Fire Moon

The Wayfinder bucked like a wild beast caught in a storm. Volcanic thermals clawed at its hull, rattling every panel and groaning against the inertial dampeners. Brains gritted his teeth at the pilot’s seat, hands flying across the controls.

"Stabilizers are protesting," he muttered. "But they haven’t quit yet. Unlike most of my exes."

Cap’in braced herself against the console, her fingers white with strain.

"Every rock we land on wants to kill us. Lava, ice, cannibals, cursed AI. You’d think one damn planet in this galaxy could just not be homicidal."

Beside her, 5E tilted his head, his optics flickering as they filtered incoming data. His voice buzzed with dry precision.

"According to my trajectory assessments and environmental hazard metrics... we should have turned back five parsecs ago. There’s a 71% chance the landing pad below is partially molten."

Brains shouted over his shoulder, "Oh come on! Tier-Five Imperial research station? That’s top-shelf stuff! Bleeding-edge tech, black-budget toys, and probably a few sealed doors labelled Do Not Open: Contains Cosmic Abomination. This is worth the lava."

The ship lurched once more, then settled with a hiss and a groan onto a rusted landing platform that steamed against the heat. Outside the viewports, ash fell like grey snow, swirling in choking clouds.

In the cargo hold, the newly-hired Quarren grunts strapped down gear and muttered nervously in their native clicks and gurgles. One of them stared out the porthole, watching a bubbling river of lava twist just beyond the landing pad.

"Why’s the ground... moving like that?" he asked, pointing a trembling finger.

Spike didn’t even glance up as he checked the charge on his blaster rifle.

"Because it's a haunted lava moon, genius. Probably full of ex-Imperial droids and sentient gas clouds that scream your mother’s name as they melt your brain. Can’t wait."

The deck clanged as Cap’in, Brains, and 5E descended into the hold. The crew straightened instinctively. Cap’in checked her blaster, then scanned the squad with a sharp gaze.

"Don’t shoot anything unless it bleeds, flashes red, or speaks in a threatening monotone. We’re not here to play heroes - we’re here to make credits and leave with all our limbs intact."

5E gave a slow, respectful nod. "An admirable and statistically sound objective."

Brains chuckled, tightening the strap on his datapack. "Yeah, and if we find a few forgotten war crimes in a stasis vault, I call dibs on the decrypt codes."

Cap’in paused by the cargo ramp. The warning lights flicked from red to green, and the locking bolts thudded open. Heat poured in like a wave, carrying the scent of sulfur and scorched metal.

She drew her blaster, her expression sharp, eyes glittering in the dim emergency lighting.
"Alright crew... let’s go see what the Empire was so scared of they protected it with lava."

The ramp descended.

Ash curled inward like smoke fingers.

The Wayfinder crew stepped into the blaze of Mirok-7B - toward secrets better left buried... and loot too valuable to ignore.

Background

This scenario is inspired by the Stargrave mission of the same name.

To bring the scenario into alignment with the Fistful of Lead: Galactic Heroes ruleset, we adapted elements from Stargrave to better fit the fast-paced, cinematic action of Galactic Heroes.

One of the key environmental mechanics we adapted from Stargrave to Fistful of Lead involved the introduction of Magmites - those volatile, lava-born critters with a tendency to ruin your day.

Original Stargrave Rule:

“Whenever a player makes an Initiative Roll and the result is evenly divisible by three (i.e. 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18), they must place one of their magmites on the table if they have one remaining.”

Our Adaptation:

To fit the Fistful of Lead: Galactic Heroes framework, we translated that trigger to a more card-based mechanic. Now, in our version, a Magmite is placed on the table whenever a player plays a 3, 6, or 9 card.

This tweak preserves the unpredictability and pressure of the original rule, while staying true to FFOL’s fast-paced, cinematic flow. And let’s be honest, there’s nothing like drawing a mid-card and suddenly realizing you're also unleashing a walking landmine with legs.

Again, to fit the Fistful of Lead: Galactic Heroes framework, we adapted the 'Thick Atmosphere' environmental restriction.

The moon’s air is heavy with ash and toxic particulate, making exertion dangerous and exhausting.

Our Adaptation:

Whenever a figure attempts a second Move action in the same turn, they must roll on their trait die (D8 for Grunts, D12 for Veterans, etc.) and score 8+ to succeed.

• Failure: The figure does not move and the action is wasted.
• Success: The move proceeds as normal.

Modifiers:

Figures equipped with a Filter Mask or who do not breathe (e.g., droids, sealed suits, etc.) ignore this rule and may make multiple moves freely.

Additionally, on a natural 1, the figure coughs, stumbles, or loses visibility and becomes shaken.

Standing in the lava river is a very bad idea. Even the edges are dangerously hot and unstable. Again a Stargrave rule needed adapting.

Our Adaptation:

• If a figure begins their activation while in the lava river, they immediately suffer a Short-Range automatic hit (no roll to hit, roll for damage as normal). 
• Then, the figure must roll their Trait die (D8, D10, D12, etc.).
• On a 7+, they shake it off and act normally.
• On a fail, they are limited to only 1 action this turn.
• On a natural 1, the figure screams, flails, or stumbles and immediately gains a Shaken token in addition to the effect above.

Opposing the crew of the Wayfinder is a formidable unit of Mandalorians led by none other than Bo-Katan Kryze herself. A seasoned warrior and tactician, Bo-Katan brings both authority and fury to the battlefield, her presence alone is enough to unnerve even the most hardened mercenaries.

At her side is a heavy weapons specialist, armed with a high-powered rotary blaster capable of turning cover into rubble and enemies into smoke. Supporting them are three disciplined Mandalorian regulars, each clad in the iconic beskar armor that shrugs off small arms fire and gives them their legendary resilience.

Each member of the squad wears a jetpack, allowing for rapid repositioning and deadly aerial assaults. They are armed with a mix of blaster pistols, carbines, and razor-edged vibroblades, making them dangerous at any range. Their helmets conceal not just their identities, but an array of sensors and targeting systems that make them unnervingly efficient in combat.

This is not a ragtag warband or a gang of glory-hunters. This is a military strike team. Focused. Ruthless. Mandalorian.

The Wayfinder crew has faced pirates, droids, and mutated wildlife - but this is different. These aren't scavengers. They're warriors. And they're here for the same tech… or to make sure no one else leaves with it.

Turn 1

The crew of the Wayfinder fanned out across the scorched approach. Rivers of molten lava carved glowing veins through the cracked black earth, their heat distorting the air. Jagged crystal formations shimmered unnaturally between the volcanic rock, and half-buried lab structures - twisted by time and tectonic violence - loomed like broken bones.

Eyes scanned every ridge and ruin, searching for anything salvageable - imperial tech, secured crates, maybe even an intact data core.

Spike’s head snapped up, a flicker of motion in the sky catching his eye. He pointed.
“Uh... flying people.”

Every gaze shifted upward just in time to see dark shapes descending through the heat haze - armoured figures riding on the whine of jetpacks, cutting elegant arcs through the sulphur-thick air.

Two of them touched down on a ruined observation tower. One stepped forward, crimson-and-blue armor catching the dying light.

“I am Bo-Katan Kryze, of House Kryze,” she called, voice amplified through her helmet, calm and commanding. “Regent of Mandalore. I claim this outpost and all its contents. Leave now… or be removed.”

A long pause followed.

Cap’in exhaled through her nose, a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl.
“Of course it couldn’t just be scavengers.”

Brains adjusted his scope and muttered, “Mandalorians are tough. Disciplined. Heavily armed. But hey… so are we.”

Spike gave a crooked grin. “At least we’ll finally earn our hazard pay.”

The Quarren grunts murmured and nodded, adrenaline starting to replace anxiety.

Cap’in’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Alright. 5E, Choppa - with me. We’re going for the big prize. Brains, hang back. Cover our approach and keep the flank tight. Spike -  take the Quarren and sweep that rock cluster. Anything that looks valuable, tag it or bag it.”

Silent nods passed between the crew as they dispersed into the blackened landscape.

But even before the first blaster was raised, something shifted.

The lava hissed and popped violently, unnatural bubbles rising and bursting in rhythmic pulses. Then came the movement - subtle at first, like stones sliding underwater.

Lumps emerged from the molten rivers. Glossy, ember-colored shells cracked open as legs unfolded. Pincers twitched, antennae flicked. The Magmites had awakened, drawn by the vibrations of jetpacks and boots alike.

Between the Mandalorians and the Wayfinder crew, a third threat was now rising from the lava - ancient, territorial, and extremely flammable.

Cap’in muttered under her breath, “Next time we take a salvage job on a beach planet.”

Turn 2

Cap’in narrowed her eyes at the glowing river of lava ahead. Just beyond it, half-buried in scorched rubble, sat a reinforced cache - the main loot, gleaming with promise.

She turned to 5E.
“You think you can handle the heat long enough to grab that thing?”

The droid paused, sensors whirring.
“Thermal exposure remains within acceptable parameters,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

Cap’in gave a sharp nod. “Then move.”

5E advanced steadily toward the lava, his servos compensating for the shifting, superheated ground. Just as he raised one foot to step into the molten flow, a crack of blaster fire echoed across the battlefield.

The bolt hit him square in the head.

Sparks exploded in every direction as 5E collapsed mid-step, systems failing in a stuttering hiss of static and smoke.

From her perch on the rooftop, Bo-Katan Kryze lowered her blaster, a satisfied smile curling under her helmet. But the moment was fleeting. Her visor flicked red - an unfamiliar heat signature climbing fast. She pivoted and caught sight of the creature just as it emerged.

A Magmite, its carapace shimmering with heat, hissed as it launched itself from the lava. Bo-Katan snapped her rifle up and fired - direct hit but the blast deflected harmlessly off the creature’s thick armoured hide.

With terrifying speed, the Magmite clambered up the ruined wall and lunged.

The two figures collided atop the roof in a vicious melee. Bo-Katan fought with precision and grit, her vibroblade striking sparks against hardened shell. But it wasn’t enough.

With a shriek, the Magmite’s claws found their mark. Bo-Katan dropped with a thud, motionless. The Mandalorians had lost their commander.

Seeing an opportunity, Choppa raised his rifle, sighted the Mandalorian heavy gunner still posted on the opposite rooftop, and fired. The bolt lanced through the heat haze and struck true.

The Mandalorian dropped hard, armor clanging against metal as he disappeared from sight.

Below, Cap’in gritted her teeth.

"Magmites, Mandalorians, and molten death. Just another day in the Outer Rim."

Across the field, another lava stream erupted with movement. A second Magmite dragged itself onto the battlefield, this one targeting Jorak Patrex, who was crouched beside a flickering data terminal. He barely had time to draw his weapon before the creature descended on him.

Seconds later, another Mandalorian fell.

Turn 3

With 5E taken down in a spray of sparks the previous turn, Cap’in knew she had no choice - if the crew was going to claim the main prize, she'd have to risk the lava herself.

She adjusted the seals on her thermal boots, muttering under her breath, “This better work…” Then, gripping her blaster tightly, she made her move — stepping toward the molten river.

The heat was immediate and overwhelming, radiating through her gear like an invisible fist. She hesitated, just for a second — but in a battlefield like this, a second could be everything. She stumbled, off-balance, vision swimming from the intensity, but caught herself before collapsing completely.

Across the field, atop a jagged outcrop, Jora Patara (one of the last Mandalorians still standing) was attempting to access a glowing data terminal embedded in fractured stone. But the Magmite that had just ripped through Jorak Patrex wasn’t finished. It scuttled up the rocks, hissing with molten fury.

Jora spun, meeting the creature mid-charge. With a sharp cry, she slashed her vibroblade in a perfect arc. The weapon cut deep into the Magmite’s damaged carapace, and the creature let out a screech as it tumbled backwards off the ledge, vanishing into the scorched shadows below.

On the ruined rooftop nearby, the wounded Mandalorian heavy gunner was still reeling from Choppa’s earlier shot. His armour was scorched, movement sluggish - but he was alive.

That same rooftop Magmite, still emboldened from its brutal takedown of Bo-Katan, lunged at him. But this time, the Mandalorian was ready.

With a shout, he drove a combat knife into one of the creature’s softer joints, wrenching it back with enough force to stagger the beast. The Magmite hissed and withdrew, wounded - but not out.

The tide of the battle hadn’t turned yet, but the field was thinning fast. Lava. Mandalorians. Magmites. It wasn’t just about loot anymore. It was about survival.

Turn 4

Cap’in was starting to regret her bold decision.

The heat from the lava was beyond anything she’d experienced - it clawed through her gear, suffocating and relentless. Each step felt heavier than the last, her vision swimming, her breathing ragged.

She staggered forward, reaching out toward the shimmering loot container nestled in the scorched debris… then everything tilted. Her knees gave way, her strength failed, and with a gasp she collapsed - right on top of the prize she’d fought so hard to reach. Unconscious, overwhelmed, and burning up.

Meanwhile, back atop the jagged ridge, the wounded Magmite that Jora Patara had thrown from the ledge moments earlier was far from finished. With a rasping shriek, it dragged itself back up the rock, lava crust cracking from its scorched shell.

Jora turned too late.

The creature lunged, its pincers flashing in the ash-choked light and this time, her vibroblade wasn’t fast enough. The Mandalorian warrior cried out as the Magmite’s claws struck true, and she crumpled beside the flickering data terminal.

High above the chaos, the heavy weapon gunner on the rooftop stirred. He pulled himself to his feet, armor battered, helmet scorched. Slowly, he surveyed the battlefield.

Bo-Katan. Patrex. Patara. Gone.

With grim determination, he dusted himself off. The full scale of the battle lay before him - the lava rivers, the twitching Magmites, the fallen comrades, and the last dregs of the Wayfinder crew still scrambling in the ash.

He was alone. But he wasn’t finished.

"If I fall," he muttered to himself, "I’ll take them with me."

Unseen amidst the chaos, a quiet figure slipped away.

Korrin Vaset, rifle slung across her back, had used the distraction to her advantage. With a firm grip on a recovered physical loot crate, she engaged her jetpack and soared out of the combat zone, the prize secured and victory clenched in silence.

While the main battlefield burned with fury and vengeance, Korrin’s quiet extraction reminded everyone: survival and loot often belonged to those who knew when to slip away.

Turn 5

Cap’in stirred, her senses returning in a haze of blistering heat and acrid smoke. Every part of her ached, and her vision blurred with sweat and exhaustion. But the glint of the main loot container beside her jolted her back to purpose.

With a grunt of sheer will, she reached out, fingers trembling, and dragged the scorched casing out of the lava’s edge. The heat burned through her gloves, but she didn’t let go - not until it was clear of the molten flow.

She slumped forward immediately after, collapsing beside the prize, breath ragged and limbs spent.

From across the battlefield, two Quarren grunts saw her go down and saw something else closing in fast.

A Magmite, hissing and steaming, surged from the lava, its claws clicking with lethal intent as it homed in on the weakened Cap’in.

Without hesitation, the Quarren vaulted over a narrow lava stream, landing hard on the brittle ground near their fallen leader. With practiced movements, they raised their blasters and opened fire, laying down a barrage meant to slow the creature’s advance.

They'd seen what the Magmites had done to the Mandalorians - tearing through their armour like it was paper. But this time, they'd hold the line.

Not for glory. Not for the loot.

For her.

Turn 6

Choppa (the grizzled Weequay) sprinted across the scorched terrain, the acrid air stinging his eyes. He skidded to a stop beside Cap’in, her motionless form slumped next to the scorched loot container she had fought so hard to recover.

He dropped to one knee, checking her pulse with a grim scowl.

“She’s still breathing,” he muttered. “Stubborn as ever…”

High above, the Mandalorian heavy weapon gunner took aim from his rooftop perch. He locked onto the Quarren grunts who had just laid down covering fire.

A flick of his thumb.
Click.
The heavy blaster hissed, then fired.

A split second later, the blast struck home. Both Quarren were thrown backwards in a spray of fire and ash, their bodies crumpling.

But their sacrifice had not been in vain.

With its path to Cap’in blocked by the downed Quarren, the Magmite shifted targets. Its molten gaze turned skyward - toward the Mandalorian still standing atop the building. With a shriek, it leapt, lava trailing from its claws as it slammed into the rooftop just shy of its target.

The Mandalorian stumbled back, surprised by the creature’s speed and now face-to-face with a foe that had taken down some of his clan’s best.

Turn 7

Choppa bent low beside Cap’in’s unconscious form, his leathery hands reaching out to secure the main loot she’d nearly died retrieving. With a grunt, he hoisted the scorched container onto his back, locking it in place with a practiced motion.

As he stood, Brains and Spike appeared from the drifting ash, weapons raised and eyes scanning the battlefield. They flanked Choppa without a word, forming a protective triangle.

Only one Mandalorian remained, but that was more than enough to be a threat.

Perched on the edge of the rooftop, the Heavy Weapon Gunner took stock of the situation: teammates fallen, loot lost, Magmite now clawing its way across the stone toward him.

With no time to spare, he triggered his jetpack, igniting a plume of blue flame that scorched the rooftop as he launched skyward. He banked hard, angling away from the Magmite, its claws snapping just inches below his boots.

The Mandalorian didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

Everyone still standing knew - a wounded Mandalorian with a grudge and a blaster was still very, very dangerous.

Turn 8

Sensing a brief lull in the chaos, Choppa seized the moment. Slinging the main loot tightly to his back, he took off at a sprint across the scorched terrain, Spike close at his side, blaster ready. Behind them, Brains knelt low behind a shattered crate, laying down precise bursts of covering fire to keep the retreat safe.

High above, the Mandalorian heavy weapon gunner watched from his rooftop perch. His HUD flickered - locking onto Brains’ exposed position.

He pressed a control stud. The barrels of his multi-barrel heavy blaster spun to life with a mechanical snarl…
And then it roared.

The air lit up with crimson bolts. Brains barely had time to turn before the shot struck - sending the Twi’lek sprawling to the ground in a heap of smoke and sparks, wounded but not out.

Turn 9

The nearby Magmite, its body still steaming from previous wounds, twitched at the sudden noise. Its many legs hissed as it began creeping toward the downed Twi’lek, sensing weakness — and the heat of prey.

But the Magmite had crossed into the gunner’s kill zone.

The Mandalorian didn’t hesitate. He swept his cannon around, and two short bursts cut through the haze. Brains jerked once, then lay still - out of the fight - while the Magmite screeched, one leg blown apart in the crossfire.

Turn 10

Wounded, the lava beast surged forward in stubborn defiance - but it was too late.

The Mandalorian tracked it, fired again and the final burst sent the Magmite collapsing in a heap of molten shell and twitching limbs.

Meanwhile, Choppa and Spike reached the extraction point, breath ragged but victorious. The main loot was secured aboard the Wayfinder.

From his elevated position, the last Mandalorian scanned the battlefield - nothing left but smoke, bodies, and fading heat signatures. The rest of his squad was gone, their mission failed.

He keyed his comms.
“This one’s done,” he said, voice cold. “They win… this time.”

And with that, the Mandalorian player (me) conceded the game - the battlefield now firmly in the hands of the Wayfinder crew.

Final Outcome

With the remaining loot lost to bubbling lava flows and prowling Magmites, there was nothing left to do but tally up the damage and the rewards.

The Wayfinder crew fared well, all things considered. They earned 3 Renown Points from their Legendary team trait, a solid 6 points for securing the main loot, and a bonus 1 point for a physical loot crate successfully hauled back by one of the Quarren grunts.
Final score: 10 Renown Points. Not bad for a mission that nearly turned into a funeral pyre.

The Mandalorians, however, limped away with a single Renown Point - their once-fearsome reputation singed by lava, torn by Magmites, and buried under the ruins of a forgotten research station. Even their jetpacks couldn’t save them from the sting of tactical embarrassment.

Now sitting on a bank of 16 Renown Points, the Wayfinder crew made some strategic decisions. More Quarren grunts were recruited - rapidly becoming the campaign's unofficial “red shirts”, brave and often expendable. Meanwhile, Brains was awarded a new trait: Deadeye, a nod to the sniper shot that dropped Gorga Kalro and helped turn the tide.

With upgrades purchased, the crew was left with 3 Renown Points in reserve.

But not everything was good news.

The post-game injury reports were grim:

• Cap’in, having dragged the main loot out of lava before collapsing, now requires time in a bacta tank. She’ll miss the next mission, and even when she returns, she’ll start the game wounded.

• Brains suffered significant trauma and will also miss the next game.

• On a brighter note, 5E, ever the reliable droid, has already undergone repairs and will be fully operational in time for the next mission.

As the crew regrouped aboard the Wayfinder, patching armor, reloading blasters, and tending to wounds, one thing was clear:

This galaxy wasn’t getting any friendlier…
But the Wayfinder crew was getting tougher.

And the next job was already calling.