It has been 5 years since the Clone Wars came to an end, bringing peace to a galaxy torn by war. The people celebrate both the cessation of violence, and the simultaneous end of the corrupt bureaucracy that had brought the machinery of the Republic to a halt. The mysterious, corrupt Jedi Order has been eliminated, and every being in the galaxy can rise to a position of greatness.
However, not all is as glorious as it appears. While the Jedi Order is considered no great loss, the Imperial war machine yet churns. Every day, new Star Destroyers come out of the Kuat Drive Yards and the shipyards at Fondor and Bilbringi. New star fighters designed by Sienar Fleet Systems, known as Twin Ion Engine Fighters, or TIE Fighters, have replaced the Y-Wings and ARC-170s of the Clone Wars. If there is peace, some whisper, why do we still need such weapons? Is it not time to put them aside, to turn the money and materiel to other things?
There are other changes, as well, some more worrisome. The noble Wookies of Kaashyyyk have been enslaved by the Empire, as have the peaceful Mon Calamari. For rebellion, it is said, yet why does the Empire engage in actions suitable for Hutts? Everywhere, there are rumors that non-humans are viewed as second-class citizens. In the Imperial military, they often find themselves given the worst assignments, and are barred from entry into the elite Stormtrooper Corps. They report harassment and persecution, yet nothing is done. Women, too, have begun to feel marginalized. Surely the Empire isn’t actively pursuing such policies. It’s just a few bad jogan fruit, right?
The greatest fear, though, comes from what happens to those who speak out against the Empire. Sometimes they are arrested for crimes – murder, treason, sedition. Some meet with unfortunate accidents. And some simply vanish in the middle of the night – gone and never to be seen again. What has happened to them? Surely the Empire – which brought peace to a galaxy torn by war – couldn’t be involved? It must be the work of criminals, musn’t it?
Across the known galaxy, these questions and more are asked, including on Krai Ven Station, where our story begins…
Lakoneous has been dry docked for a little over a week since bringing in the Corellian light freighter full of rations for the station. He has been looking for more work and hoping to get something that will pay a little better than his last job. So far he has had no luck.
My luck seems to be like my survival, been a hit and miss. First the run in with the Hutt, then his stinking hunters. I’d like to put a bounty out on him but that takes creds something I am lacking in the moment. the dug thinks as he makes his way through the crowds at the local “hiring fair” in the pilots guild section of the Krai Ven Station.
Kol lifted his eye shields, leaned back and wiped his brow. Almost done now. Eight months on the job and it was one scut work job after another.
It had been a routine maintenance chore, making sure that the Delta-2 blast doors on the main promenade were in working order. He had just triggered emergency-close when a damn fool mouse droid chose that exact moment to take a short cut through his work zone. Naturally the impact of the doors closing on the droid hammer-welded them altogether into a single mass. Since then he had spent most of his shift plasma cutting, chiseling and auto-pry barring them apart again.
Giving a last check of his work, he triggered the wall module and the triple blast doors slid aside smoothly. Yes!
But before he could again check the reaction circuits, the spacer and passenger crowd that had been building behind the doors kicked their way through his posted work area to scurry down the main passageway beyond and made the last check impossible; naturally they were complaining about bad maintenance...
Kol took a moment to lean his head against the chill metal of the bulkhead, then sighed in resignation. He closed the wall module with a click, marked the annual maintenance ticket completed, used his comlink to notify admin, then ignored a dozen more job tickets to take off and see if he could find something to eat...
Frustrated, Robbidon Jaas stode down the cargo ramp of the Digger Moth, a GS-100 salvage ship, animatedly speaking to the repair droid by his side. "Can you believe that guy? Co-Pilot? That's it. Sure, he'd hire me on full time as Co-Pilot??"
"You're great on a Nav Computer, kid! Almost better than a droid. I'd love to keep you and Lemm around." Robbbidon poorly-mimicked the ship's owner, a stout, three-eyed Gran with a penchant for chewing on small bits of sansanna spice.
The young pilot stopped and turned to the LEM unit, his arms out, "Almost better than a droid? Seriously? Lemm, c'mon, plotting a course through Hyperspace is...it's about instinct and gut feelings as much as straight up knowledge of star charts! It's like he was saying I'm no better than having a two-bit T7 or R2 astromech unit around..it's insulting!"
Jass turned and continued walking out through the docking bay into the port station proper, then paused, adding, "Not that there's anything wrong with being a droid, Lemm. Obviously. It's just the principal of the thing..."
Worried and hungry, Dreams slowly made his way to a run down freighter in time to see a human walk off.
I wonder if he would be willing to hire me on he muses to himself as he checks his meagre belongings and slowly makes his way towards the hiring halls to see if there was any jobs that he could do to keep himself fed.
It has been a month since I arrived on the last tramp, and near enough time for me to move along with the next step to keep ahead of the troops.
Moving Down the cargo ramp, his electronic magnetic grippers attaching and releasing, LE-M-07d spins it's cycloptic eye towards the young man, as he imitates their previous captain. Stopping with Robbidon, LE-M-07d lifts both hands in an imitation of human gestures. "He's right Master Rob you are almost as good as a R2 unit. Is it insulting because they can do the task without appendages and you cannot?"
It cocks it's head, beginning to ramble. "I have little knowledge of biological functions, so if you say you use your intestines to fly I will not disagree." He waives a hand as they continue down the ramp."I have no digestive track to use while communicating with the Mav computer, however I do have a Scomp Link." Even though Lemm could not remember Rob using any body parts other than his hands, he asks, "Is that similar to guts?"
Lemm follows as they continue walking to the port station. "I am glad there is nothing wrong with being a droid, Master Rob. Perchance we can find an employer who favors guts." He gestures towards the spinward side of the station. "The local directory revealed a retailer of Roche Duravlex armor in that direction. Shall we head there first, or proceed to an establishment where you may find refreshments and we a possible employer?"
"Bah." Robbidon blinks, giving Lemm a momentary look of a annoyance as once again, he is not quite sure if the droid was messing with him or not. This is followed quickly by a shrug and a chuckle.
"Buddy, I definitely need a drink, but we should tend to your business first." Robbidon gestures towards where the droid had indicated the retailer might be. Lowering his voice slightly, he says, "You having upgrades like that is no accident, and the sooner we have an idea of the who, we'll have a better idea of the why...and we should probably do it quietly so the wrong sorts don't take interest in the two of us..."
Nope, not messing with you, just naive :)
Nodding "Thank you Master Rob, I appreciate your understanding." he gestures towards the magnetic servos on his feet. "Though doing things quitely is difficult unless I turn off the grippers." Lemm twitches his eye nervously, reluctant to turn off the grippers aware they were what kept him from being swept out to space on the derelict ship.
follows the directions he found the robot rambles. "I found an article involving the owner, an Iktotchi named Arctan Xiese. The article discussed the legality of non-company owned facilities installing armor on droids. They quoted Arctan, a independent dealer, in saying the laws were really about prejudice towards non-humans."
Stopping outside of the address, the shop is clearly empty and a large paper 'closed' sign is pasted to the front door. Turning to Robb, Lemm shrugs his shoulders imitating humanoids. "Curious, I would think a station this size could support an independent repair shop. Let us find someplace to quench your thirst."
Not sure how much liberty to take with the station, but I'm sure there will be a cantina somewhere
STAR WARS: DAWN OF DEFIANCE
THE TRAITOR’S GAMBIT
It is a dark time in the galaxy. The evil Galactic Empire has spread
from the Deep Core to the Outer Rim, and everywhere
the Empire’s tyranny can be felt.
Fleeing from the oppression of the Emperor’s minions, agents of
Senator Bail Organa have run to a remote space station above
Brentaal. Known to be a vocal opponent of the Empire,
Organa may be the last hope of freedom in the galaxy.
In the hopes of stopping these dissidents before they can
reach the Senator, the Empire has alerted its forces on
Sel Zonn Station, where the struggle for liberty rages on,
and the first sparks of rebellion have begun to burn. . . .
The Dawn of Defiance campaign opens on an unsuspecting space station
orbiting the Core World of Brentaal. Sel Zonn Station is little more than
a travel and cargo port, just like dozens of others in orbit around the
world. However, the station is also home not only to the Empire and its
lackeys among the nobility of Brentaal,
Arue finished cleaning her rifle, right after her shift. The mission was complete, and the very few credits were still something positive. She was hired to guard that ship, and was glad things went uneventfully.
As she locked the weapon on the back magnetic holster, she started walking towards the nearby cantina. Hopefully someone would be trying to get more mercenaries for some job - since, at this point, she was fairly open again.
Seemingly motionless among a sea of starships and satellites above
the twinkling world of Brentaal, Sel Zonn Station grows larger in
your view every second. A central pylon forms the bulk of the
station’s mass, and three landing platforms leading to docking bays
extend from the central section, equidistant from one another and
jutting out into space. The dorsal side of the station features a discshaped secondary structure, on top of which blinking lights indicate
the presence of a landing platform reserved for wealthy patrons.
The interior of the space station conforms to the Imperial standard.
Since Sel Zonn Station orbits a Core World, it is far better maintained
than other structures of its age, and the main areas see constant
renovations and repairs. However, a few steps off of the beaten path
quickly reveal that the station is rotting from the inside out. A short
walk away from the main venues leads to decrepit sections of the
station, filled with broken lights, tarnished metal walls, missing deck
plates, and all manner of suspicious aliens that have been driven out of
the nicer sections by the Empire
Some places of interest:
• Gundark’s Cantina: Owned and operated by a gruff Human
male named “Gundark” Saff, Gundark’s Cantina is a place
where people from all walks of life can come to relax. Though
Gundark himself shows some anti-alien bias, he does not
prevent non-Humans from patronizing his establishment. As
such, it is a popular meeting place for nearly anyone on the
station, and it features a large number of secluded booths for
• The Credit Chip: A local casino that attracts a wide variety of
patrons, the Credit Chip is operated by a quiet and brooding
Human named Cecil Vane. Vane doesn’t like what the Empire
has done to the station, especially since they don’t take it too
well when he cheats Imperial officers out of their money. The
most popular games in the galaxy, including sabacc and
pazaak, see a lot of play here.
• Delgas Medical Supplies: A corporate medical practice and
pharmaceutical supplier, Delgas Medical Supplies provides
care to those who can afford it. The chief doctor in the
practice is Byra Fenn,
• Mechanical Allies: A droid repair and sales shop, this is one of
the few businesses run by a non-Human that hasn’t been
shut down by the Empire. Operated by an untrustworthy
Twi’lek named San, Mechanical Allies sells all manner of
droid parts and reconditioned droids. Despite the fact that
most of his droids are faulty, San has remained in business
thanks to his own savvy and his ability to buy off the Empire
from time to time.
"YOU'RE FIRED!!" Sel Zonn Station Defense Captain Yorr Hesk shouts. Then he takes a rag and mops his brow. "Blazes it's hot in here," he grouses.
Rufus shrugs, looking entirely innocent. "Feels fine to me sir. Are you sure you're all right?" He'd changed the captain's climate control in his office to be about ten degrees higher than the optimal temperature showing on the readouts. Even since he noticed the man had a tendency to sweat at the slightest provocation, Rufus couldn't resist the practical joke.
"I'll be better when you're out of here! Now go!" Captain Hesk points to the door, spraying drops of sweat all over his desk.
Rufus gets up, and starts heading for the door. At the threshold, he turns around and asks, "Could I get a reference?" The captain was still cursing when he left.
Rufus whistles as he leaves the section of the station that housed its defense personnel. Not quite Imperial, but taking all sorts of inspiration from the rapidly-expanding Empire, the small force of security personnel and patrol craft was strict and regimented in all the worst ways.
He gives one of the security guards a stiff salute as he passes. "That uniform is an honor. Treat it with respect," he says in a gruff voice laced with irony. Rufus had found a job flying the patrol craft around Sel Zonn Station, hoping to take it easy in a cushy sector of space. It didn't pan out; Captain Hesk was an Imperial wannabe who instated all sorts of ridiculous regulations and strict protocols. That just made Rufus want to test the boundaries even more. He tested Hesk to his limits, finding loopholes in the regs, or pitting conflicting protocols against each other.
Unfortunately, losing his uniform in a sabacc game meant he had to report to duty in his civilian clothes. That was Hesk's last nerve, and he finally fired Rufus. He wasn't especially upset about getting fired; he'd pretty much tapped out the fun of this job.
Rufus loads up his gear in his spacer's chest and heads out into the common area of the station.
“Grdonala, nothing but minor flights in system here today. I want something to get me out of system or atleast pay me enough to make it worth staying in this scrap heap of a station. Not seeing anything of particular interest on the guild boards, Lakoneous decides to look via the rumor mill and heads towards the nearest watering hole, Gundark's Cantina.
As he leaves he bumps into a twilek whom isn’t paying much attention to where he is going. Frustrated with another wasted day, the Dug utters a sarcastic comment under his breathe, If your brain was a computer, would you use it? I almost hope he speaks dug so he understands what I just said. If not oh well it still applies.
Back again are you one of the bartender states as Lak slides upto the bar in his usual seat.
Answering in Dug, then grudgingly switching to common when the bartender doesn’t respond, Lak says quietly to the Rodian bartenderYep. No luck on the playing field today for us down on our luck pilots. You could give me an idea of whom to ask outside the guild for work. I'm not picky to it being legal if it pays well.
persuasion: 20 - 2 = 18 It still needs any modifiers applied to it as you see fit DM
The mottled dug listens carefully as the bartender talks hoping to pick up a clue to employment.
Christon opens the cantina doors with his head low. He'd been folowwing that guy for a while, hoping he would add some nice info to his diary and maybe lead him to an ancient relic. Unfortunately, the guy liked Sabacc way too much... but not as much as his creditors liked to be paid. So here's Christon, at a dead end (literally) and with no credits, too close to the core for his likings. "The Force has mysterious ways" he tries to comfort himself, and thinks maybe he'd feel better after a good meal... or at least after the best meal he can pay. Perhaps at the cantina he can also meet someone who needs a doctor for a ride out of here...
Ghosting into Gundarks cantena, Dreams quickly looks around, and then settles into an unused seat.
He then gets a pint of whatevers on tap, and glances around keeping as low a profile as he can.
Well, I hope rumours of a job here are true, as I need one so long as it don't take me to the core.
Christon looks for a place to sit from where he can overhear as much as possible, but only after asking for a drink at the bar. He tosses some credits (about double the cost of the drink) and lets some words go at the bartender. "If you want to earn some more, I'm a physician looking for a ship outta here. Let anyone interested know about me, or let me know about them."
Rufus drags his spacer's chest to the public docking section. Finding an out-of-the-way spot, he makes sure his chest is locked, then activates the magnetic clamps to discourage theft. With his worldly belongings secured as best as he can make them, he heads to the best place to find work for a pilot -- the nearest cantina.
He strolls inside Gundark's and gives a nod to Saff; he'd been a regular here for the time he'd been working at Sel Venn Station. "Shouldn't you be on shift?" the bartender asks.
"It was decided that I should take advantage of other employment opportunities," Rufus says with a grin.
"Got fired, did you?"
Rufus gives him a look. "Let's just say the station defense corps is 'restructuring.'"
Stopping at the next intersection, Lemm, looks at the broken lights and missing deck plates. "The station seems to need a more advanced maintenance crew. If nothing else I could apply for maintenance and you for janitorial work." It turns his cycloptic eye towards it's friend, Seeing the frown on Robb's face, it backtracks. "Maybe not."
Pointing down the right tunnel, "If my memory chip serves me correctly, Gundark's Cantina is that direction. Let us head that way." Moving along the dingy corridor, they finally reach the cantina. Lemm pauses, "I hope they allow droids." then swings the louvered fake wooded café doors open Lemm pause hands on the door, to see if anyone curses at it or throws anything it's general direction.
Robbidon strides alongside his mechanical companion, his long-legs just barely helping him keep up with the repair droid's pace. The ambitious pilot frowns in distaste at the poor conditions of the station, but says nothing. The décor reminds him too much of his native Kuat, a Core world that he doubts he might ever see again.
"I don't see any signs saying you can't go in, so..." he trails off, looking around the cantina's interior, making a face at the size and placement of the crowd. Stepping further into the establishment however, Robbidon grins, "Wanna stand by the bar? Unless you see a high-top table, I don't think those legs and feet of yours are gonna fit in a booth."
Keeping it's eye on a swivel for flying objects, Lemm responds, "The bar will be fine. Though my legs hinge appropriately to sit in a pilots seat so I should be able to fit in a booth." Lemm follows Robb to the bar, watching the crowd.
"Amusing as it might be to watch you try to wiggle your way into the back of a booth, it might draw a bit too much attention, buddy." the pilot chuckles.
Robbidon sidles up to the bar, positioning himself a few feet from Rufus, a spot that allows a large, open area for Lemm to stand on his other side. He gives the spacer a nod, then turns to the bartender and asks, "Can I get a Clendor Ale?"
Making his way through the crowd at Gundark's Cantina, Kol slapped a credit chit on the bar and got a shot of the Gundark Green. Eyes watering as he slammed it down, he blinked his eyes clear and looked around.
Seems like more spacers about than usual... He thought to himself.
Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
Completely sure there is Nothing Going On Whatsoever, Rufus flips a few credits to the bartender and orders a shot of Corellian whiskey. "You'll just have to spread the word that Rufus Griller is back on the market, so to speak," he says, loud enough that most of the cantina's patrons can hear. "I don't know... maybe something dirtside might be fun for a change. Recycled air sort of loses its luster once you realize you're breathing the same air that's been in and out of the lungs of just about every O2-breather on the station."
Watching Robb nod to the other human dressed in pilot gear, Lemm hears the man declare that "Rufus Griller was back on the market." Curious as the man raises his voice, Lemm activates it's Multispectrum Searchlight, symmetrically opposed to its cycloptic eye, to infrared. First evaluating the human then scanning the room again. Leaning in to Robb, Lemm asks softly, "Wouldn't Filtered air be cleaner than air with a side of dirt?"
perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (17) + 11 = 28
|Herkymr the Silly|
Lak starts to say something over his shoulder in Dug then realizing not everyone speaks the master language,Lak turns slightly towards the rodian barkeep and says very softly in common,
Got an injured straggler that just snuck in. She's in the corner over there. Don't like the looks of her.Thought ya might likes to know. If there are imp's after her though I might take an exception.
Then shifting slightly again, the dug checks the placement of his gun's handle.Then asks for a drink of something non-fermented. While waiting for the barkeep to return with his drink, he enjoys the music from the trio in one of the corners.
Not often we hear a Bith and duo of Zeltrons performing in an out of the way location. Maybe I'll slip them a cred when I'm done.
It's curiosity peaked by the injured woman moving to the corner, Lemm turns off Its Multispectrum Searchlight rotating it's cycloptic eye towards Robb. Gesturing towards the corner, "Curious an injured women has entered the establishment. Do cantina's also provide medical services along with nutrition and social interaction for sentient life forms?"
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Christon notices the wounded woman. Feeling compelled by her need and also thinking that could be a nice way of getting to know someone here, he stands up and walks to her, putting his backpack full of medical stuff on the table.
"Hi, I'm Christon. You seem wounded, and I'm a doctor."
The young woman looks up at the young doctor and whispers We have to get out of here, we need to get to Switch as a group of stormtroopers enters into the room.
Nobody move! the lead proclaims.