Closed Good Intentions (Crylon)

The road to Hai is paved with them.

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Asterope on March 26th, 2019, 4:11 am

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The information about Ravok was curious; it had its own god who disliked the worship of others? Aster frowned, mulling the information over. Perhaps that was why Syna had been so quiet in her darkest moments; perhaps she had been unable to hear her.

She listened as Crylon explained the names of the deities he had mentioned; Izurdin, god of strength and building. Father of the Isur. Was that the name of his race? A whole race of people with stone arms? Not for the first time in her short existence, Aster felt overwhelmed with the amount of knowledge in the world, and all that she didn't know.

She appreciated the Isur's honesty and willingness to explain to her, eagerly absorbing the knowledge as he continued. Priskil, goddess of hope and radiance...of not giving in, not giving up. Even in a city like Sunberth. Aster didn't know whether to laugh or cry; where was she, then, among the murder and anarchy?

But Aster held her tongue; perhaps she was in moments like these, of two strangers of different backgrounds and races coming together to help those who were hurting as best as they could.

The thought made her callousness quiet down, and sat uneasily in her stomach. She had a lot to think about, when she was alone and had some quiet; but for now, they still had work to do.

She smiled a little bit at Crylon's question, his genuine sorrow for her situation. "I'd want to help people. Really help them," she murmured, with a regretful glance at the boy's wrapped body.

As the two considered their options, Crylon sat heavily on the ground, still holding onto the body of the boy; and Crylon did something that Aster hadn't expected. A third option, one she didn't even consider due to her own situation, presented itself as the Isur beckoned her closer and then pressed a few coins into her palm.

Asterope looked down at him with wide golden eyes, curling her fingers tightly over the mizas, listening to them clink quietly. Aster wasn't used to negotiating, but she was familiar with what it was; she listened intently to Crylon's advice, and nodded, at a loss for words. She had almost given up on such kindness in the face of senseless violence and death, in the chaotic bloody atmosphere of the city.

Not giving in, not giving up. Even in a city like Sunberth.

The Eth brushed the words to the back of her mind to examine later, and approached the graveyard's keeper again. He grunted as he heard her approach, raising his head and looking at her with a raised brow.

"Now what is it? Decide to dig the hole yerselves?" He folded his arms over his chest, staring down at her, and Aster swallowed.

"I'd like to make an offer, actually," she spoke, carefully, aware of the coins clutched in her hand, slowly growing warm from the heat of her body.

"An offer? The dead don't make offers," the man frowned.

"Please," Aster said, trying not to let the desperation in her voice show through; but perhaps it did, and perhaps it sparked just enough pity for the man to actually stop and consider her.

"What's your name, sparkles?" It seemed the men of the city had no end to their demeaning nicknames for her. Aster held her tongue and responded politely.

"Asterope."

"What a mouthful," the man snorted. "Well, listen here Asterope. I'm Jebediah, and I don't take kindly to people telling me when or how to do my work, or trying to bribe me. What's it matter to you, anyway?"

Jebediah. Belatedly, Aster wondered if this was the man Anja worked for. "He's a child," she said, quietly. "Please."

"Children die all the time in this city," he grunted, then after a long pause, asked, "You didn't take nothing from him, did you? Certainly not the money you're trying to give me?" There was a dangerous tone in the man's voice.

Aster shook her head vigorously. "Of course not. No, nothing. He didn't have anything on him to take, anyway, even if we wanted to."

The man was silent again, stroking his chin as he considered. After a long moment he grunted and shook his head. "Sorry miss. No can do." He seemed genuinely apologetic, but his voice was firm.

"But I haven't even given you a number," Aster protested, and Jebediah frowned at her.

"Don't have to. I try my best to respect the dead here, and that means ain't nobody getting special treatment. Last thing I need are ghosts coming back to bother me," he grumbled. "And that's that. Now either leave 'em 'ere to wait his turn, or grab a shovel and go do the dirty work yourself."

Dejected, Aster made her way back to Crylon, dropping down to sit on the ground beside him. "Do you want to try?" She asked, with a sigh, returning his coins to him.

OOC :
Rolled for Aster's persuasion vs. Jeb's resolve. I got a 50 and he got a 69. :( Funnily enough we rolled the same number, but his resolve is higher than my persuasion skill.
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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Crylon Stonecraft on March 26th, 2019, 11:12 pm


Crylon nodded at Asterope's response, if a somewhat limited one. Or at least, what he thought was a response to his query. If she could do what she wanted... She would help people. It told him a bit of her, but did not answer the main thrust of his question. Was she trying to gain her freedom? To leave the city? Or not? If she was free to choose she would help others... But where was such a thing in rank of importance for her? Either she did not fully register his entire question, or she had chosen not to answer it.

Once Asterope left he made the most of his rest before she came back. Though his rest had not been long, Crylon felt a bit better for it. While Asterope was off talking with the keeper of the dead Crylon had felt around in his bag, finding he had remembered to stow his waterskin there. A good pull helped his dried throat, and he laid back down and let his muscles loosen across his body as he did.

Instead of focusing on them he closed his eyes and pictured a forge in his head. Ringing of a hammer on metal. The smell of coal burning. Industry. He took in a deep slow breath and held it, picturing the forge flaring on his exhale. He did this a few times, trying to meditate, to calm himself a bit. Willing his body to calm as the fire flared. Throwing the torment and heat of his body into the forge.

If nothing else it helped him keep his mind off his body until Asterope returned.

As Asterope neared Crylon noted she still had the money he had handed her. As she gave it back he saw her face, one of failure not triumph.

Crylon might have been aggravated at the man, but instead he felt a grudging respect for him. Not easily bought, a man of principles perhaps? Or at least, one by Sunberth standards.

Returning the coins to the pack Crylon slowly rose, several of the joints in his legs and knees complaining as he did.

“No. If not bought, not bought. More money, more trying, not help I think. Nothing for. But to dig.”

With that Crylon headed over to where the man had gestured before, grabbing a pair of shovels. He handed one to the woman, and then began to turn about looking for a good spot. It took a chime or two, but eventually Crylon spied a spot that seemed somewhat devoid of marks. No indication it had been turned, or that a grave existed there.

With a sigh Crylon began walking towards it, stopping above it. Then he began to dig. He made sure to use his left arm, his untiring limb blessed by Izurdin, to do most of the work. But still the rest of him grew fatigued from the day that seemed to not end in terms of his labors.

He stuck the shovel in the dirt, dug in with the head, and then twisting its length for leverage shoveled out a shovel full of dirt which he tossed aside in as smooth of a single motion he could manage.

Then he put his shovel back in the dirt and got another shovel full. And another. And on for chimes. A bell. Longer, however long it took to dig a hole. While he worked, assuming she followed him and joined in the digging, he turned to the woman.

“You say, if do as want, you help people. How? With help with hurt? If could be free, could be not slave, would want not be slave? How would do? What would need do to not be slave? What would need? And where would go? Stay city, or leave, if could from city?”
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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Asterope on April 6th, 2019, 11:40 pm

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Crylon seemed to accept her defeat; but the Isur was stubborn, because he refused to take it at face value. Digging it was, it seemed. Aster nodded, taking a step back to give Crylon room as he placed the body on the ground and stood.

Asterope took the shovel he handed her, turning it over in her hands. She was sure she wouldn't be nearly as efficient as the Isur, with his stone arm and intense endurance, but she would damn well do her best.

Following Crylon, she nodded when he chose a spot that wasn't occupied by a marker, and where the ground wasn't quite so rocky. She could feel Jebediah's eyes on them, his silent appraisal, but she ignored him.

Aster took up a spot a few feet from Crylon; she let him start, watching his technique as he plunged the shovel into the ground, noticing the way he twisted slightly to help loosen the dirt and get a better grip before lifting.

Following his example, Asterope drove the shovel into the dirt, letting out a grunt of surprise. Even that simple action was more difficult than she had expected. With a frown, she raised her foot, pushing it down onto the head of the shovel and forcing it into the ground. Twisting slightly, she lifted; she could feel the strain in her arms, the shovel surprisingly heavy as she tossed the dirt aside.

This was going to be a lot more work than she had initially thought. Still, Aster grit her teeth, pausing only to tie her hair up out of her face before she continued digging. Her arms began to burn quickly, and her lower back would begin to protest as she went on, but she didn't stop.

She wasn't making as much progress as Crylon, but it was better than nothing. As they dug, the Isur spoke up, prodding with more questions, following up on what he had asked her earlier.

Aster took a moment to sift through his words; some of his questions took a bit more thinking about to understand what he was asking due to his poor grasp of Common, but she got the gist of what he was inquiring about.

"I used to work as an herbalist. I would want to do something like that again. Help the sick and the injured." That was the easiest question to answer; the rest weren't quite so simple, and gave the Eth pause.

"There's very little I want more than to not be a slave," she said, with a small, bitter laugh; Aster was glad to have the digging as a distraction so that she didn't have to look at Crylon when she spoke.

"I don't know what I could do about it, though. The person who..." the word 'own' almost left Aster's mouth without her even thinking about it, but she stumbled, swallowing hard. "The person who bought me paid a lot of money for me. Perhaps a larger sum than that could convince him, but I don't have any way of getting that kind of money. The only other way I can see is if he died."

If he was killed. It was a dark thought, one that she didn't linger too long on; because if she did, she would seriously consider it. Not that she could do it, but if someone else did? The thought gave her too much enjoyment for her own personal comfort.

If she was free, though...where would she go? That was the question. Her instinctual reaction was far, far away from Sunberth. "I'd leave. I don't know where to, though." Lhavit seemed an impossibly distant goal. "Maybe back to Alvadas, or Riverfall." There was always the home city of her mortal form, as well; she must have lived there at some point, a long time ago. Lives ago. But that didn't mean it was hers now.

Talking about a seemingly impossible future made Aster frown into the ground as she struck it with the shovel again. Her shoulders were beginning to ache as well, but they were making progress; the grave was nearly long enough to fit the boy's body, and what they'd dug so far seemed deep enough.

"What about you? You say you're here to help." The idea was laughable; what could one person do to help a city like Sunberth? Perhaps it was the intent that mattered, though. "Will you stay here? Or leave? Back to Ravok, or where you're from?"

She continued to dig as Crylon answered, and soon enough they were done with the grave. It had taken a little over a bell; dirt streaked Aster's hands, and she could feel sweat gleaming on the back of her neck. She would have to wash up before she returned to Alard or else he would be suspicious.

Stepping back, Aster tossed the shovel to the side, grimacing when she realized they would have to fill the grave back in as well. Hopefully that would be slightly easier. "Alright. I suppose that will do. Let's get the boy." Her voice softened slightly as she spoke the last few words, her expression gentling as she glanced over to where his body lay, still wrapped, awaiting his grave.

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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Crylon Stonecraft on April 7th, 2019, 8:02 pm


A lesser body, a non-Isur one... Crylon felt confident it could not hold up to the strain that an Isur could. It was just physiology, nothing they could help with. His Lord Izurdin had literally forged his race in his own image, that of a highly honed tool of labor in it varying forms.

I child Isur was born with more natural physical fortitude, than many humans ever gained through their adult life. He might be tired from his labors, but he was confident he could stand the strain.

Like a piece of metal in the forge, slowly being shaped by the heat and force laid upon it.

He acknowledged the fallen sky woman of the Eth-hafeul with a grunt as she took the other shovel and joined him in digging. Putting in the effort for the manual task that required nothing more than energy and time. Effort. Vigilance, through that effort.

Stab the shovel into the ground with a thrust powered by his untiring left arm, canting it just so as he was starting to get a better feel for the tool and the soil... Ah yes, that was it, his digging seemed that fraction more efficient of an effort as he took out another shovelful of the soil.

Pulling up the dirt bit by bit, the same as he worked a piece of metal bit by bit. Shovel into the dirt, use the force of the head, its design, its build, so sleek and purpose formed to do one simple thing, push and pull and another shovelful out.

The woman was not an Isur, did not have a knowledge of tools it seemed, but was still putting in an effort. She was only... Well not human he supposed, but not Isur. Still, she seemed to be doing her best and he could not ask for more.

A tough bit of dirt, the shovel sticking into it, Crylon applied his foot to the head of the shovel and forced it through the toughness to pull out another portion of soil.

A rounded but pointed front end, to pierce the dirt, the ground, like a blade. Widening, turning into a flat scoop to carry the dirt, to let it be turned into another direction of force ad the pile of dirt it held was lifted and pried loose from the ground.

After awhile he could feel his body taking on the monotony. The regularity. The consistent repeated movement, and rhythm, of digging dirt.

She worked with plants of the medical variety, was an herb woman, it seemed. Making people heal, helping in such things. A noble enough pursuit Crylon supposed.

He pondered her words, her meaning, her feelings. Her thoughts. She seemed to see a way, but did not have much hope for it.

“Not lose hope, because way hard. Because not easy. Because not sure. Not lose hope, because hope is only for losing when things are over, done with, past. If future, if path to take, even hard one, unlikely one, then still have hope. Still try. Still do, and hope, and try make future want reality. You say is way, hard but way, but no hope. I say, is way, then is hope should have.”

Crylon did not have the funds most likely, so his buying her freedom did not seem to likely. Perhaps he could ask about, but besides Kelski... He did not know of many who might be in a position to help.

“I will think on. Consider. Ask about. See, if any know can help. If can, will try help, for gain freedom. You, you not lose hope, is what you do. I will do what can do, if can. Work, live, at Gem. If want seek me.”

She would leave the city. If it had wronged her... Then perhaps he understood. But it seemed quitter talk, to leave before ones work was done. But then, he was not a slave, so perhaps he did not fully understand.

“Me? May stay. May leave. Is my choice. Not let city choose for me. Will stay as long as think do good. Will stay, as long as have hope. Not see that ending soon. City need help, need hand, is clear. Just the how, not so much. But see ways. Ways make better. Ways do better. Will come, in time. But effort must take, to do. Not easy. Not simple. Not clear path. But is way, know is way, and so still hope.”

After awhile the digging was done, and Crylon nodded and turned to the wrapped boy. Grabbing him up with both arms once he settled the shovel on the ground, he lowered him gently into the hole.

“You have anything say, do, before bury? Let you go first.”

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Last edited by Crylon Stonecraft on April 25th, 2019, 1:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Asterope on April 18th, 2019, 3:34 am

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Though she tried her best, Aster couldn't keep up with Crylon's steady pace and his endurance. She may have been semi-divine and blessed with immortality, and the sun may have provided her with more than enough energy, but that didn't mean her body was immune to physical exhaustion.

Gritting her teeth, her arms burning, Aster blew out a breath as she threw another shovelful of dirt; she was breathing harder than normal, and her arms felt shaky. Noticing that the grave was about done, she conceded her defeat and planted her shovel in the ground, leaning her arms on it as she let Crylon finish the last few shovelfuls of dirt.

Asterope offered Crylon a tired smile as he preached words of hope; he seemed as stoic as ever, but she appreciated his encouraging words. She had a lot to think about, that much was certain. "I'll keep that in mind, Crylon. I've lost hope before, but I will try to hold it closer and more tightly from here on." Her words were soft, tone gentle, both from exhaustion and thoughtfulness.

The Isur had a point. It was easier said than done, of course; and she still had her doubts, her fear, her anguish and despair. But it provided some measure of comfort to know that there were people, even those who she barely knew, who were encouraging her.

She closed her eyes briefly, thinking of the Stormgrass pavilion. She wondered if they still thought of her. She thought of Penny, and of Navi, of the people she had met who had encouraged her and kept her going at various points in her life so far. With a sigh, she opened her eyes again, settling her brilliant gold gaze on Crylon. "Thank you," she said, simply, straightening up from where she leaned on the shovel.

The next words he spoke touched her further, and she let out a quiet laugh of surprise. The Gem. Kelski. There it was again; perhaps it was high time she finally visited there. "I'll do my best," she conceded. She didn't want to thank him again, but after the emotional rollercoaster of the day, the genuine offer of help from him, despite the fact that they were strangers, almost made Aster want to weep.

The Eth took a moment to clear her throat, composing herself as she brushed some dirt off her clothes, fiddling with her sleeves until the telltale lump in her throat and burning in her eyes passed. Even in Sunberth, it was being proven to her again and again that there was always good. Always hope, just as Crylon said.

She nodded thoughtfully as he said that he would stay in the city; he wouldn't let it choose for him. That drew a slight frown to Asterope's face; the words almost sounded accusatory. Crylon had the option of not letting the city choose for him; he wasn't a slave to it. Even if she was freed and decided not to hold a grudge, what good did a city like Sunberth hold for her?

Perhaps it was something to consider if that moment ever came. He was determined, it seemed, to make the city better. Even in small ways, through the buildings. "That's very admirable. I'm sure some would say it's foolish, but your determination is something else, I admit." She wondered if his whole race was like that; stoic and determined, stubborn even, as unmoving as the stone of their arms.

But talk as they might, they still had work to do. Asterope's expression sobered as Crylon picked up the boy's body from where they had left it; she was quiet as the Isur lowered the corpse into the hole they had dug. She hesitated when Crylon asked if she had anything to say; she had said her prayers back where the boy had died, but she mulled it over for a moment.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save you," she finally said, her voice sad and soft as she looked down at the wrapped figure. The boy looked so much smaller, lying in the grave. "I'm sorry that we won't be able to find your mother to tell her what happened. It was unfair and senseless, but it seems life is like that sometimes, especially here. I hope you find peace wherever you go next. Know that at least someone cared."

She bowed her head, offering another silent prayer in her head; to Syna, to Yahal, to whatever deity whose name she did not know that presided over death and the afterlife. When she was done, she looked to Crylon and nodded, motioning for him to say his piece if indeed he had something he wanted to say.

"Do you mind if we take a quick rest?" She asked the Isur, when he was done; her arms ached at the thought of having to shovel more dirt. She needed to hurry, true; the sun was gradually inching across the sky, and she needed to be back across town before it set. But she needed a few more moments to gather her strength again.

If he declined, she would take a few moments for herself anyway. Aster linked her fingers, stretching her arms out in front of her then over her head, her knuckles cracking and the joints in her shoulders giving a satisfying pop. She rolled her neck from side to side, arching her back and reaching up on her toes before bending over to touch them as she stretched, trying to loosen herself up for more of the physical labour that awaited her.

Feeling marginally better, she shook her arms out with a sigh as she straightened up again. "It's beautiful out here," she said, gaze scanning the grassy hillside and the ocean. "You would never think it, from within the city."

Turning, she grabbed her shovel again, and allowed her curiosity to finally ask its questions as she struck the shovel into the pile of dirt off to the side; it was marginally easier to lift the already loose dirt, but her body still ached and complained as she tossed it back into the hole over the boy's corpse.

"I don't want to be rude, but I must admit, especially as someone who tends to people's bodies I'm curious. Do you feel things with your black arm as you do with the other? And do all of your kind have an arm like that?"

If she was prying too much or being rude and Crylon didn't want to answer her questions, she wouldn't be offended, and she wouldn't push the matter; but the last time they had met, Aster had been just as curious, if not more so, and they hadn't talked long enough for her to have the chance to ask such questions.

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Good Intentions (Crylon)

Postby Crylon Stonecraft on April 19th, 2019, 12:15 am


The fire in his limbs, Crylon knew, meant he was growing stronger. The flame, the ache, seeming to spread through almost his entire body less the one arm. Ebbing. Flowing. Ebbing again as he calmed his body, took a rest. Flowing as he once more moved his protesting muscles.

But then tomorrow when he had rested, he would be that bit stronger. Harder. Better. A ongoing struggle to hone his body to the same degree as the one blessed untiring limb he had been gifted. Crylon knew this, reminded himself this, and focused on the moment at hand rather than the pain or the heat or the ache.

He breathed in. He let the pain ebb outward. He breathed in. It was still there, it just was not important at that moment. Felt the sheen of sweat that had built up on his body from his labors. He saw the child before him, dead, and let such personal aches and pains grow distant.

Asterope spoke of his determination, but he knew for an Isur such was as natural as breathing. They were made of hope and determination alloyed together into a material woven into flesh, that flesh then woven into the small dense forms of the Isur.

Or perhaps, Crylon reasoned, he was becoming overly poetic in his internal monologue due to his tiredness.

Crylon listened as the woman spoke over the dead child, her words saying much about her. Even then, they were words of surrender. Of sorrow. Of being sorry. Of acknowledging, but it seemed to him not accepting. Of the pointless randomness of life, and their own lack of power to do anything about it.

If it was not so serious a moment, he might have found it funny to find her talking as such right after saying she would try to be hopeful.

When Asterope gestured at him he began to speak, beginning in broken common.

“I not know you. I not hear here. I not see, fore today. I not know if you are poor. If you had mother. Or father. Not know if you had food each day, place to sleep at night, or slept on street with hunger. Is not matter. Is past. I look to you future. I know while see you, you try live. That is all ask. Not give in. Not give up. Keep living, while time to living. I see while you live, before die, you spark. You life. You live. I pray to Izurdin, to Priskil, that you continue spark. That you return, and become new person. That you let that spark grow, into a fire, and burn with life. Death is behind you. Life is before. If not return, is wish peace. Peace, is to you. Let you pass on, and be at peace.”

When he was done speaking, Asterope asked if it was alright to rest. Crylon nodded, letting his aching muscles untense. Another chime, two, letting his body recuperate. He took another drink, and sat on the ground of the place of the dead as he rested. Letting his body collect its energies into his frame, to pull itself together.

Letting himself rest for a few chimes, Crylon rose once more, picking up the shovel and heading back to their impromptu grave. With a grunt he swung the implement around, and began to shovel the dirt back into the hole. Having already been turned from their previous shoveling, the dirt was much easier to handle than before.

“Beauty, is often hide in... Not beauty. Is flower, grow from dirt. Is mountain jut from ground. Is ocean, drop and sweep and wave to land.”

Pulling another shovel load Crylon turned and dropped it on the child, continuing the motion with a similar repetition he had taken on before. He had by no degree perfected the technique, but he could if nothing else sink himself into the mindless repeated action to let his mind wander.

As he dug the sky woman asked him a question, her curiosity once again turning to his special arm.

Crylon continued his motion, not emoting much in his focus on the task at hand, but internally he was considering the proper response.

“Is you feel, with things on head?”

Giving her a moment to respond, one way or the other, Crylon would not interrupt unless she began to apologize once more. That he would interrupt as he had heard the woman apologize for things, many out of her control, far too many times today. Otherwise he would wait till she finished speaking, or had not spoke for awhile, before continuing.

“Is arm. But is not normal arm. Is forged by Izurdin. Is gift, and mark of his touch. Of his power. All Isur have such arm, but not all same. Just as all arms not same. I feel, as... As when someone touch through shirt, you feel. Feel pressure, feel push, but not more. Not feel heat, not pain. Not feel... Touch, in normal sense. But feel contact, feel pressure.”

As he spoke Crylon continued to shovel, losing himself in the physical action while he lent his mind to their discussion.

He would do his best to continue, until the dirt had been returned and a small mound was left in his place. His continued questioning and speech would be similarly even and measured, similarly calm and with little intonation to imply anger, sadness, or other such things. Instead he spoke as if discussing the weather, or what would be had to eat at the next meal.

“Is you angry at city? Angry at self? Or angry at ones, make you slave? You say want leave. Is fine, if want go. Just curious, what plan do. What plan be. Is choices, what make people. You forge life. You forge death. You forge path, by choices. May feel some not yours take, but still choices. Choices of life. Of death. I's not say, not been slave. Maybe would feel same, if in same place. Not know. But I is curious, want understand. Is part of my journey, is learn, is understand.”

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