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    The Phantom

    Consulting Criminal
    The Last Dragonborn

    "All hail the Dragonborn!" Sang the heroes of Sovngarde "Hail him with great praise!" Alduin, The World Eater was defeated. Tsun then approached the Dragonborn, and told him of how he hoped that one day, he too would join them in the Hall Of Valour. He then gifted the Dragonborn with a shout to call forth a Hero Of Sovngarde before sending him back to Tamriel.

    As the Dragonborn's vision returned to him he found that he was on the Throat of the World, with a horde of Dragons circling overhead chanting in their ancient tongue. One by one they left until only Odahviing remained. Odahviing landed next to Dragonborn and the recently slain corpse of Paarthurnax "If Alduin himself could not stand against your Thu'um, then I feel no shame in my own defeat. And so Alduin's lordship passes to you. Call my name, and I will come to your aid. If I can." With that he flew off and continued circling overhead. The Last Dragonborn, Malitiasicarius, then left for Sky Haven Temple, to inform Delphine and Esbern of his sucess.

    That was two years ago

    Now Malitiasicarius has become a tyrant. Ruling the Blades with an iron fist, converting them into a cult dedicated to him. Skyrim now lives in fear and subjugation, the guilds becoming progressively weaker and both the Empire and Stormcloaks stay far away from the Reach. Markarth has been retaken by the Forsworn and the Blades have taken over the rest of the Reach. Finally one last important factor. The destruction of High Hrothgar and the fall of the Greybeards.

    On the 3rd of Frostfall, the Greybeards challenged Malitiasicarius to a duel in High Hrothgar. A duel he accepted. Malitiasicarius met the Greybeards for the last time, later that day and the duel began. The Greybeards attempted to shout him into a block of ice but he had anticipated this, becoming ethereal as they unleashed their shouts. The battle lasted for hours, resulting in the destruction of High Hrothgar. Malitiasicarius gained the upper hand, never relenting and incinerating them with his Thu'um. Soon only two Greybeards remained, both horribly wounded and scarred from burns, the Last Dragonborn left his former friend Arngeir to die along with Wulfgar. Little did he know they survived!

    Arngeir and Wulfgar had been recruiting some skilled adventurers, teaching them the Thu'um and the skills necessary to defeat Malitiasicarius. In a cave on the border to Cyrodiil where the Last Dragonborn was once caught by the Imperials at the beginning of his long story, the group trained to defeat the man they used to call a "Hero". They were going to kill the Last Dragonborn.
     

    IAmRoggvar98

    Traveling Huntsman
    "Is that all?"

    Roggvar woke from his daze. "Is that all, sir?" The voice repeated. He looked up to see the face of a young nord girl. Suddenly, he remembered where he was. He was in the Frostfruit Inn, in his humble hometown of Rorikstead. Something about coming back here always messed with his head. He massaged his eyes, waking from his daze and replying softly,

    "Yes," he said, looking up at her from under his brow, "That's all." He reached into the leather pouch strapped to his belt and fetched 2 septims, placing them in her hand. "That's for the more than adequate service," he said with his signature smirk.

    "Any time," she said, throwing him a casual but intentional wink.

    "I might have to take you up on that offer-" Roggvar's thought trailed off as a man clad in jangling black armor approached the table, placing his hand on Roggvar's right shoulder. In his mind's eye, he saw himself pivot his hips, using the stranger's arm as leverage to throw the man to the ground, bounce from the seat and run outside to his horse. Instead, he chose to turn carefully and smile kindly at the unwelcome guest. "Do you mind? I'm trying to speak to this lovely lady here."

    Roggvar could hear the waitress scoff from across the tavern, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. "We're taking a census of the nearby population for... informational purposes. Name, family, and place of residence, please."

    "That won't be necessary. I'm just passing through."

    "I didn't ask if you were passing through. I asked for your name, family, and place of residence." The man's face was eerily grim for such a simple task.

    "I don't want any trouble."

    "You're dressed interestingly for a common farmer," he said, regarding my green and brown leather armor, with my low-hanging hood. He looked at me under a suspicious brow, trying to look casual whilst resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

    "And you're awfully well armed for a courier." It was a risky move, but the ranger was growing increasingly tired of this man's games.

    The armored man scowled. "That's it. Come with me." The waitresses face flashed panic, and Roggvar could practically feel her thinking, Just go with him.

    "No. I don't think I will. That was a good talk though," he began to rise from his seat, only to feel the hand of the suspicious man press him back onto his bench. "Wow! You're quite a pushy fellow, aren't you?" Suddenly, a small piece of Roggvar's confident show fell off as Roggvar remembered that his bow and quiver were secured to his horse, outside the inn and out of reach. But he did have a dagger of orcish design, in a sheath in his right boot. The ranger kept up his bluff though, and acted as though he was the one armed to make demands, and the assailant was the virtually unarmed victim instead. The imposing 'census worker' seemed to be put off by my display, because his face momentarily flashed with doubt before returning to a scowl.

    He reached for the wicked, foreign sword at his side, and in a flash, he was pressing its arced blade against Roggvar's neck, drawing a small droplet of blood. "Come. With. Me."

    "That was a bad idea, brother." Using footwork, Roggvar broke the attacker's clumsy stance with a swift kick to the kneecap. As he faltered, the ranger grabbed the hilt of the man's sword and pushed back on it. They were grappling, pushing the blade back and forth between each other. Roggvar let forth a flurry of fast kicks, pushing back the armed enemy's defenses. While he was distracted, the ranger twisted the sword so that the mysterious man's grip was strained and then ripped the weapon from the warrior's hands, sending it skidding across the tavern floor. The recently disarmed assailant reached for the dagger at his belt, but Roggvar rushed him and tackled him to the ground first. The attacker brought his dagger up, but Roggvar blocked the blade with his hardened leather bracer, causing the sharp dagger to tear down the length of his arm, ripping his armguard clean off. With his other hand, Roggvar punched the attacker's temple hard, knocking off his helmet. putting both hands on the attacker's dagger hand, the ranger yanked it from the man's grasp and thrust it in between the plates of armor on his gut.

    Quickly rolling to his feet, Roggvar ran through the door and untied his steed's rope, urging it forward, jumping onto it as it galloped down the road. As the familiar farms and cabins of his hometown flew past him, he noticed a sign, recently staked into the ground by the road. It read:

    RORIKSTEAD​
    NOW UNDER RULE OF MALITIASICARIUS, OUR JUST AND POWERFUL KING
     

    Artemis Shadows

    The Watcher
    Thinking back on it, perhaps it was the mead in her system that had made her accept the offer of the Greybeard she had met. She knew the man was a Greybeard, wearing those traditional grey robes she'd read and heard about. Plus the way he carried himself....she could just tell. But maybe it wasn't the mead...maybe it was Seryn's genuine interest in anything exciting or interesting. Nevertheless, Seryn Valendras stood outside the cave she had been directed too. She had heard that there were others who had been recruited just like her, and she wondered if they were already inside. She removed her dark hood and ran a hand through her flaming red hair with a dull sigh. Seryn glanced around cautiously for a minute and walked into the cave, anxiously awaiting what she would find inside.
     

    IAmRoggvar98

    Traveling Huntsman
    Roggvar pulled out his map from his saddlebag and traced the line of the trail to the mouth of the cave with his finger. "This is the place," he said to himself, folding it back up and storing it. He pulled out the note and read it one more time. It spoke of a man, the Dragonborn, a hero who Roggvar's heard of in ballads in nearly every tavern across Skyrim. Whoever this was, he was important.

    It said that he had been corrupted, that a hero had turned evil. For whatever strange reason, Roggvar was being called here to 'help bring an end to the corrupt madness of an evil tyrant.' Sounded rather dramatic to him. Regardless, he had been called, so he answered. With a sigh, he strung his bow, adjusted his sheath from his boot to his belt, and walked into the cave, uncertain of his near fate.
     
    Anya leaned against the cave wall, studying the two others who spilled in after her. The first was another elf, a Bosmer with red hair like hers, but brighter, and some younger man, almost a child, as far as she could tell. A Nord, no less. She kept her face passive and watched them, tapping her fingers on her arm.

    The elf she recognized from the Flagon, one of the Nightingales. She considered them arrogant and annoying, nothing she wanted to get involved with. Brynjolf had approached her once with a serious look on his face, dancing around the topic of the Nightingales as if he wanted her to be a part of it, but she didn't care. She didn't see the purpose of armor screaming that she lived her life in the shadows.

    Anya wasn't clear what the Greybeards wanted from her or, more importantly, why they had persisted in chasing her around until she agreed. She was neither a warrior nor a hero, and she couldn't care less about the Dragonborn turning on Tamriel. She would do as she always did: survive. Her best skill was thievery, and she couldn't begin to fathom how it would help them out.

    All she knew was they had recruited at least another elf and a Nord, probably the two least trustworthy kinds of people Anya had ever known. She was not pleased.
     

    Humbungala

    Active Member
    The only reason Irelius had decided to help out the greybeards was this: no greybeard ever leaves High Hrothgar, and for them to be staying in a cave, asking for the help of others, something grave and important was on the horizon. Winterhold had received one letter, and Irelius offered to go seeing as his season of training some novice mages was over. The note was vague, only stating something about the dragonborn. It took him and a rented horse four days of travel to get this secret cave and find out what this meeting was all about. Irelius dismounted his horse and tied her halter around a tree.

    The cave was the last place he had expected the greybeards to take refuge. I wonder if it lives up to their castle standards. He laughed to himself, knowing that they were probably extremely uncomfortable in this cave. He saw three individuals who he did not recognize as greybeards. Well, they must be here for the same reasons as I. One was a young nord fellow, a ranger by the look of his hood and an orcish bow laid on his back. Another was an atlmer, who looked awkward in a full suit of leather armour. I've never seen that before, a thief-looking high helf. Heh, never thought them fancies would stoop that low. He quietly laughed to himself, trying to conceal it as to not draw the altmer's attention. The last was a bosmer who dawned black decorated leather armour. Her face caught Irelius' eye and interest. Well what do we have here? A bosmer who's pretty and I guess... adventurous? He made eye contact with her and gave her a quick wink.

    He stood in the middle of them all and waited. The cave was filled with nothing but an eery and boring silence. "Well, this is quite tense. I'm Irelius, nice to meet you." He glanced around the room, nodding at them all.
     

    IAmRoggvar98

    Traveling Huntsman
    Since he had walked into the cave, three more people had filed in, all looking just as confused and awkward as he felt. He had found a comfortable stretch of flat wall directly to the left of the entrance, and leaned back, with one foot on the wall and his arms crossed. With a thoomp, his pack hit the floor beside him, and Roggvar waited. His time hunting in the woods from a young age had taught him the art of patience. Many people constructed the inside of their mind like a pantry; small, uncomfortable, and neatly stacked with only the most necessary elements. Roggvar, he constructed his mind like a house, like a town with long roads connecting thoughts to stroll down and houses and cabins full of things to occupy himself as he stalked a young fawn through the barren forests of Skyrim. He had no squabbles with waiting.

    Like a game of chess, he would allow the Greybeards to bide their time, as he would his own. He began to whistle a tune, a tune that reached back into his mind, though he knew not from where. A far off tune that first meandered like a stream, then traveled up snowy mountains and deep into ravines of the unknown. If it had words, it would speak of untold secrets, of caverns of lost treasures and Dwemer cities deep under the cold rock where the clanging echoes of stone and rusted Dwarven metal tell of long forgotten tales of treasure.
     

    Snoball

    23rd President of the United States of America
    "~518 days..."

    Call it a journal or a log, except Remy wouldn't write down any words in this book of his, but instead jot down a number of days. Ever since the unforgettable evening the Dovahkiin and the Forsworn swept through Markarth, the Breton would record the number of days passed since he lost his beloved home to the ex-hero of Skyrim. No matter the difficulty of the challenge, he did this so that the day Malitiasicarius's grip on the province would come crashing down before him, Remy could know just how long it took for him to finally out-think the Dragonborn and bring closure to his friends and family still trapped in the belly of the beast now known as the Reach. The chances of this even happening were very slim and grueling, but the Doctor wouldn't have it any other way.

    Remy had been travelling by personal carriage for a good two hours now. He tried gaining access to the Dwemer ruin where he had set up most of his long-term projects, but with it being along the edge of the Reach, it made his base of operations more difficult to obtain, but that much more tempting to try and obtain. Of course, Remy was a lousy fighter, so unless if he had been hoping for a death wish, he had no choice but to steer clear from Bthardamz for the time being. The lousy fighter thing would continue to ring through his head the whole trip towards this "undisclosed location".

    "Why would the Greybeards choose me? What can I offer that skilled warriors and they themselves can't already acquire? It's nothing short of an enigma. Come to think of it, I didn't even know the Greybeards had survived. Hmm, they are masters of the voice after all, so they must have had some trick up their baggy sleeves. I wonder if I'll have to wear those saggy robes too. All that looseness would likely feel a bit... breezy. If it's as nice as this outdoor breeze, I guess I'm bound to disregard it." Remy's mental ramblings were cut short (or perhaps, cut too late) as his pricey carriage was brought to a sudden halt.

    "Doctor, we've arrived! You're free to dismount." Remy didn't have to pay upfront due to him owning the carriage driven, but with the troubling times only beginning to become worse, he felt hospitality would be more than a valued virtue for those falling on hard times, including his carriage driver. He tipped the man and they parted ways. Remy dusted off the white linen suit he had on, picked up his cane (which he rarely chose to use), and carried his satchel filled with everything he'd need for the training ahead. Everything had changed. As he studied the tremendous, gaping cavern, he began to realize his past was now far behind him. No more being handed what's needed on a silver platter, no more promoting the idea of a Dwemer-influenced future. If he and the brave men and women arriving here today chose not to heed the Greybeard's call, Skyrim, and all of Tamriel would soon have no future. He shook off any type of self-doubt he bore coming here, and took slow but steady steps inside.

    The cave appeared much smaller on the outside than it did within. Remy was intrigued by how the Greybeards were able to locate such a sufficient location given the circumstances surrounding the whole situation. Walking further, it had appeared he made it to the center. Remy saw others already here, possibly waiting for the Greaybeards themselves to appear, or just making themselves at home. It was nice to see other's faces after staring at the back of his carriage driver's head for nearly three hours.

    The first was a leather-clad, Altmer woman. Thieve's Guild armor to be precise. Remy had never acquainted himself with the Guild, but any who were apart of it must have been renowned for their stealth, the reserved high elf looked to be as well. The second appearing to be some kind of Nordic ranger, whistling a catchy tune. The bow on his back and the camouflage-esque shade of green he wore was a tell-tale sign, one who could adapt to his surroundings as he pleased. A fiery-haired Bosmer had been wandering around as well. Her allure and the Nightingale armor on her back must have been proof to this child of the shadow's expertise in getting what she pleased from others. Lastly, a man of mixed heritage in brown robes. The lack of weaponry must have meant proficiency in the arcane.

    Remy, placing the cane on his shoulder, snuck up from behind the man to answer his greeting. "Splendid to meet you Irelius, and all of you as well. The name is Dr. Remy Beuregard. Or just Remy. Doc is nice too, but seems a bit too formal. You know what? Just call me Remy." Remy extends his gloved, metallic hand to the man before him for a handshake, while paying a smile to the others as well. If they were to get along, getting on the same page was the first of many tasks ahead of them.
     
    "You know what? Just call me Remy."

    Pretentious.

    Anya glanced at Remy and then looked away, closing her eyes to study him in her head. Thin, too short to be a Nord, with some kind of metal cover on his eye, probably worth something if it was melted down. He studied them with an air of appraisal. At any other time, he would make a perfect mark. Anya didn't lack the intelligence to outwit someone like that. What successful thief did? No, the true point of the matter was that he looked too weak to fight back. If he caught her in the act of theft, she could hold him down and take what she wanted anyway. That said, he was the only one she didn't immediately dislike.

    The other man, Irelius, didn't catch her interest. Like the Nord, he looked young, likely skilled with magic or else stupid enough to travel without a weapon. He did, however, look somewhat naive, easily swindled, if she tried. Perhaps even seduced, if it would loosen his pockets.

    The Nord leaned against the opposite wall and let his pack hit the floor, and Anya found herself wondering if anyone else would arrive. She knew she stood out already, even with another elf present. For all they could tell, she was a member of the Thalmor, a thought that disgusted her.

    She slid to the floor silently, her legs crossed, and she scratched lines in the dirt. She hadn't slept well since she'd agreed to come here, and she was getting a little bored of waiting.
     

    IAmRoggvar98

    Traveling Huntsman
    Roggvar hadn't kept careful account of the people in the room, as he now intended to do. You're getting easy, Rogg. Be aware of your surroundings. There were two women and two men that had entered the room since he arrived.

    The two women were thieves. This was easily visible by the way they walked, being careful as to make no sound upon the ground as they tread. Even then, their armor was immediately identifiable as thieves armor.

    One of the women was clad in the average apparel of stealth, but the other was dressed quite differently. Her armor screamed of nobility, the regal way in which it tightly fit her body. Her face was utter calm, her small, pointed nose not twitching; her round, golden Bosmer eyes showing nothing but disinterest. Her hair was fire, a cloak of royal red surrounding her pointed chin.

    One of the men was of the same skin tone as Roggvar, most likely a fellow Nord, though it was hard to tell in the flickering light of the torches. A young-looking man, in a simple robe with no visible weapon. Presumably a man of magic, though what schools Roggvar knew not. The last man was quite a sight to behold.

    A Breton about Roggvar's age with messy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. This man had an eyepiece and cane that were both made of a shiny bronze metal, with variously shaped gears and cogs moving in a creppily alive manner. Although his loose clothes made it hard to tell, he did not look very strong, nor did he carry the energy or noble attitude of a spellsmith, so one had to conclude that this man was indeed an enigma. He was not strong, magical or stealthy, but somehow Roggvar knew this odd man would be a vital asset in carrying this mission through.
     

    Artemis Shadows

    The Watcher
    Seryn took quick glances around the room, observing the place, before turning her attention too the other people that were here for the same reason as her. They were a strange assortments of character, one male, apparently named Irelius, even winked at her. She crossed her arms and studied the charateristics of the strange individuals. With a mutter of unintelligable words she retreated too a nice cozy corner and leaned against the wall. Seryn hoped the Greybeards would arrive soon, too break the awkwardness of the situation. She was eager too hear any information about the task at hand. She had many questions and desired answers. The toes of her boot kicked the floor with a almost silent thump, of pure boredom.
     

    Writes-Many-Posts

    Champion of Grottos and Gremlins
    Virk woke up much later that day. Since the Greybeards carried him to the cave, he had done nothing but practicing to throw shiv's and dodge Thu'ums, as well as dedly magic bolts. He got up and put on his usual clothes with no armor protection at all, put his belt with his shivs and headed to the training lodge where new faces showed up. He rubbed his eyes. "New people?" He asked, intrigued. Virk took another glance around, checking if it wasn't his mind tricking him again, as he hadn't met new people in a while.
     

    The Phantom

    Consulting Criminal
    As the group of misfits assembled somewhat awkwardly in the cave the Greybeards had specified, rather suddenly a large Frost Troll stumbled from the shadows towards the group. Befire it could move barely 5 steps a figure clad in tattered robes intervened and yelled "IIZ SLEN NUS!" and in a quite literal flash, the Troll was encased in a block of ice. The stranger then approached the group slowly, so as not to alarm them any more than they most likely already were. He withdrew his hood, revealing his face, old and weathered but horribly disfigured with burn marks and scars. Yet somehow he maintained a somewhat friendly aura, almost radiating wisdom. "I am Ma-.. Ex-Master Arngeir.. I used to be a Greybeard, teaching the Way of the Voice up in High Hrothgar; before the Dragonborn destroyed it. And most of the others Greybeards too. We challenged him to a duel and that duel we lost. I have gathered you adventurers here: because you all show the will-power, dertemination, strength, confidence and intelligence to learn the power of the Thu'um." At this moment the Troll broke free of the ice and glared angrily at Armgeir before charging, as it went to swipe him it's arm just phased straight through. Arngeir appeared to be nothing but a ghostly spectre until "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

    The Troll, now lay blackened and burned on the cave floor at the feet of the Greybeard. Arngeir then bowed to those who he had gathered "I apologise for the Troll, I simply wished to demonstrate the power of the Thu'um to you all. Oh and please don't mind my fellow Greybeard." He gestured toward Wulfgar "He doesn't speak much. We are the only Greybeards left alive. We wish to train you to defeat the Dragonborn. It may seem threatening and simply out of the question but please stay a while longer. We have already recruited one person, this is Virk. Are any of you familiar with the story of the Dragonborn?" Arngeir began surveying the group waiting for one of them to speak.
     

    Artemis Shadows

    The Watcher
    Seryn opened her mouth and began speaking almost immediately, "Being Dragonborn is believed to be a gift bestowed too a favored mortal by Akatosh. The Dovahkiin is just a mortal with the blood and soul of a dragon. They are known for slaying dragons and taking their knowledge and souls which they use too increase their own power. Most of the Emperors were once Dragonborn, which was started by the very first of the Dovahkiin, Saint Alessia". It was obvious Seryn had spent much time reading over these things. Regardless, she was done speaking and she watched Arngeir with interest.
     

    The Phantom

    Consulting Criminal
    Arngeir smiled though it pained him to do so "Yes, very good. When the Blades first came to Tamriel it was in search of the Dragonborn. They believed in a prophecy "When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world. When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles. When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls. When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." Now tell me. Do any of you know the story of Malitiasicarius? Many don't know his name but you all know him as the Dragonborn. It is really quite a remarkable tale! No one but myself and two Blades named Esbern and Delphine know the full details. I wouldn't be surprised though if you know a few details, key famous parts mostly. Anyone?"
     

    IAmRoggvar98

    Traveling Huntsman
    "All I know is that I've seen that name before," Roggvar, stepped toward the cave's center, being suddenly illuminated by torchlight. "On a sign on the outskirts or Rorikstead. It said that Rorikstead was under his rule. I suppose that means the angry bloke with the curvy sword and black armor was one of the Blades... that means that the milkdrinker has taken Rorikstead! I need to go."
     

    The Phantom

    Consulting Criminal
    "No! You will remain here! You cannot hope to stand against the Blades let alone the Dragonborn. Besides this man you described, he was not a blade. Merely a scout. Without my training none of you could stand against a full member of the Blades. Strict regimes, discipline, order, strength even the Thu'um. They are not to be trifled with. Roggvar if you do want to save Rorikstead. You won't leave this cave." The weary old man sighed and then turned to Seryn "You seem to know about these types of things. Do you happen to know the tale of Malitiasicarius? Or shall I have to recite it at a later date?"
     

    Artemis Shadows

    The Watcher
    Seryn nodded, "I think Malitiasicarius whole Dragonborn beginning was at a dragon fight near Whiterun, after defeating the dragon and consuming it's soul, the Greybeards called him too High Hrothgar and so that's where he went. It was later that he met the blades, the woman and man you mentioned, I believe? I think he went under their advisement for a while..... Now I don't quite remember what happened between then and him having too capture a dragon named...some strange name.. But I do remember tales and rumors of what happened when the dragon flew him too an entrance of Sovangarde" she paused and then continued, "He apparently had too fight his way through drauger and dragon alike too get too the entrance and even then he had too defeat a Dragon Priest, which I don't believe posed that much of a threat. Anyway, he ended up in Sovangarde and defeated the great Alduin and completed his supposed "prophecy". Seryn shrugged. "That's all I know of him".
     

    Writes-Many-Posts

    Champion of Grottos and Gremlins
    Virk remained silent, as he had been taught respect by the Greybeards, along with discipline and dignity. Although being told very often about the story of the Dragonborn, when a woman in the cave told it, he still felt the same chill at its hearing. The imperial was ready to train more today, but he couldn't interrupt Arngeir nor anyone superior to him, even if he wanted to, so he just nodded after the woman told the prophecy, and commented. "And you know quite a lot."
     

    The Phantom

    Consulting Criminal
    Arngeir then smiled "Now you have heard what you will be up against, will you join us?" He looked on intently at the group, watching to sed if any would step forward. A lot of time and planning had gone into this and he knew it would take time, but he believed that with the right training and the power of the Thu'um they could defeat Malitiasicarius.

    He had chosen them specifically for their will power and confidence, needed to master the Thu'um. Each one of them also possessed their own unique skills be it thievery, stealth, magic, invention, archery or skill as a fighter he knew they were his best shot to destroy Malitiasicarius...
     

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