The Journal of Jericho #2

Link to 1st entry set: [url]http://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/61280319[/url] Link to 3rd entry set: [url]http://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/61856750[/url] [7/29/13] update - Second entry added. Minor spelling fixes [9/11/13] update - Third entry set added Things to note: 1. The Entry/Date/Location/Title stamp that marks the beginning of a new section. 2. This is my first attempt at writing any kind of fanfic. 3. I'll update this post, or post new threads as necessary, to continue the journal. [b]X-----X[/b] [b]ENTRY_3_DATE_2/15/2715_LOC_NEARHELCEONSUMMIT_TITLE_PEAKED[/b] Mart has approached everyone about their diaries again tonight, complaining about our lack of “self” in them. “I know what the mountains and the trees look like, people. These diaries are meant to be an expression of self to prove your character. How the hell is it supposed to do that when all you write about is the scenery? Sure, that’s good and all for a story, but what the hell good is it if you don’t even describe yourself!?” The others kept quiet and respectful. They would not betray anything in front of him, be it their lack of respect for the aged Guardian or their own mistakes. It felt like his comments were directed at me, though he only glanced my way once. Up until now I never considered myself an important part of this process. Only the journey mattered. I know everything about me, but the Guardians who will read this, and eventually pass judgment as to if I qualify as a Guardian myself know nothing. From now onwards I hope to be more self-aware in my writings. Since primary school, I’ve had a complex, of sorts, about my own body. Citizens of the City, you see, are bred of a long line of Guardians. Meaning they are genetically superior: Taller, Faster, and better suited to fighting than the generations before. And then there’s me. My name is Harvey Aercaste, and I was born from a baker and an architect. I must have missed those important genes when my tiny self was replicating in my mother’s womb, as I am smaller and thinner than your average male Citizen. In fact, I weigh about as much as the average Citizen woman: 150 lbs. Maybe that’s why Karen captured my attention so? A similarity? Though I have some suspicions about her, I’ll keep them to myself for now. Writing this now as we hike, I find my ideas flow smoother than before. It’s as if I’m beginning to get used to the idea of writing in this diary, even though it’s only been two days. As we walk, the Abeg mountains loom over us, ancient sentinels passing ultimate judgment. Just like the Guardians. The mountains of Helceon and Paratour are two of the highest mountains in the Abeg mountain range. Coincidentally, they have in between them one of the lowest saddles of the entire range, though there is still snow covering the pass most of the year. “That’s our goal.” Mart had shouted, pointing to the pass. His shout seemed to be amplified by his helmet somehow over the howl of nature. The chilled wind diving from the summit grabbed at our cloaks with icy fingers, forcing us a step back. I shivered in my dark brown cloak, suddenly regretting my decision to wear thin traveling boots and leave my heavy gear behind. At the back of my mind, a small voice filled the darkness. ‘You can’t do it with those short legs of yours, can you?’ My gaze dropped from the high peaks to the ground. Of course it was crazy. Even for a Guardian it would be no small feat. “We should be able to cross over in a day’s time.” A flat, static voice said from behind us. The voice belonged to Karen, who’s periscopic eye was extended fully, and trained on the peaks above. It was almost disturbing to see it at full length projecting from her face. We were all a bit shocked for a moment. The mountain pass was thousands of feet high, with the last five hundred or so covered in a pure white snow. It looked nearly impossible to climb. “Are you bloody crazy?!” Sam waved an arm at the pass. “There’s no way up! And even if there was, what’s the point of us crossing?” Sam cried, he turned to Mart, who leaned against a nearby tree, casually watching us with a blank face-plate. “What’s the point of this, anyway?! Where the hell are we going, and how is it going to show everyone that we’re Guardian material?” Mart stood stone still, the only part of him moving was his cloak in the icy wind. I can still hear Mart’s words, now hours past: “Up there, Mr. Capula, is the grave of the very first Guardian.” ----- [b]ENTRY_4_DATE_2/16/2715_LOC_NEARHELCEANSUMMIT_TITLE_PEBBLE[/b] I’m finding it difficult to write this, here at the ceiling of the world; Where there is no wind, as the mountains at our sides protect us, and the temperature makes the sweat freeze before it evaporates from your skin. I’ve done my best to keep myself from freezing, using the contents of my pack to stuff my clothes, but it feels like I’m losing feeling in the smaller parts of my body. I’ll write as we walk to keep my blood flowing. Soon we’ll reach a building that we can take refuge in for the night, but I’m not sure I want this part of our journey to end so quickly: the sights here take my breath away before the wind has a chance to. Snowblind pass was once a high-traffic ground rout, being the lowest point in the Aborg mountains. Even today you can see the remnants of buildings, great roadways, and a communications facility that burrowed into the mountain, and had once reached far into the sky. But that was long ago, and before the start of all this. The roadways are now covered in earth from a landslide long past. The buildings are, in many places, mere skeletal structures of steel and concrete. The once great communications tower now lies fallen, like a bridge between the two peaks. We started out from our basecamp just before sunrise. The green around us, evidence of the fertile land of the north, gradually gave way to the dark browns and greys of the mountain slope ahead of us. Just lower than the pass, the rock became blanketed with a later of pure white snow. It amazes me how large the world is. Back in the City, we were educated about our world, and told of it’s many faces. Now that I’m seeing it for myself, I am in awe. I’m feeling a visceral desire to see more of this beautiful world and all it has to offer. But this was a hurdle I couldn’t overcome. I stood paralyzed in the presence of the fact that we were to scale these mountains. “What is it?” Johnathan asked quietly. I hadn’t noticed him beside me, but I was too intent on the world around me to be surprised. His large frame bent and sat on the ground next to me, his armor and pack clanking. Around us, our group was cleaning up camp and packing bags in preparation for the ascent. They moved sluggishly, often with quick, doubtful glances at the peaks, which were illuminated from the rising sun in the east. “I can’t do this.” I said in a small voice. I wanted to turn and walk away, to leave it all right there. Nothing is ever easy when Guardians are involved. Johnathan didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Someone behind us called out that they were ready to move out. “Do you know what it means to be a Guardian?” He asked. I had been completely unprepared for the question, and couldn’t find an answer that fitted the conversation. What did it mean to be a Guardian? Wasn’t it to protect the people that couldn’t protect themselves? That was the obvious answer, but it didn’t seem right. Johnathan picked up a small pebble from among the dirt and grass and rose to his massive height. “To me, this pebble is just that: a small stone.” He casually threw it into the air and caught it again. “To those mountains over there, I’m just like this stone. It doesn’t matter the size difference between me and the stone; In the mountain’s eyes we are the same: impossibly small and undeserving of attention.” He let the pebble fall to the ground. “But we are not stones. What really makes a Guardian isn’t their size, gender, or fighting style. A Guardian is one who does what needs to be done for the greater good, regardless of the odds or implications.” He pointed a finger at the pass. “Those mountains don’t care if you’re the size of a tank, or the size of a rabbit; The only thing that matters, and the only thing that can hold you back, is what you believe.” The man named Johnathan hefted his pack, strapping the waist belt. I watched him work the cinches and clips before walking off to return to the group. He stopped partway and called over his shoulder. “So what do you believe Harvey?” I thought about his words, about what they meant coming from a man who had probably towered over others all his life. What I believe, huh? I remember the odd feeling of my own face twitching into a smile despite myself. The howling wind that had dominated us yesterday had died off to a slight breeze, and with the camp all packed up the trees were quiet around us. Not a single bird sang for the arrival of the day. It’s funny how you can find salvation in the most unexpected of places: a few words from a man I hardly knew had started a blaze in my heart. Everything that I had thought about not being good enough or large enough had vanished along with the wind that buffeted us, and I felt that there was nothing to oppose me moving forward. Still wearing the smile, I began my ascent of Snowblind pass. [b]X-----X[/b] I originally had another chapter written out and was planning on it being the second entry here, but it felt as if i needed to add some depth to the OC. In fact, I'm looking forward to sprinkling a few tidbits of info on future chapters to really flesh-out the members of this troop. While we're on the topic, what should this group be called? They need a group name and a radio handle. What do you think?