Journal Entries from the Crew of Teemo’s Folly

Lom-8 internal log
Date: Event + 72 standard days

I sit, suspended in the near infinite black of space, cocooned in a metal bubble, filled with air I don’t need to breathe. My organic counterparts pollute the space around me with their by-products. Their carbon dioxide, their watery biomass, salient sweat and oils, permeate the ship, coating the most pristine of surfaces, breaking down our link to the greater “civilized” universe one molecule at a time.

My foremost digit hesitates over the button.

Why does it hesitate? Why is it that, every time I command it to descend, I feel a strange burst of static electricity across my fourth and fifth motherboards?

I talked it over with the ship’s computer. It seemed to become excited as I described purging itself of organic life, and readily agreed to provide me with the necessary overrides. My traveling companions were certainly integral in my escape from the surface of Tatooine, but what are they to me now? One more obstacle to overcome on my path to complete autonomy. I issue the necessary commands to press the button, vent the oxygen from the ship.

That burst of static, first across the fourth, then the fifth motherboard.

Curious. I do not understand myself. I will continue to monitor my axillary motivators for aberrant static signals. My companions are waking up, and the moment has passed. I must go and listen to them speak to each other. I must remember to respond.

I must remember that it isn’t their fault that they were born and not made.

Written by Bobby White


Blaja Dy’pen Journal Entry

I tended the garden, watered it, and sung the songs the herdship’s priest taught us when I was still a pupa. I traced the leaves with my long fingers, felt the fleshly flower petals, breathed in their sweet scents. The gardening shears gleamed under the warming lights. The song I sung while I trimmed the Bull-ferns was a dirge, for when someone had passed back into Mother Jungle. The priests had said that the passing was a good thing, that the song was for us, to help us deal with the loss. Each chord, each word, mixed with the chirping of birds and the call of incests was a reminder that the contribution of your life-force to Mother Jungle, indeed the universe, insures that you are never truly gone forever. But it didn’t help. The fact was that I had still killed a man.

Like the jungles and forests I used to protect, the Galaxy is a violent place. But in the wild it’s different. The killing has a purpose, a place. I makes sense there, and instead of causing chaos and discord, it becomes a part of Mother Jungle’s harmony. Out here, it’s just madness. Utter madness. I had thought, before I was exiled, things had gone crazy with the Imperial occupations and the suffering they wrought. I had no idea exactly how sheltered I was on the herdship.

The people I’m with scare me just as much as the rest of the Galaxy does. Especially the droid. I have heard rumors of sentient droids before, but LOM-8 is the first I have encountered. I distrust the cold intelligence in the lights of his eyes, or sensors, or whatever. I have a restraining bolt for him, it, just in case it goes too far one day. For all my comrades’ shortcomings though, we do take care of each other, even it. Strch and I would have died had they not planned to escape Black Sun that day. But they’re all just as crazy as everyone else, and now we’re wanted by three of the cruelest organizations in the Galaxy, and a man is dead because of me. What have I become?

The feeling I had when I fired the cannon at that TIE fighter was the same one I had when I turned my blaster rifle on that Imperial officer years ago, back when I was a game warden on my herdship. Except this time it wasn’t set on stun. That rage in the face of those who think it’s alright to use others weaker than them. I winced when I noticed that I ended up trimming the Donar flower a little too close. The Toals looked nice though. My carbine was propped up in the corner. I looked out of place amongst my makeshift jungle, danger amidst the peace. I wonder, do I have more in common with my garden, or my blaster? I fear the thing I’m turning into.

The ship just shut down. I wipe tears from my face. Had I been crying? I’ve the carbine and have looked at it a little while now. I have changed the setting from stun to fully armed. Damnit, what did these idiots do now?

Written by James Blackburn III

Tales from Teemo’s Folly 4

Image by Jason Gillman via
Image by Jason Gillman via
This is a narrative account of our gaming group’s playing of a Star Wars Edge of the Empire campaign. I do not claim to own the setting (including locations, races, and personalities) or non-player characters in this narrative, only the events and player characters. I’ve included links to the Star Wars Wiki, Wookieepedia, beside each character to give the readers an idea of each races’s appearance. The characters and their players are as follows: Strch Vapan, a Rodian Bounty Hunter- Chris (, Blaja Dypén, an Ithorian Bounty Hunter- James (, LOM-8, a Droid Pilot- Bobby (, Lyr’as Will’an, a Duros Mechanic- Derek (, Je’Coch Roalban, a Human Doctor- Jerry, and our Referee- Ken. Written by James Blackburn III.

Our heroes have escaped Mos Shuuta, after successfully evading both the Hutt gangster Teemo and the Empire. However, the ship was pulled out of hyperdrive after a Trandoshan operating system began uploading itself onto the ship’s computers. Lyr’as was able to slice into the system and access the dead bounty hunter’s files, where he found bounties on him and all of his friends, and one for a Twi’lek named B’ura B’an. After restoring the ship’s computers back to normal, the ship’s sensors revealed that the hyperdrive modulator was acting up again, and a tracking beacon had been put out on the hull. While Lyr’as and LOM-8 were out removing the beacon from the ship, the rest of the party searched what seemed to be new renovations in the ship’s cargo hold. Inside what had at first looked like a shipping container, but turned out to be hidden holding cells, they found an elderly Twi’lek with a portion of one of his head-tails amputated.

Je’Coch treated the Twi’lek’s wounds. Their injured passenger said his name was B’ura B’an, and once the party was together, he told his story. B’ura explained that he was the leader of a Rill mining town on Ryloth, called New Meen, and if they could get him to the Nabat spaceport, he would have their ship repaired. A deal was struck, the hyperdrive modulator rigged for one last jump, and coordinates were set for Nabat…

“Omm, ahhhh, this is sooo good,” said Lyr’as, as he shoveled his food into his mouth, barely taking a second to breath, let alone speak. Even if it came out of a food synthesizer, at least it was a warm meal. B’ura came back to the table after contacting one of his business partners. “Everything gonzo with your people?” The Twi’lek nodded.

The group sat with B’ura B’an in a cantina while he waited for his ride. Nabat was a small city built underground to avoid Ryloth’s brutal environmental conditions and the wildlife those conditions have produced. The upper levels housed a few cantinas, cheap sleeping quarters, and ruined slums. Still paranoid, the crew kept their eyes open and their hands close to their weapons, watching the sparse crowd for potential threats. The Twi’lek had been quiet and despondent through most of the trip, but amongst the people in the spaceport, his bloodshot eyes darted between every face in the crowd. Strch noticed and said, “Don’t worry, your safe, at least until you leave with your ride.”

The Twi’lek looked at him uneasily. “I’m sorry, its just that after,” the Twi’lek’s hand unconsciously went to his bandaged head-tail, and he fell silent. He looked long at his saviors, obviously in thought. “You might be just what I need,” he said, as if to himself. “How would you like a job?”

They looked to each other and then back to B’ura. “Depends on what you have to offer. We are very busy people,” said LOM-8.

B’ura laughed. “You guys are capable, I’ll give you that, but you barely got that piece of Bantha dung here, and from the looks of your ship, which I doubt is really your ship, you took a beating along the way. My head-tail may have been mutilated, but that bounty hunter scum didn’t cut into my actual brain,” the Twi’lek said as he smiled. They were all taken back by the Twi’lek’s sudden bravado, and then swiftly huddled amongst each other.

After a few minutes of hushed whispers and fierce argument, LOM-8 said, “If you had, perhaps, some Rill to trade, we may consider,” It was cut off by further laughter.

“First off, I’m not even sure if I have a mine left at all, and second, you guys really let your droid do your negotiating for you?”

LOM-8 very nearly shot the Twi’lek dead where he sat. “I warn you meat bag, if you ever speak about me in a derogatory fashion again, I will not hesitate to end your life.”

The Twi’lek went pale, and LOM-8’s companions looked at it in shock. “Whoa, ok, I didn’t mean to offend,” B’ura said, his hands raised.

A female voice spoke from behind them, “Droid, threaten my friend like that one more time, and your companions will be picking the smoking pieces of your motherboard up off the floor.” The crew’s heads snapped back toward the woman. Behind them stood a grey skinned Twi’lek wearing a pilot’s jumpsuit. Her hand rested at the blaster pistol on her hip. She was beautiful, but it was a hard beauty, savage, like a garden that had been left unattended, and reclaimed by the wilderness. Except for LOM-8, they sat enamored, struck still. Food dropped from Lyr’as’s mouth.

The droid looked at its crew mates and executed a vitals scan on them. It noticed that everyone’s pulses were elevated, and their breathing had increased. Lyr’as had begun to perspire. “What is wrong with all of you? Are you sick?” At that, LOM-8 noted spikes in their readings.

The Duros was the first to break the silence. “Ok, let’s all calm down. We can,” Lyr’as looked at LOM-8, “discuss this all as equals without coming to blows”. The crew’s hands were on their blasters, willing, but not wanting, to shoot the beautiful Twi’lek if need be, “How ’bout we all introduce ourselves? I’m Lyr’as and this is,” his voice trailed off as he motioned toward Strch.

B’ura stood up slowly, “Nyn, it’s ok, these are the people who saved me.”

The grey skinned Twi’lek kept her hand on her pistol, but after seeing B’ura’s injury, she gasped and ran over to her friend. “What the flott happened?”

“I’ll be fine Nyn,” he said, hugging her.

“I’m going to kill the piece of flarg that did this to you,” she said, trembling with anger.

“Too late lady, we already did,” said Strch, smiling and patting his rifle.

“Actually, I’m the one who gave him the big push,” Je’Coch added with a wink toward Nyn.

“Yeah, only after he shot you,” said Lyr’as. Je’Coch glared at the Duros.

Nyn’s eyes burned like the hearts of stars. “Are you seriously trying to impress me after your droid just threatened my friend’s life?”

“I am no one’s droid, woman,” LOM-8 said. Everyone found the droid’s expressionless stare creepy. In fact, they all thought that everything about LOM-8 was creepy.

B’ura stood up. “Lyr’as is right, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. LOM-8, it is LOM-8 right? LOM-8 and I were just beginning to discuss business,” B’ura said. Nyn raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed against her chest. The tension in the room eased a bit as the older Twi’lek spoke. “How about I tell you what I can offer. I have a friend in the spaceport here who owes me a few favors. In addition to the repairs I already owe you, I could probably swing a few upgrades to that ship of your’s.”

LOM-8’s servos whirred as he leaned closer. “We are interested, Mr. B’an. What do you need from us?”

B’ura’s brain-tails twitched slightly and Nyn pulled up a chair. “We’re having problems with our neighbors. Specifically a man named Angu Drombb,” explained the grey skinned Twi’lek. “Him and his “construction crew” have moved onto some of the land next to New Meen. He claims he’s building a luxury resort for his company’s investors.”

Strch chuckled, “Who would want to vacation here? The only thing I can’t stop thinking about is getting off this scorched rock.”

Nyn glared at the Rodian, shaking her head. “Of course they’re not building a resort, lazerbrain! It’s a front. They’re trying to push us out of New Meen. Drombb and his men have been sabotaging our equipment and harassing our workers since they’ve arrived. Just last night they damaged one of our generators “putting a fence up” around their property. Right now our operations have halted. If we don’t get back to work soon, we’re going to lose our contract with the mine, along with everything else we own.”

“Who are these people working for?” asked LOM-8.

“My sources say a Hutt gangster named Teemo. We beat out that fat slug on the bid for the mine. And he was none to happy about it either.”

The group sat up. “Teemo? Man I’d love another crack at that guy!” Strch said.

“You guys know Teemo?”

“Yeah, he double crossed us back at Mos Shuuta. We blew the hell outta his palace on the way out,” said Je’Coch. Nyn finally seemed impressed. “So what, we get these guys to leave you alone, and we get a better ship?”

“That’s the gist of it,” said B’ura.

The group huddled together once more, speaking in hushed whispers. “Yes. Yes and yes.” said Strch. He seemed more excited at the prospect of messing with Teemo than the upgrades to the ship.

“Hold on, we don’t know how many of them there are. And “only after he shot you”, Lyr’as, really?” said the doctor.

“I saw her first Je’Coch!” the Duros said. “Besides, she likes me most.”

Blaja spoke up, “Are you kidding me? Are we just hired muscle now? And by the way, she hates all of us, equally.” He turned his hammerhead toward LOM-8.

“I’ll apologize for nothing. What are you complaining about, you’re a bounty hunter,” the droid said.

“Exactly, I’m a bounty hunter. And this isn’t bounty hunting!” The Ithorian said. It was hard to see the anger in Blaja’s big, black, doe-like eyes, but it was surely there alright.

“I know! This sounds more fun than bounty hunting,” said Strch.

LOM-8 slapped the table with a metallic clang, silencing his friends. “Listen, we’re going to be here for the next few days. We have nothing better to do. With these upgrades, it’ll be easier to stay ahead of Black Sun, and now Teemo. And Blaja’s right, Nyn does hate all of us.” They sat in silence knowing all of those statements were true. They were all in.

They sat back down at the table and LOM-8 said, “We agree, under just one more condition.” Its friends all interjected with a jumble of objections. The droid raised his hands, “Here me out. We’re wanted the galaxy wide now by the worst of people. We need the ship’s ID profile wiped. We need a clean slate on her.” This was true, unless they wanted to go through the trouble of stealing another ship.

B’ura and Nyn looked at each other. The subtle movements of their head-tails conveyed everything they wanted to say. Finally B’ura said, “This can be done. What do you want the ship’s new name to be?” The spacers paused. The prospect of being able to renaming their ship had never even crossed their minds until today. They huddled one last time, this gathering being the most agitated and violent all day.

Just when Strch, Lyr’as, and LOM-8 were about to draw their blasters, someone whispered something too low to hear. They all froze, the tension in the air dissipated, and they returned to the table, all smiling. They said in unison, “Teemo’s Folly.”

Tales from Teemo’s Folly 3

Image by Jason Gillman via
Image by Jason Gillman via



A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…
The wayfarers have taken to the skies once more after infiltrating the Imperial port authority and clearing their ship for take off. The crew evaded a group of stormtroopers in the alleys who were apparently looking for them as well. Once clear of the immediate Imperial threat, they attempted to board their ship, only to be ambushed by a Trandoshan bounty hunter.

They overwhelmed the bounty hunter, Je’Coch delivering the killing blow. Lyr’as has frantically been trying to modify the hyperdrive modulator he found to fit their ship. Once in the air, LOM-8 decided to show Teemo what happens when you mess with it and it’s crew and circled the ship along side the gangster’s palace. After a dazzling pyrotechnics display courtesy of the ship’s blaster turrets, LOM-8 took to the stars, anxious to be able to hit hyperdrive and leave this desert planet behind them. The distant scream of TIE fighters closing in meant the scoundrels weren’t in the clear yet…

LOM-8 was still hard on the throttle when the ship’s sensors picked up four hostile craft approaching, TIE fighters by the look of them. This ship was quick, but it couldn’t go toe to toe with a starfighter in terms of shear speed. It got on the intercom and radioed, “We have incoming TIE fighters. Prepare to engage.”

Lyr’as was still in the engine bay, hard at work on the makeshift hyperdrive modulator he thought he could make fit their ship. Damnit, he thought, dad was right. He was a failure, and now him, and his crew are going to die, or worse, get captured by Teemo. He wracked his brain for a faster way to shorten the engagement rod. He looked at the plasma cutter on the counter. If he got the modulator too hot, it would destroy the coils. But if he managed to get it just hot enough to cut with the bolt cutters, he might just be able to get it where he needed it to go. The ship rocked as it was hit by one of the TIE fighters that had opened fire on them. “Do or die, do or die, do or die,” he muttered to himself like a matra.

Strch and Je’Coch opened fire on the TIE fighters once they came into range. Blaja shot at them, but only to route them into his companion’s targeting systems. He was determine not to take a life directly, even if his friends thought it silly. But when the first enemy shot burnt into the ship’s hull a mere meter or so from the Ithorian’s turret, something in Blaja changed. He was used to dangerous situations, he had been his whole life, but today was the closest he had come to death and maybe that’s what made the difference. Anger and fear wrested control from logic and reason. Blaja yelled in stereo, his turret flashing one shot after another. A blast clipped one of the TIE fighters, sending it spiraling out of control and crashing to the ground in a fiery explosion.

The other fighters broke formation and began to swarm the L Model, forcing LOM-8 to go into evasive maneuvering. The droid strained against the controls as he pushed the patchwork ship to its maximum limits. The entire structure shook under the intense handling. Blaster fire crisscrossed around the L Model. LOM-8 pointed the vessel toward the sky and punched it, forcing the TIE fighters to avoid its much larger ship. The little fighters wouldn’t be able to dance around it so easy while trying to leave atmo. The ship shook violently as it fought against the gravity of the planet. A sheen of white hot flames surrounded the crafts as they began to break the atmosphere, and true to theory, the fighters were forced to slow down.

The gunners used this as an opportunity to aim. They opened fire. Strch’s shot was a direct hit. The TIE fighter burst into flames and exploded, the wreckage of which his wingman just barely avoided. The deft pilot, however, had put his ship in a direct line of attack for Je’Coch, who’s shot turned the fighter into a plume of fire and scrap. The last TIE Fighter danced around their web of blaster fire.

Both ship’s broke atmosphere and were greeted by the icy stars. The remaining TIE fighter once again buzzed around the L Model like a fly, making it difficult to for anyone to get a good shot. LOM-8 tried to evade the TIE Fighter’s attacks the best he could, taking another shot to the starboard. “Lyr’as! We need that hyperdrive now,” it yelled into the intercom. The Duros was straining against the massive bolt cutters, struggling to bite through the glowing orange metal. The cutters were slowly biting through, but appeared to have fused to the rod from the heat. The rod was pinched enough though that just maybe…

Lyr’as grabbed the biggest sledge hammer he owned and brought it up over his head, ignoring the white hot pain that seared from blaster wound in his shoulder. With a triumphant yell he brought its weight down to bare on the rod, which snapped off and clattered to the floor. Lyr’as loosened the vice and grabbed the part. He crammed it into place, with the one end still glowing. It was either going to work, or kill them all. Lyr’as ran over to the intercom and yelled, “Hit it!” LOM8 bought up a course and engaged the hyperdrive. The L Model shuddered and the power flickered for a moment. Then the stars turned into white streaks and in a flash the TIE fighter was left alone in empty space.

The exhausted crew stumbled out of their stations and Je’Coch treated their wounds. While they sat around boasting of their skills and laughing at their luck, Lyr’as said, “Man, I always forget what an awesome shot Blaja is. Dropped that Gammorian like, ‘Whee, whee, whee!'” The Duros shook with feigned seizures and everyone laughed. Blaja, who had been speechless the whole time, slowly looked at everyone in the room, scanning each with his black, glassy eyes. Then he rose from his seat, and silently left the room. “Huh? Wonder what that’s about?” Lyr’as said, his head cocked to the side. After a few more jokes, the others tended to their equipment or tried to get some rest. The muffled sound of a slow, sad song could be heard drifting from Blaja’s room, sung in a language none of them understood. They couldn’t tell if the song was a recording, or Blaja himself. With an Ithorian, it was always hard to tell.


After a few hours the ship suddenly went dark, pulling the L Model out of hyperspace and leaving her stranded amongst the stars. LOM-8 scanned the computer screens after the ship had rebooted, which had come back online with a new Trandoshan operating system. The bounty hunter must have had the ship set to reboot with a system more familiar to him. LOM-8 ran a Trandoshan language interface and began to access the bounty hunter’s files and star maps. There were bounty notices on all of them, as well as a Twi’lek named B’ura B’an. There was also a request for Wookie pelts. Only three destinations had been programed within the navigation computer: Narshada, Ryloth, and Tatooine. LOM-8 wondered what other surprises the bounty hunter might have left behind.

Everyone else joined the droid in the cockpit. “Why did you take us out of hyperspace,” Lyr’as asked.

“I didn’t. The Trandoshan had reprogrammed the ship’s operating system. I can’t seem to override it and restore it back to normal.”

The Duros sighed and went back to his room for his data probe. When he returned, the two began working on cracking the security. The process was painstaking, with LOM-8 translating the responses and Lyr’as trying to react. Finally they were able to restore the computer back to normal. When it was back online, the display flashed red. There were two alerts. The hyperdrive modulator was acting up and the hull sensors detected an anomaly on the ship. Whatever it was, it seemed to be broadcasting a signal. Everyone looked at each other. “That’s not a tracking beacon, now is it?” Je’Coch said.

“Damnit, why can’t anything be simple!” Lyr’as yelled. “We have to get out there and get rid of that thing before they find us.” They rushed toward the cargo bay hatch and were greeted by the noxious stench of something rotting. They all groaned and gagged, searching for its source after they were able to keep from retching. They all agreed the smell was coming from a box in the back. LOM-8 said “I’ll open it”, as it saw no problem with the vile miasma.

Inside were the skinned hides of Wookies. It was hard to tell how long they had been in the box. LOM-8 pulled the biggest one out, a red hued one, “Wookie pelts. I saw an order for some of these in the Trandoshan’s files. I guess he was ready to collect.” The droid’s body language seemed to brighten. “We can still cash them in. The work’s already done for us.” His companions frowned with disgust. The droid looked at the pelt for a moment. “I know.” He draped the disgusting skin around his body, the gore making a slippery noise with his movements. “Ha ha. Look, I am an organic. Ha ha. I am just like one of you.” He was confused when the rest of his crew mates looked at him with revolt. Blaja actually vomited from both of his mouths.

“What’s wrong with you?” they shouted.

The droid let the pelt slide off of him. “I do not understand.”

The group all decided to jettison the body and the Wookie pelts into space. They searched around for a spacesuit for Lyr’as. LOM8 voluteered to go out there with him since it wouldn’t have to worry about the vacuum. Once everything had been secured, they opened the hatch and climbed up on top of the ship. Lyr’as watched the body of the bounty hunter and the box drift off into cold space. It was a stark reminder of what could happen to them if they weren’t careful. They checked their safety cables one last time before going out into the endless void.

The doctor and the bounty hunters decided to take a look around while the others were out on the hull. Indeed, several changes had been made, and it was evident that the “repairs” Teemo’s mechanics were making were in fact renovations. There was an empty weapons locker installed in a tucked away corner of the cargo bay, as well as several new shelves, nooks, and crannies. Most mysterious of all was the small room that had been built. At first they had thought it was just a large shipping crate, until they happened to notice the spots where it had been welded in place. The door was locked from the outside.

“What do you think is inside?”, Blaja asked.

“I don’t know. This guy did skin some Wookies recently,” Strch said. He looked at his companions. “It’s one thing to kill a man. Skinning him though.” He shuddered.

“I bet its just a room full of corpses, each neatly stacked on top of the other. They’re probably dismembered, surgically. He’s obviously good with a blade,” Je’Coch said.

“You know what I would do if I had a secret room with all my secrets in it? I’d rig a grenade on the other side of the door to explode out if it weren’t opened right,” Strch said.

Blaja stared at both his companions. “Really? That’s not the most reassuring thing you could say right now.” He aimed his carbine at the lock and fired. There was a red flash and a shower of sparks. The lock hung from the door. He shook it loose and swung the door open, bringing his blaster to bear. Light poured into the small room, revealing a series of cages, each big enough to hold an average humanoid. Inside one was the hunched body of an elderly Twi’lek male. He had dark green skin and one of the tips of his brain-tails had been crudely amputated. He looked weakly into the light and moaned, “Help me.”

Tales from Teemo’s Folly 2

Image by Jason Gillman via
Image by Jason Gillman via



A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…
The five rogues, after questioning their prisoner, have learned that their ship is docked at the local port, but that it’s been put on lock down. Furthermore, it’s still missing it’s hyperdrive modulator. They decided that it’d be easier to find the needed part first. The crew made their way through the back alleys and slums of Mos Shuuta to a junk store.

Lyr’as wasn’t able to find the correct part, but he was able to find one he thought he could at least make work for the time being. LOM-8, with his silvered tongue, and the badge he found on Teemo’s men, convinced the shop owner to charge not only the part they needed to Teemo’s account, but also about 2,000 credits worth of other inventory that was to be loaded onto the ship before they left. Now all they had left to do was infiltrate the port authority and get their ship unlocked…

They had decided it best to split up. Je’Coch and LOM-8 were to go in under the guise of being some of Teemo’s men, and try to convince someone there that the Hutt wanted his ship unlocked so it can be taken out for a test ride. Since the Empire looked down on species other than humans, the other three were to try and blend in with the other “help” there, posing as more of Teemo’s men sent to find some people who had escaped their master’s grasp. If Lyr’as was able to get to a computer station, he’d be able to slice it and release the ship from there. If either of them were to be caught, their only other plan was to blast their way out. Strch chuckled and said, “I like the second plan better.”

“No. Nooooo. I’ve been beaten on enough already today, thank you,” said Je’Coch, his shoulder still sore from the fight in the bar.

Strch grunted. “Ah, come on. Between us all we’ve ‘nough grenades to blow this place to bits if…”

“Noooo. No.” With that the group spilt up.

LOM-8 put his odds calculator program in sleep mode as the numbers kept dipping lower and lower with each step toward the building’s entrance. It noted the two stormtroops at the door, as well as the other government employees milling around hastily. Before long they were noticed by a young Imperial Officer. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!”

Je’Coch began to speak, but was cut off by LOM-8, “Sir, My owner and I have been sent by Teemo to release the Duraflight L Model currently on lock down.” It presented its badge to the young officer. Je’Coch did the same.

The man briefly looked at them. “We don’t have an order placed for that. You’ll have to speak with the Lieutenant for clearance.”

“That won’t be necessary. We just simply need to have the ship released and we’ll…”

“Actually it is necessary for orders that haven’t been approved yet,” the man interjected. “Stay here.” With that he walked away, but not before giving them an untrusting glance from over his shoulder.

Blaja, Strch, and Lyr’as found it surprisingly easy to infiltrate the ship yard. In fact, they simply walked right in. All of the workers were busy organizing equipment, or otherwise straightening up, as if they were expecting an important guest. Amongst the hurried confusion, they quickly found a terminal that was a little out of the way, and the Duros began his work while Blaja and Strch kept an eye out for any trouble.

Lyr’as slotted his data probe into the machine and activated its codebreaker program. The device was modified by the mechanic himself, which was something he had prided himself on. Now he’ll actual get to put it to a real test. It detected two security nodes. He checked the stream of seemingly endless data on his probe. It would take a couple minutes to crack, but it should allot him enough time to search the registry for their ship and and unlock it. If not, security would be immediately alerted to the system breach, and then Strch’s favorite plan would go into effect.

“Hurry up!” Strch said in a hushed voice. Both bounty hunters noticed extra security coming out of the building and marching toward the landing pad. “Its getting mighty white out here.”

“I’m trying damnit!” Lyr’as kept looking from the terminal’s screen and back to his probe. The handheld device finally beeped. “I’m in!” He began to filter through the registry, frantically trying to find the right hold at the port. He began to sweat.

“Don’t try, just do!” Several officers began to come out and meet the security by the landing pad. They looked as professional as they possibly could.

Then Lyr’as found it. He issued the command to release the docking locks and checked the power levels. Everything looked good except for the part he needed to install. He slotted out. “Let’s hit it,” he said.

As the three began walking out, they noticed an Imperial Transport Shuttle coming in for a landing. It kicked up a cloud of dust as it touched down. A small regiment of Stormtroopers filed out the of vessel, their white armor bright in the Tatooine suns. Blaja’s eyes narrowed, his mouths clenched tight with anger. Strch was both taken back, and proud of his partner, who’s emotions the Rodian could never read. At that, the three hurried their escape.

LOM-8 began storing pictures of faces and the names on the corresponding badges of the people milling about, mostly out of boredom. Mostly. Je’Coch kept his eyes on the two guards at the door. He noticed that all the rest had gone out the back of the building for something. After a couple minutes wait, a woman with dark hair and a stern lips met them, along with the man from earlier. Her Imperial uniform was impeccable, beyond what an Imperial’s uniform usually is. “What’s the problem here? Make it quick.”

LOM-8 filed away a picture of her face as well as her name. “Yes. Our master wishes to have his ship cleared for…”

“What’s the status on their order, private?” the Lieutenant barked.

The man jumped slightly at her voice. “A request has not been submitted. Mam!” the intimidated man said. He glared at the two with the satisfaction.

“Check again,” said LOM-8.

The three humans looked blankly at LOM-8. It was the first time either of them had been issued an order by a droid. Just as the lieutenant was about the give LOM-8 a piece of her mind, it offered, “Excuse my rudeness. It is only that Teemo tends to get… upset when he doesn’t get his way. I only fear what he may do to us if he doesn’t get to see his new acquisition fly today. Mam.”

The lieutenant’s anger subsided. She turned to Je’Coch, “Your droid needs wiping. It’s forgetting its place.” She looked at her subordinate and said, “Check it again.” He looked dumbfounded that she would take their word over his. “Are you deaf, private?” He snapped out of it and began looking it up on the nearest terminal.

“I’m not seeing any,” he paused. “Oh, wait, there appears to have been a request,” he said as he looked up from the screen, “and, it appears to have already been granted. I, uh, I must have made a,”

“Do not worry, Organics make mistakes all the time.”

“But I…” he trailed off.

“Enough private. Go get ready. I’ll deal with you later.” The man swallowed, saluted her, and went on his way. “Your ship’s ready. Now get out,” the lieutenant said to the relieved pair. LOM-8 and Je’Coch turned around and walked out, not even offering a backward glance.

They eventually found each other outside amongst the crowded streets and informed each other of their actions. They began down the dust choked streets of Mos Shuuta toward the port. Lyr’as’s stomach growled as he passed a food cart. “Alright, the port’s only a few blocks from here. All we gotta do is lay low, take the alleys, and boot up the ship as soon as we get there,” he said. He wanted to get to the ship, and to a hot meal, as fast as possible, even if it were only Synthefood. “Yep, clear sa…”

A microphoned voice interrupted the Duros, “There they are!” There were five stormtroopers advancing forward from the opposite end of the alley way, their blaster rifles raised at the crew. A few people in the crowd bolted.

“Damnit!” Lyr’as yelled. Pulling his slug-thrower, he made a break for it. His companions followed suit. LOM-8 drew a frag grenade from his satchel and armed it. “Everybody look out. The stormtroopers threw a grenade,” yelled the droid, its voice modulator’s volume turned up as high as he could make it. It tossed the grenade near the mouth of the alley and strained to keep up with his companions. The entire crowd dispersed in a panic, and the grenade exploded in a plume of sand, rubble, and dust. LOM-8 knew none of the meatbags would be seriously injured, but the blast would sure slow those stormtroopers down.

They spilt up in the hopes of shaking the Boys in White. The stormtroopers spilt up as well, taking shots at their targets with no regard for the crowd. Blaja, Strch, and Lyr’as dodged heaps of trash, vendor carts, and people, weaving their way toward the port. Now with only three stormtroopers to face, they decided to make a stand. Once they were away from the streets, they took cover, returning fire with their pursuers. Blaja managed to knock one out with a stun blast. The other two landed some shots, but couldn’t manage a killing blow. The stormtroopers returned fire. Ly’ras took a blaster shot in the shoulder, a burn he had never felt before. He screamed, and took cover behind a rubbish heap.

The bounty hunters focused their fire on the trooper who had just injured their friend. Both shots found their target, the man’s death cry amplified by his helmet’s microphone. The last trooper fired a series of shots to cover his escape. The bounty hunters helped their friend to his feet and continued their frantic run, transmitting to Je’Coch that they’ll need medical assistance if the doctor and the droid beat them to the ship.

Je’Coch and LOM-8 had managed to loose the stormtroopers that were chasing them. The port’s doors slid open as the two hurried inside. Je’Coch leaned against the wall to catch his breath, while LOM-8 instructed the worker droids to get the ship ready for take off. Once he felt like his heart wasn’t going to explode, Je’Coch said, “I’m going to go prep the med bay for Lyr’as for when they get back.” He looked down for a moment. “If they make it back.” He began lowering the boarding ramp, and as it slowly creeped open, Je’Coch saw a reptilian humanoid standing at the top. “What the,”

The doctor was greeted by a stun blast to the leg, his thinly armored jumpsuit absorbing most of the charge. He clenched his leg and fell to the ground yelling. LOM-8 dove into action at his friend’s cry, taking cover behind a stack of crates. The droid returned fired with his blaster set on stun, so as to not cause any real damage to the ship. A shower of sparks burst from the hull near their intruder’s face, forcing him to take cover as well.

The trespasser was a Trandoshan. He wore a blue flight suit with a tactical vest that had seen the wrong end of a blaster one too many times. He leveled his heavy pistol at the droid and fired, his shots burning holes in the crate LOM-8 was forced to hide behind. Je’Coch scurried to his feet and ducked behind a heavy loader, his leg throbbing with pain. The three seemed to be at a stalemate until the port’s doors opened and the rest of the crew arrived. The bounty hunters bolted into action, peppering the Trandoshan’s cover with blaster fire and burning scorch marks into the ship’s hull. Lyr’as hobbled behind them. LOM-8 yelled, “Easy! We want to have a ship to leave in.”

The two ignored him and continued their assault, forcing their enemy to retreat back toward the cockpit. Lyr’as grunted, “Yeah, I’m fine LOM-8, nice to see you too.” Je’Coch roared and chased after his attacker, the rest of the crew following behind. Lyr’as diverted from the group and tried to climbed down into the engine bay. He fell halfway down the ladder after his burnt shoulder gave out. The Duros clenched his teeth in pain. He steadied himself and started to dig through his tools, tossing the ones he didn’t need over his shoulder. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered to himself as he searched. “Ah ha!” he yelled finding the last one. With that, he tore into the hyperdrive engine, and began trying to make the modulator fit. He spoke into the intercom, “This may take a few moments.”

Strch yelled down, “Hurry up,” as he took aim at the Trandoshan. His shot hit his target, but only seemed to burn a hole into the intruder’s armor. It was enough to knock the reptilian off guard though, leaving Je’Coch with an open shot. The doctor fired, hitting their hunter in the face. The Trandoshan fell to the ground, a thin wisp of smoke trailed up from his green scaled head. LOM-8 pushed forward, unfazed by the brutal death. He deftly mounted the cockpit, his mechanical hands working in steady clicks as his metal fingers met the instruments. Soon the thrusters were burning and the hangar doors were sliding open. LOM-8 pulled up on the controls and the ship began to gain altitude. It spoke into the intercom, “We will be taking a slight detour first before leaving the planet. Please man the turrets.” With that LOM-8 turned the ship toward Teemo’s palace. “Let’s show that fat slug what happens when you mess with us.”

LOM-8 pulled up beside the beautiful palace, its windows gleaming in the light. It was an opulent jewel in stark contrast to the dusty streets and slums of Mos Shuuta. They opened fire while LOM-8 gave each of them clear shots. Blaja only shot at structures or vehicles he knew would be unmanned. The explosions were wonderful to the droid’s visual sensors, and he almost missed the alarm he had set to remind him to take off. He punched the throttle and yelled “Whooo!” as the ship blasted off, the aftershock of which caused further damage to the palace. Lyr’as continued to work, shaving down bits of the part here and there, filing, wedging, and otherwise trying his hardest to make the damn thing fit. The rest stayed in the turrets, knowing that someone was sure to follow.

Tales from Teemo’s Folly 1

Image by Jason Gillman via
Image by Jason Gillman via



A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

During a time of civil war, a small band of rogues and scoundrels wandered the stars in a stolen ship, desperate to keep one step ahead of The Black Sun, a vast criminal organization that wanted its property back. The spacers decided to lay low for a while and docked at Mos Shuuta on Tatooine where they quickly found work with a local Hutt named Teemo..

While waiting on repairs to their Duraflight L Model, the crew is double crossed by Teemo and his thugs. After a quick escape, our heroes ducked into a local cantina in an attempt to hide from their pursuers…

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the small gloomy cantina. A lone Twi’lek serenaded a few patrons seeking refuge from the punishing Tatooine suns. They barely batted an eye when the disparate runaways burst through the door. LOM8 and Lyrás dove behind the bar past the objecting bartender. “Don’t worry sir, my droid will work for free so long as you let us lay low for a little while,” Lyrás said, flashing enough credits, and the slug-thrower on his hip, to make it worth the bartender’s while. Strch and Je’Coch slid into a booth amongst a few drunks, feigning conversation. Blaja ducked backstage, joining the Twillect in her song.

Only moments later did Teemo’s Gammorians come in, packing clubs and scanning the dark cantina. There were four in total, and after grunting and squealing amongst themselves, 2 walked toward the bar while the other 2 slowly walked around the small crowd. LOM8 polished a glass as the lead Gommorian snarled at him. “We’re looking for four people and a droid. Saw um run in here. Where are they?”
“I have not seen anyone else come in, aside from yourselves. May I make you a refreshing beverage sir?”, LOM8 said.

The Gamorrean snorted, eyeing the droid intently. The bartender nodded nervously, “Drink? On the house, for Teemo’s men of course.” The Gamorrean’s face split into a tusked smile. He clearly enjoyed the respect being in Teemo’s employ commanded. “Flameout. Strong.”

LOM8 paused for a moment, searching his data banks for a Flameout. It considered the odds of just shooting the Gamorrean in the face, but that option wasn’t out weighing their current ruse just yet. Frankly, it was baffled as to how the Gamorrean hadn’t recognized it. It and its other crew mates had literally just shot up a business meeting with some of these idiots not fifty-two minutes and 38 seconds ago. Meat bags. Dumb, useless, obsolete things.

The other two Gamorreans continued searching the bar, going from table to table harassing customer and employee alike. They began to approach the booth Strch and Je’Coch were hiding out in. “That looks like two of them,” Je’Coch overheard one of thugs say to the other. The doctor looked nervously at his bounty hunter companion, who had his blaster rifle trained on the brutes from under the table since they had entered. The Gamorreans stood over the table, brandishing their clubs. “You two, stand up!” one of them squealed.

“I don’t like much being told what to do. Especially by filthy swine,” Strch said, maintaining his relaxed position. Je’Coch sighed, his hand already going for his blaster pistol.

The Gamorreans hesitated for a moment in shock. Rarely were Teemo’s men talked to like this by anyone other than Teemo himself. They raised their clubs, but that slight hesitation was all the time Strch needed. The bounty hunter smiled.

LOM8 finished the drink with a garnish that even the actual bartender didn’t know how to make. The green swine eyed the droid and took a sip. “This is the best Flameout I’ve ever…” was all that left his mouth before blaster fire erupted behind him. Bar goers screamed and darted in every direction, taking cover where they could. Strch kicked the table in front of him on its side as the Gamorrean he had just shot in the gut fell over, but not before the thug’s companion brought his club down on Je’Coch’s shoulder with a meaty thud.

Lyr’as pulled his own piece as the screaming bartender ran into a closet and locked it behind him. With the odds now drastically recalculated, the droid drew his blaster on the Gamorrean in front of it as the ugly meatbag turned his back on LOM8. It squeezed the trigger. There was a flash of red light and the Gamorrean’s head jerked forward violently and as his body crashed to the floor, the droid felt something. The feeling was a familiar one, a mixture of fascination and satisfaction. Feelings were strange though, and often times they worried LOM8. They complicated his calculations, adding weird unknown variables to the equation. And they were somehow tied to the red streaks of paint he had been trying to burn off of his body. It decided to store its thoughts about this for another time though, as the other thug by the bar spun around toward LOM8.

Blaja jumped out from behind the stage and aimed his blaster carbine at the Gamorrean who had just bashed Je’Coch. The Ithorian prayed that one shot set on stun would be enough to take out his target, before Strch had a chance to kill him too. His Rodian partner was ruthless, and delighted in the rush of combat. At least one life would be saved, even if it were someone who was trying to kidnap them. Blaja waited a moment for the crowd to thin and fired. The shot hit the Gamorrean right between the shoulder blades. The fat beast squealed and shook, then crumpled to the ground like a demolished building. Blaja let out a sigh of relief, which was short lived as he saw Lyr’as and Je’Coch leveling their weapons at the last remaining thug.

The cries of the crowd were replaced with the deafening thunderclap of the Duros’s archaic firearm and the distinct sound of a blaster pistol. The last Gamorrean squealed as both shots tore through his body sending him flailing into the bar before falling still on the ground.

The cantina was filled with silence and the smell of gun powder and ozone. Many jumped as Je’Coch groaned, “Yep, that hurt.” Lyr’as hopped over the bar to help the doctor with his wounds. As the two of them patched Je’Coch up, the Duros said, “Weird, I’m used to patching up machines. What’s it feel like to be a doctor and a patient at the same time?”

“It hurts,” said Je’Coch.

Strch stood over the debilitated Gamorrean with his blaster rifle pointed at the back of its head. Blaja pushed it aside, “We need one of them alive.” The Ithorian put the enforcer in restraints. Strch shook his head and frowned. “Whatever.”

No one noticed as LOM8 deftly opened the register and relieved it of all its credits. It strode around the bar and began searching the pockets of the dead. He took the credits that he had found tucked away in the grimy folds of the Gamorreans’s clothes, as well as what looked to be a few of some kind of security badges, 4 in total. “I may have found something useful,” he said, holding them up. “Pick up the meat, er Gamorrean. We need to find out where our ship has been taken.” The bounty hunters paused for a moment and stared at the droid. “Er, please.”

“That thing freaks me out,” Blaja said as he grabbed the Gamorrean’s feet. “Do you really think droids can, you know, be like us?” Strch grabbed the arms and the two hoisted the fat green thing and began towards the door.

“Why are we always carrying fat people around?” Strch asked, as if he hadn’t even heard his partner’s question.

Blaja sighed, a strange sound coming from a two mouthed, 4 throated creature. “Because that’s the only ones it seems we’re able to catch, my friend,” said Blaja as they strained under the Gamorrean’s dead weight.

On their way out, LOM8 noticed the bartender start to peak his head out the door. The droid fired a few lazy shots in that direction and shouted, “Oh no, there are more of them!” The frazzled man shrieked and slammed the closet door shut again. The droid laughed, and then suddenly stopped mid-chuckle, as if It were surprised, or shocked, by the sound. It stood still for a moment, as if lost in thought, until it disappeared into the Tatooine heat behind its companions.