Largely a venture into new avenues of writing. I'll post in journal entries. 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. For those of you who wish to read the Journal in it's entirety (without breaks between threads) feel free to read it here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m1InkOwZ1uRS7yr8000fPdwXDO64tFnT6-fICu30wmA/edit?usp=sharing [7/25/13 Update] Journal entry added on new post (ran out of space) which is located here: http://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/61287465 [b]ENTRY_1_DATE_2/13/2715_LOC_AERSYIUM-PLAINS_TITLE_DAYONE[/b] I’m not really sure what to write here. I’ve never written much in the way of a diary, and by that I mean not at all. What should I write here, I wonder? Since it’s mandatory for new Initiates to archive their first experiences, I’m not alone in doing this. Even now, as we sit around our fire, several of my group are writing in their own. Some use data-pads, some use paper and pencil, but all are silent, their faces etched with dark shadows from the flames. Mart, our Core Instructor (some of our group have given him the nickname Shakes, as his hands often shake violently due to some past injury) sits at the edge of us, on the brink of a small cliff. His hands are calm now, one resting on his rifle, and one adjusting the vision of his TAC-HUD. Mart is, among other things, a real Guardian. I cannot understand why the others hold Mart in contempt. They follow his orders well enough, but when his sight is trained elsewhere they mock him. He must realize this, he must have noticed their quiet snickers, sitting away from us as he now does. The first couple of hours after we left the safety of our walls, he was close with us, giving friendly advice and extending a smile and a hand. But as the miles drifted past, and the mood soured, Mart drifted further and further from us. I wonder what he is thinking right now, sitting on the edge of oblivion to keep watch over us, his unwilling charge. If only I could see his face, maybe I could catch a glimpse of what drives him. But like many Guardians, he hides his face, seeks solace and protection from the outside world with a layer of metal and composite. It is rumored among many initiates that all the older guardians wear masks and helmets because of the magic of the Traveler. They say it warps them, disfigures them, turning them into the most fearsome of sights. These rumors fascinate me to no end. I find myself glancing their way whenever I see one, trying to picture the possible grotesqueness inside. Growing up in the D district of the City, I rarely had a chance to see any of the Guardians up close. As a child, my friends and I would run the streets, playing Guardian vs. Fallen. We would wage war with the neighborhood on the next street over, and win. Back in those days, I could only dream of becoming a Guardian like so many before me. Now, today, it feels as if it’s within my grasp. Today I began Initiate training to become a guardian along with eight others. We are new to the outside world and the beauty we’ve only seen through a screen. It feels like I’m being born again with every step I take and every corner I turn. The outside world is here, under our feet, and we walk over it. [b]ENTRY_2_DATE_2/14/2715_LOC_AERSYIUM-STEPPES_TITLE_KAREN[/b] Mart has sampled everyone’s first entry in their diaries, pointing out how we can best improve our record-keeping skills. He stressed the importance of keeping record of everything we saw and felt on our journey, explaining that it was imperative to the test. Needless to say, he found my entry a little upsetting. I could see the shake in his hands as he read it for a second time. Though I could not see his face through the dark composite I was the last one to venture forth from the other side of the fire. We were camped out on a rocky outcropping at the foot of the Abeg Mountain range, which stretched thousands of miles to the northeast and southwest like the vertebra of a sleeping giant. Now that I think about it, we’ve been taking an odd rout through the wildlands: often taking long detours or doubling back completely to take a more difficult rout. I asked a few of the others just now if they had noticed the same. They have, and seem to think it has something to do with confusing our sense of direction as part of our training, making it difficult to return home should we abandon the group. I would ask Mart directly about this, but after him reading my journal entry I’m unsure how to pose my question without feeling awkward. We have yet to see signs of any hostile presence in the areas of our travel. Is Mart avoiding them on purpose? I thought the whole point of this exercise was to prove our strength as Guardian Initiates? How are we supposed to do that without fighting anything? We all received weapons and weapon training back in The Tower, but now I’m suspecting that was only to prepare us for our survival out here. What are we doing out here? This thought has plagued me constantly throughout the day. What is it we’re out here to accomplish, way in the mountains? I’ve begun to know my fellow initiates much better over the long hikes. With little more to do than walk, sleep, and eat, I found myself craving conversation with another being. Today, just after a brief stop for lunch, I struck up a conversation with an initiate beside me as we walked along a shallow river. “It’s beautiful out here.” I said to the cloaked and hooded initiate, who stood nearly a head shorter than myself. The hooded head turned to me, keeping pace, showing that under the hood was a scout’s helmet, with it’s dark, singular periscopic eye constantly adjusting to the light level. It adjusted for a moment as it looked into me. “Yes. It is.” A distinctly female voice, albeit muffled, emanated from the helmet. Without another word, she strode ahead, aligning beside Mart, whom I avoided for the most part. I was intrigued with this small scout who hid behind a helmet. Rarely did i come across someone smaller than myself. I asked the other initiates what she looked like, but all said they had never seen her without it. “But she has to take it off sometime.” An initiate named Sam argued quietly as we walked some distance behind them. We had chosen a northeast rout along the Abeg mountains, although from what I could remember from the map at The Tower, there was nothing interesting in that direction. Several of us had huddled together as we walked, whispering and conspiring. “She has to take it off to like, shower, right?” A female initiate named Anne asked. “That would be gross, otherwise.” She stroked her own glistening blonde hair as she spoke. “Unless she has no hair.” Johnathan, a big man with big muscles, dark skin, and a buzz cut, who carried the biggest plasma rifle I’ve ever seen, chimed in. “Aww, weird!” Sam whispered, making a disgusted face. I watched the small, dark figure ahead of us. She was different from the rest of us. Those slumped shoulders, those careful movements that almost went undetected; they hinted at something, if only I could figure out what it was. “What’s her name?” I asked. Sam sidled up to me and matched my pace. He had golden blonde hair held back by a headband, and carried a slung rifle, a Kazer620 F-Model, on his back. Sam reminded me of those guys that always spoke really loud in class, and had way too much fun doing everything. Even now he wore a tilted smile. “I heard Shakes call her ‘Karen’, once before.” ‘Karen’. A nice name. A singer from years and years past had once held that name, back home in the City. We have since then made camp at the base of the Abeg mountains, near a traversable pass. The snowcapped mountains reflect the light from the last remaining hint of sunlight at their very tips. How high they stretched to be able to be bathed in light even at this hour was beyond my imagination. Now as the stars slowly wheel across the sky I find myself wondering what everyone’s doing at home. I have no way of sending any message to them, as the only one with a communicator is Mart. Were they wondering about my adventure as I wonder about them? Are they comfortable with their lives inside the Walls? Would they welcome me back as one of their own, even as a Guardian? I don’t think I can ever go back to the way life was before, even if I fail this Initiate’s test. [b]X-----X[/b] I'm planning on working out the kinks with character dev., and i know i'll probably have to rewrite these first few entries quite a number of times. Next entries will be found here: http://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/61287465 Now, on to the [b]FEEDBACK!!!![/b]