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    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Lilliana glared at the man and furiously fixed her hair. He was taunting her, amusing himself at her expense. The girl crossed her arms and scowled. "I- I can" before she could come up with some spell or ability, the masked mans' eyes widened, and the wave of pleasure hit her. Despite the rejuvenation the mans pain brought her, she stumbled back, towards Adalia and the robed man, fighting not to bring up her meal. She got her rebellious stomach under control, and stared at the assassin, appalled. 'How can someone deal with that much pain and still stand?' She wondered. "What's wrong with you?" She gasped, not actually meaning to ask the question, but it slipped out all the same. The pleasure was fading away now, leaving the familiar shame and sense of...uncleanliness. 'A better question is, what's wrong with me?'

    Of course, Adalia knew nothing of her young companions curse, and immediately glared at the masked man, who'd removed his mask to reveal a pale face framed by dark hair. He poured something from a small vial into his drink, before asking just what Lilliana could do. It wasn't that that had alarmed her. The imperial girl staggered back from him, her face drained of color, before looking to the man. "What did you do?" The redguard demanded, once more readying her magic, prepared to blast the human across the room if he was responsible for the girls' discomfort. They'd only met a couple of hours ago, but Adalia felt strangely protective of the young imperial.
     

    Rafen

    Well-Known Member
    A tower outside Bruma

    Djor Blackmane examined the carnage with the experience of a seasoned soldier. He, like the two he'd joined up with, was no stranger to such sights. It reminded him to an unnerving degree of the slaughter inside Riverwood. With a grimace hidden from the argonian bounty hunter, he shook his head. It had been several years since that fateful day, and he found he still couldn't shake the title 'Butcher of Riverwood'. 'Perhaps because I deserve it.' He thought grimly, remembering leading a host of soldiers down upon the unsuspecting village, remembering giving those fateful orders. Even in Cyrodiil, where few cared about the northern territory of the empire, he was hunted by vengeful bounty hunters and assassins. Fortunately for him, few remembered what he looked like, and fewer still knew him by his name.

    He'd come to Cyrodiil looking for purpose. Or at least a chance to forget about the atrocities he'd committed in the past. The bounty on this imperial bandit leader was something at least. He even appreciated the chance to work as a team again, having spent the past year wandering on his own. Even if their elven companion was less than forthcoming. A bosmer, though he looked more like the high elves of the sumerset isles rather than the people of Valenwood to Djor. He harbored a bitterness against the empire that was plain to see, and made him wonder why he'd even agreed to take on the bounty. It was, after all, the empire who had posted it.

    Djor was broken out of his musings by the argonian bounty hunter, Rajeem, calling him to a body propped against a wall. The man was missing one of his eyes, he noted, and it didn't look like an old battle wound. "Tortured, then. It would seem we're not the only ones after this imperial." Rajeem seemed to have come to the same conclusion, echoing the nord nearly word for word. Before he could speculate on who had been after the bandit leader, a sharp whistle from outside drew the pairs attention. The argonian stepped out, and summoned Djor a few moments later, the agitation in his voice lending speed to the nords' steps. Outside, Djor realized what had his companion so worked up. A pair of tracks, heavy, already dusted with the latest snowfall, lead away from the tower. Their target, then. But more concerning, was the second pair of fresher tracks headed the same way. "I doubt those were made by an ally." He murmured, nodding at the other two hunters' observations.

    Inside the Maidens' Arms

    Calebs' eyes flicked from the pale man with raven hair to the imperial girl. Something had spooked her. What, he could only guess. The man hadn't done anything to cause such a reaction, that the healer could see, but obviously she was startled. He stood, not to confront the man, her redguard protector was already doing that, but instead he gently guided her into his now empty seat. "Easy. There's nothing to be worried about." He frowned, noting her pale complexion, and the slight tremble in her hands. "If you like, I could whip up something to calm your nerves. Nothing too strong, of course, but you'll be able to relax."
     

    The Seraph

    When the Dawn Breaks, I shall be there
    Sylandres pondered for a moment on Uzar's answer. It was clear that he was holding something back, but he didn't seem like the person to press for answers. As Sylandres thought of how to answer, for he had things to hide as well, his mind drifted to his village. The half dead ruin on the shore of Valenwood, half bosmeri natives, half Imperial soldiers and surrounded by a forest of saplings, a pitiful attempt to regrow the forest. It took just one night to destroy it, and even many years later it still shook Sylandres to the core as to how something, which seemed like to world to him, could be extinguished like a candle flame. Sylandres was about to answer when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A bar fight that he missed, and amid the corpses the victors, a dunmer and beside him . . . . He felt a shiver down his spine, though he didn't show the fear in his face. An Imperial battlemage. It was probably nothing, a soldier off to blow steam in a seedy pub. He didn't even have the mark. You could never be too careful though. You can never know when your secrets would be found out. Sylandres wrote quickly into the slab Valenwood and shoved it back to Uzar, keeping his other hand firmly on his dagger hilt.
     
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    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    The elven woman threw his words back into his face, apparently offended by his choice of words. Of course, that had been the point. He wasn't here for conversation, and certainly not to make friends. He nodded off to the side, where the disagreement had been settled in the way all disagreements in the under empire were settled. The two fools that had accosted the dunmer with white hands lay on the stained floor, adding fresh blood marks. He'd seen how quickly the elf had moved. Perhaps a worthy adversary, even if he had dedicated his life to a trade of lurking in shadows and cutting throats. He nodded to the corpses "I'm here for this. To gain glory in cutting down the strongest foes until I am slain myself, or there are none left to kill. Gold matters little, compared to that."
     
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    Harkatti

    Sorceress Supreme!
    Elwyn crossed her arms and frowned. "Seems a poor reason to fight for the empire. I would think fighting against the empires legions would gain you more glory. But to each their own." With that, the elven woman fell silent, her gaze roving over the others in the room. In truth, the breton she spoke with concerned her. There was something strange about him....dismissing it as her natural suspicions, she rested her arms on the table. It was getting late, and she was beginning to tire of waiting for the imperial contact to appeat.
     
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    The_Lost_Foxtrot

    Luwd uf Shoduws
    Mathias only grunted in response, choosing to keep quiet for a moment and gather his thoughts again. The curse attacked him fast, way quicker then usuall, the assassin gulped down the rest of the potion before looking up at the trio With an indifferent look.

    But his eyes held a certain exhastion in them, like he was tired, and just as fast as it was there, it disappeared. The Grimm raised a eyebrow as he observed the way Serana reacted, almost as if she could feel his pain. He looked back at the older woman when she demanded what he did, "I did nothing, exept for sitting down and taking a drink" he replied With a shrug, not wishing to tell them, if his clients found out about his curse then he would loose a lot of jobs.

    Mathias turned to the girl and stared to her With his glowing eyes while the man tried to calm her down with smething about a drink or potion, trying to figure out just how she felt his pain. He subconsciously rubbed his side wich was sore and hurt, "what do you meen 'wrong with me'?" he demanded while training a eye on the woman, acknowledging her Power as a mage by the way she raised her hands.
     
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    Snoball

    23rd President of the United States of America
    The pale man's quip to respond to Salza's own brought a chuckle to the wood elf. Although Sal was not yet sure if his own chuckling was genuine or of nervousness, most likely a combination of both. "Yes, well, when one spends as much time as I have among the dregs of society, you find yourself wanting to...stand out above the rest." And that he certainly did. The stunning Imperial could likely draw more attention than Sal would appreciate, but having a tough ally would have its benefits, especially considering the task that lies ahead for this group. And his notion of blood and glory definitely wasn't the worst cause to fight by a long shot.

    "Blood and glory, huh? That's pretty fair. Honestly we could all use a b-bit... of uh..." Midway through his sentence Sal realizes the man's attention is elsewhere at the moment. "You uh... ya still there pal?" Unresponsive, Sal follows the path of his trailing eyes to see him staring down a high elf woman who'd sat with the other pale man. As per usual, Sal's thoughts wander, always assuming the absolute worst. "W-why in Oblivion is he staring her down like that? Is she a former lover or something? Maybe because she's an Altmer. Does he have something against elves? Oh Gods, I haven't begun talking to some elf serial murderer, have I?" Salza considers slowly backing away, but knew he was too deep now. Either leave and face arrest out there, or make what allies he can here to answer the Imperials' call for criminals. Sal turns back to the man before he does to him, waiting a second for him to return from his momentary daydream.

    "Something along those lines. After all, the empire is known to pay well. When they aren't burning children and executing slaves, that is."

    Salza may have just assumed a lot about him, but the statement he made assured the elf he at least knew where to draw the line in terms of morals. After sweating bullets moments ago, Sal wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, and calms himself enough to speak coherently once more. "Yeah, the Empire sure is a shadow of itself. Considering they've rounded up people like us here, sure isn't hard to see that." A brief silence follows before Sal decides to man-up and introduce himself. A slender hand emerges from the potato sack and stretches out to greet the man formally. "I'm Salza by the way, or Sal if you'd prefer. I too am not very fond of burning children, so I uh.. suppose we have that going for us at least."
     

    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Lillianas' face paled at the assassins words. She hadn't meant to say them out loud, they'd just sort of...slipped from her lips in a moment of weakness. She allowed herself to be seated by the kindly nord man, and found herself under the disturbing purple gaze of the dark haired killer. "what do you mean 'wrong with me'?" He questioned. The scribe managed to swallow the lump in her throat and meet his eyes. "N-nothing. I didn't mean anything by it, sir." She faintly heard the nord asking if she wanted him to make something to calm her nerves. She looked over to him, glad not to have to stare into the assassins' unnatural orbs anymore, and tried for a smile. "No thank you. I just need to sit down for a bit. It's all the excitement-" she gestured vaguely in the direction of the corpses that were being dragged outside under the supervision of the barkeeper. "-I've gotten a bit light headed, that's all."

    Adalia glanced from her young charge to the assassin. The man seemed just as puzzled as she was, so Adalia lowered her hands. It was probably a good thing the man wasn't behind it. She didn't doubt for a moment that as soon as the first spell left her fingers, one of the lowlifes in the tavern would have run to the imperials. Or tried to take her in themselves. She nodded to the nord man, hearing his offer of assistance. She wanted to push Lilliana for details about her outburst, but it was clear she didn't want to speak of it. At least not now, and not here. That, she could understand. So instead, she looked to the nord, who seemed unusually fit for an alchemist. "You're a potion brewer then? I'm guessing you have a name?"
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Orien stared at the dead thugs, then slowly looked to the dunmer who'd just finished cleaning his bloody blades. Some small part of his mind suspected that it was a ploy to gain his trust, that the elf had paid the unfortunate duo off in order to get Orien to lower his guard. But no, how could the assassin know that he'd run into an imperial battlemage? And if he did, why not cut him down, rather than bother with elaborate plans, like any other servant of the empire who found themselves against those that dwelt in the underempire? The khajiit assassin didn't seem surprised or bothered by the killings, instead joking about their deaths as if it were an everyday occurrence down here. Truthfully, Orien wouldn't have been shocked to find that it was common. Not much else could be expected of these types of people. But he regretted his outburst. The khajiit and dunmer had brought him along despite the risk to themselves, and the elf, Elrasur, had risked his life defending him.

    As the white-handed assassin returned to them, the imperial battlemage bowed his head. "Elrasur. I spoke out of place, and ask your forgiveness. I do appreciate you risking your lives to help me. Considering I'm an imperial battlemage, and my kind are unwelcome here to say the least, I believe it is fair to say I am in your debt. To both of you." He performed a short bow, before taking his seat. "If you have questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability."
     

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    Kyros grunted at the altmers' rebuttal. It was true enough, if irrelevant at the moment. "I've fought against the empire more than enough times." He pointed to the claw marks on his battle-plate. "You think I got these during a morning stroll?" He almost chuckled at the absurdity of that thought. Almost. "I fight for the empire now because if they are desperate to come to us for aid, their enemies must be powerful. Great heroes or at least numerous enough for all to gain a measure of glory." He glanced over to where his fellow vampire was chatting with a wood elf. The elf seemed nervous, though it could be for any reason. Perhaps there was a bounty on his head. Either way, the mer had the bearing of a hare, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "Though I suspect some of us will die cowards deaths in the first engagement." He doubted the elf heard. Bosmer ears were good, but he didn't think they could pick up a few words among the drunken raucous that filled the tavern. If they were...well, there was little the elf could do about it.
     

    TheArgonianDrell

    Well-Known Member
    The three of them, Iornath leading the way, made followed the wanted mans tracks. The bosmer had strung his elven longbow, and his fingers brushed the golden fletching of an arrow in the quiver on his back. His keen eyes swept the trees, a mix of dead, leafless deciduous, and the green needled evergreens that lay before and around them. They were not yet so close to the Jeralls' that the trees had thinned out yet. Plenty of places to hide. His breath escaped in puffs of mist, and he silently cursed the cold. He'd fought in the war, of course, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the freezing temperatures of northern Cyrodiil.

    A quick glance at the tracks, revealed that their quarry was tiring. The boot tracks staggered from side to side, and seemed to be having trouble making progress through the field of snow. A snapped twig broke the silence; Iornath thrust an open hand into the air, motioning the others to be still. "What is it?" Rajeem hissed after him, the argonian unsheathing his falchion as he spoke. The tracks were different here, nearing an evergreen as if the man had needed to rest, but then branching away again, towards the mountains. That wasn't all though, the tracks leading away from the tree were deeper, almost as if..."clever," the wood elf murmured, "for a human." He set an arrow to the bow, and pulled the string back until the fletching brushed his cheek. With a breath, he released and the arrow shot between a pair of branches, and struck something, or rather someone with a fleshy 'thud'.

    A mans' voice shrieked with pain, and a figure, arrow protruding from his back, fell to the ground, the impact lifting a small cloud of snow. He tried to crawl, but made very little progress. Setting his bow over his shoulder, Iornath drew his sword and advanced. "What are you doing?" Barked Rajeem from behind him, the snow crunching under his boots as he tried to catch up. He was too slow, however, and the wood elf had caught up to the man in a few strides. The heel of Iornaths' boot came down on the mans' ankle.

    "Please no! I'm worth more alive!"
    The bandit leader pleaded, fingers scrabling uselessly at the ground.

    "You are worth enough dead." The elf informed him coldly, and the longsword swung across the back of the humans' neck, bringing an end to his struggles.

    "Are you godsdamned insane?" Snarled the argonian bounty hunter, staring at the headless corpse, and feeling gold slip out of his grasp. "You just cost us the bounty, you bloody tree hugger!"

    Iornath shrugged and stooped, coming up holding the mans' head by the hair. With an underhand toss, he sent it spinning to Rajeem, who caught it. "Bring that to the imperials. Perhaps you can negotiate a price. I care not." With that, he started to turn towards the city, past Djor and the dumbfounded bounty hunter. However, something stopped him, and he turned, sword at the ready. "On guard!" He whispered to the nord and argonian, "we are not alone here."
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    Elrasur shot an admonishing look at the khajiit assassin, before inclining his head to the imperial mage. "No apologies are necessary. I merely ask that you exercise more caution while here. I do not enjoy killing." He looked towards the greying khajiit who spoke with the three men still. If he was, in fact, the imperial contact, he was making no effort to reach out to the mercenaries in the tavern. And people were starting to get restless. Individuals watched each other, hands hovered near blades. The mage might have been saved from a couple of thugs, but with this many dangerous individuals inside, it was only a matter of time before more violence broke out. Turning his attention back to the imperial, he said "you stand out from your fellow mages. For one, the lack of a mark on your forehead. Are you not sworn to serve the emperor? As I understand it, all mages in services to the empire are required to have one."
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Uzar growled at the sudden tension in the deaf elves' composure. Something had him on edge, even a brute like him could see that. He glanced at the single word written on the slate. He'd never been to the homeland of the wood elves, but he had heard about the destruction of its jungles. There was a legionairre here. Standing with the elf and the cats' table. There was something about him that stood out from the other soldiers he'd seen, but he couldn't place it. What he did know, was that the urge for violence was growing. He looked around, desperate to distract himself. A group at the far wall drew his attention. Two heavily armored men, a cloaked man who seemed more on guard than his companions, and another khajiit, this one wearing an earring and with greying fur. A fine, gleaming axe rested beside him, within easy reach. He'd heard something from the bartender who'd spoken to the white-handed elf that he was, apparently, the contact for the empire. Grabbing the slate, he wrote one word on it before shoving it back to the elf. Stay.

    Then he got up, and lumbered over to the old cats' table. Removing his mace from his belt, he thudded it down between the four of them, smiling unpleasantly as he did so. "Hnnng. I was promised a fight. What are we killing?" The old cat recovered surprisingly fast, even chuckling at him. "This one advises patience, big one. Our contact will be here when they wish. And if you wish to be paid, I suggest you keep calm and sit down." Uzar noticed movement as the khajiit spoke. Despite his calm exterior, the cat had distracted him with his words, while he reached for his axe at the same time. The massive orc grunted, before chuckling himself. "Most wise, old one. Arm yourself while the foe listens. I look forwards to fighting with you." His eyes lingered on the finely crafted axe, imagining the feel of it in his own hands. With a grunt of farewell, he returned to the elf he'd agreed to partner with.
     

    Aethalia

    Well-Known Member
    Kylira stalked the imperial with the patience of a hunting cat. The man knew he was prey, and he was acting like it, swerving left and right, leaving heavy boot prints in the snow. She had little trouble following him, even though her forte was in hunting people in cities, rather than tracking them through the countryside. It was only when she followed his trail to the forest, that she realized something was amiss. Voices carried to her on the wind, at least two people. Friends of the bandit leader? Bounty hunters? Or worse, an imperial patrol? With a murmured curse, she slipped under the shelter of the low hanging branches of a fir tree. A few moments later, a trio of armed individuals appeared, a pale, unusually tall bosmer, an argonian, and a nord.

    She watched as the elf, motioned for the others to halt, and examined the tracks. Then he stood, fitting an arrow to the string, and Kylira tensed. She'd have a hard time slipping into Bruma with an arrow in her. But the wood elf and his companions were not aware of her yet. Instead, the archer loosed at a different tree, and a mans' voice cried out in pain. The bandit leader plumetted from the tree, and attempted to crawl away. Kylira edged forwards as the wood elf stalked after the man, unsheathing his swordand exchanging a few words with the man, before lopping off his head. The argonian seemed somewhat less than pleased, shouting at the elf, who didn't seem terribly upset. However, their argument was short lived.

    Kylira cursed the treacherous branch that had shifted, giving her away. Having no desire to end up like the unfortunate bandit, she stepped forth, keeping her axe ready, but moving slowly, trying to look unthreatening. Of course, with the fearsome tattoos on her face, that was difficult. "Well done. I'd been tracking that one for some time now, though I'll admit, I hoped to collect the bounty on his head myself. Will you be willing to split a portion of the reward with me? I did flush him from his hole, after all."
     

    Rafen

    Well-Known Member
    "You're a potion brewer then? I'm guessing you have a name?" The redguard, Adalia asked, and Caleb smiled "A healer. Though brewing potions is part of my skills. And my name is Caleb Briarstone." Calm, relative calm, anyways, was returning to the tavern. A few were in conversation, but most seemed more interested in watching the door and waiting to hear what kind of job they'd been summoned for.

    Outside of Bruma.

    Djor, the argonian Rajeem, and the dour elf followed the tracks left by their target, with the wood elf leading the way. Djor was far from a poor tracker himself, but kept to the rear of the group, in case the bandit had any friends in the forest. He heard and saw nothing, however, and before long, they stopped at the edge of a forest, many of the trees offered concealment in the form of drooping evergreen branches.

    The wood elf was not fooled for a moment though, bringing his bow up and loosing a single arrow. A mans' voice cried out in surprise, and he fell from the tree. Before the man could so much as beg for his life, the elven man cut the human down in an instant.

    The argonian and elf began arguing, but were interrupted by the appearance of another elf, her face covered by tattoos, and asked for a share in the reward. "A bold request." He stated, resting a hand on his sword, "considering you just arrived."
     

    Harkatti

    Sorceress Supreme!
    The elf stuttered at Cyrius' response, and the vampire grinned. There was something wrong with his demeanor. He was nervous, scared, perhaps. The elf, Salza as he introduced himself mentioned that the empire was a shadow of its former self. The vampire grinned, "perhaps, but it's a paradise for scum like us, don't you think?" He gestured to the tavern they stood in with a sweep of his arm. "If not for the ignorance of our lovely imperial overlords, none of us would be here." He stepped a little closer to the bosmer, "but something tells me you are not like the others here. You don't seem...so hardened as the rest of those here. So, what twist of fate has landed you in such a place?"
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    "you stand out from your fellow mages. For one, the lack of a mark on your forehead. Are you not sworn to serve the emperor? As I understand it, all mages in services to the empire are required to have one." The dunmer assassin said, and Orien ran a hand across his brow. "My family have loyally served the empire for centuries. The legate of the fifth legion is a good friend of my father. He argued that my loyalty was unquestionable. The fifth legion had very little confessors, and so I was spared the mark. We were dispatched to Skyrim to put down the rebellion, but they caught me once we returned to Bruma. I am the first of my family to become a traitor to the empire." The words were shameful, but they were truthful. There was no choice in the matter. He knew what fate awaited him if he tried to return to the empire. "But don't think I'll kill other imperials. I still serve the empire, even if I have to do it as a mercenary."
     

    The Seraph

    When the Dawn Breaks, I shall be there
    Sylandres was so focused on the Imperial. Why was he here? What was he doing? He couldn't know that Sylandres was a mage, could he? His blood was running, and Sylandres felt like running or attacking the Imperial scum. Suddenly he noticed Uzar was approaching the table, leaving a grizzled looking kahjiit's table, who must have been Var'Hess. He hadn't even noticed Uzar was gone. Sylandres decided to try to take his mind off of the Imperial. He took back the slate, which had the words Stay on it and wrote So, do we have a contract? and handed Uzar the slate.
     

    Snoball

    23rd President of the United States of America
    "A paradise, huh? Not the first word I would have used to describe this place, but beauty is within the eye of the beholder as they say. I've ventured similar areas to this one, none I would consider beautiful personally."

    In truth, Sal can't recall ever being so down in his luck that he'd have to find himself in this position. Being a mid to high-end thief came with the perks of not having to cut his teeth down here with other outlaws and criminals in the slums. It certainly had a way of making him stand out. The man in front of him could likely tell already tell this high-strung elf didn't belong. Instead of ousting him however, the man continued on. Either he didn't know or didn't care; most likely the latter.

    "If not for the ignorance of our lovely imperial overlords, none of us would be here." Without realizing, Sal flinched for a moment when the Breton stepped up a bit closer to him, but for the most part remained where he stood. "But something tells me you are not like the others here. You don't seem...so hardened as the rest of those here. So, what twist of fate has landed you in such a place?"

    There was little reason to keep dancing around the subject now. The pale man would have attempted something by now if his intentions were malicious. Not exactly a fan of recalling his criminal past, Sal lets out a small sigh and pullso the crimson lute from his back.

    "See the instrument? You could say it's the reason I'm here. This old girl's helped me distract countless lords and madames as their coffers were getting drained by my associates. It was alright while it lasted, but Lady Luck seemed to have dropped me out of her favor when I opted for a little change in career. Rather unfortunate events have all led me here, I'm just impressed that my awful luck hasn't killed me... yet."
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Uzar stared down at the slate once more, reading the question. Being deaf, it was clear the elf hadn't heard anything of the short talk he'd had with the khajiit mercenary at the back of the tavern. His large hand hovered over the slate as he thought of how to write the cats' response. Don't know. Maybe. Damn cat was too vague on the details, but he told us to wait. He grunted with annoyance as a glance at the door showed nothing had changed. To tell the truth, I am getting tired of waiting. I came to fight, not sit in some piss-stained hovel. He shoved the slate forwards and scowled at the stained wood of the table, mustering his patience. He hoped to find a release for his rage sooner than later.
     

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