmet locks, he mutters, "[smaller]I never carried for actual reality much, either.[smaller]"

"VR going vhere?" Farsurrwag inquires with a poor accent

Rethra adjusts her glasses and stares at Farsurrwag "Something useful dear? Like what?"

"Why, we are looking for memories, of course! Surely, you might know where we could find some?" Farsurrwag replies. "Filef under 'Abadarcorp', perhaps? Or maybe 'white ysoki'?"

"As for the progress of the 'Silent War'...," the bleachling pauses for suspense. "I'm afraid that if we were to speak audibly about it, well, then we would be losing ground on the 'silent' front, wouldn't we?"

"Your tangents are absolutely delightful! But perhaps there is something useful that you could tell us?" Farsurrwag suggests.

Bluff: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24

He attempts to assess the woman's condition, wondering if it is more altered than his own following his time on Aucturn.

Medicine: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (17) + 0 = 17

"I've managed to page a few beings for information. Shall we book it inside?" Farsurrwag says. If presses for more information, the bleachling provides it.

Feel free to open the first two spoilers

"I think I have this figured out, unless I'm mystic-in!" Farsurrwag suggests, examining the engravings and stones.

Mysticism: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

"Ooooh, this message actually is quite grave. Nevertheless, I believe I've ratted out the password!" he declares.

Mysticism: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

Farsurrwag tries again to take the big out.

Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v red: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Damage (P): 1d4 ⇒ 3
-1 AC to red on a hit
Add crit damage: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Farsurrwag loads a biohack and turns his needler pistol on one of the bugs.

Ranged (tactical needler pistol) v red: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Damage (P): 1d4 ⇒ 2
-1 AC to red on a hit

Seeing Irres wounded and in mandible range, Farsurrwag retrieves a syringe and leans forward.

"This should toughen the fine skin of yours a bit," Farsurrwag whispers into the elf's elongated ear as he injects one of his biohacks into Irres. "But, I would strongly suggest that, if you wish to survive, stop getting bitten,"

+1 enhancement bonus to AC for Irres.

"Still buzzing, eh? And me without a giant fly swatter." Farsurrwag groans as he reaches for another grenade.

"Buzz kill!" he cries as he tosses the grenade.

Ranged (frag grenade I) w/2 range increments v DC 5: 1d20 + 0 - 2 ⇒ (17) + 0 - 2 = 15
Aiming for purple dot placed on map
Damage (P); explode 15 ft., DC 12: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Assuming that the bugs are no more than 10 feet off the ground... Farsurrwag reaches for a grenade, peers out the door, and attempts to hurl it within the middle of the swarm.

"Buzz off!" he cries as he tosses the grenade.

Ranged (frag grenade I) w/2 range increments v DC 5: 1d20 + 0 - 4 ⇒ (11) + 0 - 4 = 7
Aiming for purple dot placed on map
Damage (P); explode 15 ft., DC 12: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Farsurrwag tries to be stealthy, moving toward cover.
Stealth: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

But not too much. With his needler pistol drawn, he starts looking for a suitable biohack to slot into it. He settles on an inhibitor and loads it.
-2 to AC to next target hit by the needler

I'd prefer up, but would be fine either way.

Thank you for the boost Farsurrwag.

"You are more than welcome for you couldn't have done it without me!" says Farsurrwag. "You're also welcome for the boast!"

"First one's free," he giggles to himself as he heads across the ramp. Once on the other side he asks, "What's abuzz?"

Double move

Irres will try to build a ramp, as her athletics is not very good.

Noting Irres efforts and realizing that he, too, is poor at jumping, Farsurrwag offers to inject Irres.

"A little boost, perhaps? The first one is free!" The bleaching says with a laugh.

Biohack boost: The (willing) target gains a +2 enhancement bonus to skill checks.

Option-8 doesn't detect any magic sees a fissure torn in the road. As Mute moves forward he gets a clear view.

An immense crack splits the road, growing as wide as
fifteen feet across in some sections. The surface was
broken when the prismatic spire collapsed, leaving the
other side of the small block mostly unreachable.

Farsurrwag moves southward in the direction Datch had suggested. "That is quite the crack you've discovered!" gnotes the gnome. "Someone needs to buy a bigger pair of pants."

"Well friends..." Mute says as he pops on his helmet allowing the face shield to fall in place engaging his environments and the red lights in the eyes flash on. He continues in a husky modulated voice, "Time for me to earn my namesake."

He dashes away from the group, kicking on his jump jets to hop on top of the closes building then disappears into the dark, leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

Farsurrwag watches the halfling jumping away. "I don't know, I didn't get the sense that he was all that he was holding in his thoughts or feelings. Or that he was otherwise at all reticent, if you ask me."

The bleachling shrugs and pokes his head outside, taking a look around at these unusual surroundings.
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12

"Coast looks clear to me!" he shouts. "With the notable caveat that I can't actually see any part of the coast from here."

"Were we expecting to be expecting?" Farsurrwag inquires aloud of no one in particular. He shrugs and boards the vehicle, putting on the goggles. "These prismatic spires are quite facet-nating."

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

"The customs agents are already viewing the video--and not that insufferable one we had to endure," mumbles Farsurrwag. "I suggest that we make like an embri and get the shell out of here."

"Get out of there NOW or I'll call security!"

"Oh?" Farsurrwag inquires. "And just what do you intend to call them? I've always been rather partial to the name 'Bob', myself. The name just came to me once while swimming."

"Wait...where is the little one? I don't see him...The halfling?"

Anyone can "chime" in with a Charisma-based skill check to distract

"It is pronounced 'bleaching' and I am right here!" Farsurrwag interjects with false indignation.

Bluff: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

"This video is all a rather dull, if you ask me," mutters Farsurrwag. The bleachling pats a pocket holding a smoke grenade. Leaning towards the shirren, he suggests, "Give me a holler when it is time for a smoke break."

The embri ignore Option 8 and take the party down a hallway with no security guards. The embri stay quiet.

"Oh? Quite the chatty one, eh?" Farsurrwag comments to the guide as he keeps an eye out for the computer in question.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Spotting the cameras, he looks at one directly. He fakes a smile and comments towards the lens, "If you think you've captured my good side, then I'm afraid your quite mistaken. Indeed, I'm not sure that I have one! Neither the inside nor the out!" The bleachling releases a sniggering laugh.

"I will do my best to keep up," chuckles Farsurrwag as he follows. He then mutters to no one in particular, "If you ask me, these embri move at a snail's pace."

Culture: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

"As I recall, the locals here requires visitors to register a name and purpose at customs," notes Farsurrwag. "If we want to be discreet, then we may want to fabricate some new identities. I've always fancied the idea of being a morlamaw."

"If you doubt your skills at forgery and disguise, I could poke you with a needle," offers the bleachling, holding up a needler pistol. "Or, if you prefer, I suppose I could even inject you with one of my performance enhancing biohacks!"

If you accept the biohack, you get a +2 enhancement bonus to the skill check. If you accept only the needle, there is nothing I can do.

"If I am not wrong this seems to be what is called,... blackmail."

"Tsk, tsk!" scolds a bleachling gnome that has recently arrived on the scene. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Where I come from, it is simply called 'mail'. After all, when it comes to posts and parcels, I for one, don't see color!"

The suggested color blindness would only partially explain the gnome's unusual appearance. Typical of bleachling gnomes, the man's hair is as pale as his skin. Atypically, however, his accentuated with a few green highlights. More noticeable, however, is the makeup on his face, which is smeared across his face, framing his gloomy lips in a crude, crescent shape reminiscent of a smile.

"As for you, Datchey," he continues, turning his attention to the ysoki. "I've heard all about you and your lengthy litany of misdeeds!"

The bleachling glares at the ysoki for a few moments, then adds with seeming admiration, "Quite the impressive resume, actually!"

"The name is Farsurrwag--some call me the 'Bleachling Who Laughs'!" he cackles gleefully.

The gnome gives the ysoki a deep, respectful bow, then his look at her turns suddenly to a glare of suspicion. "But, there is one thing about your apparent scheme here that doesn't make sense. You are the former Archdirector of Security for AbadarCorp. You have mixed your paws into the economies of several planets amidst the Pact Worlds. Why is it, then, that you have called upon the Starfinder Society in order to try and avert an otherwise nigh certain catastrophe?"

"Not even I would place trust in an organization that displays such low standards that it would accept me as a member!" With this pronouncement, Farsurrwag throws back his head in a bout of uncontrolled laughter.

This gnome can't hold down a paying job.

Hilo is pleased with their success and intrigued by the planet and its culture. He commends the Starfinders for their use of teamwork and adapting their skills to provide the needed aid.

"I've been commended?! By a Venture-Captain?!" Farsurrwag ponders aloud. "Now I am certain we haven't made it back to the universe where we started!"

Thanks for running, GM Numbat!

Thanks all for a lot of fun! I look forward to sharing tables with each of you in the future! (Or in another universe, whichever comes first!)

"This endeavor is like yogurt," Farsurrwag notes as he tries to gain clues about likely command phrases and interface methods, "it can't be completed without a little culture."

Culture to Aid: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

“I am hoping you have that knowledge and can repair them for us.”

"Well, of course I have knowledge!" Farsurrwag declares, before muttering, "Though, I highly doubt it is the kind that you happen to need or be looking for."

With a series of giggles, the bleachling rolls up his sleeves and examines the machines. "Let us start by tidying things up a bit first, shall we?"

A wave of his hands removes a patch of grime and erosion from the aging machinery in the hope that it will make access and repairs to the devices easier.

Casting token spell to clean.

Gaining a better view of the machines, Farsurrwag looks for clues as to the nature and proclivities of the beings that would have created such machines and drawing conclusions with regard to humanoid-computer interaction (HCI), such as what they building culture would have considered as norms and requirements in terms of designing interfaces and password controls. Culture, the gnome concludes,should not be viewed as a threat or something that is better to relegated to minor importance in Human-Computer Interaction, but that has a key role in the investigations and development of new theories, methods and techniques.

Culture to Aid: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

Farsurrwag tries his hand at calligraphy, trying to keep his hand steady as he occasionally giggles.
Culture: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11

"Whoever said the 'pen is mightier than the sword' must have been thinking of a sty." The gnome deadpans as he surveys his work.

He then tries to take an alternative tact to fencing, hoping to feint his opponent enough times until the opponent gives up due to exhaustion or sheer annoyance.
Bluff: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

"Pooh, foiled again," he says when his opponent immediately sticks him.

Finally, he settles on a performance. He reaches behind a woman's ear, pretending to produce a coin.
Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

But, when he opens his hand, it is completely empty. "Alas, no coins behind your ear," he informs the woman. "Fortunately for me, I was able to filch your coin-laden purse with my other hand!" He lets loose a cacophony of laugher and guffaws, even as he clutches tightly to the contents of the purse.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (12) + 0 = 12
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

Coming upon the archery range and seeing the arrows embedded in the hay bales, Farsurrwag comments, "Someone certainly had it in for those bales."

"Come to think of it, I'm not much a fan of grain myself, though I fear that if I were to fire arrows and hit the hay--that I'd be asleep for a week!" The bleachling gnome accents his punchline with a gleeful stint of laughter.

Regaining his composure, he spies the variety of steeds in the equestrian area. "And I thought it was going to be just Bleachlings of a Different Color!"

"Given my diminutive stature, however, I have a far longer way to fall than most," concludes the gnome. "I had best steer clear of this area and hoof nothing to do with it!"

Another area, however, does grab his attention. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Farsurrwag inquires as he looks at the array of inks. "Oh, yes, now I see: well, well, well." He gleefully points to a trio of the vessels holding the liquids.

"This competition seems right up my alley." he says, looking for an empty seat at the table. As he does so, he begins to mutter a mantra of self-actualization. "I ink I can--I ink I can--I ink I can--"

Arriving at the top of the hill and observing the scene below, Farsurrwag looks on intrigued. "Well, what have we here?"

Culture: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15

Farsurrwag catches a glimpse of his new form and attire. A flurry of bright, green hair hangs over an purple cloak that hides a vest filled with pouches and loops sporting an array of vials and alchemical tools.

"Why, that's a Bleachling of a Different Color!" cackles the gnome as he admires his altered appearance. "I wonder if I could also come in pink!"

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

"Perhaps, we will be transported to a universe where I am a famous vidstar? Or maybe, even, the Ruler of the Universe!" proposes Farsurrwag. "But, then again, you did say you hope we aren't transported to another apocalyptic wasteland, so that one may be out."

Jyskos calls a halt to the approach. "Look, there is a slight depression in the sand, anyone got Engineering? Or are we doing the old Face-Check method I saw others make Orcs do back on Apostae?"

"The ground isn't the only one depressed by this bleak scene," notes Farsurrwag. "Can't we just toss a rock on it or some such? That should expose the trap and let us walk around it."

"As for the sign," he continues. "Its placement suggests its probably a sign of welcome--though this place looks far from welcoming, indeed, if you ask me--especially given what we know about where we are."