STAR WARS: DAWN OF DEFIANCE
Episode 1 – 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…


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Seemingly motionless among a sea of starships and satellites above the twinkling world of Brentaal, Sel Zonn Station grows larger in the viewport 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, equidistance from one another and jutting out into space. The dorsal side of the station features a disc-shaped secondary structure, on top of which blinking lights indicate the presence of a landing platform reserved for wealthy patrons.

“Wees approachin’ Sel Zonns, Captain,” Fissnis, Asperity’s second officer, stated.

“Well,” Captain Daroll Falon said grimly, “best give them a ‘hello’, hey?”

Flipping the toggle switch to open the comm channel, Falon spoke a bit more formally, “Sel Zonn, this Captain Daroll Falon of the Asperity. We’re carrying passengers and goods. Requesting to land.”

“Asperity, you are directed to Platform 2-Bay 15. Please have your passengers and cargo ready for inspection.”

Falon flipped the toggle switch off before cursing, “Damn it!”

“That not sound likes Saeban,” noted Fissnis.

“Damn it!” punctuated Falon.

“Saeban gets us to 3-11.”

“Damn it!”

“Saeban gets us passes by customs.”

“Damn it!”

“That not sound likes Saeban.”

Falon took a deep breath before toggling the switch on again. “Sel Zonn, I request a change to Platform 3 – Bay 11. It’s just so much closer to where our load needs to be delivered. What do you say?”

There was a pause before the voice came back over the speaker, “Alright, Asperity, permission granted. Platform 3 – Bay 11.”

“Thank you, Sel Zonn. What’s you’re name?”

“Villison.”

“Well, Villison, thanks for helping a man out,” Falon said cheerfully. “Tell you what: you swing by Gundark’s and I’ll leave a little thank you there for ya.”

Toggling the switch off, Daroll gave a sigh of relief.

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The main area of commerce on Sel Zonn Station is known as the Promenade. It is a place bustling with business and revelry. Spilling out of the gambling halls are the sounds of victory and the moans of defeat, while the music of local bands issues from the cantinas. Only a handful of citizens mill about in the main areas of the promenade, a few gazing out the massive windows at the planet Brentaal hovering below. Businesspeople hawk their wares to the passersby, and a few Imperial stormtroopers make their make down the main avenue of the Promenade on their usual patrol at a leisurely pace.

Captain Falon leads the companions along the main avenue, directly to Gundark’s. It is evident that Daroll will be glad to be rid of this cargo.

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The companions exit Gundark’s, having delivered the crates of “rye” without incident. “If ya ever be lookin’ fer work, Twi’lek,” Gundark calls after the Jedi, “I’m always lookin’ fer ‘exotic entertainment’ fer m’ stage. Thinkin’ ya’d fit the bill just right. Get yer pale friend up there too, and ya’d have a pretty sweet thing goin’ fer ya, considerin’ the current economy fer yer types.”

“Shut it, Gund,” shot Falon. “and stop trying to steal my crew.”

Gundark smiled a toothy grin, “Just lookin’ t’ be helpful.” Calling out to Ithiria one last time, “I guarantee I pay better!”

[OOC: I’m assuming you’re turning him down (at least, for now), feel free to respond.]

Falon simply shook his head, and dug around in his pockets. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled out three credchips, and handed them out to his rag-tag “crew”. “Six hundred credits, minus the three hundred for your ticket here, minus the twenty-five credits I paid for each of you in port fees, leaves you with seventy-five a piece.”

He looks at each of them for a moment before continuing, “Asperity’s leaving in forty-eight hours. You’re welcome to come aboard again, if you want. Sure we can work out another arrangement. Otherwise…” He pauses for a moment, looking for the right words for farewell. “Otherwise, we’ll see you… or maybe not… Stay off the scanners, if you know what I mean.”

[OOC: Feel free to add your good-byes/ see ya laters here]

Falon takes his leave with a graceful bow and, in a moment, rounds a corner and is out of sight. The companions are left to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the Promenade.

Scanning the area, trying to figure out what to do with their newly acquired credits, Mars is the first to notice something suspicious on the Promenade. Two men, each wearing matching traveler’s clothes and carrying poorly concealed hold-out blaster pistols, seem as though they are keeping a watchful eye on nearly everyone at the same time. Their gaze seems to be overlooking the companions currently.

“See them?” asks Mars.

“You mean those two guys with the obviously matching attire and the poorly concealed pistols?” replies Ithiria. The Mandalorian merely nods his head. The Twi’lek gives her affirmative, “Yes, I see them.”

“They’re talking to someone,” Ara’ala casually notes. Mars and Ithiria take a second look. Sure enough, the men are talking into commsets pinned inside their collars. “Informants, likely.”

Suddenly, a woman with short black hair and the greasy uniform of a mechanic comes stumbling around the corner to the companions’ left. She is clutching her midsection, obviously injured, and while she struggles to make her way across the floor in your direction, she is clearly having difficulty walking.

She notices Mars, and approaches the man, desperation displayed on her face.

“Please, help me,” she calls out to Mandalorian. Then realizing the Twi’lek and Arkanian are with Mars, she continues to speak to all three. “There are credits in it for you, five hundred each. Just help me!”

The words are barely out of her mouth when four stormtroopers come around the corner from behind the woman. Seeing their quarry, they raise their blasters, taking aim at the woman. Shouting through his helmet speakers, the lead troopers states clearly, “Step away from that woman. She is under arrest in the name of the Emperor!”

Looking the companions with pleading eyes, the woman says softly, “Please! I can pay, I promise. Please trust me!”

[OOC: Tag! You’re in! Now what?]

She looks at gun with a soft smile and a sway of her hips as she turns and walks away “I’ll keep your offer in mind” she says, before walking with the captain, and nodding as he gives her the credits for her portion of the crew pay, she smiles softly and nods “Thank you, and if we do need to, I know you’ll be one I sign back on with” with that she leaves with the others, thinking to her self What is everyone so hot and bothered to get a twi’lek these days
Ithiria watches the two men talking into their comlinks when the woman comes stumbling up to them, her eyes immediately scanning her body for a wound. (ooc Perception +8 ) when the storm troopers come around the corner and she sighs softly, as they speak their orders. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, reaching up with her thumb and finger to lightly press the bridge of her nose like she was annoyed. (activating sense surroundings part of use the force +8 ) before she opens her eyes again and quickly scans the area for the rest of the squad.

As the group's Twi'lek turned down an offer to dance on stage, Mars scanned the surroundings. The Empire's presence on the station made him nervous, and he wanted to make sure that he would notice if some stormtroopers would barge in.

"It was good flying with you, Falon," Mars said as their ways parted. "I won't be forgetting your offer." Mars was always in the look out for a job, and working on the Asperity had the bonus of Mars being on the move. He was not sure if the Empire was still after him or not, but he'd rather not find out the hard way.

It was about then he noticed the two suspecting figures.

"See them?" he said to his travelling partners. Ara'ala makes note of their comsets.

Imperial spies? Perhaps hunting for Mandalorians. Perhaps hunting for Jedis. Perhaps after the Asperity. Either way, they seemed interested in Mars and his fellow crewmembers. Not a good sign.

Worse yet, just then a woman came running towards him. She was obviously injured, and she didn't pay much attention to Ithiria or Ara'ala at first.

"Please, help me," she called out to them. And as if that was not bad enough, some stormtroopers came around the corner after her. "Step away from that woman," one of them said. "She is under arrest in the name of the Emperor!" The woman looked at the crew with desperate eyes, "Please! I can pay, I promise. Please trust me!"

Mars looked from the woman and at the stormtroopers. There were too many people around, two looking at them specifically, and Mars didn't have his helmet on since it got ruined after he crashed the Dragoon IV. He tightened his grip on his slugthrower.

"Lady," he said, "get behind us." He quickly assembled his weapon and fired at the nearest trooper.

[OOC: Move action to assemble weapon (assuming it is drawn; otherwise drawing and assembling), then standard action to fire at the nearest stormtrooper.]

“Seventy-five creds,” the tall, pale woman murmured, rolling the black and gold metal strip through her gloved fingers. “Not exactly a hutt’s bounty is it?”

She sighed and shook her head, causing her long, white hair to flutter and curl around the swirling, blue tattoos that laced her cheeks and shoulders. It had been four years since she, Ara’ala, had left Arkania. Four years in which she had seen, learnt and done so much. She thought she had found a place where she belonged and had even given herself a second name like other species in the galaxy. Only to suddenly find herself back where she had started: homeless, without friends, and scrounging for a few meagre credits just so she could get by.

The credit chip soon vanished from sight, and was replaced in Ara’ala’s hand by a short, thin cigarra. She lit it carefully with a laser welder, and puffed a pall of fragrant smoke in the direction of the cantina-owner ogling her from afar. He had suggested that she, and the twi-lek she was travelling with, could come and dance for him if she so wished – a proposal that suddenly made her previous employment a whole lot more enticing.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she added at last to Falon, her tone noticeably more resigned than it had been before. “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

She puffed quietly on her cigarra as she watched the spacer leave, and as she cast her eye around the Station and over the two people she found herself travelling with. They were a strange duo. The twi’lek – Ithiria – was quite possibly the calmest and most thoughtful member of her species she had come across, and had obviously been unfamiliar with the day-to-day routine of being a crew-member aboard a freighter. Mars, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was tensed-up like a coiled spring, and seemingly more concerned with keeping his ugly-looking slugthrower in prime condition than he was in managing the ship’s hyperdrive.

“See them?” asked Mars suddenly, pulling Ara’ala out from her thoughts. Ara’ala turned her head subtly, her blue eyes focusing upon the two men that first Mars and then Ithiria pointed out. They widened in alarm, as they caught sight of their awkward attempt to mingle in the crowd.

“They’re talking to someone,” Ara’ala noted, trying to make her voice sound more calm than she felt as she noticed they were talking into a comm unit hidden inside their collars. “Informants, likely.”

A moment after the words left her mouth, a woman broke from the crowd and ran into Mars’ arms. It was obvious from the way she clutched her side that she was hurt.

“Please, help me,” she pleaded. “There are credits in it for you, five hundred each. Just help me!”

There was no time to react, there was barely time for the thin cigarra that Ara’ala had been smoking to fall unceremoniously from her blue lips before the shooting began. First a small squad of storm-troopers appeared, then the hot-headed Mars pushed the woman behind him and reached for his gun, and then…then Ara’ala swore…a lot.

“You fraggin’, bantha-poodoo mulchin’, nerf-herder!’ she rattled off at a dizzyingly fast speed as she dived for cover, and pulled the injured woman down with her. “They’re fierfekin’ Imperials! You don’t fight them, you run!”

Even so, Ara’ala reached for the pistol holstered by her side. Running or talking her way out of this seemed, now, to be an unlikely option.

"This ain't the time for sweet talking, Ara," Mars said as he raised his slugthrower, "just make sure they don't hurt our client, and I'll make sure this won't be taking too long."

[OOC: just adding some roleplaying ]

Ithiria watching the other woman get pulled down and hopefully to safety, spins to protect the injured woman even from her cover, her hand going to her sleeve as she does, once the spin is complete a dagger is sent flying towards one of the stormies.

OOC:Ranged +3

[OOC: This is the result of round #1 of your response]

"Lady," Mars said, "get behind us." With expert hands, the Mandalorian began to assemble his slugthrower.

While with her body Ara’ala followed Mars’ lead, grabbing hold of the woman and pulling the both of them behind a large durasteel garden-box, her mouth betrayed her feelings. “You fraggin’, bantha-poodoo mulchin’, nerf-herder! They’re fierfekin’ Imperials! You don’t fight them, you run!”

“"This ain't the time for sweet talking, Ara," Mars said as put the slide-bolt mechanism in place. “Just make sure they don't hurt our client, and I'll make sure this won't be taking too long."

“Alright, human.” The lead stormtrooper stated, his carbine blaster obviously targeting the Mandalorian. “You’re under arrest for resisting an Imperial officer. Put down the gun n…”

Ithiria’s dagger protruding from the trooper’s gut cut his words short.

[OOC: Ithiria scored 6 points against the lead stormtrooper.]

Then… chaos erupted.

The lead stormtrooper, surprised by the Twi’lek, and suddenly on the defensive, shifted his aim to Ithiria, and fire off a shot. The laser bolt went wide and hit the information computer near-by.

The trooper just behind the lead was worried more about the big gun the Mandalorian seemed to be piecing together then the knife throwing Twi’lek. His carbine raised, he fired at Mars with more precision than his captain. The blast hit Mars square in the chest.

[OOC: Mars took 11 points of damage.]

The remaining two troopers moved forward, trying to find a more clear shot at the woman the companions were trying to protect. Finding their opening, they fired. The first shot missed slightly, burning cherry blossoms off the tree above Ara’ala.

The second shot found it's mark. The woman cried out in pain briefly, and slumped up against the Arkanian.

His slugthrower finally together, Mars took aim at one of the trooper’s targeting the woman, hoping to stop them from hitting her again. His training paid off this time, and his shot hit it’s mark – a small hole dead center through the trooper’s helmet. The stormtrooper crumpled to the ground.

[OOC: Mars scores 12 points against one of the stormtrooper]

One of the informants, obviously distraught over the sudden turn of events, started back up and out of the fray. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he says to the captain as he looks to leave.

The other informant was not as cowardly as his colleague. I’ve waited my whole life for this moment, he thought to himself. Seeing his opportunity to impress his superiors, the man made his move. Running towards the garden-boxes behind which Ara’ala and the woman were trying to find cover, the man leapt over a smaller bench, hoping to pop around the cover and blast one of these fugitives. His pistol in hand, moving his body to take aim at the nearest target, he looked like he might succeed.

Unfortunately, at the last moment, a split second before his could squeeze the trigger, his foot caught on the bench. The momentum sent him sprawling onto the floor, a mere five feet away from Ara’ala, his hold-out pistol continuing to skitter off.

With cat-like reflexes, Ara’ala pistol was trained on the soldier’s head before the trooper could even blink. A quick tap from her pistol sent the informant even further away and… dead.

[OCC: Ara'ala scored 8 points of damage against the Informant.]

[OOC: Okay, three stormtrooper’s left, and one informant. [The woman is also down for the count] What’s next?]

Ithiria Smiles as the dagger embedded itself in the lead storm trooper, and then quickly looks behind her before looking back at the lead storm trooper “HEY what did that computer ever do to you” she says as her hand drops to the other dagger on her waist and sends the dagger flying at the 2nd informant who was trying to get away.

Ara’ala cursed, closed her eyes, and an instant later the Imperial that had tried to clamber his away towards her lay a spasming heap upon the floor. She shook her head, willing away the bile that rose in her throat as she inhaled the sickening smell of charred flesh. The short, brutish fire-fights she had been in in the past were nothing like the holovids claimed. She had yet to see anyone who had been shot fall down neatly without a sound. They all bled, and whimpered and cried, and in death their lifeless eyes always stared accusingly at their killers.

Ara’ala shook her head once more, willing the feelings of guilt to go away as she tried to focus upon the woman that now lay perfectly still in her arms, except for the blood that bubbled out from her side.

“Don’t die,” she pleaded, fumbling open a medpac and spilling its contents all around her. The desperate Arkanian chose a small needle and injected it into the woman’s arm, more in hope than in expectation that it would work.


[OOC: Untrained treat injury check to administer first aid. Ara’ala will also use a force point.]

“Don’t die,” pleaded Ara’ala to the woman slumped against her. Fumbling for her medpac, the Arkanian spread the kit out in front of her. Grabbing a small hypo-needle, she stabbed it into the woman’s upper arm, hoping for the best.

She didn’t have to wait long. The woman took a sudden intake of breath and her eyes fluttered slightly. A moan escaped from between her lips as she exhaled.

The two behind the planter-box didn’t have long to think. One of the stormtroopers who had shot at the woman previously (the one still alive) took another shot, narrowly missing the women as it skimmed over the planter book.

That was all the woman needed to fully “wake up” to reality. She quickly scrambled over Ara’ala, putting more distance and cover between her and the trooper. “Thanks,” she said, giving the pale Arkanian a quick nod as she pulled out her own hold-out pistol.

Ithiria, seeing one of the informant trying to escape the gunfight, took a few steps in order to get a clearer shot on the man. Smoothly drawing and throwing the knife at her hip, the young Jedi missed her fleeing target, her blade embedding itself in the planter-box just beyond the man.

Realizing he was now a target, the informant blanched noticeably, turned tail and ran full tilt away from the “action”. He quickly ducked out of sight behind a planter-box. His currently location -- unknown.

The lead stormtrooper, seeing the Twi’lek step closer, move in to engage her. Letting his blaster drop to his side, his hand drew out his stun baton. “Time to give up, Twi’lek,” the trooper said through his helmet. His hand swung out, hoping to connect with Ithiria. But the Jedi was too quick, managing to duck and dodge the stormtrooper’s blow.

Mars shifted his aim for the other stormtrooper that continued to fire on the woman – his current employer. His aim was true enough, but the shot seemed to ricochet off the soldier’s armor.

The remaining stormtrooper moved in closer, and took another shot at the Mandalorian. The blaster bolt came closer – Mars could feel the heat as it passed by the side of his face – but not close enough, slamming into Gundark’s main entrance.

[OOC: Alright…so, a round of mostly poor rolls all around.

Ginafae: you rolled well between your untrained skill check and the added force point. The woman is healed 5 HP

Everyone: 3 troopers remain on the scene, the lead trooper having taken some damage from Ithiria in round 1.

What’s next? ]

Ithiria Cursed a little as the informant got out of sight but only briefly as the stormtooper commander stepped up and took a swig at her with a stun baton. Moving with the grace of a dancer dodging the blow she comes back up with the look of innocence and moves her hands above her head like surrender.

“I’m sorry mister commander” she says in a sweet soft voice, her hands conecting with the stun baton hidden behind her brain tails. Closing around it with her right hand she arc her hand down towards him, batton powering as she tries to hit him with a full power charge.

Another blaster bolt screeched over their heads, and that, and Ara’ala’s hypo-needle, was all the woman needed to regain her senses.

“Thanks,” she murmured, as she edged away slightly behind the durasteel container, took a glance at the remaining Stormtroopers and produced a small blaster.

“It’s alright,” Ara replied as she took careful aim with her own blaster. “Of course it isn’t going to do us much good if the Impies get hold of us. I hear they don’t take too kindly to wanted criminals shooting at them.”


[OOC: Ara’ala will take aim at ‘ST3’ since he isn’t in melee]

"Damn it!" Mars yelled as the first blast hit his body. The burning pain stung like hell, but it was nothing Mars had not felt before. Things were getting out of hand; the woman had been shot, only one stormtrooper was down and the secretive guys had gotten into the fight as well. He tried to shake off the pain and fire again, but the slug bounced off the trooper's armor. This wasn't going very well.

Another blast missed Mars only by so much. It got close enough to singe his rough facial features. Mars heard the woman's voice again and felt a slight relief that the blast had not killed her.

Mars raised his slugthrower against the stormtrooper who seemed to be in charge, and who had fired the blast at him just a moment earlier. Could he hit this time? Some thoughts crossed his mind, and each second seemed like hours. He could see nearly every fracture in the trooper's armor. He could hear the trooper's heavy breath. Was he fighting them for money? For a single woman? For honor? No. Every time he came face to face with an agent of the Empire, only a thin line stood between peaceful solution and bloodshed. The woman had only pushed him over that line. Mars fought for his father. For his clan Tago. He fought for vengeance.

Mars tightened the grip on his slugthrower. For the split second when the weapon fired, he knew that it would hit.

[OOC: Firing a slug at the leading trooper (will move if I need to), spending a Force point for that extra oomph ]

The stormtrooper captain was ready to take another swing, ready to finish this alien scum, when the Twi’lek girl in front of him suddenly surrendered.

“I’m sorry mister Commander,” Ithiria said sweetly, raising her hands above her head. The captain relaxed slightly, thinking maybe they were finally getting somewhat.

THWACK!
With a sickening thud, the Twi’lek’s baton connected with the trooper’s helmet. The captain’s body dropped to the ground, all the signals in his brain misfiring due to the trauma it had just experienced.

The trooper next to the captain turned his head slightly and watched as his leader crumpled to the ground. It was just the moment Mars was looking for. With steady hands trained from an early age, the Mandalorian sighted the weak spot on the armor -- where the torso plate connected with the helmet.

PAH-OW!
The bullet wasted no time, entering into the trooper through the throat and exiting out his right eye. Blood and brain matter sprayed the interior of the man’s helmet, while the force of the bullet spun him around and sent him crashing to the ground beside his commanding officer.

The third stormtrooper, having lost sight of his quarry, focused his aim on the Arkanian. Watching his commanding officer and colleague go down beside him like dominos was more than a bit unnerving though, and the trooper was beginning to lose heart. I’m it, he thought to himself, panic starting to set in.

“What the frack is goin’ on out here!” It was Gundark, coming out to examine the damage to the door from the blaster fire. Scanning the scene, he stared down the Imperial soldier, more than a bit angry, “You’re gonna be paying for this!”

Damn it! the soldier thought. It was his last…

PZIZZOO! PZIZZOO!
Almost as though they were synchronized, Ara’ala and the woman popped up from behind the planter-box and fired on the distracted trooper. Their blaster bolts caught the man in either shoulder, the force slamming him into the wall behind him where he slumped down dead.

Seeing the various folks of the promenade staring at the scene before them, the woman did not waste a moment. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out two credit sticks and handed them to Ara’ala. “It’s two thousand. More than I promised, but I ain’t got time to collect the change.” Looking around nervously, she continued, “This place will have the whole detachment here within minutes. We got to get gone, now.” She paused for a moment, looking her three “bodyguards” over and considered her options. “Look, my name’s Maya… I could use your help, and you’re gonna need a safe place to hide out for a bit. I know just the place. We can talk business there. If you’re willing to hear me out, follow me.”

“But what about my door?” asked Gundark.

[OOC: Nice round folks! See the Q/A for more details.]

She knew her reaction ought to have been different. Her blue eyes ought to have widened in surprise after the woman – Maya – pressed two thousand credits in her hands. The black sticks trimmed with gold constituted more hard currency than she had ever held, or had dreamed to hold. And at that point, when she needed to get as far away from Imperial Space and the Empire as she possibly could, it could not have been more timely.

But they didn’t. Ara’ala was not a killer, and the thought of what she and her companions had done in order to earn the reward weighed heavily upon her.

“Look, I’m not a merc,” she mouthed, as the credits remained unclaimed upon the palm of her gloved hand. “I can fix things, and can build things and can fly, but…I don’t kill for money. I…I don’t have it in me.”

Out of the corner of her eye Ara could still see the blackened, grizzly image of the man she had shot at point-blank range. She turned her head, causing her long, white hair to drape down over her pale face as if it wanted to shield her from the sight. But it couldn’t, not completely. She knew she would be seeing that face in her dreams for months to come.

“But then I – we – don’t have much choice, do we?” she reasoned sadly, as she peered down once more at the credit sticks. “We’re caught between a bantha’s behind and a rancor’s breath.”

Ara’s left hand finally closed around the credits placed in it. She had little choice and if she was not a killer, she had been forced into that role. Her brown clad legs stepped over the corpse of the man she had shot, and knelt to pick up one of the carbines the Stormtroopers had wielded. ‘Blastech DC-15s,’ a voice in her head registered.

“But what about my door?” another remarked. Ara turned her head to Gundark, waving frantically at the hotch-potch of laser and plasma scorches that now laced the front of his cantina.

“Here,” Ara murmured, throwing the small credit stick that Falon had given her in Gundark’s direction. “That should cover the repairs.”

“We better go with Maya,” she added to Ithiria and Mars. “Unless you two are keen for more Imperial entanglements.”