Star Wars (d6): The Gunfighter, the Bounty Hunter, and the Feral Kid

Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Had an old high school buddy in town tonight and we felt like a pickup game of something scifi or modern. We stared at our RPG shelf, quickly discarding Dark Heresy, Rogue Trader, anything White Wolf, Shadowrun, and Call of Cthulu.

Left was D20 Modern, Alternity, and 4 editions of Star Wars. After half-an-hour discussing the relative merits and drawbacks of each system, we decided on the old 2nd Edition of d6 Star Wars that we got way back in the day. A couple hours divided between eating bread and bean dip, drinking Barqs, playing Foriza Motorsport 2, browsing the internets, and making characters later, we sat down to play.

This story hour is the result of our session. I have no idea how many sessions we'll get in before he leaves town, but I'll toss as much as we get through up here whenever I get it written.

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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Session 1 - Hunting the Hunter

They walked off the bulk transport Rhogot Found into the tumult and chaos that surrounded gold rushes since time immemorial. This rush, however, was not gold, but Isalis, that rarest of crystals renowned for its almost unbelievable capacity for energy storage. The two men and the near-feral child that walked off the Rhogot weren't here for the rush, however, but more for the diversity of interesting employment opportunities that tended to accompany such things.

One was a stubbled, blond-haired man with a poncho, a dusty brown hat, the stub of a cigar, and the grip of a heavy blaster pistol strapped to his hip. His eyes were the cool, distant blue of a gunfighters, as though he was squinting off into a distant horizon rather than staring into the crowded docking ring of the Rings station deep in the Hradic Shroud.

The second was a tall, heavily built man with an armored vest strapped on over his clothes, a blaster strapped to his hip and the sleek metal outline of a jetpack to his back. He took in the sights and sounds of the station with casual disinterest, occasionally sniffing the air as though tracking some prey by scent.

The child had spiky red hair, slicked with the same grease, dirt, and soot that covered the rest of his dirty mishmash of an outfit, held together with string, wire, and luck. He snarled at anyone who glanced his way, revealing teeth sharpened to points.

They didn't speak to one another as they arrived, simply began pressing through the crowd towards the literal hole-in-the-wall of a cantina with Snidd's Lid spray-painted onto the bulk-head near the jagged, weld-cut metal of the doorway. A minute later they were out of the smell of grease, greed, and unwashed creatures of all descriptions, and into the thrum and clang of the duct-works that ran through Snidd's Lid.

For a spaceport bar, it was fairly spacious, though it squeezed square-footage out of every nook and cranny of the winding path it wound through the inner workings of the outer Ring. Here a square air duct might have a couple tall stools pulled up to make an impromptu table, there a table squeezed in between cables and pipes with upturned metal buckets for chairs.

The bar itself was in the widest-open area just through the door, placed in front of the original access hatch that now probably served as an emergency exit for the employees should things get out of hand.

The three odd companions walked over to a square table squeezed between the bar and a massive metal box covered with dials and blinking lights that occasionally made a loud bang that nearly deafened everyone in the bar and rattled the cups and shot glasses.

Blondie sat facing the doorway, leaning back in the creaking faux wood chair and chomping on his cigar while the other man took up a seat facing the bar, leaning forward on the table and casting a stray gaze into the shadowy booths and tables, his gaze occasionally lingering on this woman or that alien as if trying to remember where he'd seen them before. The kid knelt on his chair, a small knife clicking from his belt as he carved notches in the battered fiberplastic armrest of his chair...
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
“Service?” Blondie said gruffly, not even bothering to look at the tall, spindly alien that was emerging from the depths of the ductworks that was the cantina. The alien bobbled its head and walked back to the bar, rummaging around behind it for a moment before coming over to the table.

“Freecha anasee?” the bartender said, gesturing with his symmetrical four-fingered hand. Ishmael noticed that his other hand had only two, the other fingers ending at the first joints and a mess of scars.

“Drinks,” Blondie said, tapping the table and them mimicking a glass tipping back.

“Ah!” the bartender said, returning to the bar. He pulled out two drinks, squinted at the kid, shrugged, and filled a third, ambling back to their table and setting them down in the center of the table.

Blondie was fast enough to grab the kid's drink before the kid could get to it, but not fast enough to grab his own before the kid countered by swiping and downing it in one motion. Ishmael shook his head and shot it down. It burned like cleaning fluid. When they slapped their shot glasses back to the table, the kid's fell over, spilling a few drops. Without hesitation, the bartender slipped on a glove and scrubbed the two drops around in a small circle, leaving that bit of table almost sparkling clean.

“Know where there's work around here?” Blondie said, his voice gravelly. Ishmael stared at the kid, who had curled up in a ball like a hurt bug after downing the drink, gasping.

“Freeee Snidd have for work!” the bartender said, making a vague gesture with his two-fingered hand that might have indicated the table, the bar, or the whole station.

“No. Work, for us.”

“Yees, Freeee Snidd have work!” The same gesture.

“For us.”

“Yees, you ones just come off ships, yees?” Snidd pointed at the Rhogot Found.

Ishmael nodded.

“You ones here for the Isalis? Come make rich, yees?”

“Not exactly,” Blondie said, squinting up at the alien.

“We're not the mining type,” Ishmael said, picking at a thread that was coming undone from the lining of his armored vest. “The idea of floating out there in a leaky tub of metal in the middle of a trillion worthless crystals looking for the thousand that are actually worth half-a-credit... no thanks.”

“Well... but if yee can get Isalis and bring to Freeee Snidd, he pays.” Snidd tapped the table rapidly with his two-fingered hand. “500 credits, no question, yees?”

“Sounds like a deal,” Blondie said. “Hows about another round?”

“First round on Freeee Snidd, for new freends, yees! Second round though, pays, 1 credit.” Blondie slapped down two and Ishmael fished out another. A minute later three more glasses clinked down on the scratched and carved surface of the table. Blondie and Ishmael reached for their glasses as Christian uncurled and leapt for his, snarling at the two of them as he grabbed it and jealously gulped it down.

Ishmael shook his head, wondering why this feral stowaway was still following them and why he and Blondie put up with it. Then the second shot hit like a sledgehammer.

Blondie coughed and chomped onto his cigar. “Thought it was supposed to get smoother with the next drink.”

“Don't know if that was the same stuff. Wasn't the first round blue? This stuff was almost black.”

Christian wheezed in his chair, tilting back and gasping, then flailed wildly as the chair tipped over backwards. Blondie and Ishmael just stood up, leaving the kid thrashing about on the ground knowing trying to touch him would just result in bite-marks.

“Let's go see about that work. I just spent half of the money I got left,” Blondie said, staggering out of the bar.

Ishmael walked unsteadily after him, placing his hand on low-hanging duct-work to keep himself steady. “Dunno what that last drink was, but daaamn. Maybe it was just the dry weeks in hyper on the way here. Can't remember the last time I could get to the corner of buzzed and drunk in two drinks.”
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First Post
Crosspost from a botched thread. Here's a short segment from one of "Blondie's" previous adventures...

[sblock=A Fistfull of Credits]My friend and I ran a little one-off game of the original edition of the Star Wars Roleplaying Game. It went a little something like this...

Episode LXIX​

I stepped off the space transport and landed hard on the packed dirt ground that served as a landing pad on this nameless backwater planet. The fumes from the ship's engines hadn't fully dissipated so I immediately went into a coughing fit. The wind picked up abruptly so I reached my hand out from under my enviro-poncho and placed it on my head to keep my hat from getting blown away. My hat is dusty and well worn, sort of an off-brown color. It has a wide brim to keep the sun from getting in my face. Also, it helps keep people from looking directly into my eyes. Keeps them wondering.​

When the wind dies down for a moment I take the opportunity to survey my surroundings. Aside from the “spaceport” the only other structures are what looks like a sad little ramshackle town about a quarter-mile from here. The planet itself is a wind-blasted dust bowl. There aren't even any mountains or even pieces of rock that could pass as hills anywhere where I can see. There is dust everywhere. It's not like Tatooine. Tatooine is beautiful and exotic compared to this place. There is no color here. Only flat brown.​

A short walk later I'm walking down the main avenue that runs through the middle of the sad little town. I don't see a single living soul. Not unless you count a single odd-looking droid with what appears to be a crescent shaped scratch in it's faceplate, right about where the mouth would be on a person. It looks like he's smiling. Suddenly I spy something behind me.​

I've always had keen eyes. Someone once said they were like angel eyes, whatever that meant. The thing I spot is about a mile away heading right toward me. It's a speeder, traveling at about 100 miles an hour. Which means it's about six seconds from taking my head off. I step out of the way.​

The speeder stops abruptly a few meters from me so fast it would've snapped a human's neck. The two occupants weren't human. One was a gangly and looked like a big mantis-bug. The other was some huge alien that looked like a cross between a hairless Wookie and a brick house. They were both looking at me.​

The bug-thing spoke first.​

“Nyaaaa, Chk Chk Brrck Chk.” It said by clicking and gnashing its mandibles, which I think meant; Hey, look at this guy! What a goon.

“Hurf durf durrrrf durf hurf. Durf!” The other one said in what I thought was another language entirely. I'm not sure what it meant.​

“Hey, fellas.” I said, switching my toothpick from one side of my mouth to the other. “You wouldn't happen to know if there's a cantina around here?”​

They looked at one another with alien expressions I couldn't begin to understand. The bug-thing turned toward me and spoke again.​

“Nyaaaa, Chk! Brrrck chk. Chk!”​

“You kiss your mother with those mandibles...?” I said, slightly shocked at the creature's filthy language.​

In response, a pair of insect-like wings came out from behind it's back and it fluttered out of the speeder into the air only slightly. It exposed its swollen thorax, which seemed to be twitching and working its orifice. Without time to react it ejaculated a sticky, bright green goo that hit me dead in my upper right leg. I half expected it to start burning and eat through my flesh, but instead it just bonded with the cloth fibers in my pant leg - staining the hell out of it.​

“Hey...” I said. Before I could continue they sped off in the original direction they were headed, laughing (I think) as they went.​

I tried to give my leg a wipe with my hand. But that stuff was not coming off. Not easily. I would need some kind of super strong solvent. Oh well, I thought, and went searching for the cantina.​

I found the place across the street. It had some kind of energy field to keep the dust from blowing in. As I walked through it shut off temporarily and hours, maybe days of built up dust around the entrance blew in all at once.​

“Eayyyyyy!” The bar keeper said. “Eou eet en ere end etop eetting ehe eust en!”​

I thought about what language he might be speaking before realizing it was basic.​

“Oh... sorry...” I said as I walked into the cantina. The energy field turned itself back on behind me and the dust stopped. I walked around to the bar where the thing behind the counter was looking at me with its six eyes. It had two of its six arms resting on the counter and the others were busy doing something I couldn't see.​
“Some big bug just crapped on my leg.”​

“Ey...” It said.​

“Hey, partner...” I started to ask. “You got any drinks in this place?”​

“Eea. Eegot euisky. Ehat's et.”​

“Euisky, huh... I'll have some of that.”​

It poured some in a glass and I tried it. It had a smoky flavor, not the kind of smoky flavor you're probably thinking of. The kind of black smoke that pours out of a speeder when oil starts leaking and pours into the combustion chamber. That's what it tasted like, with a slight aftertaste of straight turpentine.​

“I like it.” I said. “Pour me another.”​

The barkeep obliged then asked me a question.​

“Eo, ehat erings eou eo eplace eike ehis.”​

“Looking for work...” I said.​

“Eork? Eot euch ere. Eust e eangs.”​
“Gangs?” I asked. “What kind of gangs?”​

“Ewo ef em. E (something) end e (something). Ey elways eighting. Eug euy's ene ef em.”​

“Come again?”​

“Eea, ehe eug euy. Ee eives et ehe eive eown ehere.”​

“Uh huh. So the bug guy's down by the hive then. Alright. You got rooms for the night?”​

“Eea, eut ee eake eredits en edvance eround eere.”​

“I ain't got no money, sorry...”​

It sighed. “Euess ehe erinks ere en ee ehen.”​

“Hold on, I'll see what I can do. The hive's thataway right?”

"Desert Village" by faLenn

I made my way out the door and the barkeep just looked at me, puzzled. My poncho picked up and whipped around me as the force field dropped once more and the wind came rushing toward me. I held on to my hat and made my way down the street where I last saw the speeder rushing off to. Before too long, I saw the hive. It looked like a pile of mud three stories tall the same color as everything else around here. I saw the two aliens, the big one and the bug just outside of it working on their speeder. The big guy saw me first as I approached within, oh, three to seven meters of them.​

“Hurf!” It exclaimed, pointing one of its three thick fingers at me.​

They both looked at me and I looked at them, they were just underneath the brim of my hat. Underneath my poncho, my hand caressed the handle of my trusty blaster.​

“Hey... you guys...” I said. “What are you going to do about my pants?”​

“Nyaaaa.” Said the bug guy. “Brrrck chk chk brck chk?” (You wanna start something right in front of my place?) He gestured to the mud pile behind him.​

“Naw.” I said. “I just wanna talk about my pants. You ruined them.”​


The two of them looked at one another. The bug guy made a noise that sounded like a crackling paper bag. I'm guessing he was laughing at me. Suddenly the big guy roared and started to charge me. I smirked in spite of myself and reached for my blaster. I gave it a tug, but it didn't come free. I looked down.​

“Aw, darn...”​

Some of that green crap had splashed on my holster. When it set it more or less glued my blaster into place inside it, and it wasn't moving. The big guy was one second from trampling me, so I thought fast. I grabbed my belt knife on the other side and gave it a hard sideways yank using all of my strength. My plan worked and it cut the entire blaster belt from my waist. I quickly lifted the piece up in the direction of the charging brute and fired a shot. My aim was a little low, which meant it hit the thing below the belt, so to speak. It dropped to the ground howling and clutching itself.​

Its bug friend began to panic and suddenly produced some barbed spines from its back. The thing shook itself in a bizarre way that my eyes couldn't follow. Spines shot from it going in several directions at once, but mostly towards me. I turned sideways to make myself a smaller target and fortunately the spines passed right by me. I noticed that one of them projectiles had errantly found its way stuck into the big guy's rear end. It was howling worse than ever now, clutching his groin and his posterior at the same time. Poor guy. I put him out of his misery.​

With my blaster still in the holster and the belt still dangling I leveled the weapon at the brute's face and blasted it right between the eyes. After that the bug thing was in a near panic. I began shaking and spinning wildly shooting spines everywhere. One of the things caught me square in my left shoulder, fortunately my poncho was enough to stop it before it actually broke skin. I aimed carefully and let out another shot. The blaster shot caught it right in its thorax, blowing it to pieces and sending that green crap all over its precious speeder. It stopped and looked at me long enough to utter a final “Nyaaaa” before falling over dead.​

After that I listened for a short while. Besides the constant wind it was silent. I went to twirl my blaster on my finger before I remembered it was still in the holster - on the belt. So I slung the whole belt over my shoulder and made my way back in the direction of the cantina. The wind picked up slightly and stirred my poncho blowing it behind me as I walked away from the giant mud pile hive.​

I arrived back at the cantina. The bar keeper had all six of his eyes sticking around the door looking at me. It had probably seen everything from where he was.​

“Eoly ehit,eartner. Eou eust eave e eeath eish.” It said following me back in where I sat at the bar and laid the severed blaster belt next to me.​

“Eere.” It poured me another drink. “Ehis ene's en ee, eoo. Eou eon't ee elive euch eonger.”​

“We'll see.” I took the drink. “Hey, buddy. Can you do anything about this?”​

I showed him my blaster-holster mess. He studied it for a moment and grabed the euisky bottle then poured a bit on the holster. The green stuff dissolved away instantly.​

“Well I'll be...” I said.​

I poured a bit of my drink on the stain on my pants and it came right out. I finished my drink in one swallow and tapped my finger the counter for another. Meanwhile the bar keep had taken to mending my blaster belt by diluting some of the green stuff in some water and gluing it back together. It was going to be a while before I could wear it again. He passed me the bottle and I moved to the back of the cantina where I could see the door better. My blaster sat on the table next to me in easy reach.​

I killed a few hours just sitting there. Once I saw more of those bug-things wander by the cantina and look inside. They saw me sitting there and studied me for a time. After a few moments they apparently decided not to mess with me and buggered on. Eventually it got dark and some new characters entered the building. They were about the same height as me but that's where the similarities ended. They were completely covered in hair and walked on reverse-jointed legs. Their faces were made of beady eyes and long snouts that dangled out in front of them. They wore clothes, kind-of. They had simple buttoned vests and wore broad-brimmed hats with high crowns. One of them was wearing a white shirt. The leader, probably. I realized immediately that these guys were probably the other gang.​

The leader noticed me in the corner and seemed to be taken aback.​

“Ruh Roh!” It said, and slowly walked over.​

I pushed a chair forward for him to sit in but he declined with a wave of his hairy paw.​

“Ro, Ri rear rou rere rhe ruy rho rook rout Rrok rand Rreeebo rover rat rhe rive.” It said.​

“Uh...” I groaned and clutched my head with my hand. “Yea, that was me.”​

“Rou rooking ror rork? Re ran ruse ra ruy rike rou.”​

“I'll bet you can. How much are you gonna pay me?”​

“Ray? Rhmmm... Rell... Row rabout rone rundered rredits?”​

“One hundred a day?” I asked.​

“Ruhh... Rea! Rone rundred ra ray.”​

I shook my head. “Naw, partner... I don't work for less than two hundred credits a day.”​

“Rwo rundred! Ruh Roh!” It exclaimed.​

It seemed to study me for a little while. Then came to a decision.​

“Rall right rit's ra real. Rwo rundred ra ray. Rut rou retter re rorth rit.”​

I smiled my best smile and raised my glass to him before finishing what was left. I picked up my gun belt and gave it a test tug. Remarkably it seemed as tough as ever. When my gear was all in order I followed my new employers outside and towards their lair.​

Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Moments later, they pushing their way through the stuffy, crowded press of the Dockside, Blondie in the lead, moving in that way he had that made him always look like he knew where he was going.

A repulsor fork-lift with a giant cargo container began pushing through the crowd to shouts and curses, the dense press of bodies driving the three companions to the outside wall. Ishmael grabbed the rim of a porthole for stability and glanced out just in time to see a decent-sized mining ship with the name Dullest Fang anchor up with one of the Dockside Ring's dozens of airlocks.

A few minutes later, the lift was past, but there was more commotion as the near-side of a nearby airlock cycled, an excited pint-sized alien with pointed, flap-like ears and gaping eyes chittered at one of the tall armed, armored, and uniformed toughs that lounged about here and there near the airlocks in ones and twos. Ishmael squinted at the insignia on the nearest tough's uniform, making out an upside-down blue triangle on a shield of black.

The uniformed guard listened with seeming disinterest, but eventually nodded and spoke briefly into a wristband comlink. Blondie began moving as if to push back out into the main stream of traffic flowing through the Ring, but Ishmael pulled him back, pointing at the other security personal converging on the Dullest Fang's airlock.

A few minutes later, a dozen now-alert looking uniformed toughs with hands on blasters were escorting a hovering stasis projector and the three small alien miners that pushed it through the crowds. Standing on tiptoes and straining, Ishmael could make out half-a-dozen fist-sized blue crystals floating in the stasis projector's field.

“What is going on there?” Blondie said.

Ishmael turned to answer but saw that Blondie was talking to an ancient human miner so bent over by age that the man's head seemed to be sprouting from the front of his chest. He also saw Christian vomiting in an unattended duffel bag by a different airlock. He shook his head and leaned in to listen to the old miner.

“Can't see worth a darn down here, they got some Isalis Security goons escorting some miner's pay-dirt?”

“That's what it looks like,” Ishmael said, watching the crowd slow to a standstill to alternately gape, stare, curse, cheer, coax, or threaten the diminutive aliens and their ring of guards.

“They musta struck it rich, how many crystals they got?”

“Looks like six... seven?”

“Any count on the facets? Crystal's facets tell ya how much it'll fetch at the Cartel's office in the Inner Ring.”

“That one has eight or nine, the others seem to have what, five, six?”

“The biggest one has about twelve or thirteen,” Blondie said, gazing into the distance and spitting.

“That'll fetch a good price. Would be better'n if could get 'em to the off station buyers, but no use riskin' the Cartel's wrath. They're playin' it safe, playin' it smart. Them crystals ain't worth dying for, if'n you asks me, but that don't stop a whole passel of people from all across the Republic and beyond from comin' here an' doin' just that!”

“What do you mean, 'the Cartel's wrath'?” Ishmael said. “They one of the power players on the station?”

“One of? They're the power here son. Don't cross them if'n your thinkin' of ever flying outta the Shroud again. Nope, best to play it safe like them lucky ones there. Hire Isalis Security so they's goons don't find you and beat a protection fee outta you anyway later, sell at the Cartel Office rather'n make a run for someplace out-system. Make your profit while there's profits to be made, make it out alive. Risk versus reward, son, risk versus reward.”

“Why not just jump in from somewhere else, scoop up a bunch of crystals, then jump back out?” Ishmael said. “Not good enough money?”

He saw Christian moving up behind them and put his hand on his credit pouch just to be sure and turned so his back wasn't to the kid. He didn't think Christian would try anything, but that kid had gotten a damn lightsaber somewhere and Ishmael wasn't 100% sure the kid wouldn't try to use it on him if he gave him the chance.
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
The old man snorted. “Good enough money? You can sells the crystals out-system for at least double what the Cartel here pays. Probably three, four, maybe five times as much or more if'n you finds the right buyers. No, ain't worth the risks son.”


“Yeah. The Cartel never outright comes for them's that do, but there's quite a pirate infestation in the Shroud. Most of them just board the miners on the way back to the Rings from the Shroud, taking Isalis if'n them lucky/unlucky miners got it or a little toll if'n they ain't, but then there's them nastier 'pirates' that lurk near the jump lanes, conveniently only blastin' thems that defy's the Cartel's unwritten rules...”

“Can't the miners just hire some mercs to protect them when they get boarded?” Ishmael said, glancing out the porthole at the Dullest Fang.

“Of course they can – and do if'n theys can afford it. They tries'n make the hirin' as public as possible too since the pirates gots scouts that watches what miners come and go and what they's bringin'. There's the big mining ships get preyed on by the biggest pirates, the middlin' miners that get preyed on by the middlin' pirates, and the small timers doin' the same. Of course, no one messes with the big Cartel Harvesters.”

“I'd bet the Closer you get to the center of the station, closer you get to the Cartel,” Blondie said, more statement than question as he began to walk away.

The miner nodded as they watched the last of the newly-rich miners and their escorts disappear into one of the dozens of access shafts between the outer Dockside Ring and the middle Business Ring.

“Thanks old man,” Ishmael said, moving to follow Blondie as the gunfighter began to work his way towards the same access shaft.

“What, was all I's just said free?”

Ishmael rolled his eyes and fished out a few credits for the old codger, then hurried after Blondie.


The Business Ring was much more upscale than the rough-and-tumble of the Dockside. Ishmael wasn't a huge fan of the flitter droids that had done full body-scans on them when they'd left the access hatch, but at least with all the Cartel and Isalis Security everywhere, there wasn't as much chance of being pick-pocketed, knifed, mugged, or shot.

Blondie had led them to a Rings Corporation Ltd. Employment Center, a small computer creche tucked away not far from one of the few heavily guarded access shafts leading to the Inner Ring. Blondie had already given up on trying to navigate the computer system so the two of them stood and watch Christian's fingers darting across the keys.

“Wait, stop there,” Ishamael said. “That looked an awful lot like a bounty board.”

A few keystrokes later and the previous screen was up. Ishmael whistled. “Some pretty impressive bounties on the pirates in this system. Doubt we could handle any of those five-figure ones though. Skim down to the lower four-figures. Probably closer to our league.”

Blondie stood back, chewing on his cigar and watching droids, miners, security personnel, merchants, and luxuriously dressed Cartel officials; a diverse crowd of all races, sizes, and shapes passing by with the bustle of a boom-station.

“So, here's what I see for options,” Blondie said. Ishmael thought he heard the gunfighter's stomach grumble and he realized that he was half-starving too. “There's Cartel Security here on the station. Boring as hell, doesn't pay too well. There's Isalis Security. Same deal. There's security on the mining ships. The bigger ships'll probably be the same as working security here, so maybe look at the smaller ships. Then there's trying to join up with the pirates, smugglers, or just trying to get in on the mining ourselves.”

“Computer says there's probably pirate base here in the Shroud somewhere,” Christian said nonchalantly from the computer. “Why don't we just go there and kill all of them?”

Ishmael stared at the kid, then glanced at Blondie. The gunfighter was still staring off into the distance like the kid hadn't even spoken.

“That sounds like suicide, taking on the pirates...” Ishmael trailed off, a sudden idea coming to him. “I know what we can do... maybe pull a couple jobs all at once. Here's what I'm thinking...”
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Badoo Hadi hit the comm and hailed Utha's Pride, almost trembling with the anticipation of seeing the terrified Sullustian miner's face. A second later Utha answered, twitching, eyes wide. His expression said fear, but something else too, something that made Badoo uneasy.

“Hadi hetha crada Utha,” he said, squinting at the screen. What wasn't right about this picture? What was that other emotion on the Sullustian's face?

“Utha mada Hadi sheecha,” Utha said, shifting slightly in his seat. That was when Badoo saw it, his eyes widening.

“Utha Isalis mada oso iko!” Badoo shouted, pointing at the Isalis crystal visible behind Utha on the comm screen.

Utha move as if to hide the crystal, then slumped in defeat. The Sullustian held the crystal up in front of the screen and turned it slowly so Badoo could count the facets.

Badoo hooted and turned his head to shout to his brother. “Utha Isalis mada imma, baka credits Hadi aroosh!”

Gradi hooted back from the rear hatch of their small, fast gunboat.

“Utha Isalis mada iko Hadi. Hadi kecho!” Badoo shut off the comm and maneuvered the ship to dock with the small, pathetic beaten shape of Utha's Pride. A few seconds later he brought the ship to a halt and heard Gradi seal the airlock umbilical to Utha's ship.

With that crystal, we'll be able to live like the Cartel for a month, Badoo though, leaning back in the pilot seat and staring back to where Gradi was sauntering across the umbilical into Utha's ship. And with luck, Gradi might even find something else worth taking on Utha's ship this time, a bit extra on the side to-

Badoo heard the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber activating and the equally unmistakable sound of blaster fire. He reached for his weapon, but a second later decompression alarms started sounding and the Umbilical Breach warning was flashing on his console.

He glanced back at the umbilical - now venting air and debris into space - listened to the sounds of blaster fire and the hum of the lightsaber for a second longer, then saw the Utha's Pride airlock door seal, leaving him alone with the sounds of the ship's alarms and the roar of decompression.

A Jedi in the Hradic Shroud? My brother's probably already dead! Badoo thought, his stunned mind sluggishly grinding into action. He flipped the emergency airlock button and flipped it closed, gunning the accelerator at the same time. The ship lurched as the umbilical tore away and seconds later the Utha's Pride was a lone metal speck behind him amongst the billions of crystal ones glittering in the Shroud.

I'll get you for this treachery Utha,
he thought as he raced further away. And your Jedi...


Several days earlier...
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Blondie returned and nodded to Ishmael. “Got the deal worked out. Some Sullustian will take us. Room and board as the base price. A little insurance both ways; we get 10% of the value of any Isalis crystals he finds, he gets 10% of the bounty on any pirates we nab if they try to board him. He says there's this Rodian named Badoo Hado or something that has been targeting him for months. With any luck, Badoo will make a move this time with us aboard.”

“Badoo?” Ishamael said, thinking back to the Cartel bounty board. “He had a thousand on his head or something like that.”

Blondie nodded. “He agreed to us going in secret too, none of the usual fanfare. We'll slip on one at a time over the next hour or so. Airlock 75b, Utha's Pride. See you on the ship.”


The ship was tiny and smelled like rust, dust, and an unpleasant damp, alien smell that Ishmael couldn't quite place. The cargo hold was empty of everything but a couple big black droids that looked space capable. Scrape and Clank Utha had said, gesturing towards the bulky droids as he'd led the three of them on. The numerous small chisel, drill, and scoop arms on said droids made their purpose pretty plain.

Beyond the cargo hold airlock was a short hallway, leading straight to the cockpit with doors branching off on either side. One room seemed to be Utha's sleeping quarters – the damp alien smell was much stronger there – and the other a hastily-cleaned out junk-storage room that might have once been another livable crew quarters, but now was debris littered, filthy, and dark since only one flickering light worked in the whole room.

Christian had claimed it, of course, snarling and throwing things at anyone who came in - when the kid weren't climbing through the ship's ventilation ducts or trying to tinker with the Sullustian's droids that is.

The cockpit was small, barely big enough for Utha, so Ishmael ended up spending most of the first three days hanging out in Utha's quarters with Blondie, staring out the one small porthole at the seemingly endless crystal rings of the Shroud, trying to ignore the alien smells and Blondie's endless cigar chomping and spitting. The fourth day was when the excitement started.

Utha started chattering to himself. This wasn't unusual since Utha apparently kept himself company by talking to himself constantly in Sullustian, but he drew Ishmael and Blondie's interest when his chatter suddenly increased in amplitude and frequency.

To Ishmael's non-technical eye, nothing seemed to have changed inside the cockpit or out. They were still plodding through the seemingly endless glittering expanse of the Shroud, the blue sun still gleaming ahead of them, the cockpit still full of buttons, switches and blinking lights. There was one small screen that seemed a bit more active, but Utha was glued to it, so Ishmael could barely even see that. He was about to go back to the room when Utha suddenly brought the ship to a lurching halt and sprinted past them towards the cargo bay.

Ishmael glanced at Blondie and the gunfighter shrugged as they followed after the Sullustian.

Utha already had the two droids activated and was sealing the cargo hold's interior airlock by the time Blondie and Ishmael got there. Utha squeezed past them again back to the cockpit, leaving Blondie and Ishmael peering out the small airlock window into the cargo hold.

The two droids were moving slowly towards the rear hatch of the cargo hold, now open to space. It quickly became apparent that rear hatch wasn't big enough for both droids at once, but rather than solving the problem by going through one after the other, the droids tried to push through at the same time, a flurry of small arms on each droid flailing away at the other as they tried to squeeze through the hatch simultaneously.

“I don't know whether this is funny or depressing,” Ishmael said.

Blondie spat in reply.

Finally one of the droids fought its way free and began circling the ship, the other tagging along close behind.

Ishmael headed back to the cockpit, standing at the doorway and watching as the two droids floated slowly over towards what looked like a large geode floating amidst the pale blue crystals that surrounded them. There was a tremendous amount droid of activity around the geode, finally resulting in one of the droids pulling a gleaming blue crystal from the geode's center and floating back towards the rear hatch of the ship.

Utha leapt up again, running back to the airlock and practically bouncing up and down as the droids made their ponderous way towards the rear hatch. Unfortunately, they both tried to enter at the same time again, resulting in the same ferocious frenzy of little darting, slapping arms as they squeezed and scraped their way in.

The Sullustian was practically foaming at the mouth with anticipation by the time the droids managed to make it all the way inside, sealing the outside hatch and cycling the airlock with a triumphant shout as they did so.

To make matters worse, Utha couldn't get Clank to let go of the crystal. Utha tried screaming, pleading, crying, threatening – all to no avail. He finally had to resort to shutting the stubborn droid off and dismantling its gripper hand. After all that, Ishmael was unimpressed with the fist-sized crystal the Sullustian held out towards them with glee.

“How much?” Blondie said, squinting at the crystal as it seemed to pulse with its own internal light.

“For you?” Utha thought for several minutes, staring up, fingers flitting around like he was making figures in his mind. “200?”

Ishmael turned to Blondie and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad, now let's just see if we can get our other jackpot.”
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Gradi Hadi waited for the Utha's Pride hatch to slide open and quickly walked across the umbilical, laughing as he walked into the familiar cargo hold. Ahead, at the end of the narrow hallway at the far side of the hold sat Utha in his pilot's chair, the Isalis crystal gleaming in his hand.

“Isalis mada Hadi, Utha genko!” he said, sauntering across the hold like he owned it. Anticipation turned quickly to alarm when two humans with blasters appeared in the hallway, stepping out of the side rooms and opening fire.

Gradi leapt to the side, on bolt nearly missing his head while the other blew a hole in the umbilical that attached the two ships. As he scrambled to his feet, a strange thrum came from the air vent above him and he glanced up just in time to see a blade of pure golden energy slice through the vent, a tiny human screaming as it fell straight towards him.

He rolled to the side as the lightsaber cut a shallow groove in the deckplates, then sprang to his feet again, nearly catching a hurtling bit of trash to the face as it flew from deeper in the ship towards the breach. He rolled to the side as one of the humans fired again, the bolt again flying wide, and fumbled for his own blaster. Behind him, he heard the sound of the airlock door clang shut and brought his blaster up almost to have his hand taken off by the lightsaber.

Another bolt flew past his head as he backpedaled away from the kid and he glanced over to see one of the humans cursing and trying to pull a bit of previously air born junk from the barrel of his blaster while the other lined up another shot.

He brought his own blaster up to take a quick shot in reply, but the ship lurched and he staggered – right into the lightsaber blade.


Ishmael grunted as he and Blondie dropped the one-legged Rodian corpse in front of the Rings Corporation Ltd. kiosk. Christian got on the computer again and brought up the bounty board, tapping the Claim Bounty button that appeared on the screen. Instantly, a small panel opened in the wall next to the kiosk, a small flitter droid drifting out. It floated over the Rodian, a wide beam of light scanning the corpse from head to toe and back again.

It floated there for a second as if waiting for something, then a small arm deployed from a hole in its side and made a circling gesture, then pointed at the Rodian. Ishmael blinked a couple times, then got it, flipping the Rodian over onto his back.

After doing another full-body scan, the droid floated back to its panel and a second later, 500 credits sat in Blondie's hand.

At almost the same time, Utha came skipping back from the Inner Ring access shaft, another handful of credits in his hand.

“Your 10%, after paying the Isalis Security's 10% for escorting us here, is 183 credits,” Utha said.

“I still don't think we should have had to pay them,” Ishmael said. “Aren't we security enough?”

“They would have found me and done horribles to me if we hadn't,” Utha said, shaking his head rapidly as he extended their share of the credits. “Believe Utha, it's better this way.”

“Here's your 10% of our bounty, as promised,” Blondie said.

The exchange complete, they parted ways with the little miner, heading back Dockside to lay low for a week, just in case. Unless, of course, another job came up sooner...


And, here our session ends. With it, ends the Story Hour... for now. I gave my buddy his character sheet when he left to go back home, so we'll play with him over Skype some time in the future. When that happens, I'll continue with their adventures.
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
So, we played another (short) session tonight. Only had two players, but we might end up getting as many as 4-5 at a later date.

Oh, and d6 Star Wars combat is dangerous.


Session 2 - Babes in Gangland

Blondie pulled himself out of the sleeping tube, growling at it as it made an annoying buzzing sound it made to let him know that his credits had expired. Christian was snarling at his with his unactivated lightsaber in hand.

Ishmael was snoring through his. Blondie tried to wake the bounty hunter up, but he swatted him away, grumbling under his breath.

“All right kid, let's go, I have a plan.”

He pushed his way through the crowds, heading towards a gang hideout he'd spotted the day before. He sent the kid off to find them something to eat and leaned against a wall, staring at Airlock 5 and the Gamorrean and the two humans lounging around outside.

They wore thick red coveralls over black baggy clothing, the Gamorrean and a shaved-headed human sitting on rounded crates playing Sabbac. A heavy vibro-axe leaned against the Gamorrean's crate while the human had a blaster pistol tucked into his coveralls. The last human lounged against the Airlock itself, flipping a vibroblade as he stared idly at the passing crowd.

“Chu don't wancha mess wich datcha ones,” said a hunched, rough-skinned, slit-eyed alien with a pack larger than it was on its back.

“I don't want to mess with them? Why's that?”

“Echa do owns all datcha between Airloch 2 and Airloch 7c-cha. Doncha do somacha dah.”

“What do you mean, they don't do much? With control over that much of the Outer Ring, you think they'd have to.”

The alien shrugged its pack on its back and made a strange growl. “Echa gang, but echa gang doncha do wacha da odda gangses do. Jush wander and hangsh atcha Lock 5.”

“Strange. Why have a gang if you don't do anything? Do the other gangs in the area have a problem with them?”

“Somcha, des gangs aftah all. But Lock 5 gang doncha do much, so odda gangses doncha like, but Lock 5 also gocha 12-15 in do gang, so ocha gangses doncha mess wicha em, even ifa deys gocha sucha nice bit ocha Ring.”

“So, let me get this straight, there's twelve guys in a gang that does nothing but lounge around, but no one messes with them or goes for their turf?”

The alien nodded slowly then grunted. “Ech!” the alien said with a flicking gesture in the gang's direction as it shrugged its pack again and moved off into the bustle of the Ring.

Christian returned with a bowl full of what looked like dead worms soaked in mucus and held it up to Blondie. Blondie stared at it for a second, then shook his head.

“Follow my lead,” he said, walking towards the gang as Christian gobbled down whatever it was in the bowl.

As they approached, the human playing Sabbac set down his cards and raised his chin towards Blondie. The Gamorrean turned and snorted, resting its hand on the end of the vibro-axe.

“We want to see your boss,” Blondie said, singling out the one with the vibro-blade as the leader. "Let's not make this complicated."
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Iron Sky

Procedurally Generated
Inside the airlock was the charred remains of a ship. Blondie remembered someone mentioning that the ship had become a permanent fixture after half the ship “somehow” exploded, fusing the ship to the side of the station. The Lock 5 gang had pressurized it and taken it over, but it still had the look and smell of a the burnt wreck it was.

He took one step into the hallway beyond the airlock, turning smoothly and stepping behind the bulkhead on the far side as blaster fire flashed against the hull around him. He leaned around and took a quick shot down the long hallway, his bolt passing through his attacker's leg and hitting something explosive behind the man.

Christian darted ahead of him, lightsaber tip sparking off the deckplates and leaving little slagged groves as the kid sprinted forward to finish off the blackened, groaning foe.

At the end of the hallway was what was probably once a wide common room, now full of scattered debris and choking, acrid smoke. Three other passageways branched out from it, shouts, curses, and the sound of feet pounding on grated metal coming from each.

Christian stared up at him, the kid's eyes wild, as Blondie lit a cigar on a bit of burning debris. Blondie nodded at the passageway across the hall and they began to jog across. They were exposed in the dead center of the room as all the gangers reached it at once, two opening up with their blasters as a tall, spindly-armed alien charged them with another vibro-axe.

Blondie returned fire as Christian leapt into the air and planted his lightsaber in the center of the spindly alien's head, hitting the deck already sprinting towards one of the passageways. Blondie swung his weapon towards the other, but the ganger was faster. Searing pain shot through Blondie's leg and he went down.

The last thing he saw before he succumbed to the pain was Christian swinging his lightsaber wildly, getting it caught in walls and slicing it into the deck, struggling to free it as both gangers turned their blasters on him...


Like I said, short. Not sure exactly what the plan was, but I'm pretty sure it didn't work, unless the plan was to get shot by a gang.
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