The unmistakable odor of Forvish ale rose above a back table at Argy’s space tavern after several pitchers of the distinctive beverage were placed before the mercenary pilots gathered for a pre-mission briefing. “Drink quickly boys,” said Sarzo Lord, the Grey Jedi employed by the owner of Argy’s to wage his battles during the Tavern Wars. The young Jedi removed his brown hood, revealing his long, dark hair and spread out a large space map between the newly filled mugs. “A transport filled with kegs of beer on a run to the Steamline Tavern has lost power. There are only a few Whiskey Squadron ..read more

  A half-dozen pints of Andoan ale levitated inches above the long bar in a dimly lit space tavern, alternately amusing or frightening the regulars depending on their level of intoxication. “Sarzo, stop that,” said Elmer, who operated Argy’s from a space barge stationed just outside the Aturi Cluster. “If the young Jedi Master could come here please. I pay you for your piloting and fighting skills, not to amuse the regulars.” The glasses slowly lowered, then touched down gently on the wooden surface. Sarzo Lord, dressed in a dark brown, hooded robe, rose from his bar stool and walked o ..read more

The tall young man with the cascading black hair towered over the older bald man like an AT-AT Walker looming above a downed T-47 airspeeder. Sarzo Lord, Grey Jedi, was not pleased. “Two ships,” Lord said before finishing his beer. “You expect us to guard your latest shipment of alcohol with just two ships.” Elmer, owner of Argy’s Space Tavern and Sarzo’s boss, chuckled. “Parts for repairs are scarce. And maybe we’d have more credits to buy newer ships if you didn’t drink so much. Sometimes you’re faster with a drink than you are with a light saber,” Elmer said. Elmer paid Lord to lead his rag ..read more

The cards from the Sabacc dealer landed in front of Bake Travnor with a clicking sound that reminded the grizzled pilot of whiskey knocking ice cubes together in a glass. Travnor finished the drink in front of him and caught the bartender’s eye for another. Not for nothing was the mercenary crew he led called Whiskey Squadron. Travnor would wait for his next round to arrive before he looked at his cards. On the table before him were all the credits he’d earned on the latest successful mission flying for the Steamline Tavern. The weekly Sabacc game at the tavern in a space barge cruising throug ..read more

The pilots of Whiskey Squadron could tell by the look on Bake Travnor’s grey stubbled face that their leader was not bringing good news along with the pitcher of Jawa beer he was carrying. The older pilot placed the grog in the middle of the table at the Steamline Tavern, a drinking establishment housed in a space barge cruising through the lawless Outer Rim of the galaxy. “What is this swill?” asked Howe Hackett, one of the young pilots Travnor had recruited to help the Steamline side in the Tavern Wars, an ongoing dispute over supply shipments with a nearby rival space boozer. “Jawa beer may ..read more

The young pilot placed the empty beer mug down on the bar at the Steamline Space tavern, his hand as shaky as if he held a malfunctioning light saber. Bake Travnor waved for another round for the kid, who had just finished his fourth glass of Thuris Stout. “I’m telling you Bake, they came out of nowhere. Tie Fighters behind us and a big Tie Defender dead ahead. There was nothing we could do.” Travnor had been debriefing the pilot, the only survivor of the ambush. The attack was the latest clash in the Tavern Wars, an ongoing fight between two rival owners of bars that operated from separate ba ..read more

The juke box at Argy’s space tavern levitated about six feet above the floor as the patrons watched with wary amusement as Elmer, the joint’s owner, reached up with a screw driver and plyers in an attempt to fix the aging machine. Like most things at Argy’s the music box had seen better days. The barkeep grumbled and shouted as he worked, which made it seem like the juke box was playing a particularly angry spoken word album. “Fang fighters. Lew the Hutt has gone and bought several Fang fighters,” Elmer sputtered. Sarzo Lord, the Grey Jedi who was keeping the juke box aloft via the Force, sipp ..read more

Smoke from the still smoldering T-65 X-Wing filled the docking bay adjacent to the Steamline Space Tavern, a large barge that cruised through Hook Nebula in the galaxy’s Outer Rim. The Steamline’s owner, Lew the Hutt, had come down to the docking area to marvel at the fact that the X-Wing’s pilot, Bake Travnor, had survived his latest Tavern Wars mission. Travnor had exited the singed Snub-fighter and was clutching the Corellian Whiskey on the rocks he’d been handed by one of the docking bay’s mechanics, who kept several bottles on hand to accommodate Travnor and other pilots who usually insis ..read more

Smoke from cigarras hung low around one of the tables of the Steamline Space Tavern as another round of whiskey and beer was delivered to a group of pilots back from a successful mission. Bake Travnor, Whiskey Squadron’s leader, took a sip from his glass. Travnor worked for the owner of the Steamline, Lew the Hutt. Lew was fighting over shipments of goods with the owner of a rival Outer Rim joint, a conflict known as the Tavern Wars. Travnor scratched his grey beard as he looked over the other pilots, mostly young smugglers he had recruited. They were loudly debating the relative merits of dif ..read more

Bake Travnor, the grey-bearded leader of Whiskey Squadron, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A Jedi? Elmer has a Jedi working for him?” Travnor’s boss, Lew the Hutt, nodded his huge brown and green head as he motioned for his employee’s drink to be refilled. Lew owned the Steamline Space Tavern, and the gastropod was fighting Elmer, the owner of Argy’s Tavern, over the delivery of booze and beer to their establishments. The Outer Rim Conflict was known as the Tavern Wars. “More of a Dark Jedi,” Lew explained with an intimidating chuckle. “Sort of grey, really. He has a bit of a drinking p ..read more