Log:Rheisa's Rescuer's Journal
Rheisa's Rescuer's Journal
Location: Shili
Participants: Pure NPC short, to supplement background story
Day one, Shili wreck site:
A slightly exasperated, but still good-humored face appears in the small, dark space captured by the recorder. The young man blows a light sigh while staring through the screen with fawn-colored eyes. “Good morning – I think!” He waggles a perky set of brows then continues with the entry.
“Experienced a /mild/ series of malfunctions upon nearing the predestined landing site. Firstly, the computer had a disagreement with the altitude control sensors. Faulty feedback, I presume, which led to inevitable interference with the thruster prompts. In short, landing thrusters were a touch delayed, so in addition to landing prematurely, numerous kilometers from the nearest mapped settlement, we landed /hard/. It’s been too many years since she’s been able to get proper attention, keeping on the run, so I suppose this failure’s been a long time coming.
“By grace of the Force, myself and my misguided vessel were able to maintain proper posture and not crumple on our heads, so there is hope for repairs. After weighing the risks, I’ve activated the distress beacon, broadcasting to the last known frequency of friendly ears, but have low expectations for rescue. My plan is to salvage the most important communication bits and carry it on my person as a makeshift transponder, should my brethren receive my signal and return contact.”
……
This time, there’re hints of daylight filtering into the feed, through what appears to be thick overhead vegetation. The man’s face is shadowed, but voice identical to the first entry. He rubs a couple fingers under a heavy stubble chin.
“My pack is now full of rations and communication equipment. A cursory examination of the craft’s exterior confirms that this job will require some assistance from friends. While scouting the immediate area, I did see smoke to the northwest, rising above the tree line. I’m leaving the wreck site now to investigate. Force willing, the locals might be in possession of a few tools and a little knowledge in the technicalities of starcraft. If not, I shall await rescue in good company!”
………
Darkness looms in the background once more. The light emanating from his device casts an eerie glow into his face. He sounds tired.
“My last transmission was 13 hours ago. It’s now past nightfall. Afore mentioned smoke was indeed born from camp fire, but was not located in a Togruti settlement. I am, however, in the company of a local. Wish it were under better circumstances. While many of Shili’s inhabitants have adapted socially to coexist with the greater, galactic span of customs and cultures, some of their tribes remain deeply rooted in tradition. After today’s discovery, I believe that my crash was not due to stroke of bad luck, but rather guided by the Force to collide our life paths at that precise moment and place.
“Her name is Reesa, as best I can understand and pronounce. She became a victim of her own hunting scheme, according to her short story, and the tribe left her here in this temporary camp for one. Her wounds are quite extensive, but most are superficial and should heal without issue. The worst accrued was the self-inflicted impalement of her leg, sustained during a tumble into the pitfall trap. If I understand correctly, the Akul being hunted also fell into the trap, but was subdued enough by its injuries to allow her survival and triumph in killing the beast. I suspect that the grisly adornment around her neck is a token of that kill.
“Our encounter began a bit rough due to some misunderstanding, but after she lost consciousness I was able to start her wounds’ healing. What concerns me more is the reason she fell into the pit – and the reason she lost consciousness during my surprise arrival. I sense that her heart is not operating as it should. Correcting the functionality of vital organs is far beyond my scope of ability. Because her pack will no longer accept her as a viable member of its team, I will request of any friendly responders that we take her off world for evaluation and treatment of her condition. If this is something she’s suffered since birth, I’m amazed she’s still alive.
“If she is strong enough tomorrow, we will leave this exposed site and return to the shelter of my ship.
Day Two, Shili wreck site:
Emergency lighting illuminates much of what appears to be a cockpit. The young man sits back in his pilot’s chair, staring pensively into the journal’s ‘eyes’.
“It took most of the day to return to the ship. Our pace would have been swift, had she permitted me to carry her. Such was not the case. Rather than risk being bitten a second time, I gave the Togruta woman her desired independence and instead put my energy into keeping the curious wildlife at bay.
“After reaching ‘camp’, I tried to make her a comfortable place inside the fighter, but she’d have none of it and insisted upon sleeping on the ground. I made a fire instead, and suspect I’ll be on alert most the night. Something howls in the distance and it sounds hungry. May be paranoia, but I’ll err in favor of survival.
“She sleeps now, stirring with fitful dreams now and again. I find myself envying her, having ventured into a third day without my own sleep, but shall draw sparingly from the Force and sustain me, us, through another night.”
Just before the feed cuts out, there’s a moan of something humanoid in the background and clattering of gear.
Day three, Shili wreck site:
Jarin’s face appears a bit brighter today and he flashes a hopeful smile to the recorder. “To keep awake through the night, I tinkered with the communication transponder and believe I’ve managed to rig a passable alternative to my distress beacon. I’ve broadcasted a transmission, I hope.” He raises a pair of crossed fingers with a little wink.
……………
Daylight remains fairly strong in the background this time, and it’s clear that he’s outside. Part of an A-Wing thruster jet can be seen, obscured a bit by underbrush. The faint crackling of fire is audible, as is a second party’s low humming/mumbling. The owner of this journal once more peers into its ‘face’ and offers an appreciative smile. His fingers uplift to show off a charred bit of meat before putting it between his teeth and chewing his words over. “There’s something to be said for the evolutionary advantage of montrals. Or perhaps the Togruta’s inherent relationship with the Force. Earlier this afternoon, she made an abrupt departure from conversation to take up her bow and leave our quaint little camp. I followed, expanding my sense of the immediate area but could discern no threatening presence, or noise of interest beyond the many rustling creatures that move through the forest.”
He pauses in his tale to take another bite and lifts a hand to mimic a montral alongside his head while nodding said head back and forth.
“She was indeed tracking something and when I made to inquire, she cupped a hand over my mouth. I sense she feels I talk too much, but that’s neither here nor there. Reesa tilts'em baaaack and fooorth before taking aim, to and fro a bit until seeming satisfied with her calculations.”
He continues the poor demonstration, clearly under the influence of food-induced lack of sobriety. Eyes squinting and voice picking up in its energy, he resumes.
“Her arrow loosed into a shallow arc and disappeared from sight. The piercing squeal identified her quarry well enough. It would seem that my company – and the treatment of her most grievous injury – has her reconsidering joining her ancestors so soon, for her to commit this act of hunting.
“It would also seem that I am now the designated retriever. Her share in the effort was complete the moment the arrow hit its mark. I dared not contest the look in her eyes when she motioned for me to go get it while hobbling back to prepare her butchering tools. “I’d later asked her if she’d mistaken me for a boar. She said no, she hadn’t, or she wouldn’t have missed.
“After further prying I learned the beast that’s now smoking over the coals had periodically stalked her grassland campsite for several days, drawn in by the scent of her wounds, no doubt. She did not chance wasting an arrow at that time, for fear that a more formidable predator would find her, and had resorted to shouts and pebble throwing to deter it. Now that we are ‘safe’ in the forest valley, she felt at ease with the decision to end the boar’s visitations, once and for all.”
A smudge of orange suddenly moves out of view of the recorder. Precisely when it had materialized there isn’t clear. But now it’s gone and a brief, humored trill sounds off camera. Jarin snaps around to look, evidently caught off guard, but his expression isn’t worried. “Thank you,” he bows his head with a toasting gesture, then turns back to face the screen. There’s a fresh piece of something juicy and reddish held gingerly between his fingers.
“Seems I get an early taste of this, too.” Eyeing it warily, he puts it in his mouth and grudgingly chews. It doesn’t seem delectable, by his taste.
“As I was about to say, she offered me a crispy peel of skin before the rest had finished. Maybe a token of her appreciation, as she herself did not have any, yet. May also be that she heard the rumbling in my belly, spurred by the juicy aroma of crackling boar fat. The offal, I was happy to discover, she buried deep in the ground away from camp, save for the liver, which fries slowly on a firestone. Well, except for that piece I regretfully put in my mouth.”
A quick wince crosses his expression.
“I find myself wondering if the extent of her cooking is merely for my benefit, as I suspect she’d be content eating much of the meat as nature gave it. I won’t insult her by asking, however, and eat the boar skin gratefully. She can keep the liver.”
More munching of skin crisps resumes while he takes a break from speaking to seek a gulp from the canteen. He isn’t gone more than twenty seconds, but during that time, a patchwork of rusty orange and white leers over the screen, centered by one large eye. The curious, green depth is speckled with purple – alien in nature. The device drops back to its former nest amid a rustling of ferns and the culprit slinks back to wherever she’d come from.
Jarin settles back into his ‘spot’ and brushes something off the screen before continuing. “Although her leg is on the mend, I must defer repairing her weak heart to licensed, medical officials - If she will agree to the travel, when my brethren arrive to reclaim me and my broken vessel. It’s clear that those she formerly kept company with will not accept her in present condition. A morning walk to the nearest water source proves almost too much exertion for her. It’s a wonder she hadn’t perished earlier in the fateful hunt.
“I can feel her staring at me,” he adds, not moving his head but flicking a glance to the shape that creeps into focus behind. His lips upturn with amusement. “She seems intrigued by my data pad.”
Day four: Shili wreck site
Jarin looks a bit disheveled but no worse for wear. He sips from his canteen and bumps around the tight space to recline cattycorner in the little cockpit.
“A return transmission from friendlies came this morning. Assistance is on the way, having agreed to detour from their intended route to Nar Shaddaa and help my bird regain her flight. I left the illusory solitude of the cockpit to share the news with my native friend, whom I am hoping will be a willing passenger.
“I found her rummaging through my collected stash of herbs and roughage with the accompanying trusty handbook of edibles. She asked if my stomach hurt, seeming perplexed by my choice in cuisine when there was still surplus of boar meat to be devoured. I said no...but how does one politely explain that a diet of meats alone will turn his insides quite ripe?
“Later this afternoon, she expressed some curiosity in my hygiene routine. What is it I need to groom my ‘fur’, she wondered. A reference to my thickening beard and head of hair, I assume. I suspect she’s noticed my scratching. Whatever mites were feasting on the living boar have hopped ship and taken a liking to me. Would I like a dust bath? Or scrub with silt from the stream? While I detected no meanness behind the question, it has occurred to me that perhaps my odor has become offensive after a few weeks away from the modern luxuries of sanisteams and freshers.”
He grins a boyish grin, in spite of himself and offers a hapless shrug.
“Hadn't been an issue, when only in the company of myself. I’d been tempted to hazard a dip in the nearby stream we’ve been drinking from, but find myself challenged to escape her shadow. The Togruta are a social species indeed, and with superhuman awareness. Communication in some form is a constant, whether intended or not. Nothing escapes her knowing, lest I rely heavily upon the Force to grant me a moment’s peace.
“As it turns out, she’s far less concerned with the notion of privacy as I, and took advantage of the stream herself during our evening walk. I quickly left her to it and took a moment to herald a flight status report from our rescuers...”
……
A much more haggard looking man stares remorsefully into the recorder, hair and scruff askew. Pale, blinking lights in the background indicate he’s crawled back inside the A-Wing. “I took risk of sleeping for a few hours tonight. It was not without consequence. I awoke – startled – at the feeling of breath so close to mine.”
There’s a pause as he shares a wry look with his journal.
“Evidently any remote, shred of shyness Rheisa holds by day dissolves completely come night. I’m excusing the invasion of personal space as a cultural difference, and understand that presently I am the sole member of her new ‘pack’ and so her options for bedfellows is limited to ... me. I was unaware of customary sleeping arrangements, but can draw a conclusion based upon this experience that the Togruta, at least those unpaired, must pile together like puppies. Safety in numbers? I’m not going back to sleep, at any rate, and can feel her sulking gaze upon me, even with this tough little bird’s hull between us. Feelings may have been hurt by my disagreement with her liberty taken, but am confident that a more detailed explanation of socially accepted contact in the morning can set it right. It's for her benefit, if she's to survive off-world anyway.”
Day five:
Jarin looks like hell. Still, his voice is calm and even.
“I awoke before sunrise to a scene that so adequately articulates the difference between our cultures – a reminder that her adjustment to life beyond the ground she’s attuned to may not be easily accomplished. Or wanted.
“A small, furry creature dangled from between her teeth. A thimiar, perhaps. She must have just delivered the fatal bite to her prey, as I detected the faintest of spasms in one of the pink little feet.
“She caught me looking, then, eyes wide and innocent and suddenly worried. A child with her hand stuck in the sweets jar. So, what to do then, but offer me the headless remainder?” The man draws his lips tight, choosing to not comment further on his feelings.
“I’ve retreated politely back to my pilot’s chair.
“In a few hours, the long-awaited technical assistance should arrive and perhaps by nightfall she’ll be on her way to a more suitable place of healing. I truly hope she’ll not resent relocating, or traveling with a new set of strangers.”
