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a goose

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About a goose

  • Birthday 04/15/1998

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Savage Flood Awakened

Savage Flood Awakened (213/293)

  1. IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) Skrall shook his head. “They have attacked our caravans before. It has rarely ended well for them, but they thrive on anonymity; their numbers, lack of a command structure and their disparate clans all prevent blame from being leveled, and they know that our desire for retribution will be tempered by our need for trade. The Roxtus garrison has hesitated to alienate our allies with false accusations.” He paused, then, and looked up at the watchtower on the horizon. “That said, it has been months since the last attack. Perhaps the full force of the Black Legion being so nearby has made them more wary of attracting our ire; Tirveus is known to inspire such fear.” He wanted to believe what he had said; the might of the Skrall should be feared, and Tirveus had a reputation for disproportionate (and misaimed) retribution; he had no qualms about punishing the innocent, just so that a crime would be seen to have been punished. But even he heard in his own voice the absence of conviction, the lack of the certainty which usually came so easily to him. He knew there was another explanation, one that unsettled him greatly: the Bone Hunters had changed. Skrall knew the South better than anyone. He had come with eyes unclouded by propaganda or tradition, and become as much a stranger to his own people as he was to the Southerners; he was a son of the Black Spikes, a true Roxtusian, of neither North nor South. He saw both with a clarity that neither possessed, whether looking inward or outward. It was this enlightened perspective that defined him; his truth was absolute. And he knew that neither the Skrall nor the Southerners were capable of independently changing their ways. They needed people like him, people who were not swayed by petty tradition or nationalistic vanity. Outsiders. It was a fundamental truth of the world that change could not come from within. This truth was absolute. Certainly, aspects of the Bone Hunters – and the South as a whole – could change. But though their Stronghold grew and the champions of the South adorned themselves with greater numbers of cybernetic modifications, the changes were matters of scale. Of growth. Surface details. The Bone Hunters themselves had not changed, could not change, not on any fundamental level. He understood them, understood what motivated them. Survival and profit, and nothing more. If their behaviour had changed, it was in service of survival, or it was in service of profit. “On the other hand, the Skrall being closer at hand has also made us more valuable customers. You may be right; perhaps now they see the value in not alienating us.” Profit. Survival. That was all. There was no truth to the uncanniness he felt. Things were the same as they ever were. OOC: @Burnmad @oncertainty @BULiK @Nato G @Toru Nui @Vezok's Friend
  2. IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) The first hours of their journey passed somehow without incident, and what first was a relief began slowly to congeal into its own form of dread. The canyon was, by all appearances, dead. Carrion birds watched over them from above, but the sands and the rocks below were devoid of life, and the few crepuscular creatures that had scuttled by their feet in the early hours of the morning had disappeared with the sunlight. Even the reprieve from the desert heat, an undeniable positive, made the valley uncanny, somehow not of this world. Finally, an eerie silence settled over Iron Canyon, and Tueris looked up. “Sun’s getting high. Keep an eye out for a cave or nook.” He did not comment on the absence of the birds. OOC: @Toru Nui @Nato G @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ @oncertainty IC: The Ghost (The Tower) Taldrix knew the movements of the Gatherers better than anyone - anyone except, of course, Crucius and the Ghost himself. She saw a pattern taking shape in the grid, that of the new scouting patterns their leader had instituted, those led by specially-equipped squads: rock steeds with strange cybernetics that made the sand shimmer beneath their feet, scouts with staves that shook the air… OOC: @Toru Nui
  3. IC: Aden (The Burning Steppes) “Yes, our expert here accidentally prioritised his benefactor’s souvenirs over the preservation of an historical site.” The bitterness in her tone made it abundantly clear that the wound remained fresh, no matter how much time might have passed. “But you're quite right: that was a very long time ago, and we have more immediate concerns.” OOC: @ all of the dig folks, but @BBBBalta and @Ghosthands in particular
  4. IC: Injustice was everywhere; in the corner of everyone's eye, at the apex of every averted gaze. People, for the most part, choose to see only what they're comfortable with – a little suffering, perhaps, in some far-off place. Nothing they had the power to change. This, of course, applied only to those who had the privilege of looking away. Not everyone was so lucky. Ignorance was a snake that ate its own tail – hiding from the truth only allowed the world to become more unjust, and the truth to become more terrible while accountability was neglected. The sole positive was the transformation that occurred in those who survived their exposure to the truth: the development of the righteous, insatiable anger that was at the root of all change. The combination was often a fruitful one; it was rarely hard to find the outspoken person everyone sought to ignore. All they needed was someone with the knowledge, experience and unbridled stubbornness to make people look. Someone like him. “I am here to speak with Korzaa. I have an appointment – the name is Muirtagh Fenn.” OOC: @Visaru
  5. IC: Skrall (Markets; the Bone Hunter Stronghold) “She is right.” He had returned without the slightest sound; stealth was easy in this place, so loud and so crowded, and it came naturally to him. “Do not mistake depravity for weakness. Look around: this is a fortress. Multiple walls, a watchtower, only one entrance and one exit – not to mention that the market means no shortage of supplies to outlast a siege. Not only that, but these Gatherers are disparate; this represents only a fraction of their number, and this location is strategically valuable only in that it can withstand an assault. Those grains of sand would slip through our fingers. Meanwhile, this is our nearest source of supplies outside Roxtus, and they have another stronghold along the route, meaning that they could easily raid the caravans carrying supplies to our army, or even attack our flank. It would be a massacre, and if we won, we would have shown our hand to the South, revealing ourselves as invaders and making enemies of their most powerful Tribe in the process by halting the supply of slave labour for the duration of the siege.” He looked back to the market; Agori were hauling supplies to the carts in which the Skrall had arrived, carefully avoiding the spikits. “I have seen to our supplies. Once Atakus is finished with the handover, we will be ready for the long journey to Tajun.” OOC: @ skrall IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) The Agori shifted nervously, weighing up his options; he had no idea who this man was, and if he was indeed a mercenary, he would have no reason to take Kirbraz’s side. The moment he spoke the name aloud, the Glatorian would know exactly who the highest bidder would be. “Someone wants me… silenced. I know something they don't want known.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman
  6. IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) “They don't like villages. They'd stay away regardless. Just routine. Instinct. Whatever you want to call it. We won't know what to expect until we get there, only that it won't be good.” He knew the Agori was only trying to hold on to hope, but hope was dangerous out here. Better to expect the worst, and come prepared. OOC: @Nato G and the Iron Canyon Crew IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) Metal god? Could he have meant Celrys? There was no telling how long she might be in there for. “Uh- say, I don't suppose your services are, ah, for hire? As, you know… as protection. Just until Miss Daring comes back.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) “No sound, no. Electrical impulses. That is why we need a wreath, rather than a stethoscope.” OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: The Ghost (The Tower) Wouldn't I like to know… He watched Taldrix with a renewed intensity. “You have a talent for asking the right questions, but the only people who know that are long gone. I have spent my life picking through the rubble, and still I have no more answers than you. Not yet.” Something shifted in his expression, as if he had heard a noise somewhere in the distance. “I promised your compatriots power. Weapons. Their desires are… simple, like that. But there is more than just power waiting out in those canyons. There are answers, to the questions that plague us both.” The Ghost walked slowly to the map table. A square grid depicted, in excruciating detail, the canyons east of the Wastelands, from the Creeps all the way to Ferrum – at least, in the squares that were not blank. The space was strewn with painted tacks and dyed string, deliberate in their placement but without an immediately obvious meaning. A pencil lay close by; the Ghost had been drawing it by hand. He gestured toward the table with an open palm, encouraging her to look. “This is my search for those answers.” OOC: @Toru Nui
  7. IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) “Miss Daring is quite right,” Celrys confirmed, beaming. “That's the sound of your heart, pumping away, keeping the blood flowing around your body. The stethoscope is used to listen in on it and make sure it's working as it should. “The wreath is a great deal like a stethoscope, except that it is for your mind. The readings it takes will allow me to check on your brain function, and account for any possible damage.” OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist
  8. IC: The Ghost (The Tower) ”If you don't mind me asking… you ARE a Great Being, are you not?” The Ghost sighed, and seemed to be making an effort not to roll all four of his eyes. “I hate that term. The deification of it. There's no such thing.” His eyes were cold, but unfocused; Taldrix herself was not the subject of his ire. “What you call ‘Great Beings,’ I call people. Just… people. As flawed and as fallible as all people must be, but with nigh on inconceivable advantages. Did you know that all the Wastelands used to look like Tesara? A land of trees and water, milk and honey…” His gaze returned to the present, to his Bone Hunter guest. “It was ‘Great Beings’ that left the world like this. Sand and ash and rubble. Great accomplishments, accompanied by equally great failures. I am not a ‘Great Being.’ I am an echo, the spectre of a people long-dead. A ghost. That's all.” OOC: @Toru Nui
  9. IC: The Ghost (The Tower) For the first time in their conversation, the Ghost looked legitimately confused; the expression was ill-fitting on his face, as if it had been turned to a purpose for which it simply had not been designed. ”Abandon the Spice? Lords, no. You're worthless to me in withdrawal. Worse than worthless, even. No, you will continue your use of Spice.” As he spoke the last sentence, he stood up once again, and walked to the far side of the room. Once there, he opened and closed a drawer; whatever he had taken was small enough to fit in his enclosed hand. “From now on, I am your supplier. I won't have some drug dealer in the outer ring withholding your Spice in exchange for some advantage of your elevated position, nor will I allow some cut substance to rob me of one of the only people in this compound I can trust.” He placed the object in his hand upon the table, but did not sit. It was an odd little device, a blunt metal hook smaller than the palm of Taldrix's hand. “This goes behind your ear. When you wear it, I hear what you hear; when you don't, it's as lifeless as any implant without a source of bio-electricity, barring a meager back-up supply with only one purpose. Observe:” He put two fingers to his wrist, as if to take his pulse, and a tiny blue light began blinking on the device. A subtle vibration ran through it, too, enough to slightly shift its position on the table. “If I need you, and the device is not active, this will let you know. If it is, you will simply hear my voice in your ear, as clearly as if I were standing next to you. When you need Spice, or you're interrogating the Iron Tribe girl, or you find yourself witness to anything else that I should hear, you put it on. Likewise, I will use it to inform you of when, where and how to collect. If you attempt to take advantage of my generosity, I will know, and you will sorely regret it.” Throughout his speech, his smile had been unwavering, but only now did the menace recede from his eyes. “Now that that's dealt with, is there anything that you would like to ask me?” OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) “The wreath, yes. It's… how to put it…” He frowned for a moment, then turned to one of the workshop’s many drawers and produced an odd implement. “This, Del, is called a stethoscope. You put the buds in your ears, like so, and you gently press the disc against the left side of the chest, like so.” He demonstrated on himself, then removed the earbuds and offered them to Del. “Would you care to try it?” OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) To the delight and dismay of philosophers everywhere, Kirbraz conclusively proved the existence of the soul to both Cacia and Karak as they witnessed his own briefly depart from his body. His first thought, naturally, was that this lurking man who he had never seen before must have been an assassin, sent by Scodonius’ secret friend. He was certainly intimidating enough, but as Kirbraz mopped the nervous sweat from his brow, he realised there were a few holes in that theory. Chiefly, that Cacia seemed only mildly frustrated by the terrifying Glatorian, but also the fact that this man had already been inside the premises when he arrived, and the building’s proprietor had yet – to the best of Kirbraz’s knowledge, at least – to invent a precognitive implant. No, this man knew Skyra Daring; he’d seen her come in, or perhaps even come in with her. This was his ticket. “Y-yes, sir. The driver. Have you, uh, well, I, erm, what I mean to say is, she- is she here? I saw her vehicle parked outside, and I wanted to hire her.” OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Tueris grunted his assent, falling in at the rear of the procession, the better to keep his eye on all of them. High above, he heard the familiar chatter of the carrion birds – buzzards and vultures, perched upon the edge of the canyon walls. Watching. Waiting. “Seems we have spectators,” he muttered. Nothing to worry about for now; it was only when they began to fly away that there would be trouble. If Tueris and the others were the ripest pickings to be found, it meant there weren't any larger predators feasting nearby. It was funny, how the things the ignorant mistook for omens so often meant the opposite of their fears – all the same, Tueris tried to put little credence altogether in omens. He knew already that this journey could only end one way. OOC: @Burnmad @oncertainty @~Xemnas~ @Toru Nui @Nato G IC: Skrall (Markets, Bone Hunter Stronghold) It had been some years since last he stepped foot within these walls. The Stronghold had changed since then, as it had changed each time he had come here, growing larger and more perverse with every passing day. He had spoken on occasion to the Gatherers, a choice which he was swiftly given cause to regret on every occasion, and gleaned from them the source of their continuing prosperity: Iconox. Not twenty years ago, this thriving settlement was little more than a ramshackle fort; slavery was an even dirtier business back then, carried out exclusively behind closed doors. Even the Skrall had little need of their services, with Roxtus maintained only by a skeleton garrison, just as it had been until this past year. The rest of the south fared little better, their whole fragile economy being as reliant as it was on the trade of exsidian. Cybernetics were key to the performance of all the manual labour on which southern society had been built, and the rarer exsidian became, the more expensive it was to work, to live. As harsh as the Wastelands were now, it chilled Skrall to imagine the awful lengths to which the southerners must have gone to survive back then. It was an Ice Tribe Agori, Metus, who had changed all of that; his discovery of exsidian in the White Quartz Mountains made it plentiful once again, and his open embrace of slave labour made it cheap. Scarcity became saturation, a situation that could have killed the southern economy once again if not for another Agori. Celrys, they called him, though his success sounded to Skrall’s ears more like a matter of luck – a Grand Champion of their annual Tournament was declared, a no-name Glatorian who had been buoyed to success by the artificer’s implants. He was not the only competitor benefiting from the accessibility of exsidian, and Celrys was not the only inventor of combat implants. Just the one who won. It was an arms race from then on, as arena matches became dominated by fancier and fancier devices, all built by the boy with the reputation for building the device that won. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy from then on; it didn't matter how many Glatorian with a CelTech implant were defeated, because CelTech made all the implants, and every competitor had them. No matter who won, they would have commissioned Celrys. After all, not being implanted would have meant being at an immediate disadvantage, and the arena battles weren't for sport alone. What village would want to be represented by a Glatorian without cybernetics? Suddenly, exsidian was as much a prerequisite for arena fighters as it was for manual labourers, and the former were far more likely to seek out upgrade after upgrade to stay ahead of the competition. And as the demand for exsidian went up, so too did the demand for slaves. The demand for Gatherers. That was the messy truth at the heart of it all: though the south nurtured freedom and individuality, its wheels were greased by just as much blood and suffering as those of the Obsidian Legion, if not more. Though he respected the people of the Wastelands in many ways, and perhaps even envied them, one thing was perfectly clear: Order would have to be brought to the chaos of the south, and only the Skrall could do it.
  10. The Lost Tribe. In which ancient questions are answered.
  11. IC: The Ghost (The Tower) "Perhaps I spoke too soon." The Ghost's face fell, but the smugness behind his eyes made his insincerity plain. Still, the tension in the room had dissipated; apparently, he was satisfied with her answer. "You already handed me the very puzzle piece you're missing: she singled out miners. Now, unless things have quite drastically changed since last I checked, child labour is still quite illegal in Ferrum. Miners, therefore, must preclude minors. Just picture it: every adult in Sepulcrus, dead in a matter of weeks. Traumatised children left to fend for themselves, spurned by neighbouring tribes out of paranoia and superstition, with no education, no home to return to. Forced into isolation, forced to become nomads…" The excitement in his eyes and his voice faded, as if the tragedy he described had quite suddenly struck him and robbed him of the joy of discovery. "From the ashes of this Dreaming Plague, the Sand Tribe as we know it was born." He sighed, and returned his attention to the present. "I don't imagine you've heard the story of Sepulcrus, have you? The lost city, swallowed up by the sands; even down here it's all but forgotten, but up north… Well, it's hardly relevant to our discussion. I asked you to prove your worth, and you exceeded my expectations – quite handily, in fact. The only thing we need to address now is the Spice." OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) "We stick to the shade, and we go in as straight a line as the canyon allows. Once the shade is gone, we hope that the Lords have left us a cave or somesuch to shelter in and wait out the heat of the day." As he spoke, he continued to look straight ahead into the canyon, not meeting anyone's eye. "Shouldn't have any trouble with Skopio, so long as we make it to Ferrum before nightfall. That doesn't mean we don't have to watch our step, though; Skopio aren't the only critter likes to hide beneath the sand. I don't know for sure that this is sand bat territory, but I also can't say for certain that it's not, and they don't give a damn what time of day it is. Aside from that, you know the drill: cave shrikes, condors, dune snakes… anything that can kill you out on the dunes, and a few more besides. Watch the sand, watch the sky, watch the walls. Just another day in the Wastelands." With a creak and a soft thud, the wooden platform hit the ground below. The party was officially in the Iron Canyon. OOC: @Nato G @oncertainty @Toru Nui @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) "Hm?" He looked down at his hands, as if to remember what he was doing. "Oh, yes, the wreath… I suppose I see the resemblance." His work apparently done, he stepped back from the bench and returned to Del, helmet in hand. "Here you are – try this on for size." OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia sighed in relief as she walked back to her desk; the unseasonal uptick in customers was finally over, and she would savour every moment of reprieve. The sound of the door opening, however, cut her impromptu break short before it had even begun. Wonderful. "Welcome to CelTech. How may I help you?" Though she forced herself to smile, something about the Agori who had just entered unsettled her. He was clearly on edge, with the hood of his cloak still raised even indoors and his eyes constantly darting back towards the entrance; her finger hovered over the button beneath her desk, ready to alert Celrys if there was trouble. "I, uh…" He spoke at first in a hushed voice, which he softened even further into a whisper. "I need to speak to Skyra Daring." OOC: @Jesse Pinkman IC: (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) For perhaps the first time in his life, Maxas had in fact been watched as he left the CelTech building – not from inside, but from the alley opposite. Kirbraz watched, and waited. The Agori who had just left was shifty – more than once, he thought he caught him glancing over his shoulder. Was he looking for Kirbraz? Just how many assassins had Scodonius hired? Just how fucked was he? Once he was confident the threat had passed, he started walking. It was dangerous to go somewhere so public, so exposed, but he had no choice. This, right here, was his way out – based on where that buggy was parked, this was the only place she could be. Skyra Daring: The only woman who might get him to Vulcanus alive. OOC: @Toru Nui @Jesse Pinkman
  12. IC: Celrys (CelTech workshop, Tajun) The artificer should have been back already – had Skyra and Del not been so focused on one another, they might have tracked his progress through the fish tank. Instead, they heard a strange scraping sound, as if something heavy had been pushed across wood, just as Celrys reappeared. In one hand, he held Del's helmet; in the other was a device that looked almost like a metal crown. He proceeded to one of the metal benches without saying a word, placing the crown inside the helmet and using his multitool hand to drill it into place. OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) "That's no problem at all. Call in any time and bring your diary with you, and we can get something sorted." The condescending customer service smile remained; Cacia knew she was unlikely to see this one again. It wasn't uncommon for someone to come in to get a sense for the place and then change their mind at the last minute, but she wouldn't say anything to put him off, just in case. OOC: @Toru Nui @Jesse Pinkman
  13. IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Valley of Death) Tueris glanced around with his one good eye, making sure that the whole party had reached the elevator; the medic, of course, was the last to arrive, but that was to be expected. He nodded to the lift operator, a sturdy Agori approaching middle-age, who began the apparently quite gruelling process of turning the iron wheel that put the various pulleys and gears into motion. If it was this difficult to send a group of this size down into the canyon, he felt a pang of relief knowing the operator would not have to worry about lifting their whole group up again. The wooden platform shuddered beneath their feet; the party was on the move. OOC: @Nato G @Burnmad @~Xemnas~ @oncertainty @Toru Nui IC: The Ghost (The Tower) The Ghost's eyebrow quirked upwards as she mentioned his biological differences, but he said nothing. Still, as Taldrix continued to speak, his eyes lit up; when she finished, he released a soft chuckle. "Oh, you really are something, aren't you?" He grinned as he spoke, but the glint in his eyes had turned sinister, the compliment undercut by… what? Anger? Condescension? Both? "Crucius undersold you, my dear. You're more right than you know – that said, you needn't worry about identifying the source or the means of transmission. Those, at least, I already know. Still, you did miss one crucial detail: this has happened before." The grin had soured into a sneer, though his voice remained warm, almost encouraging. "We've already seen one tribe laid low by some mystery malady that robbed them of their minds, after all, and you've proven yourself smart enough to join the dots." OOC: @Toru Nui
  14. IC: The Ghost (The Tower) A fresh smile flitted across his lips for the briefest of instants, but it was not the practised facade he had worn before – there was a hint of wryness to it that made it seem almost real. His eyes changed, too, bearing a spark of what might have been admiration (or perhaps just amusement) as he began to re-appraise her. "Three days… and here you are, lucid, articulate, and without any obvious physical symptoms of withdrawal. There may be hope for you yet; I had anticipated your affliction would be much more severe." As he returned to his seat, his false smile was back in force. "And it is an affliction. I don't hold with those who believe addiction to be a weakness of character – it is an ailment, though perhaps closer to a handicap than a disease. So you see, when I turned down Crucius' recommendations, it wasn't personal; it was merely pragmatic. I would no more trust an addict than send a lame man to walk the perimeter." He explained himself so matter-of-factly and with such easy confidence as to make his words feel obvious, a simple matter of common sense; it was easy to picture him standing before an audience of nodding heads and murmured agreement. "I believed the risk outweighed any potential value you might have as an asset, but I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong. So… prove me wrong." His perfect smile struggled to resist the urge to become a smirk. "There are gaps in the information you have provided me. I need to know everything she told you – especially if she gave examples of patients. Did she mention any age groups? Or anyone who wasn't afflicted?" IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia smiled, a tad condescendingly. "Oh, we're already fully booked until the games are over. The earliest appointment I have is for two weeks after the closing ceremony." OOC: @Toru Nui @Jesse Pinkman
  15. IC: The Ghost (The Tower) The corners of his mouth twitched briefly downwards, but the icy glare with which the Ghost met Taldrix was unwavering. “Would it surprise you to learn that Crucius speaks rather highly of you?” He did not leave her time to answer. “He tells me you’re fastidious, intelligent, trustworthy. Such traits are in short supply around here, as I’m sure you know. Better yet, you’re a born sceptic – a quality I greatly admire.” He took another sip of tea; his eyes did not move. “Mindless obedience has its uses, of course; still, I have a great deal more respect for those who show real initiative. The nerve to question orders, to question authority, is something I consider to be invaluable. Crucius knows this about me, and he has – on more than one occasion – suggested you be brought into our circle of trust on exactly that basis. He believes you are able to think for yourself; you and I, of course, know better." He stood, still holding his teacup, and walked to the window as if to gaze out upon his kingdom, though the drapes still obscured much. "I know everything that happens in this compound, Taldrix. See everything. Were tea your only vice, you would likely have found yourself up here much sooner. So I ask again:" He turned and fixed her with four cold eyes, any pretense of a pleasant smile abandoned. His voice, though just as soft as before, became a shard of ice which pierced her and held her, frozen in place. "How long has it been?" OOC: @Toru Nui
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