posted on Oct, 24 2013 @ 04:53 AM
"Those were the most peculiar creatures," remarked Eron, partially to himself as he walked. "What might strike one as foul can turn out to be fair
in this place, and no doubt, vice versa. All my life I've studied the findings, the adventures, the exploits of others. I never dared dream that I
might venture into such an unknown and have great stories of my own to tell. I must begin keeping a journal, chronicling everything that we find
"Oh, there he goes," said Davon, rolling his eyes.
Eron tried to hold his temper. "How's that?" he asked, raising a brow.
"You think life just an adventure," said Davon. "You don't appreciate the hard work, the danger involved. What we discover here may have serious
repercussions our world. Magic is best kept under the shadow of the occult; to those best suited to keep its secrets for the greater good of the
"That's the snobby, elitist type dribble that always got my blood to a boil," said Eron. "You may be well-schooled, boy, but I have experience.
I've traveled far and met with many. Uneducated folk who couldn't pronounce a single sentence right can speak the deepest, most profound thoughts.
Some of the men whose knowledge is most truthful, rubbish-free, are old farmers whose families pass down the truth, generation to generation, ignoring
the official dribble handed to them by their 'protectors,' and tribesmen who avoid all such nonsense and would be called 'savages' by the likes of
you. You think your secret knowledge makes you superior, Davon, but all it makes you is a little man trying to find boots big enough to comfort his
"I am aware of my faults," said Davon. "The bitter truth of my failures are eating at me as we speak. But even with the truth you speak, someone
must keep the records and protect the public."
"Protect them from themselves?" said Eron. "Ignorance is wise for them? Knowledge, true knowledge, could only do them harm? Imagine if children
were raised in such a way about all things. Nothing would work because no one would know how things really work!" Without realizing it, Eron's
temper had broken out of him again. He was a passionate man, and like many passionate souls he often failed to see how brutal his words could be.
Davon kept his chin high, but his eyes were dark and hidden in personal sorrow. He walked like a knight who'd been shot with a fatal wound and who
marched on to die on his knees.
Noticing this, Eron stopped himself and became quiet with retrospection. He knew that his negativity wasn’t helping matters. Long had he felt a
personal bitterness towards the ruling elite and their schools and their town criers. To him, Davon represented the very mentality which was holding
back all humankind from reaching its full potential.
What makes a man like Damon? Eron thought to himself. Insecurity, what else? The man has no soul.