Escaping the Tyrant
Flight for Freedom

Detention Center

Having freed over ninety prisoners, most of whom were Rebels captured on Hoth, Kamahl and Quinn need to escape the Star Destroyer. Quinn had stated he would slip into engineering in an attempt to disable the Destroyer by sabotaging its inner works.

Colonel Flambeaux would be willing to lead the prisoners toward the hangars to steal shuttles. Kamahl had indicated he wanted to lead Flambeaux back to the Stormtrooper barracks to retrieve his stashed commando suit and have Flambeaux put on the Stormtrooper armor first. To Flambeaux, the sidetrek to retrieve a replaceable piece of gear is a waste of time. His only concern is getting to the hangar and stealing shuttles.

Whether Kamahl goes with Quinn or the prisoners will be up to him. They know at least thirty Stormtroopers stand between them and Quinn’s ship. Then there is the matter of time and what exactly Quinn plans to do to sabotage the destroyer.

Leaving Hoth

Rath and Evincar’s squadron are flying escort to a sizeable fleet of shuttles leaving Hoth’s atmosphere. If they have to fly past the ISD Tyrant while it is at full operation it will be a massacre.

Rath and Evincar will have to decide if they want to risk a run to the established jump or divert to a pirate jump point and pray. Then there is the question of the TIE’s and the Star Destroyer threat to escaping shuttles from its own bay.

Evincar’s Raptor is a Loronar Prototype Space Superiority Fighter. Phoenix One, Rath’s ship, is an optimized Y-Wing with lots of extras. Three of the X-Wings have taken noteable damage. The shuttles are no match for the TIE’s and the ISD’s guns.


The Big Game

Sage Tymon passed the time playing the local casinos, winning and losing just enough to stay even and get comped a room and meals. He had sixteen days till his meet with the local Black Sun leader to sell the Bacta and ten days until he could get into a big game. The entry fee is 25,000 credits and the prize is 500,000 credits, winner take all.

Each day, Sage will face a table of three random opponents. The third day, if he makes it that far, will be the “Final Four” table with each player having beat six opponents. Chips are held by the club between games and moved to the next table.

And then…

Black Jack’s Hacienda

Sage has a meeting with the local leader of the Black Sun’s at his hacienda to negotiate the sale of approximately five million credits worth of Bacta and the purchase of a medium transport. Sage’s contact at Pepper’s Pax set up the meet. Black Jack will arrange for a secure docking bay for Sage’s ship in the planet’s second largest city of Sol Negro, and transportation to the meet.

Sol Negro is a hotbed of smuggling and narco-spice trafficking. It is haven to pirates, smugglers and villainous scum of all types. It serves as the planetary hub of the Black Sun’s criminal activities. Most of the local bounty hunters stick to Darlyn Boda City where their guild has a headquarters and some influence, but they occasionally find side jobs working for the Black Sun as enforcers and thugs.

Evincar's Log

Entry 1: After waiting for three long years, one in some god forsaken basement and then two years in some back water prison cell and lots of meditation. I am free, oh thank the force for freedom. Rath out of the blue finally shows up. I hope he will explane why I had to go through all that and not have him show up to the rescue. Hell it seems like he wasn’t looking for me as it is. And as always first thing is first save Rath from something he created. As it turns out Rath has pissed someone off turns out to be our old engenier from Loronar corp. Quinn has his own ship, I don’t know to be afriad or not. The driods that old man is building these days are more frightfull then those of the past. hook things that have self destruct opptions and things the size of rancors and just as ugly. Rath has advanced as a jedi. But I think I’ll have to keep an eye on him and make sure he dosn’t go to far with the skills he has. I don’t know all that has gone on as of late. But hearing that the empire has struck the rebalion hard at hoth is not good. Turns out some of our men are still there and these men are of the intelagent core and officers has me conserned. I have hidden well for now I can’t let them get cought, for my own sake and for the sake of the republic. the two new guys I just don’t know the whats what, the new girl??

Entry 2: Things went well today, ah hell they went better then I would had thought. my temperary command has acted beyond there normal duty, have to recomend any of them that get home a medal of honor for there actions. Also I need to find a way to get a raptor for Lt. Archer I believe he has shown great piloting skills, he should have one. Lt. Archer may have some force skills that are latent don’t know though. Rath did it again handeld command well organized the attacks did his part beyond any other commander. I think I handeld myself well but just tried to do my part. the raptor has held up to its name sake as well took fire from wot looked like e-webs and shruged it off. I sit faceing a star destroyer and find I am preying that the force will see us all home well. Surpriceingly I find that I wish master was here to help as well haven’t thought of the master in a long time.

Trust Me
I have a plan

The Last Defenders

“Most of them were just kids. Many wouldn’t have been old enough to join the volunteer corps on any civilized world. But these weren’t civilized times. And you can’t send a kid home when it isn’t there. These boys were from Alderan. Some say they were lucky to be off-world that day. I say the lucky ones went out in a flash. These kids are haunted by images, whether real or imagined, of loved ones lost. Homes they will never see again. Memories stolen by the Empire in one moment.”

-Colonel Stephen Flambeaux, Commander 6th Regiment

The walkers continued to lumber ever closer, bolts of energy exploded, accompanied by screams, smoke and the smell of charred flesh on the crisp, frozen air. Above the imagined security of the ice trenches, the Colonel’s Tauntaun plodded back and forth as he shouted orders, seemingly immune to the hail of blaster fire that zipped past him. There was an ionic tingle in the air and the smell of burnt copper as the protruding barrel of the KDY fired, sending small tremors rippling through the ice. The last of the transports was away, and with it any hope of getting of the frozen world alive.

Within moments, the first wave of Blizzard Troopers poured over into the trenches. Blaster fire changed into frantic melee, with knives and bayonets deciding the day. Luckily for the frightened kids in the trenches, the Colonel had drilled them all daily in close combat. At a disadvantage in the cold compared to the heated armor, they had mobility and used the trench terrain against the invaders. Taking every oppurtunity to knock or pull the troopers prone, gang up on them, stab for weak points in the armor, or yank off their protective helmets.

They had volunteered to fight to the death, knowing they could never go home. Now fear gripped them in the face of death. Or even worse, capture. Then the order came to pull back. As the Blizzard Troopers took the gun emplacement, the Colonel sent the survivors on foot through a droid maintenance tunnel deep into the bowels below the ion cannon. His Tauntaun had been turned loose somewhere in the chaos of battle. he dumped several grenades toward the advancing troopers, then sealed the door. Somehow they made it to a fissure that led through a narrow crack into a thermal cave pocket coated with lichens.

The Longest Week

The Colonel didn’t let them rest long. He said they needed to convince the Empire that their numbers were far greater than they actually were. At first it didn’t make sense to the Company of doomed soldiers. But as the days passed and the Empire responded to reports of a battalion of holdouts, they realized that the increasing Imperial numbers meant they had to have support vessels. And support vessels meant transportation off their frozen tomb. When the Colonel was convinced that enough ground forces were committed to prevent orbiting ships from merely withdrawing, he hatched his plan.

He split the Company into three Platoons of forty men each. He led First Platoon in a faux assault on the ion cannon and was subsequently captured. They were transferred to the command ship, ISD Tyrant for interrogation as to the numbers and location of the rest of the Rebel forces. Second and Third Platoon continued the harassment campaign, using guerilla warfare to draw out the Imperial forces away from the ion cannon. Then Third Platoon moved into position to access the maintenance tunnels. The plan was in motion. Second Platoon would begin a frontal assault while Third Platoon overtook the cannon from within and fired on the Star Destroyer. First Platoon would steal shuttles from the crippled ISD, having escaped the detention center, and fly in to retrieve Second and Third Companies.

The Black Sun
The Cost of Doing Buisiness

A King’s Ransom

Torryn Farr watched as barrels of the valuable Bacta were moved off of the Gryphon and into the Rebel Base. Even more valuable to her cause was the pair of individuals volunteering to take the remaining fifty tons of Bacta and trade it in an attempt to secure a transport capable of taking the refugees from Hoth to join the Rebel Fleet. Sage would keep a percentage of the profits, of course.

Kamahl watched in not so silent frustration as more of his potential profit share was moved off the ship. Quinn and his astromech were finishing their repairs to the base X-Wings. Kronk, geared up in an armored space suit, minus the helmet, and packing a Loronar version of the E-11 moved to join the growing collection of volunteers. Mercedes was already aboard, relaxing in a plush lounger, drink in hand. Her tail twitched irritably as the red and gold threepio unit bumbled past muttering about a battle droid body. Artoo Eff You beeped and whirred disapprovingly at the protocol unit.

The plan was simply to find a buyer for about five million credits worth of Bacta, buy a transport ship, and get the refugees back to the Fleet. Then simply rendevouz with Rath and Envicar at Hoth, rescue the Rebels left behind, and rejoin the Fleet themselves to collect a big reward. Simple. Sage smiled as he thought of the pile of credits he would get out of this.

Only a few minor complications. They had no buyer. They didn’t know the local Black Market. They didn’t know who had millions of credits and would give it to them for their cargo. And they had no idea who was selling ships that suited their needs. Add in a corrupt Imperial Governor, the Galaxy’s largest criminal orginization, the Black Sun, and the Bounty Hunters Guild, who just might be looking for some members of the team, and it was all wrapped up pretty neat and tidy.

Six Hours to the Survivors

Not willing to wait for Evincar to decide a course of action, Rath and Arden manned Phoenix One, both in armored spacesuits. Rex beeped and chirped excitedly. A rebel traffic controlman waved his taxi wands, guiding the Y-Wing into launch position, then signaled them off. As the red fighter cleared the cliff face, it veered skyward and shot off at incredible speed, rivaling that of the new Imperial TIE Interceptors. Soon they were enveloped in the darkness of space.

“Hey Hump, you sure about this? What if the Empire’s still there?” Arden asked with genuine concern. Rex chirped and beeped a response about his capabilities operatiing the stealth systems. Rath nodded in agreement. “Why do they call you Hump anyway?”

Rath ignored the last question. “Rex here can outwit any Imperial sensor crew. Besides this ship is incredibly fast. What? Don’t you trust me?” Rath’s charming Corellian grin did not in fact reassure Arden. With that said, Rath engaged the hyperdrive. Stars streaked past, then turned into the mottled purple vortex of hyperspace. “Besides, I have friends on the planet. What could go wrong?”

“Not in this life time. I’m just here for the thousand credits a month, and this month is late.” She laughed. “What makes you think he’s down there anyway? Commander Farr said he never made it onto the transport. He certainly wasn’t among the eighteen we’re after. They probably all ended up dead or in an Imperial Detention Center.” Rex beeped scornfully.

“Farr said he stayed behind with some Alderanian die-hards to defend the ion cannons until the last transports got away. If anyone could survive the impossible, the old man can. But we’re not actually after him. We’re looking for eighteen extremely valuable Alliance personnel off Commander Farr’s transport. She gave me a datachip with the encrypted profiles. Once we are in system, we’ll look for signs of the escape pod. Then we just follow the trail of bread crumbs…” Rath pulled out a synth-harmonica as his voice trailed off and started playing the Mantooine Blues.

The Second Wave

After some discussion, Sage insisted that he and Mercedes would be better off cutting the deal on the Bacta themselves. Kronk went along to protect the valuable cargo while they scoured the city for a buyer. Quinn suggested that he take the Longstrider with extra supplies to deliver to the Hoth survivors until proper transport could be arranged. Kamahl volunteered to man the turbolaser on Quinn’s ship. Evincar was already preparing his fighter.

To their surprise the base X-Wing pilots all volunteered to go with them, carrying extra supplies as well. The eight pilots seemed eager to get off the steamy jungle world and routine patrol duty. Within the hour all ten ships were up and away from the jungle surface…

Darlyn Boda City

With little else to go on, Sage took the only lead they had and headed for the city of Darlyn Boda and a seedy joint called Pepper’s Pax. The crescent-shaped yacht skimmed over the vast jungle canopy, causing clouds of avian creatures to occasionally burst forth as it passed over. Occasionally they passed over any number of wide rivers, often marked by roaring waterfalls plummeting over cliff faces. Large bubbling mud holes dominated some of the lower plains and small villages and towns occasionally dotted the landscape.

Mercedes lounged in a recliner next to the pool, filing her claws into razor sharp blades. Sage and Kronk sat at the Sabaac table playing against each other and the dealer droid. The large reptillian merc was clearly getting irritated as the droid once again slid a small pile of credits over to Sage’s side of the table. Then there was a loud buzzing warning as the ship approached its destination. Scrambling up to the bridge, Sage flipped off the autopilot and took the controls.

The ship dropped down onto a crude landing pad. The permacrete was broken and crooked where it had sank into the mud over years of neglect. The sprawling city Darlyn Boda, with its shadowy streets, presented a ripe criminal environment. It stretched out like some ill-planned ghetto, running up the hills and into the jungle like foul splatter in an all too public fresher. More expensive villas dominated the elevations, all with walls manned by armed guards. The streets were filthy, and many were little more than mud paths between cluttered buildings and abodes. As the ramp hissed down on the Gryphon, an Imperial Customs Officer and a pair of Stormtroopers approached…

A Bird of a Different Color

Rex chirped and whistled, indicating that Phoenix One was approaching Hoth. Purple light danced off the red paint scheme, making it look black or dark blue at times, then it actually shifted to a deep flat black. “What the…” Arden started in.

“Polychromatic camoflauge, similar to that used in dichrome tents,” Rath replied. “Told you Rex had some tricks. Sensor absorbant finish too. And baffled exhaust that runs on spin-sealed Tabanna gas, so it doesn’t leave a standard ion trail to follow. Pretty cool, huh?” That last bit reminded Arden that Rath was still really just a kid.

The purple vortex faded into streaks, then stars. As the now black Y-Wing dropped out of hyperspace the passive sensor board lit up in a dull blue scheme and the cockpit glass dimmed. The stark white orb of Hoth was marred by three distinctly triangular dark shapes. Schematics started scrolling across the monitors, accompanied by technical data. “Imperial Class, Type Two’s” Arden read off the display, despite the fact the same data was being fed to Rath’s station. Arden let out a low whistle. “Looks like about thirty-six TIE’s scattered over this side of the planet on random orbital patrols, running in elements of two. What’s the plan?”

Shesharile 5
You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy


The Gryphon dropped out of hyperspace into the Hoth System. Looming between them and the planet, Sage and Kamahl saw an Imperial fleet led by none other than Vader’s flagship. Sage swung the crescent shaped space yacht around to make an escape, but TIE’s were already swarming out to greet them. In a hail of green laser fire, the Gryphon wove and spun with incredible grace and timing. TIE Interceptors roared past as Kamahl stepped onto the starboard balcony, enclosed only by a containment shield from the dark void of space. From the mandible of the yacht, he pushed his gun’s barrel through the enviromental field and began blasting at the TIE’s.

“Almost there…” Sage informed him over the comm, “Hold em off a little bit longer…”
With a flash, the stars streaked past, then melted into the …purple patterns of hyperspace.

Kamahl pushed his way past Jack as the red and gold protocol droid began to ramble at him, then leaned his rifle against the wall. “So much for our delivery to the Rebels.” He chuckled. Sometimes Sage didn’t get the marine’s sense of humor. “Where we off to?”

“Shesharile,” Sage answered. “We have some buisiness holdings there and its not too far from here. Besides, last I knew there was almost no Imperial presence.”

Shesharile 5

The lounge of the Screaming Mime was filled with a haze of cheap spice and the smell of spilt liquor. Rath squinted against the harsh polychromatic stage lights that roatated in dizzying patterns. A loud murmur of mixed conversations, clinking glass and the occasional scrape of a plasteel barstool on styracrete floor reverberated throughout the dimly lit maze of beings and support pillars. It was a sublevel dive, the kind blues men like Bootsy Collins played most of their careers. Mercedes’ scantily clad cat-like form swayed gracefully on the stage behind the bar.

Rath keyed up his Synth Guitar. The custom instrument was worth more than the establishment he was about to play in. He reached out with the Force, getting the feel of the room, sensing surface thoughts, touching emotions… getting to know his audience. As the guitar’s synthesizer and built-in amps emitted the first chords, the room fell silent, except for the wheezing HVAC system battling a damp heat. Rath became the music, then joined in with his voice, well beyond his years. “I got her in my sights…”

Heliopolis Compound

The polished silver threepio shuffled into a large office with control tower sized windows overlooking the large industrial compound and ocean beyond, stretching away from the city. A woman with fiery red hair twirled around her finger was sitting hunched over a desk full of datapads and flimsy readouts. Jade groaned with frustration as she used her free hand to key a comm control, switching through multiple conversations, giving brief but concise answers or instructions. Mythril sat down the tray with a decanter of Corellian whiskey and two glasses. The droids metallic, yet feminine voice asked," Will there be abything else Mistress Scarlett?"

‎"That will be all. What do you mean there is a problem with the transport engine designs? No not you, Mythril. How hard can it be to get molecularly aligned carbon fiber?" Jade clicked the next flashing button. “One hundred and twenty thousand woolong. No more! You hear me? You little blood-sucking second-hand merchant!” Jade angrily poured a shot from the bottle, spilling some on the tray, then tossed it back and poured another. “Tell Yerkys ne Dago take it or leave it!” She clicked off the comm and fell back in her plush chair with a sigh.

Gus’s Diner

Quinn sat in Gus’s Diner, perched atop a maze-like tower of landing platforms in the Hub of the alien district of Gallisport. Dozens of avenues stretched out like spokes from the plaza that surrounded the spire. Quinn’s ship, the Longstrider, sat on a nearby docking platform awaiting a special delivery of cargo. Quinn was running a load of explosives to a Rebel faction. The Rebel faceman here just needed to secure them from Yerkys ne Dago’s people first. Quinn took a sip of beer and looked unappetizingly at his loose meat sandwich before stepping out onto the poorly lit platform to light up a smoke.

The Gryphon’s Arrival

Artoo Eff Yoo beeped and whirred as the Gryphon’s hyperspace alarm indicated they had arrived at the Shesharile System. “I heard it,” Sage yelled, throwing down a handful of Sabacc cards in front of the bartender droid in the lounge. The Shesharile gas giant loomed large as Sage took his seat on the bridge and the ship steered toward one of the two closest of the moons circling it. A clutter of barges and other space traffic littered the orbit like garbage. Sage’s sleek yacht stood out as it descended toward the large compund on Shesharile 5 and came to rest near the Heliopolis shipyards.

“You’re back early,” Jade exclaimed, exiting her personal airspeeder. “Ran into some problems,” Sage replied. Kamahl followed Sage down the ramp, his rifle slung over his shoulder and his spacer bag in the other hand, in turn followed by Jack and Artoo. The red and gold threepio immediately started to rant about Vader and the Empire. The red astromech let out a series of distasteful beeps and rolled away from the protocol unit.

LALA 13th Precinct

Evincar Crowvax had spent the last year falsely imprisoned in the LALA prison at Precinct 13 in the Alien District. He had been picked up after the Mama Bat’s raid, where he’d been held captive while a Clawdite impersonated him. His ship was still sitting at the landing tower in the center of the Hub, having accumulated over 27,000 credits in docking fees. Evincar stepped out into the polluted night air, the harsh glare of neon and strobing adverboards danced off the slick streets between him and the landing hub. A pair of Aerocops flew over and broke off into their individual patrol routes. Digging out a stale nic stick from a crumpled pack, Evincar lit it up and started across the plaza toward his ship and the Port Authority office.

The Screaming Mime

It was closing time in the sub-basement club deep below Tito’s. The last of the drunken patrons was being shuffled out of the Screaming Mime by a large Gamorrean and a Shistavenen. Rath shouldered his Synth Guitar as the bartender counted out a handful of woolong to him for the night’s gig. The alien district was no place for a kid of twenty-one to be at this time of night, but Rath didn’t seem worried as he emerged at the top of the stairs into the slightly less polluted street air. “Walk a girl home?” purred Mercedes, a cat-like Farghul dancer, as she emerged from the stairs behind him. It wasn’t dark in the Hub by any means. A sea of neon and strobing lights glistened off the rainbow patterned slickness of the streets. Crowds of every type of scum the galaxy had to offer solicited joygirls, broke into small scuffles and altercations, or attempted to rip each other off in shady buisiness dealings. “Sure,” Rath replied. “Why not?”.

They were walking past the boarded up and burnt out remains of a club called Mama Bat’s when he suddenly sensed danger…


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