The Kaihpent Run
The cantina was loud, smoky, and blissfully anonymous - exactly the kind of place Cap’in preferred when talking numbers.
She and Brains sat in a shadowed booth, datapads glowing faintly between them. Columns of credits, supply costs, repair estimates, and crew expenses scrolled past as they talked in low voices.
“For once,” Cap’in muttered, tapping the screen, “we’re not one bad hyperjump away from bankruptcy.”
Brains gave a small nod. “The ledger is… stable. Sustainable, even. Recent contracts were low yield, but statistically safer.”
Cap’in leaned back. “Safe’s not a bad word these days.”
Brains hesitated. “There is still the matter of Winnwakka’s position in the roster.”
Cap’in’s expression tightened for just a moment. “You don’t replace a Wookie like you replace a burnt power cell.”
“No,” Brains agreed quietly. “You don’t.”
She changed the subject. “Choppa still stuck in medbay?”
“Two more cycles before discharge,” Brains replied. “He’s already argued with the medical droid three times.”
Cap’in smirked. “Good. Means he’s healing.”
The cantina door hissed open.
Both of them looked up instinctively.
A tall, lean figure stepped inside - deep blue skin, crimson eyes, wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across a long, severe face. He didn’t look around like a traveller. He looked around like a predator assessing exits.
At the bar, Mon Kir had already turned on his stool. His hand moved to his blaster rifle with smooth, practiced intent.
The newcomer raised a hand slightly as he approached.
“Relax, Mandalorian… I’m not here to cause trouble.”
His voice was calm. Dry. Confident.
Mon Kir didn’t lower the rifle, but he didn’t fire either.
The stranger stopped at their table and looked down at Cap’in and Brains.
“I’m looking for a fast ship,” he said, “and a crew that doesn’t ask too many questions.”
Cap’in didn’t reply. She just gave Mon Kir the smallest nod. The Mandalorian eased, but his eyes never left the stranger.
The blue-skinned being reached into his coat and dropped a heavy bag onto the table.
Credits clinked loudly inside.
“I need transport to Kaihpent.”
Brains’ eyes flicked up sharply. “Mr. Bane… Kaihpent is Imperial territory.”
If Cad Bane was irritated at being recognised, he didn’t show it. His red gaze shifted to Brains.
“That,” he said evenly, “is why I need the Wayfinder.”
Cap’in folded her arms. “What’s on Kaihpent that needs this much secrecy?”
Bane’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“All will be revealed.”
Turn 1
As the Wayfinder’s ramp lowered onto the grimy streets of Kaihpent, the crew fanned out with practiced caution. The air smelled of oil, dust, and Imperial oversight.
Cap’in fell into step beside their passenger.
“So,” she said quietly, “what’s the mission, Bane?”
Cad Bane kept walking, hat low, coat swaying. “You’re being paid to fly. That’s the mission.”
Cap’in didn’t slow. “You didn’t hire a taxi. You hired a crew.”
Bane stopped.
Turned.
Red eyes fixed on her.
“A child,” he said flatly. “We’re after a child.”
Cap’in blinked. “We’re kidnapping a child?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” Bane replied. “This kid cracked the vault keycode to a very large Imperial fortune… and then vanished into the mess of Kaihpent.”
Brains, walking a few paces behind, tilted his head. “So the Empire is looking for them.”
“They want their money back,” Bane said. “My employer wants to make the kid an offer. Anyone who can crack a vault like that can crack other things.”
Cap’in folded her arms as they walked. “And how exactly are we meant to find a genius ghost in a city like this?”
Bane tapped a small tracker on his wrist.
“Kid’s smart,” he said. “Not smart enough. The tech they used left a trace. A digital fingerprint. We follow that.”
The signal led them deeper into Kaihpent - away from the landing zones and into the narrow industrial canyons between ancient buildings and rusting infrastructure.
Stormtroopers could be seen in the distance. Patrols. Checkpoints. Scanners.
Bane glanced around, almost amused.
“Heavy Imperial presence,” he muttered. “Looks like they’re tracking the kid too.”
He gave a thin smile beneath the brim of his hat.
“This just got fun.”
White armour at every junction. Checkpoints at the mouths of alleyways. Scanner sweeps cutting through the haze like searchlights.
Cap’in leaned closer to the display on Bane’s tracker. Her jaw tightened.
“Four signals,” she muttered. “Dammit. Kid’s smarter than we thought. Masked the trail, split it. We’re going to have to split up.”
Bane didn’t argue. He tapped the screen and expanded the map.
“Agreed. I’ll take this one,” he said, marking a blip near the industrial stacks. “Your crew takes the other three.”
He started to move, then paused and looked back at them.
“I work best alone.”
Without another word, he disappeared into the maze of streets.
Cap’in watched him go, then gave a small nod to Mon Kir.
“I’m sure he can handle himself,” she said quietly. “Follow him anyway.”
The Mandalorian didn’t speak. He just inclined his helmet once and melted into the shadows after the bounty hunter.
Cap’in turned back to the rest of the crew, slipping naturally into command.
“5E, you’re with Momaw Nadon. That signal’s the furthest out - less Imperial traffic. Move fast.”
The droid’s head tilted. “Directive acknowledged.”
“Spike. Jugro.” She pointed toward a tight cluster of buildings across the street. “There’s a blip not far from here. Go check it out.”
Spike frowned. “And how do we know if it’s the right kid?”
Brains answered before Cap’in could.
“He’ll run,” the Twi’lek said calmly. “That’s how you’ll know.”
Cap’in gave a sharp nod.
“Rest of you, with me. Stay low. Stay quiet. And don’t draw attention unless you have to.”
That one felt like a proper holovid firefight.
Blaster bolts criss-crossed the table from end to end, Stormtroopers marched in neat patrols exactly as doctrine dictated, and every alleyway seemed to erupt into chaos at just the wrong moment. For once, the battlefield didn’t devolve into a confused brawl - it felt cinematic, desperate, and very Star Wars. The Stormtroopers advanced, took cover, regrouped, and tried to extract their target with discipline. The Wayfinders, true to form, disrupted that plan at every possible turn.
From a campaign point of view, this mission had some financial teeth.
The Wayfinder crew began the job sitting on 14 Renown Points, but Cap’in made the bold (and expensive) call to bring in Cad Bane as a one-off hire for 10 Renown. That dropped the ledger to 4 before a single blaster was fired.
The gamble paid off.
+3 Renown from the Legendary Team trait
+5 Renown for securing the objective - the kid
That brings the Wayfinders back up to 12 Renown Points after the dust settled. Not bad for a job that involved Imperial patrols on every corner.
Roster Aftermath
Surprisingly, considering how much shooting took place, the crew came through relatively intact.
Only one Wayfinder suffered an Out of the Fight result:
Mon Kir rolled a 9 on the Recovery table
Misses the next game
Gains a new negative trait: Weakling
For a Mandalorian who prides himself on strength and resilience, that one will sting.
On the positive side:
Choppa has now fully recovered and returns for the next mission
So, for once, the roster is trending in the right direction rather than spiralling into another medical crisis.
The Wayfinder may be battle-scarred, but this time the crew walked away with the prize, most of their people upright, and their Renown climbing again.
Epilogue
The Wayfinder drifted in the shadow of a small moon, engines humming like a ship that had finally earned a break.
Cap’in watched the stars from the viewport, arms folded. Her lightsaber lay on the table behind her, unusually well‑behaved.
Brains hunched over a datapad, checking the mission numbers again - clearly hoping the maths might develop a sense of mercy.
Jugro lounged with his boots up, cleaning a pistol he swore wasn’t jammed during the fight.
Spike leaned against the bulkhead, armour off, bruises on, dignity questionable.
Momaw Nadon stood silently, radiating “calm space monk who’s seen too much.”
5E powered down in the doorway, servos whirring like a bored refrigerator.
Silence stretched… until Cap’in finally said:
“Well. We didn’t die.”
Jugro snorted. “Impressive, considering our track record.”
Brains didn’t look up. “Being hired by a notorious bounty hunter and then fighting half the Empire does technically count as a success.”
Spike groaned. “Stormtroopers. Ferrox. Revwien. Jawas with lightsabers. Battle droids. Does every job need a surprise murder attempt?”
Brains grinned. “Keeps things interesting.”
Momaw rumbled, “Not all of us returned from every job.”
The room fell quiet again.
Cap’in’s gaze drifted to the empty chair.
Winnwakka’s chair.
5E broke the silence. “Winnwakka: combat efficiency high. Loyalty: absolute. Replacement probability: statistically negligible.”
Jugro blinked. “Did the droid just get sentimental?”
“Negative,” 5E replied. “Sentiment is inefficient.”
Cap’in picked up her lightsaber, rolling it in her hand. “We keep going. That’s how we honour him. No folding. No quitting. And no playing safe.”
She clipped the saber back to her belt.
“Next job, we hit harder. Smarter. And nobody gets left behind.”
Brains nodded. “I’ll update our recruitment list. And maybe… our life choices.”
Jugro raised an eyebrow. “Think we could get a job without collapsing floors or angry Imperials every ten metres?”
Cap’in smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Momaw’s deep laugh eased the tension at last.
Spike pushed off the wall. “I’m getting food before the next disaster hits.”
“Statistically imminent,” Brains added, standing.
One by one, the crew drifted out.
Cap’in lingered, eyes on the empty seat. “Stand with us,” she murmured.
Then she killed the lights and followed her crew down the corridor as the Wayfinder hummed steadily toward its next questionable life decision.













As always, great battle report! Sounds like it was a blast, too, Simon! No pun intended, of course...
ReplyDeleteHa! I’ll allow the pun — it was indeed a blast, intentional or not.
DeleteThanks for the kind words! This one really did have everything: blaster bolts, bad decisions, heroic nonsense, and the crew trying very hard not to get turned into plasma confetti.
Always appreciate you reading along — glad the chaos translates!