By Grand Admiral Sir Clinton II
Log Date: January 27, 2026
Location: The Underrealms of Nocturnis / The Spire Council / Flight Deck Alpha
Status: COVERT OPERATIONS / FULL SPECTRUM WARFARE
Part I: The Descent into the Rust
While the Spire draws the enemy’s fire in the sky, gleaming like a diamond spear thrust into the throat of the stars, the true heartbeat of the Reach stays hidden in the Underrealms of Nocturnis.
To understand the war we are fighting in the 90th Century, you have to understand the vertical geography of this city. Up top, where the Council sits, the air is scrubbed clean by scrubbers the size of city blocks. It smells of lavender and ozone. But as you descend the grav-lifts, passing the residential rings and the commercial docks, the light changes. It shifts from the pristine white of the Arial Light to a bruised purple, and finally, down in the gut of the city, to a flickering, sickly neon sodium-orange.
Imagine a place where the sun never hits—a sprawling, multi-level industrial labyrinth that makes the Coruscant Undercity look like a playground. This is the "Grit" of our world. Here, the neon signs flicker over oily puddles, reflecting the holographic advertisements for cheap synthetic noodles and illegal cybernetics. The steam from the Gristlegrim thermal vents fills the narrow alleys, creating a perpetual fog that tastes of copper and sulfur.
This is where the Tiger Force Shadow Saga truly lives. It doesn't live in the parades or the medal ceremonies. It lives here, in the shadows where the Tygerian Marines have to check their corners and watch the ceiling.
Up above, it’s all gleaming mecha and naval broadsides. Down here, it’s about the Nocturnis Neo-Noir vibe. It’s about the spies, the scavengers, and the soldiers who have to fight door-to-door against the Ophidian Shadow-Skin infiltrators. It is a war of knives in the dark, of silenced pistols, and of deals made in back rooms that would make the diplomats up in the Spire faint.
I took a transport down to Level 500 today—the sector the locals call "The Rust Belt." The transport was a rattled old cage that shook violently as we passed the atmospheric scrubbers. I wasn't wearing my Gold Grand Admiral uniform. Down here, gold makes you a target. I was wearing my old field coat, the leather cracked and stained with the dust of a dozen campaigns, and I had my Gristlegrim heavy pistol magnetized to my thigh.
I wasn't going down there to inspect the troops. I was going down there to meet with the Shadowborne cell.
Part II: The Shadowborne and the Grey Market
The Shadowborne are the eyes of the Underrealms. They aren't officially on the Concordat payroll—mostly because half of them are wanted for petty theft or information brokering—but they are loyal to the Reach. They are tracking the "Void-Sin" signatures leaking into the city's power grid, trying to find where the Nihil-Coil is bleeding into our infrastructure.
I met their contact in a noodle bar called "The Blind Dragon." The air inside was thick with vaporized grease and the sound of a malfunctioning jukebox playing 25th-century jazz.
"Commodore," a scout told me, pulling a wet cigarette from his lips. He was a Tygerian, but his fur was dyed with matte-black camouflage patterns, and he was missing an ear. "The snakes aren't just in the sky. They're trying to crawl up from the sewers. They're tapping the geothermal lines. But they forgot one thing... these are our sewers."
He slid a datapad across the sticky table. It showed energy spikes in Sector 500—massive thermal drains that didn't match any industrial output.
"They're breeding," the scout hissed. "Down in the heat. They need the warmth to hatch the Shadow-Skins."
I knew then that a standard sweep wouldn't cut it. To hunt a snake in the dark, you need more than just intel—you need fire. And to get the kind of fire that burns out a Void-Sin nest, you need supplies that the official channels won't touch. The Council would take three weeks to approve a requisition for heavy incinerator fuel. I had three hours.
So I left the Shadowborne and headed deeper, toward the thermal turbines. I needed to see Vargus.
Vargus "The Hammer" Krell is the unofficial king of the Nocturnis Grey Market. He operates out of a decommissioned thermal turbine called "The Soot & Solder." It is a fortress of scrap metal and repurposed engine parts. Vargus is an exiled Gristlegrim Smith—he was cast out of the Foundry Isles for "excessive volatility" in his creations.
I walked past his bodyguards—two massive War-Droids painted with graffiti—and into his workshop. The heat was oppressive. Vargus stood over a workbench, welding a piece of starship plating. He is a terrifying figure; half his face is covered by a welding mask that has been fused directly to his skull, a permanent iron visage. He wields a hammer that looks like it was ripped off a tank turret.
"Grand Admiral," Vargus rumbled, his voice sounding like grinding gears. He didn't look up from his work. "You don't come down here for the view. And you aren't wearing your fancy gold suit. That means you want something the Council won't give you."
"I want the nests, Vargus," I replied, placing a heavy pouch of Tygerian Gold on the counter. The coins clinked heavily. "The snakes are in the power grid. You know where the leaks are. And I need something to flush them out."
Vargus stopped hammering. He turned, the single red lens of his mask glowing in the gloom. He laughed, a harsh, metallic sound that echoed off the turbine walls.
"Flush them out?" he scoffed. "You can't flush a Void-Sin infestation, Admiral. You have to burn it. They are tapping the geothermal vents because they feed on the entropy. If you go down there with standard rifles, you'll die in the dark."
He reached under the counter and pulled out a heavy, rusted canister marked with skull-and-crossbones warning symbols. The liquid inside sloshed with a heavy viscosity.
"Promethium," Vargus grunted, slamming the canister down. "Illegal in twelve systems. Unstable. Highly toxic if you breathe the fumes. It burns at 4,000 degrees. It burns dirty, Admiral... but it burns hot. It will turn those eggs into glass."
I put my hand on the canister. It was warm to the touch. "Load it up. I need enough for Echo Squad. And Vargus... I need aviation grade, too."
The red lens flared. "Aviation grade? You planning to put this sludge in a Sea Hawk engine? It'll melt the intake valves after one sortie."
"I only need them to fly one sortie," I said grimly.
Part III: The Tunnel Rats of Echo Squad
With Vargus's intel and his volatile fuel, I rendezvoused with Echo Squad at the access hatch to Sub-Level 6. Echo Squad are the "Tunnel Rats" of the Tygerian Marines. They don't wear the shiny white armor of the Palace Guard. They wear matte-grey blast armor, scarred and pitted from acid burns. They carry short-barreled scatterguns, vibro-knives, and now, heavy flamethrowers loaded with Vargus's illegal mix.
Sergeant "Ruckus" led the team. He’s a massive Tygerian with scars running down his snout, a veteran of the Deep Shroud skirmishes.
"Alright, listen up!" Ruckus barked, his voice echoing in the damp tunnel. "The Admiral got us the good stuff. We are going into the thermal exchange. The heat down there is pushing fifty degrees Celsius. The air is toxic. The enemy is invisible until they try to eat your face. Stay tight. Check your six. And if you see something shimmer... burn it."
We moved into the sub-sewers. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and unwashed reptilian scales. The ground was slick with a black, oily sludge—the byproduct of the Void-Sin corruption.
We found the first nest in a junction room near the primary heat exchanger. It was a nightmare. The walls were covered in a pulsating, bio-organic resin, like the inside of a living stomach. Embedded in the resin were hundreds of translucent sacs, each containing a curling, shadowy form.
"Contact!" Ruckus yelled.
The walls peeled away. The Shadow-Skins—humanoid drones made of shifting darkness—lunged at us.
"Light 'em up!"
The flamethrowers roared. Vargus was right. The Promethium didn't just burn; it screamed. It clung to the resin and the Shadow-Skins, turning the dark tunnel into a blinding inferno of blue-white fire. The enemy shrieked as they were incinerated, their forms dissolving into ash.
We fought our way through three miles of tunnels, clearing nest after nest. It was brutal, close-quarters work. But in the deepest chamber, buried in the muck and surrounded by pulsating veins of corruption, we found something that stopped us cold.
The Marines were digging through a pile of debris that the snakes had been trying to digest. Ruckus waved me over.
"Admiral... look at this. This ain't Gristlegrim work."
He pulled a jagged piece of durasteel hull plating out of the slime. I wiped the muck away, revealing the faded white paint and red markings underneath. My heart hammered against my ribs.
I ran the spectral analysis on my wrist-comp. The alloy was Duranium/Tritanium composite. The registry number was partially corroded, but legible: NCC-1701/7.
It was a fragment of a Starfleet Shuttlecraft. Specifically, a Class-F shuttle from the 23rd Century.
I stared at the piece of metal in the flickering light of the dying fires. The Deep Shroud Entity wasn't just breeding monsters in our sewers; it was trying to digest a hole in the timeline. It was pulling wreckage from the past—from the era of Kirk and Spock—and trying to use it to anchor itself in our reality.
"Secure it," I ordered, my voice low. "Bag it and tag it. This is more dangerous than the snakes."
Part IV: The Spire and the Verdict
I emerged from the Underrealms three hours later, smelling of smoke, promethium, and sewer muck. I didn't have time to shower. The High Council of the Zimrala Sovereignty had summoned me.
I walked into the Council Chamber in the Spire. The room was pristine, made of white marble and gold filigree. The Councilors sat in their floating pods, wearing robes of silk and light. They looked at me—covered in grime, carrying a heavy canvas bag—with expressions of distaste.
High Councilor Valerius, a diplomat from the Crystal Spire who had likely never held a weapon heavier than a datapad, floated forward.
"Grand Admiral," he sneered, his voice amplified by the room's acoustics. "We have received reports of unauthorized chemical detonations in Sector 500. Furthermore, we have intelligence that you have been trading with the criminal element known as Vargus Krell. We are told you purchased illicit fuel."
He paused for effect, looking around at the other Councilors. "This fuel is contraband. It is tainted. It violates the Concordat's environmental protocols. We cannot fuel the Protectorate fleet with black-market sludge."
I felt the anger rising in my chest, hot as the Promethium. I marched to the center of the room and slammed the canvas bag onto the polished stone table. The sound cracked through the chamber like a gunshot.
I reached in and pulled out the shuttle fragment, slamming it down next to the bag.
"You want to talk about protocols, Valerius?" I growled, pointing at the jagged metal. "Look at this. Do you know what this is? This is a piece of a ship that died seven thousand years ago. The enemy isn't just attacking our borders; they are eating time itself in our sewers. They are trying to erase us before we are even born."
The room went silent. Valerius stared at the fragment, confused.
"Vargus's fuel burns hot," I continued, my voice rising. "It burns hot enough to kill things that shouldn't exist. And right now, 'hot' is the only purity I care about. The fuel stays. If you have a problem with it, you can take it up with the pilots keeping the roof over your head."
Valerius sputtered. "But... the regulations..."
"The regulations are for peacetime!" I roared. "And look out the window, Councilor. Does this look like peace to you?"
I pointed to the massive viewports. At that exact moment, the Trinity Engine sensors screamed a proximity alert. A massive heat signature pierced the cloud layer—a Nihil-Coil Dreadnought, its hull writhing with biological armor, descending from orbit to capitalize on the chaos.
Part V: The Sea Hawk Scramble
I didn't wait for the Council to vote. I tapped my comm-bead.
"Flight Deck! This is the Admiral. Scramble the Birds of Prey. Load them with the Vargus-Mix fuel. All of it."
I turned my back on the Council and sprinted for the turbolift.
By the time I reached Flight Deck Alpha, the Seattle Sea Hawks squadron was already taxiing. The pilots, led by Wing Commander "Skid" Hedges, were strapped into their Hawk of Prey interceptors. These ships were beautiful hybrids—the fuselage of a Buck Rogers starfighter fused with the menacing, forward-swept wings of a Klingon Bird of Prey, all painted in the metallic blue and "Action Green" of the 12th Man.
I watched from the command tower as the ground crews pumped the thick, oily Promethium fuel into the pristine tanks. The engines sputtered for a second, coughing black smoke, and then they roared. The sound was different—deeper, angrier, like a chainsaw cutting through bone.
"Green Leader to Tower," Skid's voice crackled over the comms. "She's running hot, Admiral. Red-lining at idle. This stuff kicks."
"Use the kick, Skid," I replied. "Punch a hole in that Dreadnought."
The squadron launched. The "Action Green" ion trails usually looked like clean lasers. Today, they looked like welding torches. The trails turned a blinding, furious white as the pilots hit the afterburners.
They climbed to 80,000 feet in seconds, meeting the Dreadnought as it broke through the cloud deck. The enemy ship launched a swarm of fighters, but the Sea Hawks were moving too fast. The dirty fuel gave them an acceleration curve that defied physics.
"Lock S-Foils in attack position!" Skid yelled. "Sea Hawk Scream on my mark... MARK!"
The squadron dove. They didn't just fire their lasers; they dumped the excess heat from the Promethium mix into their weapon capacitors. The resulting blasts were devastating. They tore through the Dreadnought's organic shields like they were tissue paper. The enemy ship buckled, its hull catching fire—a deep, chemical fire that couldn't be extinguished.
I watched on the tactical scope as the Dreadnought broke apart, raining debris down into the ocean far from the city.
"Target destroyed," Skid reported, sounding breathless. "But Admiral... my engine temp is critical. We're gliding home. The intake manifolds are melted slag."
"Bring them in, Skid," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Drinks are on me."
Part VI: The Aftermath
It is late now. I am back in my quarters—the "Shreveport Cabin" module on the station. I have the shuttle fragment on my desk, sitting next to a glass of whiskey.
The Council is furious about the damage to the fighters' engines. They are drafting a formal reprimand about my use of the Grey Market. Let them write it.
Tonight, the sewers are clean. The sky is clear. And the Year of the Snake has learned a valuable lesson: You can hide in the dark, you can hide in the past, but you can't hide from the Lion.
We found a piece of the Galileo today. Tomorrow, I have to find out why the universe sent it to us. But for now, the Underrealms are safe, and the Tiger Force Shadow Saga continues.
– Grand Admiral Sir Clinton II (The Earl of Hedges)
BONUS CONTENT OPEN D6 STATS
Here is the Official Bonus Content for your blog. These are the Open D6 compatible statistics for the characters, vehicles, and items featured in Day 27, ready for gameplay in the Tygerian Isles campaign setting.
BONUS CONTENT: Tygerian Isles Open D6 Databank
System: Open D6 / Monsters! Monsters! 2.7 (Modified)
Rule Zero: All Dice are always D6.
I. The Legends (NPCs)
Grand Admiral Sir Clinton II (The Earl of Hedges)
The Commander of the Reach. Veteran of the Tiger Force.
Type: High Command Officer
Move: 10
Force Points: 5
Character Points: 25
DEXTERITY 3D+1
Blaster: Heavy Pistol 6D
Dodge 5D
KNOWLEDGE 5D
MECHANICAL 3D+2
Capital Ship Piloting 6D
Astrogation 5D
PERCEPTION 4D
Command 9D+2
Persuasion: Oratory 8D
STRENGTH 3D
TECHNICAL 3D
Equipment:
Gold Grand Admiral Uniform: (+1D Physical Resistance, +2D to Command rolls).
Gristlegrim Heavy Mag-Pistol: (Damage 5D).
The Rod of Infinite Spanning: (Unique Item – Allows 1 free "Tactical Reroll" per session).
Vargus "The Hammer" Krell
The King of the Grey Market. Exiled Gristlegrim Smith.
Type: Underworld Tech-Lord
Move: 9
Cybernetics: Welding Mask (Fused), Cyber-Arm (Right)
DEXTERITY 2D+2
KNOWLEDGE 3D
Streetwise: Nocturnis 8D
Value: Tech 7D
MECHANICAL 3D
PERCEPTION 3D
Bargain 7D+2
Intimidation 7D
STRENGTH 5D
TECHNICAL 5D
Special Abilities:
II. The Units
Echo Squad (Tygerian Marine Tunnel Rat)
Elite close-quarters specialists accustomed to toxic environments.
Type: Special Forces Grunt
Move: 11
DEXTERITY 4D
Blaster: Flamethrower 6D
Brawling Parry 5D
KNOWLEDGE 2D
MECHANICAL 2D+2
PERCEPTION 3D
STRENGTH 4D
TECHNICAL 2D
Special Abilities:
Tygerian Immunity: Immune to all Acid and Poison effects.
Tunnel Fighter: +1D to Perception and Combat rolls when in confined spaces.
Equipment:
Blast Armor: (+2D Physical, +1D Energy).
Heavy Incinerator: (Damage 5D+2 Fire, Cone Effect).
III. The Ships
The Hawk of Prey (Interceptor)
Hybrid Starfighter: Buck Rogers Fuselage / Klingon Wings / Seahawks Livery.
Scale: Starfighter
Length: 14 Meters
Skill: Starfighter Piloting
Crew: 1
Cargo: 150 kg
Consumables: 1 Week
Weapons:
Dual "Sea Hawk" Laser Cannons (Fire-Linked)
Fire Control: 3D
Damage: 6D
Photon/Proton Hybrid Torpedoes (2 Launchers)
Fire Control: 2D
Damage: 9D
Special Systems:
Klingon Cloaking Device: Difficulty 20 to detect while active. Shields must be down to cloak.
"Sea Hawk Scream" S-Foils: When locked in attack position, gain +1D to Weapon Damage but -1D to Hull Code.
IV. New Item: Vargus-Mix Fuel
"The Dirty Burn" (Promethium Blend)
Illegal aviation fuel refined in the Underrealms of Nocturnis.
Game Mechanic:
Any vehicle fueled with the Vargus-Mix gains the following effects for the duration of the sortie:
Supercharged: Increase Move score by +2.
Hot Fire: Add +1D to all Energy Weapon Damage (Lasers/Blasters) as the system dumps excess heat.
The Price: At the end of the combat encounter, the pilot must roll a Mechanical (Repair) check (Difficulty 15).
Success: The engine survives with minor scarring.
Failure: The engine intake melts. The ship is grounded for 1D6 days.
Critical Failure (1 on Wild Die): The engine explodes. Eject immediately.
Product Identity & Legal
The following items are designated Product Identity of Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. / The Adventures of Captain Hedges: the Tygerian Isles, the LEO Interstellar Concordat of Sovereignty, the Tiger Force Shadow Saga, Vargus "The Hammer" Krell, Echo Squad, the Sea Hawk Birds of Prey, the Hawk of Prey interceptor, and the character of Sir Clinton II.
THE MOZ (MONSTERARY OF ZIMRALA, The world of Zimrala, Monsters! Monsters! and Humans, Humans (1st Edition) are trademarks of Ken St. Andre and Troll Godfather Press and are used with permission. All dice for Monsters! Monsters! 2.7 are always D6's.
This work utilizes the Open D6 system; mechanics are Open Game Content under the OGL v1.0a.
Star Trek elements (Shuttlecraft Class-F, Galileo, NCC-1701/7) are used here as historical artifacts within the context of the Urland Universe fiction and are trademarks of Paramount Global; no challenge to their trademark is intended. The statistics and game mechanics provided herein are designated as unofficial playtest material.
© 2026 Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. All rights reserved.
Product Identity & Legal
The following items are designated Product Identity of Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. / The Adventures of Captain Hedges: The world of Zimrala, the Tygerian Isles, the Underrealms of Nocturnis, the LEO Interstellar Concordat of Sovereignty, the Tiger Force Shadow Saga, Vargus "The Hammer" Krell, Echo Squad, the Sea Hawk Birds of Prey, the Hawk of Prey interceptor, and the character of Sir Clinton II.
Monsters! Monsters! and Humans, Humans (1st Edition) are trademarks of Ken St. Andre and Troll Godfather Press and are used with permission.
Star Trek elements (Shuttlecraft Class-F, Galileo, NCC-1701/7) are used here as historical artifacts within the context of the Urland Universe fiction and are trademarks of Paramount Global; no challenge to their trademark is intended. The statistics and game mechanics provided herein are designated as unofficial playtest material.
All dice for Monsters! Monsters! 2.7 are always D6's. © 2026 Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr. All rights reserved.
