There exist, I am given to understand, handy conversion tables with which one could easily roll the necessary number of familiar d6s, d8s and d12s, their number-paint chipped and edges softened from years in the dice-bag, and calculate whether one's attempt to run down the Krayt Fang's gangplank, jump, and bootstomp a mercenary in the chest succeeded, and if so to what degree.
But: THESE EXIST.
Friends, I ask you: Did we get into the business of pretending that we might pretend our pretending paraphernalia to be anything other than what they are? THE VERY IDEA. If you and I share any common blood, even that of our secret, minmaxing hearts, we demand nothing but the highest levels of quality and verisimilitude in our conflict-resolution casting-bones, and son lemme tell ya, these are pure polyhedral sex.
I don't care about Star Wars past a natural, "I am a living American male" threshold, and so was not looking forward to my gaming group switching to the new-fangled, Jedi-bereft system that these dice necessitate. SO IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when it turned out we weren't actually playing Star Wars. We were playing an absolutely beautiful, elegant system that just happens to have droids and Wookiees and suchlike slapped onto it. The system is so fantastic it can engage me completely in a story based on a property I care almost nothing for, and even if that vestige of the bastard celluloid children beget by George of Modesto grinds your gears, the system could easily be stripped of its trappings and become a game set in almost any other universe you could name. Firefly. Mass Effect. Doctor Who.
These dice make this game. In my group of six we have one set of these dice, six hundred sets of normal dice and one conversion table. All six of us, without discussion or even conscious decision, shared the one set of dice amongst ourselves at need, even between player and DM. Buy these. If you ever regret doing so, you will be wrong.