Thank you for having us as players. I really appreciated the opportunity to try out Starfinder.
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Nosmo proves to be a very light sleeper, or perhaps it is simply fate that guides him to hear his ally's predicament. The engineer leaps up and bounds over to help Elthaeron escape. When he finds the pod's hatch won't open manually, he quickly begins tinkering with the controls.
A message for all my games: My apartment's internet connection went out two days ago, and it will not be fixed until Sunday at the earliest.
I will resume posting updates once my connection is repaired, but in the meantime, I will be out of contact. My apologies for the inconvenience. Thank you for your patience.
"Definitely sabotage. Do you think this was a coincidence? It's never a coincidence, right?" Nosmo's mind immediately leaps to the possibility of an Azlanti agent near at hand, attempting to stymie them. "Should we check on the ship? What if they go after the ship next?"
"I'll have a look at it." In truth, Nosmo is simply keen to excuse himself from his attempt to patch up Trosvod. He has far more experience with such machinery than vesk anatomy. He stows his medkit and opens his rig to diagnose the issue, looking for potential sabotage.
"Don't expect any miracles with what I've got left, but I'll keep your internals from becoming externals," Nosmo says as he opens his medkit and proceeds to disinfect and bandage Trosvod's wounds.
"Does anyone have any clue what triggered this chaos?"
Now that Trosvod is free from the machinery, Nosmo draws and raises his hunting rifle to fire at the mechanical menace.
Nosmo takes cover and activates his custom rig. He then attempts a remote hack of the machinery, trying to command it to release Trosvod.
"Trosvod!" Nosmo exclaims. The bioengineer is too distracted by his big friend's peril to properly assess the technical situation. He readies his rig and quickly calculates how he could intervene.
"Please don't be our ship. Please don't be our ship," Nosmo chants like a mantra as he huffs and puffs to keep pace with the rest of the party as they hustle off to investigate the disturbance.
When the smell of the moonshine creeps up to Nosmo's face, it feels like his nose hairs have caught fire. He tries - and fails - to disguise his wince to save face. He cautiously, slowly nudges his cup towards Trosvod sitting to his right. In the meantime, he otherwise listens intently to the as-yet unnamed Aygavan. He tries to keep his mind from wandering to fantasies of heroics, forcing himself to focus upon the present matter.
Nosmo cringes. His face twists somewhere between blushing in embarrassment and blanching from fear. Despite his experiences thus far, the majority of his life has been spent as a bookworm. Thus, he reacts much like a "nerd" when accosted by such a character. He can scarcely squeak out a complete word, let alone a full sentence, as with much hemming and hawing he questions whether the party should follow this newcomer. However, as Trosvod readily locks step behind the human, Nosmo sighs with resignation to also follow. He tells himself he is coming to keep the Vesk out of trouble, but in truth he wants to keep close to this strong friend.
"Are you certain?" Nosmo asks, his words as nervous as his gaze upon the bins. "These aren't even refrigerated." The thought occurs to Nosmo to hold his friend back from eating the mystery food, but he thinks better of putting his fingers near Trosvod's mouth. Instead, Nosmo examines the bins and their contents to see if they are safe.
Welcome aboard! Glad to have you join our very motley crew.
Nosmo leans over and whispers to Trosvod, "Is that guy...er, thing...trying to sell stuff? He looks kind of...well, really scary." Arriving at the station had, at first, been an unbelievable improvement over the party's stint in the Azlanti prison. However, that relief has been diminishing as Nosmo increasingly finds himself to be a stranger in a strange land.
"I dropped too many creds on digital card games back in my days at the academy," Nosmo rues as he surveys the colorful pageant of skewed chance and luck. "I'll leave this to you guys. I'll just watch. And help." Despite his reluctance, Nosmo watches each table carefully, trying to digest the rules at play.
He shakes his head, afraid to admit how overwhelmed and baffled he truly is.
"No, thank you," Nosmo grunts as he struggles to drag the "wheeled" couch from the southeast alcove. The wheels are out of alignment or perhaps rusted, for it is far from an easy task. "I've come to the conclusion that you can be a hero without actively looking for action." With a decidedly non-heroic shriek, Nosmo loses his grip and topples backward, banging his knee, elbow, and head against three different surfaces. He grumbles and groans in pain for a few moments before heaving a sigh. "Blast it, fine. Did you have somewhere in mind, Trosvod?"
Thank you for playing with us, AXL. My apologies for being scarce, too. I agree that the Starfinder system is a bit daunting to learn (especially the starship mechanics), which has been nagging at me. However, hearing that we're so close to the end is reinvigorating for my motivation.
Nosmo is far too overwhelmed by the myriad sights and species in the cantina to notice the finer details occurring around him. However, many nights spend back in his academy days staying up too late playing games rather than studying mark Nosmo as a gaming fan. He focuses his attention upon the gambling aliens to figure out the rules.
However, he prefers strategy rather than chance, so he struggles to pick out the basic rules. ..... At the meeting point, Nosmo is frozen in surprise as he tries to assess the newcomer appearing from the shadows above. "Oh...um, we're...I guess we're trying to find directions somewhere. Somewhere called Aurelos?"
He hazards a friendly smile to win over the eyes above, completely forgetting the helmet on his head obscures his face. Thus, he tries to maintain a confident but cordial tone to earn their trust and cooperation.
"So...who knows how to find out Aurelos' coordinates?" Nosmo asks, still nervously looking around the cantina. "Even back on Absalom Station, I kept near the academy. This place...well, I'm out of my element, to say the least." Wait a minute, he thought with a start. Had he heard of such a place?
Nosmo stands awkwardly, holding his rig, as Elthaeron beats him to the doors. He puts the tool kit away and shuffles on his feet, idly taking in the minute details of the airlock. With a start, he remembers something important. He dons the helmet that accompanies his armor to hide his face; if not to disguise his origin from the Pact Worlds, he at least wants to give himself some semblance of a poker face.
A giddy smile crosses Nosmo's face when he understands Elthaeron's ploy, and he feels excited to be deceiving the Azlanti so. Deploying his custom rig, Nosmo works to disable any security protocols on the transport and ensure they have control over the vessel.
"Who's gonna fly this thing? Preferably someone who can keep us out of another unwinnable fight." He says this in jest but anxiously worries whether anyone mistakenly interprets it as bitterness.
I mean if we're going to insist on trying to be reasonable and have fun I suppose it's the only thing to do. Thank you. I added the extra skill point to Life Sciences to make sure my specialties are maxed out.
Level 5 Mechanic: HP +6 => 34
Skill Ranks +9
New Feat: Improved Iron Will Ability Increase:
(I also forgot to add my +1 skill rank for being human last level up. Can I add that retroactively?) Class Features:
Remote Hack: You can use your custom rig to attempt Computers and Engineering skill checks at a range of 20 feet. At 7th level and every 2 levels thereafter, this range increases by 10 feet. A target of this ability (or a creature attending or observing your target) can attempt a Perception or Sense Motive check (DC = 10 + 1-1/2 × your mechanic level + your Intelligence modifier) to determine that you are the origin of this activity.
"Um, pardon my boldness, but may I examine you? If they've done any damage to you, I may be able to help." Assuming Cedona grants him permission, Nosmo will check the rescued android woman for injuries and do his best to attend to them using his custom toolkit.
As Cedona describes the Rune Drive, his mouth goes agape. "That's...amazing! Seemingly impossible, but amazing. "She's right," he says, turning to his allies. "Considering what we've seen of their work, we can't let the Azlanti study that drive."
Nosmo shifts targets. He redirects his combat tracking to the rank-and-file Aeon Guard and aims his next rifle round at them.
Nosmo rips the box of cartridges from his duffel and begins loading rounds back into the hunting rifle's magazine. Once the six cartridges are loaded, he raises the long arm again and fires at the warden.
A nervous smile crosses Nosmo's face as an excitement bubbles up from his stomach. They were actually turning this around. They might actually defeat the Azlantis and escape. With a muscle twitch near the back of his skull, Nosmo has his exocortex lock on to the warden to provide telemetry on the priority target.
Before he can even register whether the shot bested the warden's armor, Nosmo can pick out a worrying click above the din of battle. He forgot to check the ammunition in his rifle after reclaiming it, and he just fired the last cartridge loaded inside.
I finished leveling up. I went with Technological Medic. That seemed like a good idea based on both Trosvod's recommendation and the fact that we may soon have rescued androids in need of help.
Having reclaimed his old hunting rifle, Nosmo props the longarm's barrel upon the railing and snaps off a shot at the same target that AXL and Elthaeron singled out.
Level 4 Mechanic +6 HP => 28
+1 BAB => +3 +1 Fort, +1 Ref Skills
Mechanic Trick: Should I go with Overcharge, which lets me do more damage with energy or powered weapons by expending more charges, or should I go with Technological Medic, which lets me use my Engineering skill instead of Medicine to assist androids and construct creatures and allows me to use my custom rig as a medkit for those purposes?
Having reclaimed his custom rig and his satchel, Nosmo gathers the rest of the medical supplies before Trosvod gets his claws on the rest. For a fleeting moment, he feels like a parent keeping a child from too many snacks. "Hopefully - and this is a dim hope - we won't need all the rest of these," he says shouldering his back and adjusting his rig. "But I can certainly hope we'll be finished with this place soon enough. "Now," he adds, forcing a wry smile and trying to act the part of a hero again, "Let's do this thing....Did that sound cool?"
The blaring alarm makes it harder for Nosmo to heed Elthaeron's advice to breath when he shoots.
"Not again, Nosmo squeaks. He flattens himself out against the south wall beside the door, aims his pulsecaster pistol through the door, and squeezes off a shot at the hapless guard.
"Good idea!" Nosmo replies to Trosvod. He moves as though to run towards the processing center, but thinks better of it and stops after a few hasty, awkwardly long strides. Nosmo slows his pace and allows his sturdier, more experience comrades to lead the way.
"When we arrived, they looked at AXL and said another android," Nosmo says without looking up as he kneels beside the door to the slave pens. He removes a panel and tries to trip the door's lock. "Do you suppose they've got other androids locked up in here?"
"Gah!" he cries and recoils as sparks shoot out while the door remains impassive. "No good. If we want to get in here, we'd have to get a keycard or code or something from the warden or whoever's running this place."
"I'll settle for just getting my rig back," Nosmo says as he catches up with the party. He eyes the Ikeshti's wounds but keeps a distance. "Do we open the slave pens first or go right for the ship?" he asks, caught between doing the right thing and simply trying to escape.
"Got it!" Nosmo calls out excitedly. He jogs past Elthaeron and Trosvod into the hub. He points with his pulsecaster pistol, demonstrating an utter lack of trigger discipline, towards the hallway on the far right. "Our gear is down that way! And we got the infirmary there, the cafeteria there, and the slave pens over there!" He recoils and his neck retreats between his shoulders when he hears the Ikeshti's war cry echo out from the cafeteria, heralding more mayhem. "Should...should be follow her? It?" he asks nervously, nodding his head towards the cafeteria. For now, he just takes cover beside the passage's bulkhead.
Nosmo looks for an undamaged computer terminal, hoping to download a map of the complex and find clues to the whereabouts of their ship and gear - especially his custom rig.
"All right, what do we do next? Where do we go?" Nosmo hurriedly asks, grabbing one of the taclashes to supplement his pistol. "Do we know where our ship is being kept?"
"I wish I had my rig," Nosmo idly rues as he hustles behind AXL and Elthaeron.
Nosmo sheepishly watches Elthaeron crack the release code upon the cells, so the mechanic shuffles a few steps away and continues sliding on his armor. He stands guard, a step or two behind Trosvod, with his purloined pulsecaster in hand. As the cell doors whine open, he nervously looks over his shoulder at the newly freed prisoners. No words come to his lips, so he offers a nod to them, his anxiety masked behind the Azlanti helmet.
Nosmo pauses abruptly, one leg already slipped inside the armor. "Oh, right!" he exclaims and shuffles awkwardly over to the access panel, the armor still around his legs.
The second guard has scarcely hit the floor before Nosmo rips the pulsecaster from his limp hand, as though frightened the downed foe might still squeeze off a shot. Before taking up the pistol himself, though, Nosmo sets about prying the armor off the guard's body, instructing his exocortex to begin interfacing with the armor's systems.
Nosmo's mind lags a moment behind his body, which acts on instinct he never suspected he possessed. He lunges for the other guard, off-balanced by AXL, and attempts to help bring him down.
Nosmo's eyes dart pleadingly to his companions. They practically scream, "Now? Do we act now?" His face bespeaks uncertainty, although easily mistaken for simple fear by casual onlookers. The engineer's muscles refuse to relax, and he remains primed to leap into action should his companions judge that now is the right time.
It takes almost as much resolve to choke down the food provided without retching as Nosmo has had to summon to face combat. "I'll say this, at least: I don't miss the heat and humidity of Nakondis," Nosmo muses, his groaning voice belaying any trace of actual optimism in his words. In his secluded cubby, he busies himself with his "project." He grinds the scale against the impromptu whetstone.
Finally, he nervously and surreptitiously shows off his work to his comrades before attempting to apply the pick with trembling hands.
"Trosvod, if you can give me one of your scales, I might be able to pick these locks or unbolt the pipe," Nosmo's mind speaks, perhaps a bit too loudly in his allies' minds. Nosmo fiddles with small rocks and bits of metal upon the deck plating, trying to look inconspicuous but in truth looking for something that could be used as a whetstone to file down a vesk scale.
Nosmo idly kicks his leg, testing the grasp of the shackles upon his ankle. "I haven't felt so useless since my academy days," he bemoans, sliding down to sit at the foot of the pipe to which he is bound. He allows himself a moment to wallow in self pity before pounding his fist upon the floor plating, rediscovering his sense of adventure - or perhaps it is merely desperation. With a dawning smile, he remembers something they could not take from him, and Nosmo instructs his exocortex AI to lock on to nearby guards in sequence to size them up for vulnerabilities or exploitable quirks. Meanwhile, he surveys the pipes, manacles, and other hardware nearby to assess their structural integrity.
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