Hidden in Felucia’s jungle lies a two hundred meter expanse marking the ancient burial site of this world’s deadliest creatures and the location of innumerable remnants of hundreds, if not thousands of rancors. A circular enclosure of sun-bleached bones are arranged in the center of the cemetery—no doubt the former dwelling of a powerful practitioner of the Force. Cobwebs cling to the fallen beasts, a testament to the primordial age of some of the creatures.

Somewhat obscured by surrounding cliffs and the luminescent jungle, the dusted bones and carcasses are cast in a faint shadow, leaving just enough light to see by. The atmosphere is thick and stifling, with a strong overtone of dust and bone suspended in the still air. The taint of the Dark Side's influence has polluted the landmark over time, giving form to a dreadful aura that has scared off scavengers determined to sell off a rancor tusk or two. Unlike most of Felucia, the area is nearly devoid of life aside from ravenous predators dwelling within the hollowed-out husks of dead rancors.

Nothing about this mission had been in any way a comforting thing, Kharoc Garrlan reflected, as he crept around the border of yet another bone-filled clearing in the jungle.

First off, being alone on a world known for its large and predatory wildlife was not something that a soldier would be in any way comforted by. Second, being sent to said planet on a vague report of Loyalist ships being in the area and told to investigate — again, with no support beyond a promised extraction ship — was not a mission that a soldier would relish. Thirdly… well, the place was just karking creepy.

Not creepy enough, however, that he missed the shiver that went down his spine. It wasn’t the Force; having worked with Arcona’s Force-users for a while now, he knew he was as blind as a mynock to that particular phenomenon. It was a subconscious pattern-recognition skill, he’d been told, something hard-won from years of combat experience. It had also saved his life on more than one occasion, so when he got that feeling that screamed a warning in the back of his head, he didn’t question it.

Garrlan ducked and rolled to the side even as the blue blaster bolts came flashing in. He got to his feet and slammed his armored body behind a tree as whomever was shooting at him adjusted fire to follow his movement. Garrlan flicked his blaster rifle’s safety off and sprayed a wide pattern of fire back in the general direction of the shots without really aiming; he wasn’t expecting to hit anything with those. Studies had shown that in combat, the majority of shots fired were intended to suppress the enemy, not attempts to actually neutralize them. And without whomever was shooting back at him coming out of the jungle, Garrlan’s ability to land any shots was fairly low.

The shooter replied with another brace of shots, these ones accurately aimed at the commando’s position, and Garrlan decided it was time to move. For most soldiers, shooting while on the move was a desperation tactic, but not for one Kharoc Garrlan. Between his years of training and service as an Imperial storm commando, Garrlan had actually gotten to where he actually got better, paradoxically, when shooting on the move. Kinesthetic shooting, one instructor had called it - being able to aim less by looking down sights but more by having a perfect sense of where your body was, and where your weapon was in relation to your body.

Whatever it was, it worked for Garrlan. He sent a spread of blue bolts of his own screaming back at the source of the incoming fire as he rushed out of the jungle and into the clearing. Sprinting flat out, he ducked behind a massive rancor skull close to the middle of the pile of bones. It put a good amount of clear - or at least clearer - ground around him, giving him the best chance of seeing his enemy coming.

Garrlan settled in and kept an eye on his motion tracker display. This was a good position, and as long as he wasn’t horribly outnumbered — and the hostiles didn’t pull some artillery out of nowhere — he could probably handle whomever it was. Just a matter of not being taken by surprise…

So, of course, he was taken by surprise, just not in the traditional military sense.

A small form stepped out of the jungle in ARC trooper armor. The armor itself was painted oddly, patterned to look like a carnivore’s mouth, but that wasn’t the part that the former storm commando was most surprised by. What surprised him was that, as the being stood next to a leg bone that had come up to Garrlan’s own chest in height, the ARC-pattern helmet only barely matched it in height. The armor - a custom job, perhaps - matched its wearer in scale, but the DC-17 pistols, twins to the one on Garrlan’s own hip, seemed outsized.

Another shard of ice trickled down the commando’s spine, but this one had nothing to do with a danger sense.

The one that followed it did, as the teenager — he hoped it wasn't a child — in front of him holstered his pistols and pulled a lightsaber off his belt that generated a silver-white blade. The Force-user then sprinted forward far faster than a normal person, a young voice clearly audible as he called a wordless challenge at the older man.

This mission just keeps getting better, Garrlan groused to himself as he started to move.

Kharoc is DQ'd for this match for going over the 750 word cap.