A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

The Emperor rules over all. Planets once protected by the Galactic Republic are now under the thumb of the Empire.

After the Empire reinstituted slavery throughout the galaxy, the Wookiee planet of Kashyyk is under constant attack by slavers. Chewbacca had led the fight against them but was forced to abandon the planet after being critically wounded in battle. The ferocious Wookiee was brought aboard a medical frigate and taken far away from his home. But the starship was shot down over the forested outer rim planet of Shar'Ack, leaving Chewbacca as the sole survivor.

Now the lonely Wookiee hides among the alcohol-addicted artisans on the planet while his people are enslaved by the Empire. Working for the crime boss Tyric, he oversees the smuggling operations of prohibited alcohol to off-world planets. Waiting for his chance to exact his revenge against the Emperor…

The smuggling vessel Roma was a cramped and musty starship. The old junker was a salvage piece, intentionally kept dirty and rusted to discourage looters and pirates. The small crew on board were mostly humanoids who's true appearance were hidden beneath layers of worn fabrics not unlike the ship they were contained in. They were comfortable with their filth. Or at least conditioned to ignore it.

What was unusual to them was the sight of a hulking Wookiee waiting for them on the landing pad as they touched down on the planet Shar'Ack. Even if he couldn't see their eyes, Chewbacca could feel their stares as he attempted to squeeze his way through the hatch entrance. It was clear that this galaxy was not built for Chewbacca's kind, and he'd grown accustomed to making do with such uncomfortable accommodations. Chewbacca watched as the crew began the process of lowering the crates into the ship's smuggling quarters, concealed beneath a dusty computer terminal. This was their first transport of the planet's specialty: Idilwil, an alcoholic spirit renowned for its potency but not it's taste. As a part of the transaction, Chewbacca would inspect the handoff to ensure proper containment procedures were followed, and payment rendered in full.

There was a time when picking up a shipment from Shar'Ack was an easy score. The people here were mostly addicted to their own supply, and the smugglers knew how to play them against each other for the lowest price. It was predatory behavior that smugglers, and their wealthy backers, were happy to indulge. That is, until the stories spread of the horrifying Wookiee: Anyone who thought they could renegotiate the terms of their trade were lucky if they remained in possession of all their limbs, so long as the Wookiee was there to oversee the deal.

With the scammers dealt with, alcohol-production on the planet thrived. Idilwil could fetch a high price on any planet under Imperial control. With such heavy inspections and tariffs leveled on Imperial alcohol, Idilwil's heavy intoxicating effects meant that patrons would only need to purchase a handful of product to satisfy their clients.

Where there were once a variety of local producers competing against each other, the industry was soon consolidated under one man: Tyric, an old native of Shar'Ack, a Shaliz to be specific. A race of winged humanoids, they were ironically incapable of leaving the secluded forests of their home planet. Or perhaps they simply had no interest in it.

Chewbacca didn't much trust Tyric. He was a fat old man who was far too comfortable with his newfound success. But no one on the planet speaks Shyriiwook, the Wookiee's native tongue, and Tyric was the only one who even bothered to attempt a conversation with the hairy beast. Their one-sided communications were for the best, or else Tyric might ask why the lone Wookiee was aboard an old Republic medical frigate in the first place. Let alone the Wookiee's true name.

Writ, the ship's captain and lone human, knocked Chewbacca out of his hazy memories. "That's a mighty fine looking cargo if you ask me," he chimed in as he inspected the bottle of Idilwil. He was seemingly speaking to himself, as Chewbacca had learned most humans are fond of. He knew not to encourage this kind of idle chit-chat or else it might never end. As long as the product was secure and the price paid in full, that was the extent of his interactions with the crew.

"Might we toast to a job well done," Writ asked, seemingly genuine. He must have picked up on Chewbacca's sour mood as he cracked open the bottle. For as long as he's been trapped on this planet, Chewbacca's mind has been overrun by his hatred of the Empire and sorrow for the fate of his people. They were once free and proud, fighting alongside the Galactic Republic against the Separatist's droid army. But when the Emperor took control of the galaxy, he used his immeasurable power to enslave the "inferior" species.

The wookiees of Kashyyk were a quick target for slavers. Backed by Imperial headhunters, a clan of wookiees represented a substantial payday. The constant barrages on their home planet were impossible to prevent, despite their best efforts. Chewbacca had made it his mission to unite the various clans against their common foe, but it was too little too late. With the Republic gone and the Jedi destroyed, there was no one left to turn to when the planet fell.

It was in these desperate times that Chewbacca was injured and forced onto the medical frigate that would doom him to this isolated existence on Shar'Ack. And now the only way he could find to escape these dark thoughts was with a drink. Tyric learned this early on, and even though Chewbacca knew he was being manipulated, he indulged the behavior because it did lessen the burden from his mind. At least temporarily.

Writ offered him a glass but Chewbacca swiped the bottle instead. Each drop was valuable to a smuggler like Writ, but not so important that he'd risk offending a Wookiee of Chewbacca's size. And he needed it.

But what the alcohol could never do was dilute his hatred for the Empire, and the Emperor who had taken everything from him. For now, he'd have to bide his time and wait. Content with the knowledge that as long as he was still alive with a bowcaster in his hands, the Empire had no control over him.

The Shar'Ack trees whipped into a frenzy as the Roma flew off into the sky with a belly full of product. The branches fell to Chewbacca's feet but he paid them no mind. He had a satchel full of credits slung over his shoulder and a short hike back to Tyric's base.

It was once primarily a distillery, converting a variety of chemicals found only in the Artivis system into a potent alcoholic spirit. Now known as Idilwil, it was originally discovered in the sap of the planet's thick forest trees. Their roots soaked up the chemicals naturally from the soil and synthesized them together within their bodies. It was sometime later that the natives discovered the chemical process which produced this hallucinatory cocktail and recreated it in the lab, producing a more portable and profitable alternative in liquid form. Now the distillery functioned as Tyric's base of operations, bustling with activity as his droids tended to the distilling and packaging of the product.

The planet already had a small window to the outside world through the smugglers and capitalists looking to take advantage of the people here, but it wasn't until Tyric took charge, with Chewbacca's brute force at his side, that these off-world opportunists realized the situation would no longer be rigged in their favor. Tyric now operated a quasi-legal alcohol production business: the production of the alcohol itself was legal so long as Shar'Ack was an independent outer rim planet. But it's distribution was almost exclusive to Imperial controlled worlds because it was most valuable to those looking to avoid heavy tariffs and unwanted attention. This task was the exclusive purview of the smugglers Chewbacca was tasked with overseeing, and despite his best efforts, still represented the biggest risk to Tyric's operation.

"Welcome back, old friend," Tyric offered warmly as he opened the door to his office for Chewbacca.

This office was Tyric's primary resting place. He had no need to ever leave the factory, thanks to the Wookiee. So now his office had grown into a comfortable den, complete with luxury recliners and all the other material comforts a thriving business provides. "I take it there were no problems," he asked, already knowing the answer as he flipped through the stacks of credits in Chewbacca's satchel. It was filled to the brim with Writ's payment. He moved the credits into the nearby safe and punctuated the heavy thud of the door closing with a smile. "Of course not," he added cheerfully, "you truly are the best of the best."

Chewbacca knew he didn't have to respond to Tyric's flattery for him to continue with his spiel. He was leading to something, and Chewbacca could sense the hesitation in his voice as he neared the true subject of their conversation from his reclining chair.

"What would you say if I had an opportunity to be done with smugglers once and for all? What if we could cut out the middlemen and get into distribution for ourselves?"

Chewbacca let out a short growl of contempt for any discussion of trade deals.

"I know you're good at the work, but what if you didn't have to risk your life facing off with every two-bit smuggler who thinks they'll be the first to get one over on you? Wouldn't that be preferable, setting the terms of distribution with a respectable party? One we know we can trust?"

Chewbacca was still hazy from his drink on the Roma, which must be why he didn't notice when Tyric produced a bottle from his personal collection and poured him a glass. Perhaps it was the numbing effect of the alcohol that made Tyric's offer of peaceful operation sound more appealing.

By Wookiee standards, Chewbacca was still a young cub. But after his failures on Kashyyk, perhaps it was time for Chewbacca to lay and rest. The Galaxy continued to operate without him, and with every day it felt less likely that he'd ever find redemption, or that he even deserved it.

"What I've got lined up for us is our best chance at long-term stability. It's going to be risky, but if we can successfully negotiate this deal, we might just be set for life," offered Tyric appealingly.

Chewbacca didn't want to be persuaded by Tyric's speech. He wanted to stand tall for his clan. To one day return to Kashyyk and rescue his fellow wookiee's from enslavement. But every day that possibility felt further removed. The business on Shar'Ack grew, but it would never absolve Chewbacca of his guilt and shame.

Nor did it seem like it would provide an opportunity to exact revenge against the Empire. The smugglers and entrepreneurs they worked with were too skittish of the Empire. And even Tyric, for all his ambitions, had no intention of ever leaving his home planet.

For better or worse, Chewbacca was slowly beginning to realize that he might never escape Shar'Ack. And maybe that's what he deserved. A failure. An exile. Cursed to die in obscurity.

Their silence was broken by the sudden booming whoosh of a starship exiting hyperspace rumbling past the miles of trees on either side of the factory.

"I can't do this without you," pleaded Tyric at his most vulnerable. Whatever he was planning, it was clear that even he was not certain it would succeed. "Because it appears our guests have arrived."

Tyric brought Chewbacca to the window, through which he could clearly see the dreadful sight of an Imperial Star Destroyer overhead.