He had just walked out of a gigantic tree that served as his home. Boxes, chairs, and other miscellaneous objects were strewn about the ground in front of the mahogany doors; he must have been cleaning. Upon closer inspection, there appeared to be the skeleton of a manor in its sprawling branches, almost as if the tree had grown around it, making it part of itself. Come to think of it, the whole place had a wildly overgrown vibe about it. If one looked beneath the copious amounts of ferns that covered the ground, they would see paths of cracked pavement and gravel. Ishmael, however, didn’t seem to care about those trails. As he walked, the plants parted out of his way and returned to normal behind him, almost like he wasn’t there in the first place. In his arms he carried a large chest and staggered slightly under its weight. He made his way to the nearby pond and dropped it, resulting in a clatter of metal. Ishmael opened it and reached inside, pulling out a blueish-silver star medal. He squinted at it with a mildly disgusted look on his face, then flung it at the pond. It skipped several times across the surface before finally giving in to gravity and sinking in a flurry of bubbles.
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ℂall me Ishmael.
pυт тнαт тнιɴɢ вαcĸ wнere ιт cαмe ғroм or ѕo нelp мe
Put your head up, for you are a lion.Don’t forget that, and neither will the sheep.