Journal 1
Journal 1
It has been seven Sols since we both crash landed on this desolate, desert planet known simply as KALAX – 501. My only companion on this forgotten world is a being that my kind is currently in a galactic war with:
Human.
I am Ga’Roch of Set. Captain in the Thoga’Rach army. My lone ship was shot down by the human that sits before me by the crude fire he made from his primitive ball of mangled metal and wire he calls a “space fighter.”
Pathetic.
He is pathetic.
He must wear a (what the humans call) a flight suit in order to not burn in the scorching sun. As for me, I can bask in the sun and regain energy. My blue skin and EXO-fighting-suit allows for this. The human does not have this ability. For their pale skin burns rapidly like cooked Gargus meat on an laser skillet. It is a miracle these humans have lasted so long in this forsaken war. I see nothing special about them physically. They're small, weak, and easy to tear apart. But I must say that they are tenacious in their endeavors. That I must give credence to.
However a thought lingers in me: Do they not know that this is a war of righteousness?
For they dared to venture from their home world to colonize other systems. They fired first onto a holy vessel passing by. For we tried to warn them of our intentions, but I suppose the language barrier caused them to panic. We are intimidating beings, I must admit.
Blue skin like the Borathian Seas of Helio Prime. Tall and slender like the majestic Skori that roam the plains of our home world. Intelligent to where we can perfect light speed travel from portal planets without losing time to time dilation. We have harsh, thin blue eyes on a - what this human described as appearing like a sentient marine iguana with gills and blue skin like an insect (I still do not know what the human meant by this and I take it as an insult).
I am a captain and must exude the tallest stature and be the strongest for it is a part of the many Tenets of Thorgro: Tenet One – A leader must be strong physically and mentally in all aspects. No room for weakness.
This human, for I refuse to learn of his name for now, is a mere one skal shorter than me. He claims, in Earth measurements, that he is approximately six feet tall and one hundred and eighty five pounds (This is roughly three skal in height and fifty gax in weight).
He is a weird looking creature. Mostly hairless except for a brown mop covering his entire head. His face appears to show signs of stubble, but this is due to him not shaving. He is also very thin in comparison to me. I see myself as being one of leanness instead of mass. The human has complained to me about being fat and yet I see none on him.
I want to strangle him more and more with every passing second. But I cannot.
I need him in order to survive.
My kind, we do not have hair. We are hairless beings. We have vibrant, smooth skin covered with violet markings left from birth all over. Half my face has a splotch of this violet in the shape of a crescent moon over my right eye. It said to be the "mark of the wise" the elders say.
I do not know if this is true of thyself. I break a Tenet by admitting this, even in writing, that I have doubts of my wisdom and intelligence. I doubt I will survive this perilous planet in this forgotten realm of the out rim. Golo, please make my death have meaning.
I suppose since I am writing in this log journal from my ship, that I, Ga’Roch, shall chronicle this endeavor to survive and how I have gotten here. I will explain next Sol. It is dark out now and the fire is dimming. The human is crudely curled up in a ball in the transporting area of my fighter for dropping off troops. This is the only current structure of protection against the icy winds of this desert planet.
I must admit in all honesty, there is a beauty in this desolate world I survive in for now.
Is this what the elders called a “spiritual awakening?” The act of finding meaning in the harshest of conditions?
I do not know.
This human snores loudly. I will promptly strike forth his face to quiet him.
