> On the last month of summer of 193 the dragon banners returned to Fu De-Gar. They came in foreign ships I haven’t seen afore during the night. Up on the hills and the dry plateau overlooking the ancient Pits, where the old temples and ruins of the amphitheater stood, the slender tower-torches were secretly lit by the faithful. When the sun came up again rows upon rows of gleaming black steel helms, muscled black cuirasses, engraved Aspises in black and red, along white-silver leaf-bladed spears marched in tight formation through the closed streets towards the East Gates.
>
> People were much stunned and afraid at the sight. It was a solemn march. My sister wept but it was tears of joy for we never prayed to anyone but the Wyvern God. I laughed and yelled for I could witness the god depicted on the banners and on the alien-shaped shields, until I was beaten to silence and driven away.
>
> The Phalanx had marched out of Fu De-Gar that day, but I knew it in my heart of hearts that it will return. Even so, I couldn’t stay behind.
>
> -
>
>
>
> Age of the Onyx Wyvern
>
> Naram-Sin Nagar (178-212 NC)
>
> Circa 208
>
>
>
> -
>
> *(The born in the distant Ane NaGar desert Fort at Mist’s Cries Coast in 178 NC historian, poet, academic and political figure Naram-Sin Nagar (third son of Ibn-Sin Nagar an old local camel merchant family controlling the westernmost desert road up to Nagar Bazaar) was a known Imperialist, Old Gods believer. He was assassinated after a speech in Que Ki-La in the second month of winter 212 NC by assassins but left an almost complete account of the history of Eplas from 188 to 196 compiled in his first handwritten manuscript named ‘Age of the Onyx Wyvern’. Some printed –very expensive- copies exist in Taras but his work is anathema inside the Khanate and has few friends on Jelin (mainly in academia) while he’s rarely considered as a source. Many of his notes left behind were compiled by his students and followers in a second book named ‘Divine Reign’ dealing with the later years but also delving in the politics of the Third Empire that in turn soured his relationship with the Throne of Wetull.)
>
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Roran, of Saeveril
Second of the Phalanx
A thousand spears
Part I
-Spawn of the faithful-
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-
> ‘Third Era’ Phalanx
>
> (After 3398 IC)
>
> sub units
>
>
>
> ‘First’ Main Othrim
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> (Zilan Ancient Imperial Phalanx previous 2nd)
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> Roran’s expeditionary force
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> 500 Hoplites
>
> One Main File (100 Hoplites)
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> Four Numbered Files (100 Hoplites per led by a Leader -or Tetrarch, a veteran Hoplite ranked within the Othrim)
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> Each File was split in Four Lochos (20 Hoplites plus 5 reserve usually younger recruits led by a veteran ranked equally in seniority & skill within the File)
>
>
>
> Organizational chart, leadership
>
>
>
>
>
> Hoplite Leader (Bronze), Roran of Saeveril (2nd of the Phalanx, Leader of First Othrim, Main File)
>
> Hoplite Leader, Orym of Abarat, (Tetrarch of First File, ranked 8th in the Phalanx)
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> Hoplite Leader, Malon of Fergen, (Tetrarch of Second File, 9th in the Phalanx)
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> Hoplite Leader, Ayas (Tetrarch of Third File, 11th in the Phalanx)
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> Hoplite Leader, Aquilan (Tetrarch of Fourth, Old Cryptae Member – Phalanx Special Operations Unit, later replaced by Nym’s Circle during Queen Baltoris reign, 10th in the Phalanx)
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>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Young Othrim
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> 500 Hoplites
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> (Same as the normal Othrim, the recruits followed the Phalanx around and fought without exceptions with those surviving promoted to the Main units)
>
> One Main File (Hopeful)
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> Four numbered Files
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>
>
> Hoplite Leader (of Young Othrim), Unor ‘Moriva’ aka the Nocturnal (Rare Mori-Zilan of Coal Isle, Hoplite Trainer & Lord Onas pupil, 7th in the Phalanx, Main Young Othrim File –‘Hopeful’)
>
> Hoplite Leader Airdan (Tetrarch of First File)
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> Hoplite Leader Mortail (Tetrarch of Second File)
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> Hoplite Leader Realnor (Tetrarch of Third File)
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> Hoplite Leader Drannor (Tetrarch of Fourth File)
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>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Five pack animals per File (here fifty for the two Othrim)
>
>
>
> If available,
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> A Unit of Scouts/Rangers (here Aelinole, Wylinor and Gorwin –Aelinole’s pupil, led by Aelinole due to rank within the Imperial Rangers and higher status)
>
> A Unit of Healers (here Darunia and Aimon, led by Darunia due to higher status, despite Aimon being of higher rank as Medic of the Phalanx)
>
> A Unit of Engineers (Elwuin and Akkar his pupil)*
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Total numbers
>
> 1000 Hoplites and about four hundred following in the supply train mainly drawn from Captain Archibald's ‘Birdeye’ Tidus’ crew and the fleet. Notably around two hundred (200) Zilan marines under Captain Flardryn of Abarat, who was commanding the three Imperial War Galleys and were tasked with guarding the rear and the camp.
>
>
>
> *Per its Imperial Zilan ancient rigid rules, the Phalanx forcefully drafted (or volunteered as was the term favored) any available nearby citizen or slave for its needs. No exceptions were made despite efforts from individuals to escape it at times for various reasons. To deny serving was one of the few ways one could lose his citizenship. It meant either immediate exile to lands outside the Empire’s control (in the loose Zilan term that meant outside of Eplas and Jelin though the latter was rarely enforced fully. As the phrase went, ‘earn a long vacation beyond the Sinking Isles’) or death.
>
>
-
Aimon, who had been with the 2nd Othrim since before Roran had won his command well over eleven centuries ago and followed him when the unit was re-christened the First Main by Anfalon, didn’t want anything to do with it. Orym, Malon, Ayas and Aquilan who had taken the place in the war meetings replacing Vulas who was dead and Ulovir who had been promoted as Leader of the new 2nd Othrim justly, didn’t want to get political.
Roran couldn’t see it that way.
Darunia shrugged her shoulders. “I guess they are in agreement,” she decided with a warm smile at the other Hoplites. “I appreciate your vote of confidence fellow comrades.”
“They are afraid to speak!” Roran grunted. “The Othrim has a medic and needs not the burden—”
“It’s really not a burden,” Aimon cut him off and added with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll work with Lady Darunia.”
Dirty old half-wit.
“Thank you valued Aimon,” Darunia said and touched the medic’s arm gently.
“Darunia!” Roran barked catching the display. “You are not making the journey!”
“I volunteered,” Darunia argued. “Why are you so frustrated?”
I’m jealous. Your trick worked.
Roran pursed his mouth not wanting to say that and glared at the old medic. “Lady Olonelis will have us expelled. She’ll make it her life’s mission if anything happens to her.”
“She won’t,” Darunia assured them with a smile. “For nothing will,” she turned to look at him seething silently. “The Monarch’s order doesn’t absolve me silly Roran. Had he wanted me to stay back, Hardir would have mentioned it.”
“He didn’t remember it more like!” Roran hissed not believing he was forced to comment on such matters in the open. “Probably doesn’t know our laws!”
Or bloody cares.
“Lord Onas does,” Darunia argued calmly. “He is also a good friend of my mother so this is an endorsement for you Roran of Saeveril. You are trusted and valued to assure our survival.”
More like a punishment, Roran thought but said nothing.
All we need is even more extra pressure to make it interesting.
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Aelinole was wiping her oiled spare bowstrings when a frustrated Roran found her. The Imperial Ranger paused and glanced at him.
“I may not join you,” she said tauntingly. “Gorwin shall come in my place so don’t bother.”
“Mmm.”
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Aelinole looped the strings around a polished short stick and placed them in her field bag. Roran could see she had packed everything in there.
“You’re not worried about me,” she finally said her tone changing, as if it was something she just realized and it made sense but was also unpleasant.
“I am,” Roran grunted not wanting to talk about them at that moment but also sort of looking to vent to someone not in his File or Othrim. “But you’re not coming per your words.”
“Whoa, I thought you were angry for that. Wait is it Darunia? She told me that you were fine with her joining.”
“Well, I’m not,” Roran rustled. “She lied.”
“You don’t want her near you?”
“That’s not what I said Aelinole!”
The ranger chuckled which wasn’t something she usually did the past couple of centuries. “Was that girl lying always? Or just around you? Were you with her when we were together?”
“No,” Roran retorted raspingly dodging the question. “I’m not like you.”
And she had lied for you plenty back then.
Aelinole stepped back with a glare. Then she breathed out slowly and shook her head.
“Listen, I don’t like this,” Aelinole admitted and glanced towards his tent. Roran turned his head around and saw Darunia watching them from afar. “I knew she fawned over you but never believed she would act on it. You are also both my friends and I’ve a different life built already. This is a lesson for you to learn Roran, as much as it is for me I suppose,” she added looking at him. “Our heart will always worry for those we love and strive to protect them. Also be super selfish and vain around each other. Even petty.”
Roran found himself not caring for her opinion even if she was right.
It was liberating and a little sad.
“Humans are savages Aelinole,” Roran said tiredly returning to the matter at hand. “She can’t fix them and they’ll take advantage of her.”
“We’re all flawed and can be as cruel,” she replied. “But also capable of making our own decisions. She’s not a child Roran, none of us are. The Calamity kept her isolated under Olonelis’ watch, this is her adventure and romance period. A way to be close to you and the spirit of her father. This isn’t the same campaign, there are no monsters waiting for us across the sea.”
War births monsters out of thin air, Roran thought but asked her a different thing instead.
“Us?”
Aelinole sighed and stared at her bag. “I can’t let her travel alone as if I’m mad at both of you. Plus I don’t want Maeriel taking the lead on the Imperial Rangers. I have a son that needs support to gain his place in the new palace. Not following the Othrim would be a political tool to use against me.”
“Maeriel sleeps in the Monarch’s quarters,” Roran reminded her what was common gossip. “Was Faelar’s pupil after all.”
“Last time I checked the Monarch had no tits,” Aelinole argued and stooped to pick up her bag. “Faelar was my tutor as well, this bow is a gift from him.”
Roran kept his mouth shut. Faelar wouldn’t have taken her on but for Olonelis insisting and probably threatening a bit, as Aelinole was too young.
“What?” He asked seeing her troubled expression.
“My bow just chuckled,” Aelinole replied. “It’s Whispering Wood but it rarely speaks.”
“Probably the tits part,” Roran offered convincingly. The girls will make a liar out of me in the end, he thought sourly. “It was a good jest. Haven’t heard it since Baltoris breathed her last.”
> The young boy had Theodas’ dented bronze helm in his small hands. He paused to stare at Roran with a sober face not intimidated by his armour and height. Roran could see himself in the bedroom’s polished mirror. The muscled steel cuirass all black and full of scars. The steel grieves and vambraces. The Hoplite helm and his eyes looking at him behind the narrow slits. The silver details and engravings of the Hallowed marking the black helm distracting.
>
> The Zilan boy pursed a small mouth in a scowl and turned his back to the Hoplite leader. Without saying a word he walked on small legs outside the bedroom taking the ancient bronze helm with him.
>
> Then Darunia giggled and a thousand birds chirped melodically with her in the Healer’s depiction of the Goddess’ garden. All different and curious with their coupling. Small creatures the healer had saved, their soul-sparks following her essence about always. From a gold Finch to an orange-necked Robin and a plain barn Swallow, they jumped over the blooming bushes. Danced over their sweaty naked bodies. Over the sweet flowers and the sunlit foliage between the chestnut trees. The grass wet and slippery, the female’s warm folds a soft soothing place.
>
> As much therapeutic as passionate.
>
> Her blood burning his tongue and mixing with his. Each throaty gasp a new delight. Their threads entwined in the Healer’s mating dream sequence he’d allowed to continue. Reality wrapping with fantasy, the past, the future and the familiar nibble but also newly discovered body parts. All the pieces coming together in a rushed crescendo.
>
> Roran lost his self for a moment dissolving into her savage embrace.
>
> The morning found him standing naked amidst the trees and staring at the dark ocean splashing on the beach not ten meters away. Ships bells ringing and coming from the nearby but unseen docks with summoning horns sounding in response. The breeze cold on his skin contrasting to Darunia’s sleepy voice.
>
> “It’s early.”
>
> “The Othrim sounded the morning call.”
>
> “What happens now?”
>
> “You know,” Roran replied and turned to look at her naked figure approaching slowly.
>
> “Not really,” Darunia replied shyly and blushed. “I don’t.”
>
> “It hasn’t worked before?” Roran asked although he knew and scooped her up in his arms easily. Darunia yelped in shock but grasped at his neck with both arms, fleshy orbs squeezed on his muscled chest.
>
> Not like this, he thought.
>
> “Not like this,” she confessed as if reading his thoughts and kissed his jaw, then bit it teasingly, sharp fangs cutting the skin. “I can heal that,” Darunia assured him lapping at the blood, while Roran carried her back to their discarded stuff in order to get dressed.
>
> “Then I don’t know either. Let’s wait and see,” Roran said hoarsely and had to fight with himself not to cry from joy and the looming crushing fear.
>
>
-
Twelve days later
Eve of day thirty six, last month of summer
The year of the Imperial Calendar 3399
Ten kilometers from Mista Savar-Tane junction
The lush plains under the barren slopes of the granite walls of the Imperial Watch
The ruins of the old fort and temple guarding the marshes near Tani River
Forty kilometers from its bridge and fifty from Ani Ta-Ne
Aquilan trotted back vigorously, chiseled chest uncovered and sweaty skin gleaming when he stopped near the light-torches surrounding their Spartan camp.
The Phalanx needs no walls for it has Hoplites standing as its steel walls. It builds no cots or camps either but for the supply train, because the Hoplite needs only to stand still for a while to rest, Lord Onas used to repeat running after them when Roran had joined. His pupil, the dark-skinned sober Unor Moriva (the name meaning the nocturnal in the old tongue of the Cazan Isles), who had continued training recruits in Abarat after the Calamity, running right beside him with a steel stick. Unor still carried that stick with him, an over a meter-long polished rod that had cracked open many a recruit’s skulls, the Mori-Zilan brutal in his punishment of the slackers.
“Wylinor will investigate,” Aquilan reported. The Hoplite Leader never missing the chance to go on a mission with the rangers, to remind himself of his days with the Cryptae. Noticing Unor’s scowl –the Leader of the Young Othrim had visited Roran to complain about the slow pace of the march- he added a little apprehensively. “I had to ditch the armour to keep up with them.”
The latter Unor’s suggestion for the marines and the supply train following after them.
“Do you remember where you ditched it?” Unor probed raspingly eyeing the taller Aquilan like a lazy rodent.
“Sure Unor. Chill out old head, you’ll pop an artery,” Aquilan retorted with a taunt. Unor delved in his spare hours training the Cryptae back then. Fifteen centuries later Aquilan still remembered the punishment he’d suffered in the trainer’s hands.
“Who lit the torches up on the Watch?” Roran asked to get them back on subject.
“We found camel prints going up the slopes. Wylinor shall tell us more.”
“You think they use the fort?” Roran asked.
“There’s not much of a fort left Roran.”
“Not much of anything,” Unor commented sourly. “Bunch of ignoramus, greedy cowards. None more unfaithful than the Cofols or bigger harlots for coin, no wonder they’ve been savoring Radpur’s spawns cocks for so long!”
“The humans said the markets were great in Fu De-Gar,” Aquilan argued and Unor grimaced and raised his stick.
“The day a lying pirate scum visits the market first and not the brothel, is the day I shall eat this,” he grunted.
“It’s imperial steel Unor,” Aquilan guffawed and Unor glared at him. “Save your teeth.”
“Let us test it on the stone plinth you call head Aquilan,” he retorted. “I say the steel will snap and not make a dent!”
“Post sentries on the south also and send a man to notify Flardryn to have his eyes open,” Roran intervened again. “And someone get those pirates to stop yelling! Goddess help us, what is this cursed repetitive tune?”
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The young Cofol looked about fifteen years old. He walked after Wylinor and Gorwin, pausing to stare dumbfounded at Aelinole and Darunia, before returning his awed lightly-slanted eyes on the Hoplites around Roran. He wasn’t a street urchin. The young man’s clothes made out of quality cloth, a shawl wrapped on his neck marking him as a desert Cofol.
“That’s him,” Wylinor reported with a nod. “He has three more people with him, two guards and a slave but he asked to speak to us alone. They are the ones that lit the torches.”
It was a sign there were friendlies present inside the ruins.
“To the heavens above our greetings,” the young Cofol said raising his arm and speaking in passable Imperial with that drawn out Peninsula accent. “The name is Naram-Sin Nagar, a faithful servant of the Empire, forever its light shine in the darkness,” he added sounding genuinely moved and then prostrated himself afore Roran’s feet. “We have kept its laws alive warriors of the Phalanx and never lost faith,” Naram said looking at the ground.
Roran stared at Aelinole and then at Darunia but they seemed nonchalant with the human acknowledging Roran afore them.
“You hail from Ane NaGar?” He asked seeing the Elderborns weren’t going to help him here.
“We traded incense and animals since the First Era,” Naram replied. “Still bring our wares into the great Nagar Bazaar and all over the Peninsula.”
Merchant families never go extinct, Roran thought amused.
“We have Sopat men with the supply train,” he told him a little uncomfortable talking to the prostrated teenager.
“The gem masters of Lai Zel-Ka are slow to move in the desert, but they are known. We are allies,” Naram replied diplomatically.
“Not everyone is,” Roran said and Unor stooped with a curse then used his stick to raise the young Cofol from the ground by placing it under Naram’s chin. The teenager shaky on his feet which forced Darunia to approach with an open small glass bottle of bright orange liquid. She offered the small long-necked bottle to him and Naram took it with a bow. He had some and then returned it to the healer.
“Coconut oil,” he said in Common before stopping to remember the word in Imperial. Darunia grinned and corked the bottle.
“With carrot juice and crushed sesame seeds,” she elucidated in Common and everyone smiled at the exchange that seemed to break the ice. “It shall boost your system but might disturb your stomach.”
“I’ll be honored to share my wine with you my lady,” Naram blurted out and Aelinole intervened with a smirk.
“Better that you didn’t camel herder,” she told him and Darunia gasped at her tone. “What?” Aelinole retorted. “You’re with child.”
Ah.
“Aelinole!” Darunia snapped blushing at the revelation, Naram listening in to their exchange engrossed but less so than the numb Roran. Every Hoplite near him pretending they hadn’t heard anything until Roran reacted first to gauge the official line.
The old ‘there are no secrets in the army’ dictum applying here as much as the ‘follow the officer’s lead’.
Aelinole glanced at Roran and rolled her eyes. “I thought you knew. Just smile Roran of Saeveril, tonight we feast to the good news. The gods have spoken.”
Roran breathed out slowly suddenly at a loss for words now that the moment was upon him and Wylinor cleared his throat looking at the Cofol merchant.
“He has information on Ani Ta-Ne Roran. Enemy numbers and movements,” the ranger said. “From refugees. The news travel fast. We might have to move right away.”
“I’d a like a moment with Lady Darunia first,” Roran grunted and everyone nodded but for Aelinole that wrapped her arm around the silent Darunia’s waist to bring her closer. She kissed her forehead, the healer’s long graceful ears drawn back and closer to her head. The ranger smiled at her friend’s flushed as much as worried expression.
“Know that you are blessed. Ever be well, fair Darunia of Olonelis. This shall be a happy tale,” Aelinole reassured her in court Imperial and looked at Roran. “For this soldier shall come back.”
As much a wish as an order.
> Sept Khemet, followed by Nancin marched back towards their base outside Ani Ta-Ne. He had with him nine hundred mounted rangers/archers, about a hundred and forty survivors from Nancin’s army (60 spear infantry and 80 Rohir Horselords under Babu, son of Anua), six hundred mounted infantry, around two hundred and fifty Forya-Rochir under Sid Halla-Tar, two hundred Jang-Lu under Kindar and around five hundred Marines with Ravan. Over two thousand men, without the supply train that also had over two hundred wounded and as many local warriors supporting the Khan as reserve.
>
> He expected a force coming from Fu De-Gar probably under Karit-Ki Truparin the ‘White Scorpion’ brother of Kuntur who had been killed years prior near Devil’s Cove and first son of Lord Dekerut-Ki Tsuparin ‘the Cruel’ of Fu De-Gar, one of the rebel leaders. While a force had indeed been gathered –especially after the arriving wretched refugees fueled a sense of patriotism in the Garites- and would travel up the coast towards Ani Ta-Ne, this wasn’t the army Sept Khemet would eventually face. While it is still debated today whether Karit was present at the Battle of Que Ki-La Road, Asmudius and the majority of independent sources or reports from survivors point at a different army altogether.
>
> King Garth, the mysterious figure ruling from the presumed ruins of Wetull what was effectively a reincarnated Zilan kingdom, dispatched a force of Zilan hoplites on Greenwhale Peninsula making his presence known. The seemingly unexpected hand of assistance may not seem as surprising today, given what (little) we know of Queen Lussiel’s close familial ties to the Three Sisters, but it was a shock back then. The ripple effects of Wetull’s intervention beyond its borders slow to reach the rest of Eplas and Jelin but eventually reach them it did.
>
> The how and why a Zilan (if Garth Aniculo was one) would marry a Cofol even as gilded as the ‘Celestial Opal of Lai Zel-Ka’ and then manage to win the Black Throne of Morn Taras, all the while taming a Wyvern is a tale impossible to decipher from afar. Most believe he had been a member of the royal line, an elusive Elderblood as Zilan call them.
>
> Perhaps a half-breed bastard that managed to survive in hiding for centuries and found a way to crawl up the ladder absent competition? Someone even more sinister from a malevolent wizard to a cannibal? Did he really rebuilt Goras by himself? While I’ve searched for an answer to this query for years, nothing really stands to scrutiny and the only man who could have answered on this side of the Shallow Sea has unfortunately long been dead.
>
> A new generation of witnesses slowly fading away once more, their tales and secrets veiled under pretenses or lost in the sands of time that spares no one.
>
> The official Wetull account has Arguen Garth being a prophesized larger than life character, neither human nor Zilan, the gods had send to restore the empire on his flying wyvern and then took him back when the task was accomplished. Since this describes a demigod I can’t abide to it in good conscience for I have walked and conversed with real giants. The noblest of heroes. I shall stick with the opinion and words of a man much cleverer than me that wrote to this humble author many years ago, whilst leaving the vibrant tongue intact to preserve his memory.
>
>
>
> ‘If nothing makes a lick of sense, you need to go back to the beginning son. Find the one sneaky cunt that slipped through the fucking cracks and follow him to his grave. Or shallow ditch. If no gods darn grave is found or you put shovel in ground and find a middle finger rapped in toilet cloth, then by Abrakas foul blackened craphole, you have your man.'
>
>
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