Dear Diary

The plainest notebook ever made (Open)

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*This is, in fact, the plainest notebook ever made. School kids don't even want to be seen with it. There are no incantations to keep anyone out, no locks. It's not even hidden, and can usually be found laying about the keep. Anyone could write in it...*



Last edited by Zuriah_ on Aug. 11th, 2017 12:46 pm; edited 1 time in total
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August 11th,

I've been told repeatedly to have a journal and a hobby. A place to keep my thoughts and an activity to distract my mind. Both meant to keep me sane, it seems. Stupid. If insanity was going to take me it already would have. Mortal minds must be fragile indeed if writing their feelings and knitting is what keeps them sane. Argus looms in the sky and thats what they worry about. Times like these I question mother's judgement. Stupid. 

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August 25th,

Gnomes are strange. 

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*a formally crumpled up sheet of paper is tucked in after the last entry. It reads, in common: 

"I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar 

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar, Shaman of Azeroth

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar, Shaman of Azeroth

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar, Shaman of Azeroth

I am Iz'aharre of the Servitors of Lothar, Shaman of Azeroth

..."

and on and on for the rest of the page. Beneath, in Zuriah's hand there is a single line which reads

"Pathetic attempt to convince herself."

 

 

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*a letter penned out to Skybrooke in Zuriah's notebook, which as usual is just laying around somewhere*

My friend,

It has been a long time since I hear any news of you. I hope that this letter finds you, and that it finds you well, and happy, wherever you are.

Mother is well, and happier than I've seen her since I found her again. I do know that she misses you, dearly. It is now furlough. Might I be able to convince you to come and visit? It would be a wonderful surprise for her and Folcan and I could use one of our talks. 

I am not well, even by my standards. My pain killers are quickly becoming less and less effective and I've yet to find a replacement. Deep down I feel that my body is slowly, but surely giving up and the effort I need to make to keep it functioning magically is growing constantly. I find myself needing to concentrate of breathing and walking at times. I can only assume this is what mortal feel when they grow old. I need help and I don't know who else to ask. If nothing else, there are things I need to leave in someone else's hands if my body is to give up on me. 

Let me know if you can come visit, or if I can visit you somewhere. 

Zuriah

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