#tiny imp bigger bark

[makolokgneh]

[burnwater13]

Caption from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3, The Heiress. Caption reads: I've been quested with returning this Child to the Jedi.

Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 8, RedemptionGrogu is holding onto the satchel and watching IG-11 address the stormtroopers.

Grogu was running around outside the house on Nevarro when Din Djarin asked him what he was doing. Grogu sighed and explained that he had been quested to return the baby frog he’d found to its kind. His dad laughed softly under his helmet and then asked Grogu who had set him on that quest.

Grogu grimaced and then tried to explain it to the tall human using a mix of Tusken sign language and the few words of Gal Basic he felt confident in using. 

“Some con man asked you to do it? Grogu, buddy, no one’s around for here klicks in any direction. I just did a scan.”

“Dank Farris!” Grogu grumbled. 

Based on the change in the Mandalorian’s posture, how he had tilted his head and had put one hand on his hip, Grogu realized that his dad understood those words pretty clearly. Before his dad could scold him for that Grogu explained what he’d said before only this time he went slowly and used bigger hand movements.

“Oh. Your conscience. I see. Do you need my help?” 

Grogu shook his head. It was his quest and he didn’t want his dad butting in and taking over. Then they’d be flying all over Nevarro in the N-1 looking for another Mandalorian to consult with and since that hadn’t really worked the first time, Grogu didn’t think it was any more likely to work this time. 

“Okay. But don’t leave the yard. Dinner will be the usual time.”

Then Din Djarin went back into their house and Grogu found that he was just a little disappointed that his hadn’t even tried to butt in. He sighed. 

To cure that feeling, Grogu sat down and opened his hands to check on his tiny foundling. 

The baby frog was breathing kind of fast and it had peed on his hands at least one time, Grogu was annoyed to learn. Oh well. A baby frog didn’t have a lot of ways of defending itself and that was one way that he’d noted worked well with people. His dad hadn’t been happy to discover that it was just as icky when you were wearing gloves. 

Grogu explained to the little frog that it should just tell him when it needed a privy and he would help sort that out. He’d already built a small playpen for the frog baby and he could just add a section to it for personal functions of that nature. It wouldn’t be very hard and it would keep them both from this sort of embarrassing outcome.

The baby frog simple commented with a very soft ‘peep’. 

Grogu nodded his head and carefully stood up and brought the tiny critter over to the playpen. He opened the top of it and placed the frog baby into the pen and then carefully put the cage top back in place. 

He really hadn’t liked needing the top to the playpen, but after he first made the playpen, the little critter had hopped right out and started barking. Grogu knew that was a call for help and he rushed over, picked the critter up and returned it to the playpen and then made the top so the baby couldn’t just escape all over again. That’s when his conscience told him that he needed to find the tiny frogs ‘kind’ sooner rather than later, so it could go back to whatever it was doing before it jumped onto Grogu’s coverall and took a ride to their cabin, which was really the crux of the whole problem. Where did it belong?

Earlier that day Grogu and his dad had gone into Nevarro City to meet with Greef Karga and some other folks. They were worried that there was another Imp Remnant hiding out on Nevarro. Din Djarin had been skeptical but he agreed to check out the location and he and Grogu took the N-1 to the location and found a place to touch down. 

There was nothing there but a huge boulder that more or less looked like a TIE-fighter.  Din Djarin thought that maybe it had been a TIE-fighter but it had been caught in an immense  pyroclastic flow. Okay. His dad had said ‘big lava flow’, but the facts remained that nothing else about the location pointed to a return of Imps of any sort. 

Grogu and his dad had waded through hip high grasses (the Mandalorian’s hips that is) and returned to the N-1. That’s where Grogu thought he picked up the little hitch-hiker. The problem was that he hadn’t noticed the little critter until they were all the way back home after calling Greef Karga and explaining the situation at the TIE rock. 

When Grogu first heard the tiny grunt sound he thought the Mandalorian was trying to get his boots off. He often made a sound like that but then Grogu realized that his dad never made that sound so softly. It always sounded like Din Djarin was trying to pick up the TIE rock on his own. His dad had made a comment about getting older and having a bad back and that Grogu would understand what that felt like some day and then went off to polish dirt off the N-1.

Anyway, that’s when Grogu discovered the small frog and realized it was just a baby. Not a tadpole, but just past that stage in frog development, and that it needed to go back to its family. That’s when he started to check on the known frog locations around the homestead and realized that was a lot easier to do if the froglet was in it’s own playpen, which lead to him having to create the top for it. Uff. 

So how was he supposed to complete his quest if he didn’t know where the baby was from and didn’t know who its parents were and couldn’t even communicate effectively with it? It’s not like the big blue Sorgan frogs were going to be able to tell him anything about the tiny peeper who was looking up at Grogu with such big, sad, brown eyes. Nope. He’d just have to ask his dad to help. 

Sometimes you just needed to more experience to solve a problem and if the Mandalorian had anything, he had experience bringing a youngling back to their kind. Whether or not they stayed there, well, that was a different problem. Maybe he’d have a tiny apprentice of his own? Nah. What were the odds of that?

Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3, The Heiress. Caption reads: I've been quested with returning this Child to the Jedi.

Din Djarin in sitting in the cantina on Trask with Grogu and Bo-Katan Kryze. He is explaining his situation to Bo-Katan.

[lunarsaga]

AND NOW! Now we get into the hybrid story~ Full scene below the cut!! Enjoy~

Rin's Curiosity

Luna wasn’t sure where exactly she took a wrong turn, but here she was, in the middle of a damn forest, with no GPS. (She could just hear her father’s voice in her head berating her for relying too much on modern tech. Ugh.)

But then came a voice, one she recognized.

“Miss Luna!”

Around the bend of a large tree sat the little girl she’d helped out her first night in the Feudal Era; Rin. It’d been, what? A week or two since? And no sign of “Lord Sesshomaru”.

“Hey kid, you get left behind again?”

“This woman again?” That was another voice she knew; the little imp Jaken. The somewhat irritating second hand to Rin’s guardian. Luna merely arched an eyebrow at him. At least Rin wasn’t completely alone.

“It’s okay!” Rin assured her, “Lord Sesshomaru will be back! Come and sit with us, I’m glad to see you again!”

“Don’t just invite random humans over!” Jaken protested.

“I don’t think your friend here agrees,” Luna chuckled.

“Don’t worry about Master Jaken!” Rin giggled, much to the chagrin of the tiny demon. “I would like to know more about you!”

Luna glanced away, hazel eyes locked in a thousand-yard stare. “...more about me, huh?”

“Yes,” the little girl nodded. “The last time we met, you said you were Miss Kagome’s older sister… are you a priestess like her?”

Luna chewed her lip, not sure how to answer. Pretty sure I don’t have powers like her... “I don’t think so. I’m more of… a demon slayer, I guess?”

That was only the first of many questions the little girl had for her. Why did she dress so strange? Where was she from? What was it like? Were there demons there too? Luna could barely keep up with answering all these questions.

“You talk way too much, Rin!” Jaken barked at one point. Luna watched the smile on Rin’s face falter, and glared at the little demon. “Hey, leave her be. I don’t mind.” She turned back to Rin, nudging her shoulder. “Why not tell me about you now, huh? How long have you been traveling with these two?”

When Luna had first met Rin, she had no idea that the “Lord Sesshomaru” the girl wanted to return to was actually Inuyasha’s cold, murderous older half-brother Kagome had described. Imagine her confusion when she had to reconcile the “evil, human-hating demon” with the guy this little girl trailed along behind so faithfully.

“Just a little while now!” Rin answered, “But it’s better than living around humans!”

Luna laughed. “You got that right… any reason why?”

Rin gazed into the fire, smiling warmly. “Well… I was alone… My family…” Her face fell. “My parents and brothers… They were killed by bandits, then… after being on my own a while, I was attacked by wolves…” There wasn’t a moment of quiet before she perked back up again, grinning at Luna. “But Lord Sesshomaru saved me! And I’ve traveled with him and Master Jaken ever since! That’s why I don’t want to live with humans… humans are awful...”

Luna shrugged, sympathetic. “They can be, yeah. But you feel safe with these two, right?”

Rin nodded, grinning still. “Yes!”

“That’s the most important part.” She reached forward to ruffle the girl’s hair. “I was practically raised by a cat demon, you know.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. She’s protected my father’s family for three generations now—and she is hands down my best friend.”

“I don’t think I have a best friend…” Rin turned to Jaken, “Master Jaken, are we friends?”

“What?!” The little demon shouted, “No way! Why would a demon like me be friends with a human brat like you?!”

“Miss Luna’s best friend is a demon!” The girl pouted, and Luna swore she felt her heart melt.

“I’ll be your friend, kid.” She offered.

Seeing the little angel’s face light up like it did was absolutely everything. “Really?!”

“Yeah, really.” Suddenly, Luna got a weird little feeling in her gut. Like a disturbance in the Force, she joked to herself. Maybe it was just… the start of something bigger, something she wouldn’t know the full consequences of until much later. Still. Worth it.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Grave of a Trees

genre: fantasy/DnD

words: 2.6k

summary: post-industrial revolution a hobbit goes to the ends of the earth to look for the Ents.

Read below or on my website: iawriting.com

The rumble of the car vibrated up Bast’s spine. It moved all the way from his toes to the top of his head, sending his teeth clattering and tail bone aching. The jeep careened around corners and sped along dirt roads with a certain gusto reserved for berserkers in battle and water nymphs drowning lecherous young men. It was something one was born to relish.

Bast was weightless for a moment as the car floored it over a small hill, his stomach swooping and body floating like an astronaut caught in orbit. Gods help the shocks on this thing, he thought to himself.

They landed with a crash and Bast yelped helplessly, Floria in the front just chuckled to herself at his reaction. An imp was the only person he could get to take him out this far.

The whole vehicle was scented with something like tar and licorice, the imp would sometimes glance in the mirror back at him. Luckily, the engine was so ferocious and feral that it’s noise blocked out any thought of having to make small-talk. That fit Bast just fine.

It was well-past noon by the time the car considered slowing down, skidding across the barely-there gravel road and approaching the thickets of woods. The far west had enormous forests like this covering it’s coast: dark, closely-knit and energy hovering on carnivorous.

The dark between the trunks was absolute and the leaves rustled far above with a threat between their teeth. The forest floor was sparse and padded with leaves and dark moss, there wasn’t enough sun leaking through the canopy above to help anything grow there.

The car gradually hissed to a halt as the lumpy road gave a final rocky wheeze and disappeared altogether. The car lurched violently into park and the engine rumbled thunderously before falling quiet.

Floria took the keys out and turned around, a perpetual smile plastered across her face and two shiny fangs protruding out from her mouth. She had red skin and cherry-blossom pink hair that hung at her cheeks in a bob, her eyes were inky black blots. Little tiny wings flapped on her back as she faced him.

“I’d play a funeral march now, but the radio conked two acres ago.” She commented breezily. “I noticed.” The only thing louder than the engine of the car was the gravely screamo remixes blaring from the speakers for the last four hours.

Floria grinned somehow even more widely, “are you sure you’re up for this, little ranger?” Bast just frowned delicately, “there’s nothing for it.” He whispered, patting his pocket and then reaching for the door, “this is it."

There had been stories, long ago and buried under other frayed memory, of hobbits that talked to the trees. They bonded with them deeper and longer than even the elves and the druids and all the folk in between. Bast owed it to them to keep trying.

That’s what his ancestors would have wanted, however long dead and forgotten they were.

Floria just snorted in return, “I’ll be back in a week. If you aren’t here in a couple hours I’m going back to the town and telling ‘em you died sucking tree bark.” Bast rolled his eyes elegantly, “I appreciate it,” he said dryly, “try not to lose your hearing on the return.” “What?” She said loudly and he met her eyes just in time to see the sparkle there. They shared a very brief chuckle. “I’ll see you Floria.” He hopped out, shouldering on his massive pack and only pausing a moment to glance back at the imp. “Wish me luck.” Floria leaned out of her jeep and threw up a peace sign, “pull some magic out of your ass, Halfling. You’re gonna need it.” Bast just wrinkled his nose and turned around, Floria revved her engine and sped away in a rainfall of dust and small rocks. Bast took a deep breath.

He stared at the trees for a long, tense moment, listening, feeling sweat lick down his neck and the cool breeze beckoning from the depths of the woods. This wasn’t a place for mortals, but very few forests were.

He patted his left pocket in a reassuring way, felt a large lump there, and then began to walk.

˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚

There was a moan in the wind. It was hushed, barely there, just a shiver under his skin and a soft finger across the back of his neck.

There was, nonetheless, a moan on the breeze. Bast’s ears twitched as he picked up on it, flicking back and forth. He had spent years being teased for their size, called “elf-blood” by peers and worse by everyone else. It was only by irony alone that his ears saved him time and time again.

Bast jumped over a dead tree and weaved back and forth among enormous trunks, following the moan deeper, deeper into the Forest of Saints. The name was a bit of a misnomer since no saints had died here, and since no one lived near there at all. The locals hoped it would call in some divinity to a place most considered generally “cursed to hell and back again.”

It was true Bast didn’t find a lot of holiness here. He just found shadows, spiderwebs, and the prints of animals bigger than anything under the mortal sun. The size of them matched the size of the trees themselves- trees so wide and dark they felt like walls.

It was quiet, no bird songs or bugling of elk, nothing but his own hushed footsteps and steady breathing. It smelled of something wet and green, dizzying and promising head colds every morning.

Bast thought it would take longer to be sucked completely into the heart of the woods, but the pulse of this place ate you whole and brought you into its bloodstream as quickly as any hungry mouth. It was vast and took you exactly where it thought you needed to go.

It led him past berry trees with fruit so red it almost stung to look at and trickles of streams and stone monuments by men and elves that had fled this land long ago. Bast endured it quietly as he saw the same stones and streams and broken shrines again and again.

“Show me,” he whispered to the dense trees, “please.”

The sun hung low and sour in the westerly in the sky when a new noise permeated the silent thickets. Bast stopped dead in his tracks, a growling coursed through the thin empty air, he turned around in circles, “I mean no harm.” He spoke in Common.

The growling was visceral. It was bloody, raw, and filled with things so old it could turn a normal person to dust and mold.

The sound grew with each passing moment, Bast’s skin crawled and his impressive ears perked up with a quiver. “I am a ranger,” he called, putting his hands up in the air. “I am Bast, son of Hemla. I am here for the trees.” The growling seemed to come from all directions, surrounding him and planting itself deep in his chest. He turned around once more, every hair on his body standing on end. Then he stopped. A great green-grey beast stood on a low branch above him.

Bast’s eyes went huge, his whole body taut and breath catching in his throat. It had a massive snout, trailing white whiskers, and two triangle ears, it stood on the lowest branch of a huge mother tree.

The beast’s paws were the size of Bast’s head and her legs as wide as his body. She was covered in dark dappled moss and growing things- like an island onto herself.

Underneath the greenery was grey fur so thick it looked like you could cut your hand on each hair.

Bast stumbled backward when the great beast leapt down, gracefully landing in the place in front of him. He felt the impact in his teeth.

“Forest wolf,” he whispered, but he knew she was something more than that. Much more.

An ancient dire wolf, bigger than any he had seen before. She had yellow eyes like glowing amber and a pelt covered in the very forest itself.

Bast put his hands further in the air, “I am Bast.” He said again, slowly, carefully. “I am a ranger. I can make the plants grow and the waters flow. I am not here to hurt your forest.” The forest wolf twitched her great snout, sniffing the air deeply. Her growling withered away and they were left at an impasse. She watched him through slitted eyes.

“Great guardian,” Bast tried one last time. “I want to save the Ents.” He winced so hard it hurt, “I have something.”

She watched him expectantly. Bast reached into his pocket, heart throbbing painfully. There was nothing for it, he had come so far or there was a high chance the guardian would bite his head off and think nothing of it. He swallowed thickly, cradling his treasure in his hands and hunching over.

“I know what we’ve done to this world,” he looked down at his feet, “mortals are hungry, no matter the species. We’ve hurt many forests.” He shook his head, “but I found this. At the very bottom of the Ashen Well in the volcanic plains.” He held up a single seed, about the size of a baby’s fist, it was a perfect acorn shape, and it pulsed warm in his hand like a tiny beating heart. It was shiny and hard, the throb of it was barely there, but it was still warm to the touch. “I’ve tried everything,” Bast whispered, “but I can’t raise him. I don’t know how, we need… I need to find someone to help, please.” The guardian looked down at the seed of a baby Ent, something worth more than all the gold in the world. It was said hobbits of old had a connection with the Ents, that they talked and listened and grew orchids together.

Perhaps I can do this yet, Bast thought to himself as the great forest guardian regarded him. Perhaps the planet is poisoned, perhaps it’s already over, but I can still do this.

The wolf closed it’s maw and padded closer and closer to him, he could smell the earthy scent of mulch and blood on her. She saddled up next to him and Bast looked dumbly back up, her belly reached the very top of his hat.

She lowered herself, haunches bending in an elegant arc and folding down to his level.

The wolf began to growl again, “okay, okay.” Bast returned the seed to his pocket and slowly approached her, she waited for him to grab onto a handful of fur. Her back was slippery with moss and hair thick as pine needles but he managed to clamber up high on her shoulders.

“Woah,” he was jostled backward the second he swung his legs over her back and had to hold on desperately with both hands. The wolf bounded across the forest floor and her back rolled like an ocean underneath them, they took off toward east of the sun.

Bast held on for dear life and his eyes began to water as the two of them pounded the earth and sped along the forest floor, the scenery becoming a blur of green as they moved.

His already-bruised tailbone ached as they crashed through the underbrush and went deeper and deeper into The Saint’s forest.

Will I be able to find my way back? Will I come back from this at all? A stray worrisome thought entered his head, but he dismissed it. I have to follow the forest spirit wherever she will take me.

It could have been an hour, it could have been five when the breakneck pace slowed.

The she-wolf lumbered to a slow stop and Bast cracked his eyes open, just as he heard the babbling of distant water and bird songs.

He blinked up, squinting into blotches of sunlight filtering in from up above. “Oh,” he hummed, feeling his chest expand.

This was a totally different part of the forest, dappled light spread all across the grassy floor- thick with foliage and animals skittering back and forth. “Thank you,” Bast said slowly, “thank you so much old mother.” The wolf just gave another brief growl and Bast swung off her back, landing with a heavy thunk and shudder felt through his knees. Bast managed not to topple over and firmly righted himself, the forest guardian started walking away the second he landed.

“Wait for me Old Mother,” he trotted along behind her and looked around once more. “Is this where they’ve been hiding?” He asked in a hush, “I’ve waited so long.” It had been five full moons since he had found the seed of an Ent. He was sure others existed but kings and treasure hunters craved them out as well, and then who knew what happened to the other tiny seeds. There was no telling if the one in Bast’s pocket could even still sprout.

The woods guardian led him toward a break in the trees, entering to a damp clearing with birds chirping high above and deer picking their way along the edges of the light. Bast could feel sacred energy of this place, he craned his neck back and took a deep breath.

“Great Ents!” He had to try, “please hear me!” He spun around in circles, “I have brought one of your own.” Nothing but chirping responded to him, Bast kept looking, circling the area and cupping his mouth to call out again and again. His voice echoed and the whole forest seemed somehow much stiller and emptier than it had before.

“Forest shepherds, tree lords, Ents of old,” his spirits began to flag, the sun was wilting into the earth, it was nothing but shadows brewing now. “Speak to me." Bast stopped when the wolf turned from him, facing the center of the clearing and padding away. Bast started to stomp after her, “why did you bring me here Old Mother?” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his tone.

The wolf turned her massive head and Bast looked past her, the clearing had water running down the roots of a tree and pooling in a small clear pond at it's base. It was the largest tree he had ever seen, fit to house mansions or cities or more.

It breathed old life and the promises of all of time.

Bast ran, “is that one?” He called, a wild smile growing across his face. "Is this where the Ents have been hiding?" And then he looked up, the tree swept tall and larger than life, but the branches were bare, empty and bark ashen, it was only the hollow of a tree.

Bast’s shoulders fell, his heartbeat slowing and chest squeezing painfully. He turned to snap at the wolf, the birds, anyone, “is this some sort of game?” If this was ever an Ent, it was not living anymore.

Then he paused, stopped, eyes growing wide as he looked down. Some of the roots tangled into a shape: a little pocket woven like an uneven bean, filled with water so clear and blue it almost glowed. A cradle shape.

Bast trembled, he softly approached the cradle, fingers trembling toward the clear bubbling water. He could feel the magic there. The wolf followed him, her fangs exposed slightly and ears perked up.

There was still a chance he could lose his head.

Bast just nodded, he reached into his pocket, and he plucked out the little beating heart.

“Dear one,” he whispered to the baby, “I will protect you, we will do all we can, just,” he squeezed his eyes shut, pinpricks of water forming there. He slowly, slowly held the seed over the cradle of water, “come back to us.” He eased the seed into the Ent water. The seed settled at the bottom of the cradle and Bast looked down at it’s tiny pulse, beating hard and fast.

Please little one, he prayed, barely breathing, it’s your turn now.

A tiny, silken, white hair sprouted from the top of the acorn.

[corellian-smuggler]

16,22,24

24. Tender

Han could feel her standing behind him, and at once he regretted his decision–stupid of him to retreat into the cockpit, where he was trapped, where she could corner him like this. His hands balled into fists; he should’ve–damn, at least if he was working on something or–or fixing something–if he looked busy, he could’ve just…

Hell, he was way too–vulnerable–sitting there with his head in his hands. No distraction for himself, no, but even worse, no defense from her. Maybe if he was fiddling underneath the dash, rewiring or something, she wouldn’t think he was… or at least he could tell her he was busy and send her off…

Hell.

He heard the soft sounds of her boots on the floor plates and she took a few tentative steps closer to him.

“Han?” she whispered. Her voice told him she was right behind his chair.

Han shifted, wiping his palms against his knees. Had the cockpit always been so small? The walls felt too close. She felt way too close.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it was because he felt like a cornered animal that he snapped at her.

“I don’t want one of your damn speeches right now, Princess. Leave me the hell alone.”

The harsh tone of his own voice made him feel even worse. Somehow the terrible, roiling guilt in his gut worsened, and was joined by the usual hot tension in his chest that always made an appearance when he realized he might’ve hurt Leia’s feelings. He scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing she’d just leave him be.

A light, warm brush against his shoulder told him his animosity hadn’t scared her off; in a moment of detached absurdity he noted how small her fingers felt on him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Han.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Han–”

“I blew my cover, Leia. It was my fault.”

“You were trying to protect me–”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Han snarled, shrugging her hand violently from his shoulder and leaping to his feet. Leia was so close to his chair that there was hardly room to stand, and rather than retreating, stubborn, infuriating Leia held her ground, head tilted back to look up at him with such a sickening expression of pity on her pretty face that Han had to look away from her. He couldn’t bear it.

“If I’d'a kept my damn mouth shut, those Stormtroopers never would’ve fired, and–and that kid–”

Horrified, he clamped his jaw shut, desperate to keep from making such a display of himself in front of her. It was futile, though, and he knew it. He could tell by the way her eyes suddenly shone that she had noticed how choked his voice had become, could tell that his eyes were burning…

“If it weren’t for me, that kid…”

Abruptly he turned away from her, raking his hands through his hair. Over and over again, the gruesome scene flashed before his eyes like a holo projection that he couldn’t turn off. Leia, weaving through the crowd towards their target. The troopers that had suddenly pointed her way, the three of them raising their blasters and making to advance. Han, from his vantage point at the fountain, leaping up onto the stone and calling to them, thinking only of distracting them, of getting them off Leia’s tail, of how she’d have had nowhere to run in the dense marketplace…

He hadn’t thought in a million years that anyone would’ve recognized his face so easily under his disguise–never dreamed that immediately the stormtroopers would’ve started firing on him–he’d heard the mask-filtered voice in the split second before the shots fired:

“Get Solo! The princess can’t be far.”

They’d had no idea they’d been compromised. They’d had no idea the Empire knew they were coming.

Han’s only thought as the blaster bolts had blown past his head had been killing the bastards, or at the very least, causing enough of a commotion that Leia could have gotten away. The Imps would have been sending in reinforcements and they had to get out of there before they were surrounded. He’d taken cover behind the crumbling stone of the fountain, the screams of the fleeing crowd and the shrill blasts of the enemy fire ringing in his ears while he’d shot back at the three stormtroopers, and as he’d dropped the last of them he’d felt one second of wild relief.

Then he’d heard it.

In the severe hush that had fallen over the marketplace in the wake of the impromptu firefight, a piercing, terrified shriek had rent the air. He’d spun around, not understanding–that wasn’t Leia’s voice… and what…?

Through the clearing desert dust kicked up as the locals had fled, he saw, on the other side of the fountain, the source of the awful noise. The murky water was running red, and crouched on the stone ledge beside a limp, lifeless body half-submerged in the now ruined fountain was a little girl, screaming louder than anyone her size should have been able to scream.

Han had stood, stunned, as he understood–as he realized.

“MAMA!! MAMA!!” the child wept, clawing at the woman’s unseeing face. Both mother and daughter, like many of the people in the marketplace, were dressed in rags, covered in grime and dust, and there were streaks down the kid’s filthy cheeks from her hysterical tears as she screamed for her mother to wake up. Even from the distance he was at, Han could see that no amount of screaming could have roused the woman…

“That kid’s an orphan now cause of me,” he ground out. He’d wanted to at least… to take her with them, to grab up that tiny shrieking little thing and help her, save her, but a squadron of troopers was spilling into the enclosed area, blasters blazing, between him and her, and Leia was suddenly grabbing at his wrist, pulling him…

He knew he was basically crying in front of the princess, but he couldn’t control himself. When had his hard, cynical armor fallen away? All the suffering he’d seen in the galaxy, and now he was getting himself all worked up over one motherless kid?

Maybe it was because he knew what happened to poor little orphans in cruel, callous cities. Maybe it was because he knew he’d just damned an innocent little thing to the very hell that had made him what he was. He couldn’t unsee the blind terror on the kid’s face. She’d been tiny looking, and her hair was the same brown as Leia’s.

“Han, listen to me. It wasn’t your fault,” Leia repeated softly. It shamed him that she was still there, bearing witness. “Children like her lose their families every day because of the Empire. Not because of you. This is why we’re fighting–”

“This isn’t about your fucking rebellion!” Han barked, rounding on her once again. “This is about the fact that a five year old girl is a fucking orphan because I drew imperial fire at innocent people!”

“You didn’t shoot those people, Han!”

“Just get out. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled. “You’ve never been hungry a day in your life. You have no fucking clue–”

His voice died in his throat, and he froze, overcome by cold horror.

Leia stared up at him, unmoving and resolute.

He wanted to throw up. He wanted–

“I know what it’s like to be an orphan, Han,” she whispered. He swallowed thickly, shame and contrition burning his throat, but she wasn’t glaring at him, or shouting, or condemning. Nothing in her expression or her voice was what he would have expected after such an insensitive blunder…

Her eyes, huge and brown and full of compassion, dipped down to the ground for a moment, and when she glanced back up at him Han was bewildered to see that she was suddenly the one who looked vulnerable and uncertain and raw.

She seemed to hesitate.

“And I know what it’s like to put on an act… to be cold and angry and hard so that no one will see that you’re vulnerable… and because… because by convincing everyone that you don’t feel, you think you can convince yourself…”

Her voice wavered, and her eyes looked bigger than Han had ever seen them, and then suddenly he didn’t know what he was doing anymore, only that somehow he’d collapsed back into the pilot’s chair and she’d wound up perched in his lap, and he had his arms wound so tight around her that he was afraid he’d break her, and his head was pressed against her and her hands were rubbing his back and his hair and scalding hot tears were leaking out onto his cheeks no matter how stubbornly he tried to stop them.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Leia whispered over and over, and Han was shocked by the way she held him and touched him. Like she was cradling him against herself, and her voice was tender in a way that he wasn’t sure anyone had ever spoken to him. Not since before he was a lost, orphaned little boy starving to death in the gutter on Corellia. Hell, when was the last time he’d cried? He couldn’t remember, but thinking of the little girl in the market kept his eyes stinging and his breath staggering roughly in and out of his chest. He wanted to feel embarrassment, to feel too-exposed, but instead all he could think about was the fact that somehow in the year and a half that had passed since Yavin, Leia Organa had become the one person in the galaxy that he would allow to hold him while he cried.

“Leia,” he whispered against her collarbone. “I wanna go back. I wanna–I wanna find that girl.”

He felt her rest her cheek against the top of his head.

She nodded.

[scionofchaos]

The Means of Observation

Spirits, as a rule, do not reflect light. Therefore it is not possible to see them in the way you view all physical, visible matter. Before you jump in declaring they aren't real, there are plenty of translucent, transparent, or invisible things in the physical world alone. Calm down. When you're detecting and identifying a being that does not reflect light, you must use the appropriate senses. You must also be aware of how tricky these senses are. If a creature presents itself through Conscious Interaction, know that you are being manipulated from the outset. They have chosen, or are comprised of, a medium that deceives the senses. Whether they look like a tiny fairy, a wicked imp, a scary ghost, or a mighty dragon, you need to look beyond that for their true nature. Anyone with the proper training could render such an aura, forcing even the less observant to fall back on their "reliable" physical sight to confirm you are "not" what they felt. If a creature presents itself through Psychic Interaction, this is only slightly better, as it reflects how the creature honestly sees themself. You may not be observing their true construction, but you are seeing their self-perception for all its honesty. That might be humbler or grander than reality.

That Interaction is also very flashy, and if you watch carefully, any false projection of it will dip and reveal what is beneath. Using Vital Interaction to present yourself is like a cat puffing up to look bigger. It reveals the truth of your essence, albeit in a more flustered and dramatic fashion. Realistically, vital essence is the same between all of us, in that we are all connected. But so are the parts of a tree, and you'd be remiss to suggest that bark, pulp, leaf, and petal are all the same. If you really want to know a person, physical or non-physical, gauge them by their Causality -- by the off-waves created by how they act and how they respond. This language is much harder to lie in than any spoken form. There is no hard list about the true distinctions between spirits, nor an exact method in how to discern them. When you see lists that talk about things like poltergeists and phookas, you are reading a mangled combination of folkloric tales. I have once met a spirit that I can best compare to some kind of worm. Small, weak, hungry. It had a thirst for knowledge, and I found it greedily feeding off of the contents of old, neglected books in a man's personal library. When it was spotted, the worm spirit tried to attack me directly, likely sensing that my mind contained tasty knowledge. I have also met a spirit built from structures of warm, yellow light, similar to the Naaru in Warcraft, or how angels are sometimes portrayed. It was a soldier in an army claiming to be called the "Children of Light."

Neither one of these encounters reminded me of anything I had learned about in lore. I have seen continent-sized giants roaming near the core of this world, and Ghibli-like elder beasts stalking the streets of my town that once used to be woods. Not once have I seen a little woman with insect wings, nor a washer-woman crying by a river. I have not seen a little horned man in red, with pointy tail and pitchfork. Take from this that real spirits are not going to take the forms you've been provided in fairy tales and fiction. Look instead to the writers and artists who make no claim of creating something real, and draw from no existing lore directly. Ones that inspire you and make you feel something deeply. While what they portray is fiction, reality might not be far off.

As for the practice of manipulating the essences and using them to interact with spirits, that's really a thing for many future posts. What I can tell you now is the fundamentals, the 101 of Interaction. Begin with the guidelines I have provided for sensing Venues, and when you are quite clear on how your Basis looks and behaves, apply your will to the natural behaviors I've described. Will your body to resist attack (start with something small like a healing paper cut or a minor cold). Will your consciousness to expand its horizons, and sense things beyond your current domain. Turn your mind toward the application of great will, attempting to plant your thoughts in the mind of a nearby person, or trying to sense what they are thinking. Mastery of your breathing and the accompanying vital essence will make all of this easier and more productive. Do not expect it to work miraculously right away. These are stretching practices, things to help you acclimate to Interaction. Try expanding your aura and altering its behavior. Try creating a tiny orb of essence in your hands. Try drawing physical essence from contact with the earth (this is not the same as eating dirt; you want its non-material aspect), or drawing conscious essence from being on or near the water. Try to feed your mind with the proximity of a large fire. Let the wind cleanse and revitalize your spirit. Practice all these things enough, and you will feel the gradual shift toward true ability.