Yette

Identity

Ability scores

Saving throws

Skills

Weapons

Languages

Inventory

• Half-Vest · 2 kg
• Blaster Pistol · 1 kg
• Computer Spike +1×2 · 1 kg
• Medpac I×3 · 0.5 kg
• Ryyk Blade · 3 kg
• Bowcaster · 8 kg

Backstory

The Empire did not come to Kashyyyk like an army. It came like paperwork. Yette remembers the first Imperial census officers arriving in Rwookrrorro, their white uniforms pristine against the wroshyr canopy, their datapads full of questions that had no good answers. She was thirty-one — young for a Wookiee, still learning the particular patience her elders called wisdom — when the garrison followed the paperwork, and the garrison followed by the labor requisitions, and the requisitions followed by chains. She watched it happen with the strange clarity of someone who understands exactly what is being said and cannot make anyone believe her warnings. That is the wound she carries: she saw it coming. She told her clan in Shyriiwook, low and urgent, reading the Imperial communiqués posted at the platform markets that her clanmates could not parse. They heard her concern. They did not hear her certainty. And when the roundups began — systematically, efficiently, with all the administrative tidiness the Empire preferred — her younger brother Gruwwakk was among the first batch loaded onto the transport. She was in the lower canopy running a sensor relay she had been repairing for a trader. Her hands were full of someone else's problem when her family needed her. She got out. She is still not entirely sure how she feels about that. Nineteen years of Imperial occupation have made Yette something her clan would barely recognize: compact in her movements where Wookiees tend toward expressive enormity, quiet where her species tends toward volume. She hired herself to a series of small-time smuggling operations running the Outer Rim, less for the credits than for access — to manifests, to Imperial shipping routes, to the kind of information that eventually tells you where a labor transport might have been redirected. She taught herself to slice cargo systems with the same methodical obsession she once used to memorize wroshyr root patterns. Her computer spike has seen more use than her bowcaster. The ryyk blade at her hip is her brother's. She took it from his dwelling the night she left. She has never used it in a fight she is proud of. What she wants is simple enough to say and impossible to accomplish alone: she wants to find Gruwwakk, or find proof he is gone, and in either case she wants the Imperial officer who signed that requisition order to know that she read his name on that document nineteen years ago and she has not forgotten it once. She does not have his name. She has a partial registry number and a very good memory and nowhere near enough credits to bribe the people who might fill in the gap. But she is getting closer. She can feel it the way she feels a fraying wire — before the spark, before anyone else notices.

Roleplaying notes

- **Asymmetric Awareness (WIS 16 / Understands Basic):** Yette comprehends every Basic conversation in the room — whispered deals, careless insults, half-heard orders — while others assume she is lost in translation. Use this: let her react to something said before it is translated, or position herself based on intelligence she was never supposed to receive. - **Cold Precision over Warmth (CHA 10 / Haunted Trait):** Yette's grief has burned off most of her social softness; she does not perform charm and she does not try. When she communicates — through growled Shyriiwook, a look, a deliberate gesture toward her ryyk blade — it carries weight precisely because she is economical with it. - **The Ritual of the Spike:** Before any slicing attempt, Yette runs two fingers along the edge of her computer spike and pauses for exactly a breath — a habit formed in paranoid back-alleys where checking your tools was the difference between escape and capture. This brief stillness is the most focused she ever looks. - **Trust Earned in Increments:** Yette does not extend warmth to allies, she extends utility — she fixes your ship, she warns you about the sensor sweep she just overheard in Basic, she patches your wound. Friendship, for her, is a ledger she keeps carefully and pays in competence rather than affection. - **Dry Humor Through Shyriiwook:** Her jokes land as deadpan rumbles — a single low vocalization followed by absolute stillness, watching to see if the other person caught it. She never explains them. If they didn't get it, that's also funny.