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A Pathetic Excuse For A Human

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Sitting in his house, clear on the opposite side from where the after war celebration was being thrown for Malinor, Ivar would stare down at the ground. He was silent, his whole body hurting, not from pain, but from severe depression. He had been crying, but couldn't cry anymore as he had seemed to cry everything out. He spoke to himself through gritted teeth.

 

"Ivar no fight, Ivar no big and strong, Ivar small, weak."

 

He would stand and, pulling his fist back, his eyes would blaze in anger. Screaming,  he would throw his fist at the front door of his small home. There was a crack, but not of bone or of hand, but of wood as the adrenaline/anger powered, hamsized, fist exploded through the door, causing it to fall off its hinges and land outside of his home, creating a disturbed cloud of dirt as he turned back to his bed.

 

Collapsing onto the bed, he wished death upon himself, as his anguish lulled him to sleep.

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*A tall, hooded and masked man in blood-stained black robes jumps slightly, seeing the fist explode through the door, breaking it from it's hinges. He raises an eyebrow slightly, stepping silently into the home. The robed man notices someone laying on a bed inside, assuming this is the person that caused the door to fall from it's hinges. He sighs lightly, reaching into his satchel and withdrawing a small bottle of black ink, a quill, and a bit of aged parchment, using these items he leaves a note at the bedside and quietly makes his way out of the home*

"Breaking doors, using only our hands, are we? I must say, I'm impressed. But, I can't help but wonder, if those are the actions of a troubled soul. The day ever comes that you'd like to use that strength for more than murdering innocent doors, seek me out."

Signed,

"The Wolf"

((My MC name is Whisperedshadows.))

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Waking up, sitting up on his bed, he would put his hand upon the bedside table, using the other to rub his eyes. Hearing something rustle, feeling the bend of parchment under his hands, Ivar would look down, spying the parchment that lay on the table. Furrowing his brow, he would pick it up, looking at it.

 

He tried his best to read the paper, but his reading skills only allowed him to read most 3-4 letter words with little trouble. He did try to sound out the bigger words and grew to slightly understand the note.

 

Looking to the empty doorway, He would stand, wondering what more he do with the note. He knew that he needed to find someone he knew and trusted to help. So, stooping out of his doorway, he ran to the Labor Hall, calling

"Ms. Titania"?

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Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.

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