Skymine

Following the chaos and heartbreak of recent events, Cap’in chose a job with minimal gunfire - a simple salvage charter. No rivals, no battle droids, no heroics… just grab abandoned mining tech and cash the cheque.

At least, that was the hope.

The Wayfinder punched through the thick, roiling cloud layer, its hull rattling as turbulence buffeted the ship. Then, through the mist, the Skymine emerged - an ancient floating complex suspended above a storm-wracked gas giant. Once, it must have been magnificent: gleaming hull plating, proud spires, a hub of commerce and sky-harvesting.

Now it sagged like a wounded beast, listing to one side, its superstructure torn open in places. Rust streaked the metal, and entire sections seemed on the verge of collapse.

Choppa jabbed a thick finger toward the viewport.
“Uh… Cap’in? That normal?”

A chunk of plating sheared off the underside of the station, drifting slowly into the swirling abyss below.

Jugro’s antennae twitched.
“Correction - this place is held together by hope and old duct tape. Mostly hope.”

Cap’in exhaled sharply.
“Good. Means fewer scavengers. Let’s earn some credits and not fall to our deaths, yeah?”

According to the charter, only the top few levels of the Skymine were still pressurized and functional. Everything below had been abandoned decades ago - air-mining rigs, processing bays, and sealed sublevels buried in darkness. Rumour said there was valuable prototype gear somewhere down there.

Rumour also said the lower levels were unstable, haunted, or full of malfunctioning security systems.

But mining tech fetched a premium price.

The Wayfinder touched down on a deserted landing pad with a hiss of hydraulics. Wind screamed across the platform, carrying dust and metallic grit.

Cap’in consulted the flickering station schematics on her datapad and pointed.

“Alright. Stairwell B leads down into the main processing ring. Stay tight, stay smart, and no one poke anything that looks like it bites.”

Choppa snorted.
“Hey, I only poke things after they try biting me.”

Jugro, already checking his pistols, muttered,
“With your luck, the stairs will bite you first.”

Momaw Nadon, lingering near the back, peered into the yawning doorway with his large, solemn eyes.
“The air smells wrong. Old. Stagnant. A place forgotten by its creators… and possibly by mercy.”

Choppa grinned.
“Well, that’s comforting.”

Cap’in swept her saber hilt to her belt, tightened her gloves, and started forward.
“Quiet or not, we’ve got work to do. Down the stairs we go.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, weapons low but ready.

And then they descended into the half-lit guts of the fallen Skymine.

---

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.

Skymine Hazard Rules (Campaign Note)

Unlike most engagements, the Skymine scenario introduced a very real environmental threat: falling off the table.

Any time a figure:

• moves into contact with a table edge or hole, or

• is pushed back while already adjacent to one,

they must immediately make a Medium Task Roll (5+).

• Failure: The figure tumbles off the table into the clouds below.

• Success: The figure stops at the edge and does not fall.

• Figures that can fly automatically pass and never fall.

Thanks to the Skymine’s dense atmosphere, any figure that falls does so very slowly. These figures are:

• Out of the game

• Do not roll for Post-Game Survival

• Return next game with no adverse effects

---

Turn 1

The Wayfinder crew pushed deeper into the Skymine until the stairwell opened out onto what had to be the lowest intact level. Two narrow flights of stairs descended from opposite sides of the platform, vanishing into shadow below.

Cap’in paused at the junction, studying the schematics one last time. Then she looked up at her crew.

“Alright. We split.”

She jabbed a finger toward the left-hand stairwell.
“Choppa. Jugro. Winnwakka - you’re with me.”

Choppa rolled his shoulders, halberd resting easily across his back.
“Left it is. Feels… appropriately dangerous.”

Jugro swallowed, glanced down the stairs, then checked both pistols.
“Statistically speaking, both stairwells are dangerous.”

Winnwakka answered with a low, confident growl and stepped in behind Cap’in.

Cap’in turned to the others and nodded toward the right-hand stairwell.
“Everyone else, take that side. We meet at the bottom. If anything goes wrong, shout loud and shoot louder.”

Momaw Nadon inclined his head.
“The air currents converge below. We will hear you… one way or another.”

A moment later, the crew split, boots echoing down separate stairwells.

They emerged almost simultaneously onto the same level.

This deck was a graveyard of old mining infrastructure - rusted conveyor rigs, silent extraction arms, stacked storage crates, and heavy machinery locked in place decades ago. Worse, the entire level was open to the elements. The outer walls were gone in places, replaced by fractured guard rails and torn plating.

A constant breeze swept across the deck, carrying the smell of ozone and cold metal. Through ragged holes in the floor, clouds churned far below, an endless, hungry drop.

Jugro edged around one gap and shuddered.
“Yeah… I don’t like this floor. Floors shouldn’t move.”

Cap’in tapped her comm unit.
“Alright, listen up. This is still a simple salvage run. Explore, mark anything valuable, and haul it back to the ship. No heroics.”

Choppa snorted.
“No promises.”

A chorus of half-focused acknowledgements crackled back over the comms - until one voice cut through, sharp and controlled.

“Quiet.”

The voice belonged to Mon Kir, the crew’s newest hire - a homeless Mandalorian brought on for muscle and firepower. He stood motionless near a stack of containers, helmet tilted slightly as unseen sensors fed him data.

“We’re not alone,” Mon Kir continued.
“I’m reading multiple signatures. Small. Fast. Moving between cover.”

Jugro froze.
“Small and fast like… how small?”

Mon Kir didn’t turn.
“Small enough to be hard to hit.”

Cap’in drew her blaster, thumb brushing the saber at her belt.
“Alright. Everyone - keep frosty. Eyes up, backs covered, and watch your footing.”

Winnwakka growled softly, knuckles tightening on his weapon.

Somewhere in the shadows, metal scraped against metal.

And then - something moved.

Turn 2

The Wayfinder crew advanced cautiously across the broken deck, weapons raised, eyes tracking every shadow and scrap of cover.

Then the shadows moved.

Short figures in scavenged cloaks slipped out from behind crates and machinery, glowing eyes flickering beneath their hoods.

Jawas.

Jugro let out a long, wounded groan.
“Jawas. Great. Just great. Why can’t they stay on Tatooine where they belong?”

Cap’in muttered, “Galaxy’s a big place, Jugro. Unfortunately, so are Jawas.”

Choppa lowered his halberd slightly, unimpressed.
“Don’t let the height fool you. They fight dirty.”

A chorus of sharp, excited Utinni! rang out and blaster fire erupted.

Bolts streaked back and forth across the deck, splashing sparks off bulkheads and machinery. The Jawas fired wildly from cover; the Wayfinder crew returned disciplined shots. But the Skymine itself seemed determined to protect its secrets—every shot went wide, scorched plating, or vanished into the clouds below.

“Nothing?” Jugro snapped, ducking behind a crate.
“I know I aimed that one.”

“Wind shear,” Cap’in replied. “And bad luck. Keep moving.”

As the exchange continued, Winnwakka’s sharp eyes caught something gleaming atop a half-collapsed conveyor rig.

He growled and started forward, boots thudding heavily on the deck.

“Careful!” Cap’in warned. “That floor—”

Too late.

A Jawa suddenly vaulted up from behind the machinery, landing directly in Winnwakka’s path.

With a snap-hiss, a green lightsaber ignited, bathing the deck in emerald light.

Everyone froze.

Jugro stared.
“…Why does the Jawa have a lightsaber?”

The Jawa screeched triumphantly and lunged.

Winnwakka roared in reply, raising his arms to block as the glowing blade slashed toward him. Sparks flew as metal and strength turned aside the blow, but the Jawa pressed the attack with surprising speed and ferocity.

Driven back step by step, Winnwakka’s heel slipped on fractured plating - 

A yawning hole in the deck opened behind him, clouds churning far below.

“Winnwakka!” Choppa shouted.

With a thunderous growl, the Wookie dug in, muscles straining as he fought for balance. The deck creaked, fragments skittering into the void - but Winnwakka held.

He planted his feet, bellowed defiance, and shoved the Jawa back, the green blade flickering wildly as the creature retreated a step.

Cap’in raised her blaster, eyes narrowed.
“Alright. That changes things.”

Jawas with blasters were bad enough.

Jawas with lightsabers?

That was a whole new problem.

Turn 3

Emboldened by his narrow escape, the Jawa with the lightsaber let out a shrill bark and spun just in time to spot Cap’in creeping along the edge of the machinery.

“Boss—!” Jugro started to shout.

Too late.

With a burst of speed that belied his size, the Jawa scurried forward and leapt, green blade flashing. Cap’in barely had time to register the movement.

Her hand went for her belt.

Not fast enough.

The lightsaber slashed across her side in a blaze of emerald light. Cap’in gasped, staggered back, and hit the deck hard - her blaster skidding away as she went still.

“Cap’in’s down!” Jugro yelled, panic bleeding into his voice.

For a heartbeat, everything froze.

Then Winnwakka roared.

The sound thundered across the Skymine, raw fury echoing off rusted walls. The Wookie charged, massive frame crashing through loose debris.

“RRRAAAWWRRHH!”

The Jawa barely had time to turn before Winnwakka’s fist slammed into him. The blow sent the scavenger tumbling end over end, the lightsaber clattering across the deck as the Jawa hit the ground in a heap - wounded and squealing.

Winnwakka planted himself over Cap’in’s fallen form, snarling at anything that dared move closer.

Across the central span of the level, the firefight continued to unravel into chaos.

Blaster bolts fizzled weakly or failed entirely.

“Power’s low!” Jugro cursed, slapping the side of one pistol. “Tell me this isn’t happening again!”

“It is happening,” Momaw Nadon replied grimly, firing a careful shot that barely sparked against a crate. “Conserve your energy.”

A Jawa darted toward a flickering console, datapad already out.

“Utinni!” it screeched, starting to tap at the interface.

Another Jawa scrambled into position beside him, blaster raised to provide cover.

Choppa spotted the movement.

“I got the guard.”

He steadied his halberd-blaster, exhaled once, and fired. The bolt punched clean through the covering Jawa, dropping him in a smoking heap.

Choppa allowed himself a brief, satisfied grunt.

“Target down.”

The satisfaction lasted less than a second.

A sharp yelp echoed from the shadows, as another Jawa had lined up a shot.

The blaster bolt struck Choppa square in the chest.

He staggered, tried to stay upright, then collapsed behind a crate.

“Choppa’s hit!” Jugro shouted. “He’s down!”

Smoke hung in the air. Powerpacks whined. Jawas scattered and screamed.

Bodies - both tall and short - now littered the deck.

The salvage run was spiraling fast, and the Skymine was claiming its toll.

Turn 4

That was when the wind hit.

A low howl rolled across the Skymine level, rising in pitch until it became a roaring gale. Loose debris skittered across the deck, crates scraping and spinning as the sudden gust tore through the open structure.

“Hold on!” Jugro shouted, digging his claws into a rusted railing. “I really hate this place!”

Winnwakka dropped to one knee, one massive arm wrapped around a support strut, fur whipping wildly as he growled into the wind.

The Jawas shrieked, some flattening themselves against the deck, others vanishing into shadows as the gust threatened to tear everyone free.

For a few heart-stopping seconds, it felt like the entire level might peel away.

Then, just as suddenly, the wind eased, dwindling to a mournful whistle through broken panels.

Silence followed.

Jugro lifted his head, panting. “Everyone still...?”

He stopped.

“Momaw?” Jugro called, dread creeping into his voice. “Momaw, you there?”

No answer.

Only clouds drifting past the jagged holes in the floor.

Mon Kir’s helmet turned slowly, scanning the empty space where the Ithorian had been moments before. His voice came over the comm, cold and controlled.

“He’s gone over the edge,” Mon Kir said flatly. Then, without missing a beat:
“Ignore him. The clouds will break his fall - we’ll pick him up later.”

Jugro stared at him. “You’re just - assuming that?”

Mon Kir didn’t look away from the shadows. “I’m assuming we survive first. Focus.”

Nearby, the wounded Jawa Winnwakka had knocked down earlier began to stir, clawing weakly at the deck and reaching for its fallen lightsaber.

Winnwakka noticed.

A deep, rumbling growl rolled out of his chest.

“No.”

He strode forward and brought his fist down in a crushing blow. The Jawa went limp instantly, the glow of the saber guttering out for good.

Winnwakka stood over the body, breathing hard, then turned back toward Cap’in’s fallen form with a low, protective rumble.

Across the level, another Jawa let out an excited “Utinni!” as his datapad chimed.

“He’s got the data!” Jugro shouted. “Little creep’s downloading it!”

The Jawa slapped the datapad shut and sprinted for cover, disappearing between crates and machinery.

Mon Kir saw an opening.

“There,” he said sharply. “Centre deck.”

He advanced at a jog, boots clanging on metal, and skidded into cover near a scorched blast door. His visor flicked over a half-buried container gleaming faintly under emergency lights.

“Main prize spotted,” he confirmed. “I’m moving to secure.”

Behind him, the hired Quarren grunts fared less well.

One let out a wet choking sound and collapsed as a blaster bolt caught him mid-step.

“Grrrllkk—!” the Quarren went down hard, unmoving.

Another ducked behind a crate, slapped his blaster in frustration, and hissed,
“Power’s gone! Weapon’s dead!”

Jugro cursed under his breath. “This keeps getting better.”

Between the rising clouds, fallen crewmates, and scavengers slipping away with stolen data, the Skymine was fast becoming a death trap—and the fight was far from over.

Turn 5

With the main loot finally in sight, the skirmish shifted instantly. This was no longer about territory or pride - it was about who could get there first and walk away alive.

Blaster fire cracked across the open level.

A Jawa sniper popped up on a gantry above, his rifle spitting red bolts toward the crew.

“Sniper!” Jugro yelped, ducking behind a crate. “I really don’t like how accurate these little rats are!”

Mon Kir didn’t reply - he simply stepped out, braced his rifle, and unleashed a controlled burst. The shots stitched across the gantry, chewing into metal and forcing the sniper to squeal and dive back into cover.

“Suppressing,” Mon Kir said calmly. “Move. Now.”

That was all the opening the crew needed.

The Quarren grunt with the useless blaster glanced down at his empty power cell, then back at the gleaming container.

“Well,” he gurgled, slinging the dead weapon over his shoulder, “guess I’m on carrying duty.”

He bolted forward, tentacles flapping as stray bolts sizzled past. He slid into cover beside the container, slapped a claim marker onto it, and whooped triumphantly.

“Loot secured!” he barked. “Mine now - ours now!”

Jugro peeked out and snorted. “Great. The one guy without a gun gets the prize.”

“Less weight slows you down,” Mon Kir replied. “Smart play.”

Nearby, Winnwakka was still riding a wave of fury.

He spotted another Jawa scrambling between crates and let out a thunderous roar before launching himself across the gap. Metal rang as he landed, swinging a massive fist.

The Jawa surprised everyone.

It ducked, rolled, and snapped up with a crackling shock prod, jabbing at Winnwakka’s legs and chest. The Wookiee staggered back a step, snarling in disbelief.

“Rrrrawwwrr?” he growled.

The Jawa chattered defiantly, planting its feet and raising the prod again.

The two squared off amid drifting dust and flickering lights - raw strength against frantic, desperate cunning - locked in a brutal stalemate neither could immediately break.

Jugro watched from cover, shaking his head.
“Never thought I’d see a Jawa go toe-to-toe with a Wookiee,” he muttered. “Galaxy’s officially broken.”

Mon Kir shifted his aim, tracking shadows.
“Stay sharp,” he warned. “They’re not done yet.”

Turn 6

Winnwakka and the Jawa were still locked in brutal close combat - raw strength against desperate speed. The Wookiee swung again, roaring, but this time the Jawa didn’t retreat.

Instead, it darted low, struck fast, and somehow outplayed him.

“Rrra—?!” Winnwakka snarled as he was forced back step by step.

Jugro’s eyes widened as he spotted the danger.
“Winn! Stop - behind you!”

Too late.

The deck plate ended where Winnwakka’s heel came down. There was nothing there.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow.

Winnwakka windmilled, claws scraping uselessly against empty air. His roar echoed as he vanished through the hole, plunging into the churning clouds below.

“WINNWAKKA!” Jugro shouted, scrambling forward.

The Jawa stood frozen at the edge, staring down into the mist, its glowing eyes wide with disbelief… then it let out an excited, high-pitched Utinni! and pumped a fist.

Mon Kir didn’t react - he’d already made the call.

“Enough.”

Mon Kir swung his aim smoothly to cover the retreat.

“Loot team, move! We’re leaving - now!”

The Quarren grunt, arms wrapped tightly around the main prize, staggered backward under its weight.
“I have it! I have it! Someone shoot something!”

Jugro fired wildly over his shoulder, voice tight.
“He better be alive,” he muttered. “Wookiees don’t just… fall.”

Mon Kir didn’t look away from his sights.
“If anyone can survive that,” he said evenly, “it’s him.”

Above them, the wind howled through the open level, swallowing Winnwakka’s roar as the crew fell back.

Turn 7

This time, it was Jugro’s turn to snap.

He spotted the Jawa - the one that had outplayed Winnwakka - standing exposed near a stack of rusted mining gear. Jugro’s hands were already moving, twin blasters snapping up in a smooth, angry motion.

“That one’s mine,” he growled. “Nobody touches that Jawa but me.”

He fired.

Red bolts scorched the deck plates, chewing sparks from the machinery—but the Jawa ducked at the last second, scrambling away untouched.

Jugro swore loudly.
“Ah—kriff it! Stand still, you little scrap-thief!”

Blaster fire cracked back as the Jawa sniper tried to line up another shot. Jugro flattened himself behind cover just as bolts burned through the air where his head had been.

“Sniper!” Jugro barked. “I’m pinned!”

Mon Kir was already moving.

He stepped out from cover with practiced calm, ignoring the incoming fire as his rifle came to his shoulder.
“Seen,” he replied flatly.

One precise shot cut through the gloom.

Another Jawa jerked backward, toppled off its perch, and vanished from view with a fading scream.

Mon Kir shifted his stance, scanning for the next threat.
“Focus, Jugro,” he said without looking over. “Anger makes you loud. Loud gets you dead.”

Jugro clenched his jaw, re-centering his aim as he reloaded.
“Next time I don’t miss,” he muttered. “That one’s for Winnwakka.”

Turn 8

Mon Kir finally caught movement - just a flicker of brown and glowing optics against the rusted superstructure.

“There,” he said calmly, already bringing his rifle up.

Jugro leaned out from cover, squinting.

“About time. That one’s been annoying me.”

Mon Kir squeezed the trigger.

The shot punched through the thin metal railing and into the Jawa sniper. There was no dramatic scream this time - just a sharp crack and a small body tumbling to the floor.

“Target down,” Mon Kir confirmed. “Permanently.”

Silence settled over the level for a heartbeat.

Then Jugro exhaled and looked around.

“That just leaves him.”

The last remaining Jawa - the one who had bested Winnwakka - froze as he realized the situation. A quick scan of the level told the story plainly: no cover, no allies, blasters pointed his way from three directions.

Jugro raised both pistols.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The Jawa thought about it anyway.

He bolted for one of the jagged holes in the deck and leapt.

Jugro stared, stunned.

“…Did he just jump?”

Mon Kir lowered his rifle slowly.

“He did.”

Jugro snorted.

“Figures. Steals our loot, drops a Wookie, and rage-quits through the floor.”

There was a brief pause as everyone watched the clouds churn below, the Jawa’s descent already slowed by the thick atmosphere.

“He’ll live,” Mon Kir said. “For now.”

Jugro holstered his pistols with a scowl.

“Next time, I’m bringing a net.”

With the Jawas scattered or down, the Wayfinder crew finally allowed themselves to breathe. The Quarren grunts emerged from cover, dragging crates and salvaged tech toward the landing pad while Mon Kir and Jugro covered the retreat.

Mon Kir came over the channel again.

“Alright. We got what we came for. Let’s get it aboard before this place decides to finish falling apart.”

The battered survivors began the slow haul back to the Wayfinder - bruised, missing one very large Wookie, but victorious all the same.

Final Outcome

All told, this was a far more entertaining - and mercifully less bloody - engagement than the crew’s last outing. With no third party blundering into the fight, the body count stayed low, tempers stayed mostly in check, and the Skymine didn’t quite earn the reputation it clearly deserved.

From a campaign standpoint, the numbers told a much happier story.

The Wayfinder began the job with 1 Renown Point in the ledger. Add +3 Renown from their 'Legendary team' trait and +6 Renown earned during the salvage run, and the crew climbed neatly to 10 Renown Points.

For once, the injury list was refreshingly short:

• Cap’in was knocked out of the fight and will miss the next game.
  “Worth it,” she insisted from medbay. “Mostly.”

• Choppa also went down, but will be fully operational next game.
  “Told you I don’t break,” he grinned.

• Brains returns to the roster, though he starts with one wound.
  “I’ll manage,” he said calmly. “I always do.”

• Spike is also back in action, starting with one wound and a new negative trait.
  “I call it ‘character development,’” he growled.

• 5E completes repairs and reboots. 

• Everyone else emerged without lasting harm (Momaw Nadon and Winnwakka return as per the scenario rules).

For the first time in a while, the Wayfinder’s roster actually looked… healthy.

Epilogue

The Wayfinder pulled free of the Skymine’s gravity well, its engines growling as the floating wreck dwindled behind them, half-lost in cloud and shadow. Loose debris still tumbled slowly downward, vanishing into the thick atmosphere below - silent reminders of how close the run had come to disaster.

On the bridge, Jugro slouched into the co-pilot’s chair, flicking a scorch mark off his sleeve.
“I’m logging this officially,” he said. “Any job involving holes in the floor costs extra.”

Behind him, Winnwakka rumbled deeply, arms folded, eyes fixed on the retreating station. The Wookiee’s growl carried equal parts frustration and relief.
Jugro glanced back.
“Hey - clouds are clouds. You fell. You came back. Very heroic. Let’s never do it again.”

The growl softened, just slightly.

In the common room, Choppa dropped heavily onto a seat, halberd resting across his knees.
“Jawas with lightsabers,” he muttered. “That’s new.”

Across the table, Momaw Nadon sat quietly, arms folded, gazing at the secured loot.

“The Skymine was… wounded,” the Ithorian said gently. “Places like that remember violence. They respond to it.”

Choppa tilted his head.
“So you’re saying the mine tried to kill us?”

Momaw inclined his head.
“Yes.”

Near the hatch, Mon Kir checked the status lights on his rifle and finally allowed himself to relax.

“We got what we came for,” the Mandalorian said. “Crew’s breathing. That counts as success.”

Choppa raised a finger.
“I was very close to not breathing.”

Mon Kir didn’t look up.
“Still breathing.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Laughter - real, tired laughter - rolled through the compartment. For the first time in a while, it didn’t feel forced.

The Wayfinder jumped to hyperspace moments later, stars stretching into white lines as the ship carried its battered but intact crew toward their next contract.

Momaw Nadon broke the calm one last time.
“Next job - ground. Solid. No wind.”

Choppa answered with a low, approving laugh.

Momaw Nadon closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the ship surged forward.
“Whatever comes next,” he said, “we face it together.”

Mon Kir nodded once.
“Works for me.”

The clouds were behind them.
The trouble, as always, lay ahead.