Rril Suolwind's page

Medicine: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Rril can only shake his head as he notes Hasshachir's poor condition.

He then attempts to recover some of the deleted files. "STEEEEEVE!" he cries out as he tries to figure out where the deleted data may still be temporarily stored.
Computers to Aid: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19

Understood. Thanks!

Will DC 18: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

"Oh, no! You're done messing with my head!" Rril winces as he fires another shot at the draelik.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red, pain: 1d20 + 12 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (7) + 12 + 4 - 2 = 21
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'em, pain: 1d20 + 7 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (12) + 7 + 1 - 2 = 18
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 4

90900-716

He suggests to his teammates, "Maybe if I shoot one of you two, the pain'll be inflicted on them? Any volunteers?

He points his pistol barrel towards each of his crew mates, then back again. Finally, he settles for the draelik.

"Probably would have been better off aiming at Antenor, grumbles Rril.

Bump!

No breaks for you, eh? Stay warm as best you can and I hope your power gets back up and running soon.

"They're messing with all of us!" grits Rril. He ties to find a thought to concentrate on to focus through to pain.

He suggests to his teammates, "Maybe if I shoot one of you two, the pain'll be inflicted on them? Any volunteers?

He points his pistol barrel towards each of his crew mates, then back again. Finally, he settles for the draelik.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red, pain: 1d20 + 12 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (6) + 12 + 4 - 2 = 20
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'em, pain: 1d20 + 7 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (7) + 7 + 1 - 2 = 13
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 8

Will (1st): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Will (2nd): 1d20 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (3) + 4 - 2 = 5

"Make...it...stop!" Rril demands through gritted teeth as his arm feels as if it were aflame. Though wracked the pain, he manages to raise his pistol and fire.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red, pain: 1d20 + 12 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (16) + 12 + 4 - 2 = 30
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'em, pain: 1d20 + 7 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 1 - 2 = 25
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 4

Rril reaches for his pistol and tries to get off a quick shot at the figure on the steps as he puts some distance between the two.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 12 + 4 = 31
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 5

"Uh, Steve?"

Rril's eyes light up when he spots the safe. "I'll just a moment, gang, while you all clean up the mess."

Looking at the lock, he loses hope.
Untrained in Engineering

After several moments, he asks weakly, "Uh, Steve, do you have a moment?"

I just wanted to let you know that I have forgotten you.

Haven't forgotten you either. I hope the New Year will be treating you better as it progresses.

"Ain't got to tell me twice," Rril mutters as he tries to finish the draelik (yellow).

Trick Attack, Bluff: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
Melee (sword cane, tactical) v. yellow, Get'em: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 7 + 1 = 26
Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

"You're next," Rril warns as he goes for the nearest draelik (yellow).

Trick Attack, Bluff: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19
Melee (sword cane, tactical) v. yellow, Get'em: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 7 + 1 = 22
Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Yellow (-11 hp, 2 bleed)

Rril wounded red; I don't think he could get to yellow due to terrain.

Not wanting to leave things to chance, Rril tries to finish the wounded alien.

"You put the hurt on some friends of ours," he scowls as he lunges at one of the draelik (yellow), even as he thrusts his blade sideways into the injured one.

Trick Attack, Bluff: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (2) + 12 = 14
Melee (sword cane, tactical) v. red: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Add Crit Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Add Bleed Damage for crit: 1d3 ⇒ 2

"As you can see, I'm not too happy about it."

I think I got the intent there, but is Rril going for the other doors? It's fine if he is. It's also fine if you want to slide those doors back shut and go the way Rril is going.

Oops, I got it wrong. Didn't realize we were already next to a set of doors. I have no intention of splitting the party.

As he motions for Artenor to take out the one on the right, Rril slips into the room, draws his sword cane, and tries to quietly subdue the draelik on the left.

Trick Attack, Stealth: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14
Melee (sword cane, tactical) v. red: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Add Crit Damage (P): 1d4 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Add Bleed Damage for crit: 1d3 ⇒ 2

"Nice work Steve! Okay, let's get the jump on them. We're going to go in real quiet like..."

"Shhhhh!" Rril rebukes Antenor. "I'm tryin' to sneak over here."

Rril reads the neon sign with the burnt out letters and three eyes looming.

"Azlanti." he mutters reading the sign. "Seems we found our salvage place."
Culture: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

"Shadari Confederacy, eh?" Rril ponders what he knows about the confederacy, the nebula, and/or the draeliks.
Culture?: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

"Despite the alphabet, this still doesn't feel any arm of the Star Empire to me."

When the camera is pointed out to him, Rril does his best to avoid its lens.
Stealth: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24

"Someone has it in for Hasschachir as well as Lors." Rril notes reviewing the contents of the datapad. "Seems a bit too subtle for the Azlanti to be behind it, if you ask me, but I have no other leads--save this reference to a scrapyard. Looks like we should head there next, if we want answers."

"For Lors." Rril repeats, as the reptoid slumps to the ground.

He holsters his pistol and then takes a crack at the datapad.
Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17

"For Lors." Rril repeats, rushing ahead as he tries to keep his guts on the inside. Spotting the reptoid down the hallway, he manages to shout, "You've got no where to run!"

Hoping his words will give the reptoid pause, he fires a shot.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 12 + 4 = 21
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 8
Add Crit Damage (assuming no successful trick): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

"I see you're the more dangerous foe," the reptoid growls and releases the space goblin. He suddenly lunges at Rril, catching the outlaw by surprise. However, he steps on a puddle of petrol dripping from Steve's gun and slips off course, slamming his claws into the crates against the wall. "Frack!"

"I'm the more lots of things, if you're comparing me to these two." Rril notes, surprising even himself with his air of confidence.

He backs off and raises his pistol again at the reptoid.
Guarded Step
Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 12 + 4 = 17
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'em: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 1 = 27
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 6

He only half-heartedly tries to fool the scaled foe, but he focuses primarily on landing a good, solid shot.

"Sorry, if anyone is going to kill that little biter, it'll be me!" declares Rril as he fires another shot at the reptoid.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 12 + 4 = 33
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 5

Steve looks down and realizes he is holding the axe backwards and grins.

""STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE!" Rril cries out angrily, before simply shaking his head then reaching down to hold in his guts.

"Well, I'm not sure that would stop, Steve, but you're welcome to try..." Rril tries to quip even as he tries to back up for another shot.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 12 + 4 = 22
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 5

"You didn't need to insult my intestines..." Rril replies through gritted teeth. "And let's keep them where you found them!"

The man carefully moves backwards, drawing his pistol.[ooc]Guarded Step, Quickdraw[ooc]

With it in hand, he fires.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 12 + 4 = 18
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 8

"It's always something," mumbles Rril as he draws his own pistol and watches Artenor rush off. He starts to follow, then pauses for a moment and turns to the wrikreechee.

"Can you take care of Lors?" he asks with a slight shake in his voice. "That is, assuming she's not already--" The man hesitates, hoping he doesn't have to finish the question.

"Oh, uh, sure," Rril stutters out as he sees the list fill his viewscreen. Turning to Antenor and Haro, he says quietly, "I hope one of you know what these things are. Otherwise, I'm afraid that we might have to ask Steve."

Not to be outdone by Antenor's hacking skills, Rril attempts to hack a second pod's arm. "Alright, controls, just listen to Rril and let my girl, Lors, go, okay? What do you say?"

Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

Unable to gain control of the arm, he scowls and shakes his head, "If you were always going to say 'no', you didn't have to be so rude about it!"

"Oh, pronk," mutters Rril as he realizes that Lors is once again apparently trapped. He frantically attempts to re-activate the pod sensor to get the lid to open.
Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

"Hold tight for a few minutes, Lors. Captain Suolwind'll have you out of there in a jiff," he shouts towards the pod, trying to sound reassuring and in control. "Hopefully, this will go more quickly than last time."

My heart goes out to you. Unfortunately, I understand from a number of my friends in the medical profession that the hospital situation is not unique. I am glad your mother is okay.

Hang in there. And thank you for letting us know.

"Steve knows fire," Rril notes as he watches the goblin sniff the scorch marks. "If he can't tell us more, then I doubt there's much more to know."

"If the Dream is untouched," he asks, looking around, "then just what was lost in the explosion?"

That would be frustrating. Although, I suppose on the upside, a lot of places are having trouble getting new people at present.

Rough weekend and rougher start to the week. I hope tomorrow is better.

Here's hoping things have improved, at least a bit. Take care of whatever you need to handle. We'll be here for you.

Rril rushes to the docking bay to check on Lors.

"I knew you'd make it through, you big beautiful lady, you!" he says hopefully as he enters the bay, even before he is able to assess the shobhad's injuries.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

"Don't touch that button!" Rril cautions Antenor.
Computers to Aid to Antenor: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23

D20 Roll: 1d20 ⇒ 11

Antenor, not entirely sure of what to do, and by no means an expert, tries to simply lend a hand.

"That button?" Rril questions in response. "Okay, then."

Computers w/Aid: 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 10 + 2 = 14

Make it so.

"Help is on the way, Big Lady!" Rril shouts through the doors, before muttering. "We're not going to make it."

The man races toward the control room. He moves through the corridor (assuming doors in hallway we are in were open) and then to closest door, which he opens (assuming doors to room "2" were not open).

Alas, Rril does not have Engineering .

"Will someone get that door, already?" Rril says with more urgency in his voice.

Delay

"Oh, pronk," mutters Rril as he realizes that Lors is apparently trapped on the other side of the door. He frantically attempts to re-activate the doors or perhaps to accelerate the time the system takes to recycle.
Computers: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

"Hold tight for a few minutes, Lors. Captain Suolwind'll have you out of there in a jiff," he says over the comm, trying to sound reassuring and in control.

Sorry to hear of your loss and condolences. I, too, have been there. Take whatever time you need.

Chronicle to Rril SFS# 90900-716, Acquisitives faction.

I'm good to continue and don't mind the current pace. That being said, if you are not currently enjoying Starfinder, please don't feel obliged to run another book.

I'd much rather just end the run now (or find a new GM for the next book), then burn out a GM (or other players for that matter).

"It's not that I'm against running." Rril responds with annoyance, throwing up his hands. "It's just that I prefer being asked what my order are, rather than told."

"You know," Rril contemplates aloud as the party makes it to the ship. "I'm beginning to wonder if this is too easy."

Lors keeps careful watch on behalf of anyone who wants to stick their head or hands in the reactor.

Following Lors' eyes, Rril spies the reactor and considers whether to stick his head or hands in it.

He concludes that he would rather the goblin take the risk. Smaller hands, he notes. Less to lose.

Nevertheless, he stands by to offer some suggestions on how it could be shut down.
No Engineering or Mysticism here.

"They left me all alone," mutters Rril as he scans the area on his side of the door. With the door opening again, the scoundrel steps out and fires again at his zombie target.

Trick Attack, Bluff w/Spy Spec v red: 1d20 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 12 + 4 = 36
Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Add Damage if Trick Successful: 1d8 ⇒ 1

As the door opens again, a self-congratulating smile forms of Rril's face.

"Did you see that? I got it! I got it!" he fires again before the door shuts closes before him.

Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'Em v red: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 1 = 27
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Rril opens the door, then takes a shot.

Ranged (semi-auto pistol, tactical), Get'Em: 1d20 + 7 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 7 + 1 = 20
Damage (P): 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

"Did I get it?" he asks as the door shuts closed before him.

"Did I @#%^% stutter?"

"No noticeable stutter, but I have noted your diction could use a little work." suggests Rril as he telegraphs going for his pistol.

Intimidation (Aid): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20