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| To the Victors, Go the Spoils; Act III, Scene I - The Peasant's Revolt | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 30 2015, 07:06 PM (440 Views) | |
| Juul Shaepah | Apr 30 2015, 07:06 PM Post #1 |
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The sky and the land sat facing one another, both a mirror for the other. On the one were rolling hills and grasses, criss-crossed with hedgerows and copses, on the other were layers of clouds, some thick and foreboding, other thin and patchy. Both rolled out into what seemed like forever, the moon shining through and bathing both in a ghostly light. It was early summer, and the grasses were tall, the cattle getting fat and thick on it, ready for the coming winter. All was quiet across the plain - were, in the West, there were vast swathes of land abandoned in the Hardships - all except one lonely copse, bathed in the glow of firelight. The wind was light, and there was no contest between it and the raucous song that rang from between the boughs. An' we're ready to march on the bright dawn Feastin' right well on a young roasted fawn Believe it, friend, it cares not for you The fight is the fight an' that's all for sure Soon we'll be spittin' hot blood upon death's door Believe it, friend, it cares not for you Under and on and around the ancient boughs loitered a good fifty bodies - prominent figures in the military makeup of the villages. Some lounged against trunks or in branches, others in small groups around old fallen logs, still more clustered around the central clearing. All were bathed in the light of licking flame, a huge bonfire set in the middle that roared and popped and crackled underneath the cacophonous chorus of their voices. Tankards were held aloft, and drank from at the end of every couplet - some were ale, some were plundered spirits. Others were filled with a mysterious liquid the ingredients of which were known to none, except one. Juul was drunk, her face flushed, and she gave a hoarse cry as the song came to a close. Her throat was burning, and the only thing that seemed to soothe it was more alcohol. Blearily, she looked about her at the milling men and women, all still arrayed in their harnesses. Most were helping themselves to another cup or three from the barrels hastily dumped about the copse - all plundered booze, from small raids they had been launching since the start of the season. It was paying off - four camps had been ridden off in the past two weeks, and their booty had been plentiful. The peasants were becoming hardened, and drunk off their victories - and the booze, of course. Her eyes cast about once more, as her mind groped for an entertaining avenue to stumble down. The air was full of raucous laughter and animated conversation - the soldiers were bonding. Or rather, these ones were - most of the others had duties on the lands, or had fallen in with the godly faction of priests that were carving themselves quite an niche in these uncertain times. She hadn't the time for that, not when there was plunder and drink aplenty! All she needed now was a woman... She blinked heavily as a memory of Nevneni pierced her heart, and seemed to flood through her veins. She knew, in her heart, that she wouldn't make it to Kinaldi in time. By Vespasian, it would take six weeks to march there! Suddenly, the alcohol tasted bitter in her mouth, and vacillation seemed a most suitable distraction. She needed to piss, or fight, or something. She stumbled on a root, and half fell, before she righted herself, her eyes catching a familiar sight. "Eth! Ye grand eejit, I'm dry!" she cried, as she made her way towards his giant form "Geez a draught o'tha' stuff ye got. I dunno wha' 'tis. Ye know th'one." She stopped, and reeled backwards, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the lack of movement. Everything swayed, nevertheless, and she caught a glimpse of a bound figure that had been a near-constant companion to the giant woodsman since that first raid. That near disaster, saved only by that fey pale woman. She did look awfully familiar... nt as familiar as Eth's prisoner, the slayer of Daffyd. She hadn't made up her mind on that one, yet. "Eh? Ye still draggin' 'im round?" Edited by Juul Shaepah, Apr 30 2015, 07:24 PM.
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| Penemue | May 4 2015, 11:50 PM Post #2 |
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I hate this place. She thought, keeping her complaints and frustrations bottled up inside. The only thought that had formed in the angry angel's mind for the last hour repeated itself over and over and over again. She was sitting on a log, the smell of mead frittering the air as it mixed with the smoke gently rising from the campfires, earth, and the disgustingly robust stench of sweaty men and women everywhere. Dressed in leather and iron, the angel clung tightly to her tankard. She was slouched over, her arms resting on her knees. Her brown windswept hair was disheveled, much like it would be after a battle or a long day of flying. Bruises, cuts, and dirt spotted her skin. Her lips were set into a deep frown and her eyebrows were furrowed. Fighting with a human army and living amongst them was proving to be more difficult than it had originally seemed. Penemue was desperate to get the last of her thoughts seeped in a drunken haze, so she refused to let a single drop of mead go to waste. Two empty tankards littered the space she had claimed as her own in a rather aggressive manner. Even when it was hazy and warm with strange people, the world seemed better than when she was sharp and alert. Where reality couldn't be escaped as easily. The angel was doing quite well for herself. Upon her spontaneous arrival at the camp, she was given her own set of armor, which she had been lacking. She had flown and fought to her greatest capacity, surpassing many of the more skeptic soldier's expectations of the wayward angel. And some of them, too, had surpassed her own rather harsh albeit internalized judgments. And the worst part was that the humans were beginning to grow on her! There were even some who actually bothered to strike up friendly conversations, and when she read their minds, she could only find sincerity in their words and actions. It was appauling! Couldn't they see how hard she was trying to hate them? No... of course they couldn't. Not when she did such a good job at hiding it. I really hate this place! She thought, emptying the tankard in her hands and flinging it away as she kept her complaints and frustrations bottled up inside. |
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| Etherone | May 5 2015, 08:22 AM Post #3 |
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I love this place! The woodsman beamed, smile brighter and truer than it had been for a known lifetime. He was merrily drunk, amongst a company of comrades, in his own country and most importantly -- on the sustained side of winners, intoxicated by the victories gained through honourary endeavours. Heck, all he needed now was a person to wrestle with. More or less accurately. He had himself leaning against the post he had set to hold his latest trophy, the hjälmjävel, their form sturdily bound around the half of a log like that of any prisoner. It wasn't that he was afraid of them stabbing him should they be roaming free, thus the precaution was more for the opposite, to keep them from running away -- condemned to keep him company. And listen to his babble that kept streaming, exponentially so, through the course of the evening. However he figured it was the least they could do, taking he had constructed a new helmet for them, if only to justify their honourary nickname. It didn't matter they probably didn't see anything from within, though he had really tried to put his creativity in whilst drilling eyeholes into the bucket. In addition, as his newest capture, suffered the forever gloomy Callum. Whom he had grabbed by the neck a mere moment ago, upon their saunter past, if only to announce yet another person the awesomeness of the latest attraction like some circus director. " And can ya believe it - " A hand gestured out at the buckethead. " This man hit me in the face!? With his bare fist, whilst I was a darn bear. " He laughed deeply and resonantly, jolly to the boot no matter how little reaction his comrade provided in turn. What a bore. To rescue, both his and Callum's whose cheek was currently forcibly pressed against his naked chest, stumbled another not too long after. - Ye grand eejit! " Juul! " He roared out, halfly snickering at the scattered sight of them and releasing Callum to the back left, by a strong shove which sent the swaying gravestone of a man reeling. The grin upon his face only widened as the Lady made it closer, placing an order even, at which point he stepped forth and reached a strong tap upon their shoulder. " Comin' right up, jungfru Ledare. " Truly honoured, he spun upon his heel to fill in their request, grabbing at a crate he had set to the abaft vicinity of his prisoner. Having produced what he searched for, a duality of spherical glass bottles clear in both surface and content, he straightened forebodingly and took to return. " Here ya go. " The distillment was inserted in their hand, carefully as if he was giving up his firstborn, offering accompanied by a conspiratorial smirk. They questioned, seemingly sincere, speaking of his reluctant bucketheaded friend in turn. " Ah! Aye, I am. Can't understand anythin' he says, but he seems a jolly fellow. " Taking the circumstances. He tapped the bucket markingly. " I think he has a pretty face too. Am savin' him fer a real special occasion if ye know what I mean. " A hideous chuckle. He stroked his beard, calculative, then moving over to the bound man and dropping the second bottle to their lap, if a tad bit carelessly. " Ey, have a drink, ya seem so uptight. " Of course it had not crossed him that they had all their hands and feet disabled, by a generous amount of thick rope, but the general overlaying haze of the hour made him quite ignorant to many other things too. Save a few surrounding personalities. He paused for a fragment of a minute, to scan and stabilize the horridly spinning scape around, making differences between people, their silhouettes and shadows. Whew. If anything, in his hecticity and impulses he had just gained a strong tendency to the horizontal state of being. Also, he had spotted something in the distance. A form against the fire that compelled him to investigate. Frej, away! " Juul... " He near stumbled, suddenly serious in his frown as he approached his leader. " You are a good woman. One of the best. I'd trust ya with my life. " And bang ya, if ya only let me. The woodsman explained, index gesturing about and pointing them on the chest of their gambeson in conclusion. " But I gotta take a piss. Watch this man fer a second, will ya? " And in a smile he moved past them, patting them on the shoulder, gait directed towards the bonfire in a mildly unstable fashion. Sooner than late and most uncalled for, a tankard flew past, at the velocity of unrestrained annoyance. " Ayah! " His advance came to a halt as he belatedly recoiled from the projectile, only to rock back forward in countermotion, landing himself next to whomever had hurled it. He collected his posture anew quite fast, hoisting to seating from the ground and straightforwardly grabbing this... maybe-woman by the shoulder. " Be careful, keepin' that kind of a face attracts masochists. " He muttered, flicking back his blonde hair and arranging the most endearing smile he ever could. In his current stance anyway. A minor pause, composed of a stare and a silly snicker, and he offered a sloshing goatskin at them. " Good fer ya though... I got just the thin' to mend it. " It was placed into their hand, objections unheard. And to crown it all, he keeled just a bit and pulled them closer, landing a disoriented kiss on what he supposed was the cheek of their blurred face. |
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| Penemue | May 5 2015, 01:14 PM Post #4 |
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Penemue's frown deepened when a large man took a seat next to her on the log. He firmly took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her. It made her terribly uncomfortable, and she slid her wings out from underneath his arm before he could clamp the hairy limb around her shoulders. Penemue took at look at his rough face, taking in his sharp features; she knew of this man. It took a moment for a name to come to her; Etherone. Penemue knew of his disproportionate strength in battle, but also knew that he was an arrogant womanizer from gossip. It was men like him that strengthened her beliefs that humans were capable of nothing more than debauchery and decadency. Under the mead's silent lull, she found his blonde hair and blue eyes were somewhat attractive, but Penemue was not the type to bend over the will of another, with or without the heavy influence of an enchanted drink.... "Be careful, keepin' that kind of a face attracts masochists." He taunted Penemue. "Are you one of these said masochists?" The question fell from her tongue with a taste of bitterness as she protruded an air of caution and warning. "My face is none of your concern. Now, unhand me, and away with you." You insufferable FUSTILARIAN. But her demands fell on deaf ears as he simply snickered and handed a goatskin to her. Penemue turned with an angry glare and opened her mouth to slurr her objections when she was pulled into him before he planted a sloppy kiss on her own two lips. Somewhere nearby, there came the sound of someone's laughter piercing the night more than any other sound, making the angel feel utterly humiliated. Penemue jerked away from him and shoved him with all the force she could muster. But even before he could be sent backwards, she grabbed him by his braided beard and pulled him close to deliver the powerful force of her fist to his jaw. "How... dare... you... dishonor... me," The words came slowly from the angel's mouth in angry gasps, the alcohol in her veins pumping the rage and adrenaline within. She stood over him, sneering, her posture tall and strong, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists, with wings aggressively spread out before them. She hated that stupid, condescending smile with everything in her being, and wanted to make him pay for that horrible, scandalous kiss. Edited by Penemue, May 5 2015, 01:49 PM.
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| Nakara Besschentyil | May 10 2015, 07:32 PM Post #5 |
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@$^#$^%!!!!!
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((OOC: y'all feel free to ignore her)) I'm indifferent about this place. When you'd been to so many places one scuzzhole started looking the same as all the others. The only difference here was the people, with whom Nakara had not developed any friendships -- her only real mates were her students and they either hated her guts or were scared of her. The lack of alcohol in her system made her feel confused about this, and she wasn't sure if she didn't care or was hurt by the fact that she wasn't likeable or even halfway pleasant to be around, and she certainly wasn't either today. The reason for this was twofold: first, she was constantly around people yakking and laughing about shit she didn't care about. Second, they were drinking and she was not. Everyone was celebrating with liberal drinking and smoking or what-the-fuck-ever, except for her. She was smoking, but she wasn't celebrating. Lately the grizzled addict had become accustomed to the fact that you could have all the cigarettes in the world and still be dying for a drink. For the most part soldiering agreed with her. On the one hand Nakara had become more fit, and was getting used to holding a blade again (even though when you got down to it she preferred the Neanderthal Method of bashing skulls and breaking bones), and the shakes were beginning to subside (finally). On the other hand, at this moment, the symptoms of withdrawal that were passing were visible in her hollowed-out face, the dark circles under her eyes, and the tooth-indents in her gloves: she had taken to chewing on them when the desire to put something in her mouth (don't even make that joke, dear reader) grew too great. People laughed on the other side of the tent she was currently hiding behind. She scowled and lifted another smoke to her lips -- the fifth this hour. If it hadn't been for the recent raid, a glaring success, she would have run out. "Who friggin' cares?" She mumbled in response to the raucous laughter. In spite of herself she leaned out to catch a glimpse of what was going on and immediately regretted it. Shit! Even mon capitan is pissed! her mood only spiralled deeper into its pot of self-pity, and she leaned back, pulling on her cigarette like it was a mirage in the desert. You could have all the succes in war in the world and still be dying for a drink. |
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| Juul Shaepah | May 11 2015, 01:53 AM Post #6 |
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Her gaze steadied, and swayed, and steadied once more. Her vision cleared, and she saw the trio before them - the dour Callum, the big woodsman and the grizzled prisoner. The big woodsman grinned his near-perpetual grin and released Callum, whom he had had in a ferocious clamp. She caught the faintest wisp of the tale he was telling - she had the faintest feeling that it was the same old story he'd been telling since that first raid. He carted that prisoner about like a living conversation piece, the story becoming more and more embellished as the weeks wore on. The guardsman had little value as a prisoner - he was not a knight they could ransom, nor did he have any intelligence as to Reik's movements. He was incredibly dour, more so than Callum, but then he had reason to be. The big woodsman span around as the soldier swayed. She blinked rapidly, as her vision dipped, and blinked again, yet the movement didn't stop. Etherone appeared as a series of still images, turning, suddenly close, suddenly closer, those teeth flashing all the while. At last, he pressed a bottle into her hand, before tossing one to his captive and taunting him. The guardsman was usually silent - any words he spoke led to merciless ribbing of his valley-boy accent from the mountain man. Juul idly wondered why her lilting southern dialect got no such mockery - between the three of them, a native of Kinaldi would have barely discerned a word, and it was a wonder they communicated anything to one another. Her wish satisfied, she gulped from the glass sphere, nearly dropping it in her thirsty haste. The woodsman leaned over her, a thick digit prodding at her gambeson as he spoke. "Aye, a better one than ye can buy wi' yer bent coppers, Eth." she grinned, clapping him roughly on a shoulder that was about equal in size to her head "I'll watch 'im, just don't make ye water too close t'the fire, will ye? The amount o' tha' stuff ye've drank will cause a wildfire!" She cackled at her own joke - a terrible habit - as the big man moved off. She looked down at the still-helmeted captive, feeling a little sorry for him. He couldn't be ransomed, but nor could they let him go free - he might run straight to Reik with all he'd seen and heard, and seeing as he'd mainly been with Eth, he would have heard an awful lot. Most of it gibberish and jibes, but the reasoning stood. She crouched, and put a hand on his shoulder - one that steadily became a lean as she lost her sense of balance. "'Ere, valley boy. I know ye want t'go free. I've a mind to cut ye bonds right now, for I'm drunk an' happy and nothin' i'th'world can stop me. Not e'en Daffyd's death can dull m'fire t'night." she overbalanced, her head cracking against the helmet, and stayed there. She felt the cool press of the metal against her flushed skin, before continuing "But I can't have ye runnin' to our enemy. I can't have it." She pushed away from him, and overbalanced once more, landing unceremoniously on her behind, and spilling half of her bottle on the coarse ground. She looked up at him, smiling stupidly, before taking another draught, the liquid spilling out over the bottleneck and running down her cheeks and chin. "O'course, ye could join us. I figure ye owe us a man anyway, given ye heroic slaying of Daffyd. He'd been with us since th'spring." she slowly pushed herself back to her feet, grabbing ahold of his bonds and dragging him up with her, as the smile became half-mad "Join us! Do it, an' I'll make ye Eth's sergeant. I can always do wi' a laugh!" And laugh she did, drawing her knife and cutting the man's bonds from the log that Eth had attached him to, but keeping them bound around his hands. She went in search of the big woodsman to tell him of her decisionwithout even waiting for an answer from the guardsman. It had sound tactical value. It would improve morale. And she couldn't wait to see the look on the mountain-man's face. She led the captive, stumbling, past the bonfire, past a tent - was that Knick-Knack in there? - past swaying crews of singing soldiers, enthused with her stumbling search. She spotted him then, pawing at that odd winged woman that had joined up months ago, and cried out: "A mighty long piss ye taking there, Eth!" she cackled "Look at ye, sneakin' kisses b'hind me back like some toraidhe! Some djärvhet ye got there, ye lummox!" She stumbled to the pair, not noticing the look of horror and contempt upon the angel's face, nor did she see the blow that snaked up to the woodsman's jaw. She straightened, trying to furrow her brow and look as authoritarian as she could - a grin tugging mercilessly at the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts. "Ye know the commander gets first licks on th'booty, Eth." she turned to the angel, still ignorant of her anger "And you! This's one of our finest men! Ye need my say so t'take 'im away!" Edited by Juul Shaepah, May 11 2015, 04:13 AM.
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| Etherone | May 12 2015, 10:31 AM Post #7 |
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They did not taste the same as every other, nor was their scent similar to the mundane. There were the homely overlaying tones of dirt, weathered leather, metal and fresh forest air, but somehow it was all with a sense of greatness. A sweetness that he could not comprehend, in all honesty. What he sensed, in a multitude of facets simultaneously, could not be put into words. It was like all the best things in the world had been brought together, yet he had no idea what they were called. Vanilla? Good thing he was drunk as an ape, otherwise he might've actually stopped to contemplate on the discovery. A yell with his name tagged upon it reached over the crackle of fire, from behind at an intensity that could've been coming right next to his ear. As of the witty use of his native, he was forced to grace them with a look. " Aye! Beat ya to it tonight, didn't I, min käraste kapten! " He yelled in response, about to take a swig of his goatskin, arm stationary around his latest adventure. Of course, it was not to last. The next thing he knew was his person taking contact with the ground. He had not made a sound for the pain's sake, only yelped as his beverage went flying from his hand as he fell, flight of a boulder concluding in a confused grunt. Took him a good few seconds to actually comprehend this utter denial, as he presumed it to be, and to sort out his world that kept rocking back and forth, swarmed by stars. He staid down, rubbing his palm across his eyes that saw not one stable thing, exhaling sharply from the corner of his lips to move aside some stray strands that itched his face. Wait... had he just kissed someone a second ago? His digits strayed to dab his lips. Fuck, he could no longer remember if it had been good or not... But judging by the response, it had, exceedingly so. He was amazing and these women just loved to live in denial, for he was the dream of them all. Aye... A buzz employed his ears, muffling whatever the winged one had to say, their figure standing tall over his as he finally unhooded his hues narrowly. A regular scenario; he could see their mouth moving, articulating, yet he heard nothing, all shapes ghosted and shakey, disabling any sort of lipreading as a further hindrance. He stared innocently like a royal fool and supposed it was not discreet at this point to ask for them to rewind, though he would've taken delight in knowing if they had possibly sprouted an insult or a hypocorism he had not heard before. Maybe he could inquire Juul for it later, taking as they had approached to provide their own tinder into the roaring blaze of a circumstance. He waved at them from amidst the dirt, cheery in his smile. Ahoy! " Aeh. Ya can have this... konstig booty fer yerself, Shaepah. Am too... " He hoisted himself halfly to seating, leaning heavily against his arms. " ...darn drunk for the fire she be givin'. Seems yer type, really, punchin' wise at least. " Maybe ye can arm wrestle over who licks who. A gesture went to point out the feisty specimen, hand then continuing from its travel to caress his jaw that had finally been presented with the aftermath of violent resistance. He hissed to himself, picking out a sizeable pine cone from under his arse and smoothing his hair, flicking it back as he took to lever himself up. It was in a bit of a struggle, but a success in the end anyway. A frown took to adorn his face as his gaze mapped out that whom stood next to his leader, the bucketed head shivering to view amidst the darkened corners of his glare. " Nå men..." He took a step forth, placing a heavy hand on the crown of the strange headwear, staring into the eyeholes for a little until spinning his attention to the supposed liberator. " Vad för helvete gör han härstans? Ya set him free? " |
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| Penemue | May 13 2015, 10:42 AM Post #8 |
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Her arms defensively crossed over her chest, as she tried to unravel her gruesomely crumpled face. Her brows unfurrowed, but The ruffled feathers of her royal wings smoothed over when the Commander came near, and she deliberately tucked them away in resignation. Penemue couldn't quite get rid of the frown, as though it had been permanently etched onto her face that way. If the Commander hadn't shown up right then and there, Penemue might have continued pummeling the fool until he learned his lesson, or at the very least, some manners, for she didn't really know what that lesson was. She believed it was only because Juul Shaepah had promptly arrived at the scene that the large brutish man had ceased his harassment of the self-righteous woman. Penemue idly wondered if Etherone actually respected the Commander in some way. If he didn't, who would? When he looked up at her from the ground and she looked down at him, her nerves became haywire. Her mind flashed back to the kiss and her face immediately succumbed to yet another scowl, reddening yet again. It had been big, wet, and drunkenly sloppy, but it had also been her first kiss. He had smelled as the scent produced by fresh male sweat, and all besides. Penemue didn't find Etherone attractive – not in a conventional sense, and neither did he smell good, but she couldn't deny her senses becoming fired up and hyper-focused with a strange energy that had completely left her speechless and lead up to Etherone being sprawled on the dirt as any other drunken fool caught up in a fist fight. Penemue forced herself to focus, not on Etherone, whom was currently trying his best to get back up on his own two feet, but on Juul, whom had a prisoner in stride, tied up and with a bucket on his head. She lifted a curious brow, wondering what Juul planned to do with him, or why their bizarre human customs demanded the tormenting of such a prisoner for jest. Penemue stared at the prisoner of war; she understood that war was war and everyone did what they had to do, but he celestial hadn't been around long enough and didn't quite know if Juul was the type of ruthless Commander to execute the guy, or the merciful type to simply release all prisoners of war once the fighting was done and over with. Then again, Penemue knew indoctrination was also a common strategy used to get enemy assailants on their side. Not that Penemue cared which side she was in, having joined the first army she had set her eyes on whilst flying somewhere up in the clouds. Penemue cleared her throat, deliberately ignoring Juul's insinuation of whatever he saw between Penemue and Etherone. "What do you plan to do with that man, Commander?" Edited by Penemue, May 13 2015, 10:58 AM.
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