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The Death of a Beaver


AmericanSimp
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The year was 1719, a beaver was born different than the others in the litter of their mother. As the beavers mother awoke it noticed this abomination, a dishonor to their royal line, and decided that if the beaver should live..... it should live alone. 

Two years past, the beaver barely managing to survive in the waters of the North surviving on what little kelp it could find. Cold, freezing, and on the brink of starvation the beaver decided to take one last swim in the waters he called home. As the beaver dove into the water it would find a black skinned figure within the water, its fiery red eyes beginning to darken just a few feet from the shore. The beaver decided in that moment, to do something with its life, biting the figure on the left hand, he began to drag the figure out of the water. After a few moments of the beaver struggling, the figures head would make it out of the water, revealing it to be a dark dwarf. Nothing happened past that, the beaver confused as to why the figure was not thankful, so it decided as the figures eyes continue to fade that it was simply sleeping. Pacing back and forth for a moment the beaver decided to move a few meters above the dweds body before jumping down on the dwarfs chest to try and wake him up. 

Right after the beaver made impact with the dark dwarfs chest, a mixture of blood and water would spew from his mouth, the dwarfs eyes regaining their life as he took in his new surroundings. The dwarf would roll upon his side coughing for a few moments as he began to notice a small snow covered creature staring at him, as it fell off his chest. A few moments would pass before the dwarf realized he was lost, and the only thing he could see for miles was water and snow. Bringing himself to his feet, the dwarf would begin to feel a pain in his left hand, as he looked down to his hand he would notice a tooth. In that moment he would realize that beaver standing before him, had saved him from himself.

De name be ‘urdog boi de wey” the dark dwarf would say with a weak voice as he went to pull the tooth from his hand. The dwarf would grimace as he pulled the larger than usual tooth from his hand, but be comforted as the beaver moved in between his legs, its eyes wishful as it tried to ease the pain. Looking into the beavers eyes, Hurdog would move to sit on a rock behind the pair thinking for a rather long time before saying “An wut moig’t yer name be der ladde’” the words would be said as he patted the ground beside the rock for the beaver to sit in. The beaver would make his way to the area be patted, welcomed by a warm hand, gently moving down its back as it stared towards the mountain range before the pair. Hurdog’s eyes would follow the beaver, and he’d notice something as he pet the beaver. What Hurdog thought was a snow covered beaver, was actually albino, his hand doing nothing but moving the snow white hair back and forth. 

 

T’at be explainin woi ye are alone e’” the dwarf pausing as he looked down to the albino beaver ,“Yer different, an oi guess, ye be lookin fer a different koind o lad.” As Hurdog continued to speak with the beaver, it would look to him with joyful eyes, as it finally had the chance to not be alone. As their eyes met once more, Hurdog would pat himself down before throwing a soggy piece of bread down to the beaver, “Oi will call ye Ares, w’et’a ye like et or not” 

Days, Months, Years, Decades, would pass as Hurdog and his friend grew their friendship in the North. After a time they would finally make it back to the known world, the two never being seen more than a mile apart. The beaver would witness the highs and lows of Hurdog, comforting him when he needed it most. As time past, the beaver would begin to deliver letters for Hurdog, meeting and greeting the people Hurdog wished to call friends. The pair were inseparable, only through death could their bond be broken. 


One day, while Hurdog spoke with some people at the edge of the Wildlands he began to start asking questions, he never thought about asking. As he pondered the world upon their steps, leaning against a gate he wished to know more about, he would hear about a letter from a dear friend of his to Urguan. Hurdog had spent the years with his beaver in the Wildlands learning to control his anger, capable of only letting it show when necessary until he heard about this letter. The dwarf was thrown into a rage as he stormed from the gate he used to be laying against, back into the Wildlands. This rage causing Hurdog to travel towards the waters in which he was saved so many years ago, to finish what he originally wished to do in the first place. 

Small creatures would meet the blade of his axe as they crossed his path towards the waters. The dwarf killing upwards of thirty birds, deer, and rabbits before his eyes locked onto the small white creature that saved him before. The pair would stare into each others eyes, one filled with worry, the other filled with an unstoppable fire. “Git out me wey” the dwarf would state plainly as he walked towards the albino beaver. Ares would not move, but continue to stare at Hurdog, hoping to stop him from hurting himself anymore than he has already. As Hurdog continued to approach the beaver, only a few feet away now he would begin to prepare a swing of his axe. As the axe made its way towards Ares, the beaver would simply close his eyes, a small tear falling from its left eye just before the axe made contact.

Hurdog’s axe would slice through the neck of Ares with ease, his body going limp as his head fell nearby. Dropping his axe where he stood, watching the only thing in the world that truly cared about him begin to turn from a white to red as it bled before his eyes. The essence of life poring from the poor beavers neck as Hurdog dropped to his knees. The blood of Ares pooling beneath Hurdog as he sat there upon his knees. “Moi loife, ruined, and wasted.......” the words followed by a steady stream of tears, the tears after a moment mixing with the blood of Ares. 

As the dwarf sat there in the Wildlands, his legs beginning to stain, he would say a few more words “Oi am sorre’” he would pause as he began to walk back towards the known world “Ye deserved betta t’an me, dis world deserves betta t’an me” he would mutter thinking about all the mistakes he made in life, causing a fire in his heart to be reignited, a war on the mind, reborn. The beaver not did in vein, as it did what it wished to do from the start..... it wished to do something with its life. 
 

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((Rip the beaver bro. May he rest in peace))
((:heart:))

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Balrog, upon hearing of the news would feel a tear roll down his cheek, pausing momentarily as he took it in. "Whoi does eht 'ave teh be t'is way..." 

 

(This is very sad, great story though.)

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Forge closed the book. For a long while he sat there, staring at the title. ‘The Death of a Beaver.’

 

Was he no better than the dwed in the book? Would he, eventually, lose all purpose, and... and-

 

”Hey, um, mister dwarf sir? Are you done with that book?” The small voice interrupted Forge from his thoughts.

 

”Oh, o’course. Here,” he said, offering the book to the child in front of him. She took it sheepishly.

 

”Thanks, mister!” she said quickly, with a little smile.

 

He watched as the small figure ran off. As the child left his sight, Forge stood up, smiling.

 

“There’s always gonna be some purpose in me life,” he said to himself, “if nae but tha simplest things I do make people happy.”

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