As a little diversion from my HârnMaster/HârnWorld solo campaign, I decided to throw in some one-shots using different settings and systems here and there. This time you are invited to follow Zane Douglas, a former Imperial Scout now smuggler, and his small crew through the Gateway Domain.
I play using the 2022 Traveller 2e Mongoose rules set on the frontiers of the Third Imperium. The solo ruleset I use is, as always, Mythic 2nd Editon in combination with different extensions from the magazines. For the first time, I use the Adventure Crafter from Word Mill Games for generating the initial setup and alternating i.e. interrupt scenes.
Put on your VaccSuit and follow through the airlock …
DISCLAIMER: Be aware that my style of roleplaying is not always fun and flower-picking. Though I don’t like overly gory descriptions in roleplaying games, I like the dark themes and dismal topics from the bottom of my heart. Please consider this post M rated and not always for the fait of heart.
Scene #1 – Trailing to the Core …
Zane Douglas disembarked from his beat-up Free Smuggler AC class vessel, the Nibelungen, with a curt shout over his shoulder for his crew to handle unloading. His weathered jacket snugged against the chill of the docking bay as he strode toward Lepanto High Port’s exit, the ever-present hum of commerce echoing around him.
A grizzled captain beside him ranted about fuel prices—standard grumbling on any spaceport—but Zane barely registered it. Focus was his currency here; a wrong step could mean a thorough inspection and the end of his modest enterprise.
Just as he reached the exit, a security officer’s authoritative voice cut through the din: “ID and loading list, sir.” Zane suppressed an internal groan, but outwardly, he maintained a nonchalant demeanor. He handed over the documents, each second stretching like hours in his mind. The Nibelungen had its secrets; he silently prayed today’s luck held.
The officers’ scrutiny felt interminable, fingers drumming on the counter, eyes darting to the hidden compartments within his ship’s mental blueprint. When the guards finally waved him through, Zane exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. But it wasn’t over yet.
“Any concealed weapons?” The question hung like an executioner’s blade.
“No,” Zane replied with practiced ease, meeting their eyes—a blend of truth and calculated omission. Satisfied, they allowed him passage. With that final barrier cleared, Zane moved on, a smuggler’s caution still prickling at the edges of his mind as he ventured deeper into the station’s labyrinthine trade corridors.
Zane navigated through a mosaic of alien faces, some familiar from countless ports, others puzzling in their strangeness. Each step was a calculated dance between curiosity and wariness.
At the edge of the station’s outer ring, he paused by Mother Quambag’s stall, notorious for its oxo-nutrient concoction—an odd local favorite that promised sustenance over flavor. A quick transaction, and Zane wolfed down the compacted mass as he resumed his path, the nutrient paste an unremarkable but necessary fuel.
The bar loomed ahead, a dimly lit refuge he recalled from previous ventures into Lepanto’s murky dealings. Settling onto a stool, the air thick with the scent of smoke and desperation, Zane engaged a K’Kree merchant in hushed negotiations. Contracts were inked under the hazy glow of flickering lights, each line etched in pragmatic necessity.
With the deal sealed by shared drinks and mutual distrust, Zane exited into the station’s perpetual twilight, eyes instinctively scanning the shadows. He passed an inviting yet treacherous alleyway—its darkness a siren call to those less cautious or more reckless than him. His pace remained steady; even in victory, there was no room for complacency.
In the heartbeat after the last thoughts left his mind, an unexpected blow slammed into Zane’s skull with brutal efficiency. The station’s noise faded into a roaring void as darkness claimed him, leaving the smuggler crumpled in the very alley he’d just eyed with suspicion, a testament to how swiftly fate could ambush even the wary.
Scene #2 – … waits a rude awakening
Awakening felt like emerging from a crash-landed cargo hauler—every inch of him aching with phantom impacts. Zane’s disoriented senses pieced together the dim surroundings: cold metal underfoot, indistinct murmurs filtering through an unyieldingly closed door.
“Not a ship … gravity feels planet-like and not artificial,” he muttered, mentally mapping his predicament. No humming thrusters or familiar scents. The Lepanto system still held, a grim comfort amidst captivity.
A probing hand confirmed the throbbing knot at the base of his skull but nothing more catastrophic. He rose to his feet, muscles protesting yet functional. A quick inventory revealed the worst: stripped clean of gear and weapons, Zane faced an adversary who had anticipated every move—except perhaps his indomitable resolve.
Annoyance flared sharper than pain, a familiar fuel for defiance. Bare-handed but undaunted, he approached the door with calculated quietness, listening intently to the fragmented conversations on the other side. His mind raced through possibilities and escape routes, already charting a course through whatever trap awaited. The game had changed, but Zane Douglas was no stranger to such adversities.
The door’s hiss announced unwelcome company: two hulking thugs filled the entrance. Their arrival confirmed Zane’s suspicions—they were indeed his abductors. Before he could draw breath to protest, a gut-wrenching punch doubled him over.
“Ouch! Another round of that and we’ll have Mother Quambag’s special decorating this floor,” Zane groaned, adding insult with a glare. Predictably, a second blow clipped his jaw, the impact jolting through clenched teeth.
Then came the figure silhouetted against harsh lights—a smaller presence radiating menace. Recognition struck like a cold blade as Tahon Rez’s distinctive shriek pierced the air.
“Mr. Douglas … our paths cross again, and I trust you know why this parley was requested?”
Zane rolled his eyes in grim acknowledgment. The leader of the Iba Yekoth Syndicate from Maakar—a past adversary whose shadow he’d hoped to evade permanently—now stood center stage.
“Rez,” Zane spat, tasting blood, “a pleasure as always.” His voice dripped with irony, masking the undercurrent of calculating urgency.
Rez’s proximity radiated menace, each step deliberate and laced with malice as he neared Zane. “Ah yes, your recent brush with … peril,” Rez sneered, eyes gleaming with malevolent satisfaction. “And Clara? I trust she fares better than your current situation?” His inquiry dripped with false concern, a mockery of genuine interest.
Zane’s mind flashed to the explosion that nearly claimed Clara and himself—a direct consequence of this very syndicate’s vendetta. “She’s thriving,” he replied, voice dripping sarcasm despite the thugs’ continued rough treatment. “Would be delighted for another reunion with you.”
The brute force ceased momentarily at Rez’s raised hand, but Zane’s defiance earned him another swift jab for his insolence.
“Stolen property, Mr. Douglas,” Rez hissed, leaning in close enough that Zane could taste the rancor in his breath. “A Blacksand Widow Clone isn’t something one simply walks away with. Unmachtable, irreplaceable.”
“Funny how easily she followed me then,” Zane shot back, wincing as another punch found its mark.
Rez’s smile was a grim promise of pain and retribution. “Your bravado is entertaining but misplaced. Return Clara—or face the full wrath of my resources.”
In the heavy silence that followed, Zane’s mind raced through strategies—each one fraught with peril yet steeped in defiance. He met Rez’s gaze unwaveringly.
“You’ll get her over my dead body,” he declared, a declaration as much to himself as to his foe.
Scene #3 – A man and his tool
Every crevice of his makeshift prison became a potential ally as Zane scanned for anything exploitable. A shimmering glint caught his eye—a fragmented piece of what once might have been a mirror.
“Tradition has its perks,” he murmured, rolling onto the cold metal floor and reaching for the jagged shard. The sharp edge bit into rope fibers with determination.
Just as the last strand gave way, a thug entered, oblivious to Zane’s newly liberated state. His guard carried a tablet, presumably holding an uninspiring meal—an oversight that spelled his immediate doom. In a blur of motion, Zane seized control, wielding the mirror fragment with lethal precision. A swift arc ended in crimson; the thug’s throat gaped open, his life ebbing away in gasping gurgles.
The room filled with the acrid scent of blood, the silence afterward pregnant with danger and opportunity. With a fast motion, Zane palmed the key-card and seized the fallen guard’s weapon, easing the door open just enough to assess the immediate threat.
Two guards stood with their backs semi-turned, an oversight that cost them dearly as Zane’s emergence triggered alarms and immediate hostile intent. Blaster fire scorched through the confined corridor, forcing him into a defensive crouch within the protective shadow of the door jamb.
Luck played its hand in Zane’s favor; his return shot found the first guard’s head, dropping him with a lethal precision that momentarily silenced one end of the deadly exchange. Pain seared through his arm as a grazing shot left flesh and fabric smoldering, but he pressed on, firing blindly into the corridor’s uncertain shadows.
The echoing silence after his last volley hinted at success. Peering cautiously around cover, Zane confirmed the second guard’s lifeless form sprawled amidst the energy-burnt carnage. With a grim determination, he moved swiftly past the fallen foes, every step a blend of urgency and tactical prudence.
Relief surged through Zane as he unearthed his gear from the concealed room, each familiar piece a touchstone in this nightmarish detour. “Thank god,” he muttered, holstering weapons with practiced ease. The transceiver crackled to life with futile attempts to reach the Nibelungen.
Emerging cautiously from his former cell, the desolate surroundings hinted at an abandoned farm or processing plant, its eerie quietude punctuated by distant signs of awakening activity—likely drawn by the earlier skirmish.
A weather-beaten freight handler pod behind one building offered a crude but necessary escape route. “My humble chariot,” he mused, swinging into the cockpit and coaxing the engine to life with dogged persistence. The old craft sputtered but roared reluctantly under his command.
Navigating its clunky controls, Zane set a course toward the High Port’s coordinates, every jolt and shudder of the pod a grim reminder of the fragility of survival in these forsaken places. “Clara,” Zane’s voice cut through the static with a commanding urgency, “no time for questions—activate launch protocols now. Full jump preparation, complete the calculations, and be ready to undock immediately and pick me up in a safe distance to the high port. We’ll address everything else later. Move, now.” The line fell silent on his end as he navigated the last leg toward the Nibelungen.
As his freight handler pod aligned with the docking bay, the Nibelungen stood ready—a sleek beast poised for flight. With practiced efficiency, Zane docked, bolting from the small craft into the familiar corridors of his vessel. Clara’s efficient silence spoke volumes as they prepared for escape.
With the ship’s engines thrumming to life under Clara’s expert hands, Zane steered them toward the jump point, leaving Rez’s grasp and the sinister echoes of that abandoned facility in their wake.
As the Nibelungen slipped into jumpspace, Zane recounted his harrowing escape, each detail etched in the grim reality of violence and quick thinking. Clara listened intently, her expression shifting from concern to a steely resolve as he spoke.
But the moment he finished, a rare apprehension colored her usually calm demeanor. “Zane,” she began with unusual solemnity, “I have something you need to know, too … we have a stowaway!”
To be continued …
Who is this stowaway and where did they come from? Find out in the next part of “Scum of the Gateway Domain”. I hope you liked this episode and the small diversion from the regualr HârnMaster campaign.
See you next time!
Sources used:
– Traveller Core Rulebook 2022 Update (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– Traveller Companion 2024 Update (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– Traveller The Trailing Frontier (Mongoose Publishing Ltd.)
– T20 Gateway to Destiny (QuickLink Interactive Inc.)
– Mythic GME 2nd Edition (Word Mill Games)
