The wild planet of Kashyyyk is known to be home to the gentle, but short-tempered race of Wookiees. Wild and untamed, the lush, wroshyr tree-filled forests form a multi-layered deathtrap. The local wildlife presenting more dangers as one descends towards the forest floor. However, as one ascends the vertical environment, the danger of falling increases until one comes in contact with the Wookiee settlements. Fauna and flora flourish in delight, growing within dirt pockets in the crevices of the trees. Some of these plants are carnivorous, becoming larger and deadlier closer to the forest floor. Others have some form of consciousness, able to communicate with the Wookiees to give some understanding of their use.

Above the Wookie settlements rests the wild rainforest canopies. Within the crevices of the trees, empty fruit and rotting shells from seeds show the spring season has ended. A soft wind whistles between the thick vines and shrubs that stick to the trunks of the ancient and sleeping giants. Despite the never-ending lack of footholds aside from the branches of wroshyr trees, a series of abandoned and rotting platforms are suspended a hundred meters above the surface, once home to its own Wookiee settlement. Overgrown and decayed, it has since nourished countless plants and trees with their outstretched branches sheltering the dense and soft floor from the extreme sun rays and torrential rain. Upon closer inspection unusual signals become noteable. Moss carpets particular areas on the platforms and nowhere else, and tree-dwelling animals and birds never seem to land on the surface.

Tread carefully, or fall whim to the creatures that inhabit this terrain.

In the towering trees of Kashyyyk, atop one of the circular platforms constructed by the Wookies, Rhylance studied the massive living structures surrounding him. He’d heard stories of the dangerous flora high in the canopies, so he thought it best to search out ingredients for new poisons. War was on the horizon, and the Consul understood that there was work to be done.

Knowing that it was time to return to the rebuilding fleet of Taldryan, the Chiss took several steps forward until he stood on the edge of the platform gazing at the vast forests around him. Nature held a beauty he rarely saw. Blue flowers growing on the sides of some of the trees vibrantly stood out to the Chiss. The blue hue reminded him of someone who had left.

“My pet, I wish you could be seeing this with me right now,” he could almost hear a whisper saying “Blue” on the wind, but he knew it wasn’t real.

“Someone like you has a “pet”? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Rhylance turned at the sound of a man’s voice. Towards the opposite end of the platform, leaning against a small railing, was a man wearing a loose fitted white shirt, and tan pants, both covered by a cloak. Tousled brown hair framed his sharp facial features.

“Is there something I can help you with? If not, be on your way,” Rhylance said in annoyance.

“Actually there is. I’m here looking for a – now let me make sure I’ve got this right - ‘A blue skinned wastoid who likes to play with poison.’ Do you know anyone like that? If so, I’ve gotta collect him,” he answered, reading his datapad.

Rhylance was unamused by the flippant remark, but if it was him this stranger was after, it couldn’t be for any good reason. The Consul had places to be, people to dissect, and this man wouldn’t get in his way

“You are wasting my time. I do not know who you think you are, but I will not be going anywhere with you.”

“Well damn,” the man muttered as Rhylance turned to walk away. He pulled out a Westar-M5 Blaster Rifle. “I’d really hoped to do this the easy way.”

A blast of energy rocketed from the blaster rifle, erupting against the wooden platform near Rhylance's feet. Scorched wood splintered out, causing the Chiss to stumble back. As he righted himself, the butt of the Rifle connected with his cheek, knocking him to the ground, his face swelling. Looking towards his attacker, the rifle was pointed at him.

“The name is Terran, and on behalf of Clan Arcona, I’m here to bring you in. If I were you, I’d just come with me, wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty blue face of yours any more than i already have now would I?”

Rhylance tasted blood in his mouth. The Chiss adjusted his position on the floor, keeping his right hand out of sight. He managed to pull out his hunting knife, hoping to possibly disarm his enemy and give himself time to land a quick counter offensive.

“So, Atyiru sent one of her dogs my way. Bold move. Unexpected,” the Consul spit some blood out as he spoke, a small smirk spread across his swollen face.

“Probably wasn’t much of a fan of how you’ve been treating her clan-mates. Nice girl, terrifying though if you’re on her bad side.”

“I have a bad side myself. Are you sure you want to be on it?” Rhylance asked.

“Turn your face to the left, then I won’t have to see that bad side anymore.” Terran replied, his finger on his rifle's trigger.

In reply, Rhylance kicked out at Terran’s legs, and hurled the knife towards the man’s chest. Terran saw the attacks coming, and he felt a pull warning him to evade the knife. He rolled into Rhylance’s kick, and dodged the blade by a few inches. Rhylance took the moment to get back to his feet, pulling out his own blaster. He turned to face the, now standing, Terran, both having their firearms aimed.

“Now then, Terran. We’re both practical men, surely we can come to some sort of agreement,” Rhylance implored with a smooth voice.

“Yes, it’s called you come willingly.”

“Sorry, but that is something I cannot do,” the Chiss said as he pulled the trigger.

Terran dove to the left, a flurry of crimson bolts sizzling past his ear. Rolling to his feet, he saw the Chiss turning to track his movement, a barrage of blaster fire following. Terran pressed a button on the blaster rifle's stock and a blinding light lit the gloom of the wroshyr forest, sending the doctor's shots wide. The Kiffar lunged towards Rhylance. Grabbing his blaster rifle by the butt, Terran swung it towards the Chiss' legs, slamming the foregrip into the back of his knee with enough force to knock him on his rear.

The doctor grunted loudly, the fall winding him, and Terran seized the moment. He leaped forward, pulling the rifle back into a two-handed carry, one fist on the foregrip. The Kiffar dove onto his quarry, rifle poised to suffocate the not-so-good doctor into unconsciousness. He felt a line of fire cut into his side, a flame stabbing between his ribs, and he rolled off the Chiss reflexively. His eyes darted back to the Taldryanite and the razor-sharp scalpel held confidently in his hand.

The spear of pain burned its way up his nerves, scorching through his body. Though the Force and his instincts shrieked at him, Terran's mind grew foggy. Beside him, Rhylance stood with equal annoyance and aplomb. The Chiss turned towards the fallen Kiffar and his battered face melted into a horrific death mask. His foot lanced out in irritation and Terran caught it centimeters from his face. Then it, too, melted, turning into a dreamvenom snake and gnashing its fangs ever closer to the Arconan's nose. He released it with a gasp of surprise, rolling nearly to the platform's edge in his rush to get clear of the poisonous serpent.

Teetering on the edge, the Kiffar forced himself slowly to his feet. He shook his head in an effort to clear it, but when he looked back the sight was unchanged. The creature's face had continued to melt into grotesque proportions, as had the rest of him. Where there had once been a statuesque Chiss a sable uniform now strode a creature of nightmares adorned in a blood-red lab coat.

The monster-made-flesh moved towards him, blaster raised in one skeletal hand, scalpel in the other, and Terran took a step back. He could feel the precipice with his foot and knew he had nowhere to run. Raising his blaster rifle, he sighted down the barrel at the monster. Before he could press the trigger, a piercing alarm came from the weapon. It was a sound familiar to anyone who made their living with a blaster, the sound of a powerpack overloading. With a growl he threw the weapon, lobbing the improvised bomb at the monster who had worn Rhylance's skin. The being gaped in surprise, but he dropped the scalpel and caught the rifle in midair. Sheathing his own pistol, he took a moment to look over the WESTAR-M5. Nodding to himself, he flicked the weapon over to automatic fire and raised it towards the Kiffar.

Terran was perplexed. He knew the weapon should have exploded. Once a powerpack went critical, you couldn't stop it. But confused or not, his hands knew what to do. His wrist rotated and the spring-loaded sheath in his duster's sleeve spat out his lightsaber. He caught it adroitly, the ochre blade snap-hissing to life as the horrible doctor launched a torrent of crimson bolts his way. His blade moved with preternatural speed, guided by instinct and the Force, batting aside the barrage of blasterfire. The Force's fire burned through his muscles, lending them a speed no mundane could match, but the WESTAR's clip was nearly full and he knew he couldn't keep his skin whole for long.

Sweat prickled on his forehead and cold tendrils of fear gnawed up his spine. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Even with his muscles protesting and his brain battering against the reality he faced, he could still feel the small rivulet of blood leaking from between his ribs. His hands guided by the Force alone, he darted a glance at the creature's belt - and at the scalpel sheathed there, next to a small vial. Realization hit him like a stampeding horse.

Snarling, the Kiffar batted away another salvo of bolts. A stray ricochet missed the creature by centimeters, causing him to pause for the space of a heartbeat. It was enough.

Terran disengaged his saber, stashing it in one of his duster's pockets, and leapt from the platform.

Rhylance watched Terran leap off the wooden platform, plummeting to the next Wookiee construct at least 40 feet below. A fall from that height would kill most creatures, but Force users always seemed to have a trick up their sleeves. Rhylance wouldn’t count him out yet.

The Taldryan Consul was on edge after this encounter. Arcona was looking for him, which meant now — more than ever — he needed to get off the planet and return to the fleet. Still, something in his head told him he needed to silence the one who came after him. As he threw the blaster rifle to the wooden floor, Rhylance hastened toward the exit ramps, knowing he hadn't a second to waste.

…

Time seemed to slow as Terran fell, the air rushing against his skin and the hallucinogen still flowing through his veins. Though he knew the images he was seeing were fake, fear still crept through him as winged red eyed creatures flew at him. His ears were assaulted by loud screams emanating from them. Shaking his head, he realized his real concern should be the fall.

Terran raised his arms, spreading out to build resistance against the air. Through his altered vision, he could see the wooden platform beneath him rapidly approaching. He concentrated hard, willing the Force to strengthen his muscles and bones. The cacophonous creatures around him threatened to break his concentration but he clenched his teeth, focusing as hard as he could. Time sped up as the ground came closer and the Kiffar leaned backwards, righting himself and bending his knees slightly.

The wood cracked as Terran’s feet impacted hard against it. He felt a tinge of whiplash from the sudden stop and dropped on his butt. Catching his breath, the Kiffar closed his eyes, blocking the haunting images that plagued his sight. Breathing deeply, he channeled the Force throughout his body, steadying his heart rate and slowing his pulse. As he calmed himself, the screeching faded away.

It took some time but the Arconan regained the full functionality of his body, though he could feel the strain the landing had taken on his legs. While not broken, he knew he’d have to take care not to injure himself further. A cry in the Force rang out as Terran felt a pull on his body to the left. Allowing himself to be controlled, he rolled to his feet as the spot where he’d been sitting was blackened by a red bolt of energy. Pulling out his lightsaber with his right hand, and activating it with a snap-hiss, the Kiffar instinctively deflected three more red bolts. His left hand hung tight against his left legs holster. Rhylance approached, his Synergy WLD-5 Blaster trained on the Arconan.

“As I thought. Saved by the Force,” the Chiss said, disdain dripping in his voice. He knew he had taken too long. His hallucinogen had worn off, and the medic had no chance of victory in a straight fight. “Why can’t you people just die like the rest of us?”

“Sorry to disappoint you Rhylance, but I told you I came here with a job to do, and I’m not leaving till it’s done.”

“Whatever Atyiru is paying you, I can pay you more,” the Consul said, his red eyes gleaming against his glasses.

“See that’s where you failed, 'Lord Commander',” Terran said with a smirk. His left hand drew forward clenching a WESTAR-35 "Phoenix Edition" Blaster Pistol and fired three times in quick succession. Before the Chiss could react he felt the bolts impact with his left leg and he dropped to the ground in pain. The Kiffar stood up and deactivated his lightsaber, stashing the hilt in his duster. He walked forward and clicked a button on the blaster, keeping it centered on his target.

“We follow our Consul out of loyalty, not for the money,” Terran pulled the trigger and a series of blue energy rings shot out, stunning the Taldryan on impact. “Ok, the money is pretty good too.”

The Kiffar smiled as he activated his wrist link, connecting him with his ship.

“Isshwarr, Kolot, I’ve got him. Let’s head on home.”

The platform fell away beneath his feet and vertigo wrapped its icy fingers around the Kiffar's heart. Terran ignored the tendrils of dread, reaching into his duster and pulling free a small, silver sphere. He hit the cylinder's actuator and tossed it back over his shoulder, eyes never leaving his destination. The Force crackled through his muscles and he reached out with both hands, straining against his own tendons, as if he could will his arms to lengthen. The chill night air whipped past the Kiffar's face, stinging his pale skin, and he had just enough time to grit his teeth in effort.

His hands slammed into the neighboring platform, wroshyr planks older than he was biting into his calloused skin like a thousand tiny, wooden fangs. He let himself breathe the smallest sigh of relief as his fingers strained against the platform's edge. With a grunt of exertion he began to pull himself up. Then the thermal detonator exploded.

The percussive force hit him like a gong, washing over him and drowning out the beautiful, deadly forest like a cacophony of violence. The Kiffar had been near explosions repeatedly in his life, but he never stopped wondering if this time would be different. Maybe this time would be the time his ear drums ruptured and never healed properly. Maybe this time the ringing in his ears would be the only thing he ever heard again. Then the concussive blast hit him and burned away all thought.

The wooden platform that had held so tightly to the mighty wroshyr tree at its center creaked in protest. It groaned against the punishment that rocked it in the thermal detonator's wake. It cracked. The Kiffar felt the air's icy bite once more whipping past his face. He hit the platform a dozen meters beneath it, and then he felt nothing at all.

It was the caralatachek's high-pitched cry that saved his life. The avian beast, colloquially known as a shrieker, frightened predators away from its nest by making a shriek that echoed throughout the forest. It triggered something in the Kiffar. A piecemeal dream. A forgotten memory. He saw his mother's face as the pirates - he didn't know how he knew they were pirates, he could barely walk - grabbed her, dragging her away. He lunged towards them, his small chubby hands reaching desperately for something on his belt. If he could just reach it-

His eyes whipped open and he felt the wooden platform rock beneath his booted feet, his hands fumbling in his coat for his lightsaber. His body protested, joints crying out against the movement, joining the chorus of scrapes and contusions that screamed within him. A slow, unsteady thump-scriff beat its way towards him, and he ignored the choir as he turned towards instinctively towards the noise. From the edge of the platform, the horrible creature in the crimson faux-lab coat stalked towards him, one foot walking steadily, the other dragging behind him. It still held his blaster rifle in its skeletal fist, and the Kiffar took a single step towards it. The world tilted as he did, and he realized belatedly that the platform wasn't rocking - he was.

Terran drew deeply on the life of the forest that surrounded him. He could feel it suffusing him, light rushing in through every pore, and he directed the energy inwards. The light became fire, burning away the fog that clouded his mind and smothering the hundred aches and pains that threatened to distract him. The creature seemed to melt, again, this time reforming into the Taldryan Consul's bruised and battered form. His uniform was ripped in more places than the Kiffar could count, and his face was swollen almost to unrecognizability. Beyond the Chiss' shoulder, Terran could see the shattered remains of the original platform, crackling and smoldering where they had fallen onto the platform beneath. Despite the destruction, the bridge that connected the two lower platforms was intact, and the Kiffar bit back a snarl as his prey closed the distance between them.

Then he collapsed.

He hit the wooden deck with a pained grunt, the world threatening to swim out of focus. He flailed mentally, grasping at the Force like a drowning man at a proffered rope, and he pulled himself to the proverbial surface. He tried to stand, but his battered body refused. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Taldryanite's boots stop a bare meter from him. Then he saw nothing else.