This series is a bit different than those that I usually post. This was conceived more as a dice-powered short story more so than a full-on Actual Play. Using Starforged as the engine, I began to write a fan-fiction based in the Star Wars universe. I've always loved Star Wars and have spent a considerable part of the last 25 years devouring the written and video content produced by George Lucas and his collaborators—especially the content commonly referred to as Legends today. This entry is an ode to my love for the franchise, and is meant as an homage. It is also a method test for writing stories powered by dice. Thank you for joining me on this adventure.
Begin a Session
Booster Terrik left the Pulsar Skate's cargo hold and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him, mag clamped to the landing deck, was an Incom ARC-170. The smuggler knew a collector who would pay top dollar for the Republic fighter, especially as the heavy duty ships were being phased out and replaced with the Kuat Drive Yards V-wings by the new Galactic Empire.
The muscled human stomped confidently across the landing pad and entered the docking administrator's office.
"Hey Rasp, old pal. Your new dome looks spiffy! Sorry about the old one."
"Booster Terrik. Pulsar Skate, Baudo-class star yacht. Purveyor of fine goods," the Droid recited. "Why have you come back to Nar Shaddaa?"
"I see you didn't get a conversation package in your latest refit," Booster replied, scowling at the droid. "Where's your boss?"
"Foreman Edor is in his office."
"Excellent. I need to speak with him about that Incom ARC-170 sitting on the landing deck."
"Foreman Edor is looking for buyers, I'll let him know you are here."
Booster could almost feel the weight of the credits in his hands. He smiled to himself as the rebuilt RA-7 secretary trundled through a door and disappeared.
Advance the Clock
The Old Town on Nar Shaddaa's western reaches was less a town and more a haphazard collection of plasteel shipping containers stacked awkwardly atop one another. The containers, which had windows cut into their sides, were reachable only by rickety ladders and scaffolding.
"Why would anyone want to run a place like this?" Beren wondered aloud.
"Territory is power," the Gand whispered. "And this territory used to belong to an old family, before they died out and left a power vacuum bigger than a Hutt's backside."
"Do you know where this gang stays?"
"No, but I'll introduce you to my informant. They can give you some idea of where to look."
A large black-furred Wookie with spiked metal gauntlets on his massive hands stood guard in front of a small metal building.
"BK, where's your boss?" the Gand asked.
The Wookie rumbled unintelligibly and slapped a panel on the door. It slid open silently and the bartender strode past the intimidating guard.
The silvered walls of the building belied the outside surroundings. Beren followed the Gand down a corridor and a flight of metal steps. They were greeted by a portly Gamorrean, who held his rust-colored vibroaxe across his wide chest and squealed as the Gand approached and made to move past him.
"Your boss will see me, you know he always does."
The pig man grunted and glared up at the taller figure, but eventually relented. The barkeep and Beren stepped into a well-lit bunker, with walls of blue painted duracrete. A long, high table ran the width of the rectangular room. Screens and holo-projectors dotted the smooth surface, occasionally blinking various colors as messages arrived and were dispatched.
"Another visit from the famed Tix Qrakya so soon after his last? Surely you aren't in need of the Black Sun's services again already."
"No, indeed not, my lord X'lan. I come with an offer of aid and, perhaps, a solution to our mutual gang problem."
"This wet-behind-the-ears human, I presume?" the green-skinned humanoid the Gand called X'lan replied, sneering at Beren.
"Young Bek here made off with a Republic snub-fighter right out from beneath the garrison on Christophsis's nose. He's got all that's needed for a job like this."
The green-skinned humanoid looked Beren over again and then paused. "Human. What say you? Will you put yourself at the mercy of the Black Sun? If you succeed, fortune and more will be at your feet. Fail, and you will not live to see this new Empire take control of the galaxy. What say you?"
"I will serve as best I may. I need only information to get started."
"Confidence. You know how to pick them, Qrakya, I'll give you that," X'lan tapped a few keys on his keypad and then turned back to Beren. "My informants say the leader of this new gang is a Zabrak called Navii Jerrun. Navii was a skilled engineer in the Separatist army, and is credited with designing the latest IG-200 Magnaguards for General Grievous. Reports say she travels with the prototype as a bodyguard. Impossible to get close to unannounced. They are holed up in a warehouse on the far side of Old Town. Convince them to take their business elsewhere, or remove them from competition. I do not care, just see it done."
A bronze plated protocol droid trundled over and handed Beren a small datachip.
"Current info on the gang's movements and activities. There's even a map of their base. Handle this quickly, and the Black Sun may have more work for you."
"I will return."
Beren bowed to the green skinned humanoid, both an ingrained response from his time as a Padawan and because of the regal bearing of X'lan. Dread also settled over his heart. He was well aware of the deeds attributed to the Black Sun, and was certain he didn't need to be taking jobs from them. And yet, desperate times require desperate measures. He steeled himself for what was to come as he followed Tix Qrakya back out into the stale air of Old Town.
Mark Progress
Set A Course
Resource Update
The winding streets and alleys were confusing, despite having a-supposedly-up to date holomap of the area. Multiple times Beren was turned around, and only realized his error when passing a now familiar landmark for a second or third time. Finally, however, he arrived at the three story warehouse that the map and intel indicated was the base of operations for Navii's gang.
Out front, two B-1 model battle droids, their tan armor platings spraypainted an ominous black, stood guard over the single bay door entrance.
"Halt!" The left B-1 called in its high pitched mechanical tone. "you're not one of Mistress Navii's people."
The second B-1 leveled its E-5 blaster at Beren. The former apprentice had destroyed many of the Separatist droids on missions with his master, and was well aware of how easily a lightsaber could dispatch the poorly armored mechanicals. But he didn't have a lightsaber anymore, at least not one in a usable—or identifiable—condition.
"I come on behalf of the Black Sun leader X'lan. I wish only to speak with Mistress Navii Jerrun."
Oracle
"Mistress, someone to see you," the first battle droid radioed. A moment later the droid said, "We will send him inside."
"Go in, human. Mistress Navii will see you now."
Inside the warehouse, Beren found a small army of deactivated B-1s standing in neat rows of four. He walked between them, stretching out with the Force to enhance his situational awareness. The droids, he knew, would give no indication in the Force, but that did not mean he could let down his guard.
As he walked the corridor between the rows of droids, he counted, using the rhythm of the numbers to calm his mind. When he reached twenty-five, he stopped in front of a tall metal door. A loud clatter roused him from his meditation and the door was drawn section by section into the ceiling.
"What can I help you with, stranger?" a smooth, almost sultry, female voice called out from within the next room. "Come, come inside and let us speak."
Beren stepped through the door. He didn't even flinch when the segments fell back into place with a crash and the squeal of resistant servomotors.
"My name is Shade. Shade Bek, formerly of Christophsis."
"And what do you want with my little group?"
"I come with a message from Lord X'lan of the Black Sun."
"Deliver the message then, Bek. I do not have all day."
"Lord X'lan requests that you and your crew go elsewhere. Old Town is under Black Sun protection."
"Black Sun? Protection? You're either a fool or ignorant. Either way, you clearly don't know anything about X'lan or the Black Sun," Naavi said, stepping into the light.
Her bronze skin was crisscrossed with white scars, and her dark hair was pulled tightly into a braid down her domed scalp and hung loosely over her left shoulder. The Zabrak's flight suit was all black, except for the bright gold accents and lapels. A vibro-sword hung from her right hip, and a blaster was holstered under her right arm.
"The Black Sun seek only their own fortune. They care not for those who suffer due to their activities. The people of Old Town know this. They want my group to oust X'lan, to give them safety from their violent tactics. We are not a gang, Shade Bek. We are an army, an army of modified Separatist battle droids and me, their maker. Return to your master and inform him that we will not back down."
Beren was shaken by the fervor in her words. Her aura in the Force emanated a bright, almost blinding, white. The truth, the sincerity, in her words was so clear in his mind that Beren knew that he could not—would not—attack this woman, no matter the mission he had taken from X'lan.
When he didn't move or speak, the Zabrak drew the A-180 blaster pistol from its holster and leveled it at Beren.
"I offered you the chance to depart, unhindered and unmolested. Has your master commanded you to kill me?"
"Truth be told, yes. But I have no intention of honoring that request. What proof can you offer me that you are working for the people of Old Town?"
"Go, speak with those that live here. Ask them. But I warn you, if you return to try to carry out your orders, I will not be caught unawares."
"Understood."
Beren walked backward, never taking his eyes from the Zabrak who continued to aim her blaster at him. The metal door rattled open, and as he passed through, Naavi vanished into the shadows.
Beren made his way back to the Slippery Joopa with plans to canvasse the Old Town Market in the morning. He felt in his core that the right thing was aiding this engineer, but his master had drilled into him to always gather information before making a difficult decision. The Force would guide, but the Jedi's ability to interpret that guidance was much better when they looked at all angles.
Not for the first time in the week since the clones turned on the Jedi Beren missed his master and wished they were here to guide him. He wasn't ready for the Trials before they were assigned to the Christophsis garrison, and now he'd never be a Jedi Knight.
"The Jedi are dead," he whispered to himself, "best leave thoughts of the Order in the past."
Despite his effort to put the Order and his master out of mind, he drifted off to dreams of that terrible day when the clones opened fire.
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