Session 16: The Bounty

For several days, the heroes lay low in the shadows of ruined Nizon, tending to their wounds and struggling to keep Z1A and Droshahn alive. Their refuge was a fragile bubble of calm in a city turned hellscape. Outside, the resistance faltered—V-Wing squadrons screeched endlessly through the skies, dropping mines into alleys and blasting apart any structure that dared shelter survivors. Every thunderous detonation carried with it the cries of the dying, and by the time the heroes were ready to rise again, much of the rebellion had been reduced to smoke and ash. Yet hope was not fully extinguished. Rumors whispered through the underground spoke of a plan: a final strike against the central plaza, where the air traffic control hub pulsed like the beating heart of Imperial command. If the heroes could wrest control of it, perhaps the looming Star Destroyer and dreadnaughts would be forced to withdraw, if only long enough to breathe.   With grim resolve, the heroes set out into the burning streets. Their march was cut short when a wing of V-Wings screamed overhead, unleashing deadly mines and searing laser fire that collapsed buildings into smoking rubble. As death rained from above, an old Nazren elder appeared from a shattered doorway, beckoning them frantically. The heroes followed, diving into the safety of an underground shelter. The cavernous chamber was filled with the weak—the sick, the wounded, the very old and the very young—all huddled together in the dim glow of lanterns, their eyes wide with fear but burning with quiet defiance. For a brief moment, the heroes felt the true weight of what they were fighting for.   Their reprieve was short-lived. A trio of crab droids smashed through the ruins above, hunting with mechanical precision. The battle that followed was brutal, durasteel limbs tearing through stone as the machines pressed their attack. But the heroes stood firm, blasters sparking against armored shells until the droids were reduced to twisted heaps of smoking metal. From the wreckage, they salvaged the memory cores—and there, a disturbing revelation emerged. These droids bore no Imperial codes. Instead, they carried the mark of a name unfamiliar yet chilling: Vril Vrakth. Whoever he was, he had loosed these machines specifically to hunt the heroes.   Pushing deeper into the city, the heroes found fresh horrors waiting. Across a broken thoroughfare, a Gallofree medium cruiser descended in a cloud of dust and fire. Investigating, the heroes uncovered a nest of Trandoshan slavers, already herding chains of terrified Nazren aboard. The battle was bloody but swift—the slavers cut down, their prisoners freed. Yet among the spoils of victory, the heroes uncovered something even more valuable: a missile tube, complete with a single warhead. Heavy, unwieldy, but potentially decisive, it promised to be a weapon capable of turning the tide in the right moment.   At last, they approached Martyr’s Plaza, the crucible where their fate—and perhaps the fate of Nizon—would be decided. The air traffic control tower loomed above the square, its windows flickering with Imperial light. The plaza itself was locked tight with defenses: three automated anti-personnel turrets sweeping back and forth, and a single AT-ST lumbering across the stones in its ceaseless patrol. Every step closer to the tower meant facing down steel, fire, and certain death. Yet the heroes pressed on, knowing that only by seizing this place could they hope to give Nizon one final chance at freedom.