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Post by luscen on Jul 2, 2020 3:52:02 GMT -6
Casmir didn't seem bothered by Stella's intense gaze. It was true that she had a significant presence, and skinwalkers like her weren't ones to be trifled with. But he'd faced worse, and just because he might have been the “smaller” predator, didn't mean he wasn't capable of dealing with her, if it came to that.
There was a reason he used “mongoose” as his handle on the Hunter's Network, after all.
The witch seemed to be willing to help, however, and held out her hand for the Amaroq's eye. Casmir handed it over, watching her study it hungrily. “You wouldn't want to have tangled with that one,” he commented, polishing off his cigarette and rubbing it against the stone wall nearby. “Even for someone like you, I don't think you would have had an easy time with him.”
He then proceeded to take out four runic stones, words of power that he had worked hard to find proper vessels for, and were another component of his trap. “The eye needs to be able to redirect magic into these stones. The stones will then power the snare I have prepared. Atol's power will be the thing that slips the noose around his neck- all I need is a strong enough rope to make sure he hangs himself with it properly.” He would, of course, have to rely on the bait being present.
And to live long enough to actually flip the trap. His encounter with the mage in the art gallery was still fresh in his mind- he hadn't seen the other man move, had had his primeval fear instinct momentarily paralyze him. He had to make sure that didn't happen, again.
A thought occurred. It was dangerous, but... “One more thing,” he said, looking back over at Stella. “I need something that will help me banish my fear. It doesn't need to be permanent, but I can't afford to let myself get... overwhelmed.”
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Post by jarahamee on Jul 3, 2020 1:47:11 GMT -6
The Skinwalker decided it was best not to say ‘I would have liked its skin,’ and instead accepted the eye in her hand, rolling it about. She could feel its power flowing through her, and it felt good and right. A power like hers, and yet unlike it. Perhaps if she survived this, she could find similar creatures and make their power her own.
But for now, she had revenge to seek. Stella looked at the four stones and digested what she would have to do. It was going to take some time and energy to get things ready, but this was a task she could perform. Her powers were not unlike a medicine man’s, and yet, they were so much more. She could see a world that had been beyond her vision, and, even more importantly, she could manipulate it. She had real, tangible power, and she could put it to use.
She turned the eye over in her hand, lost in thought a moment, her dark eyes losing focus, only temporarily, before realizing he spoke. Another power that Atol had which she could undo. He had so many strengths, and yet, not many weaknesses. She would say, none.
“I can do that for you, Tuvaak.”
She said, already mulling over how to accomplish it. It would take all night at least. Maybe part of the day. That was fine, she no longer required sleep.
“I will need the stones laid out for me, and I will have to perform some rituals. It may take more than tonight, but it will be done before He arrives.”
Her voice became husky with her bloodlust, and her eyes caught the light strangely as her head turned towards the cave’s entrance, as if expecting Atol to be there already. Her hand trembled slightly.
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Post by luscen on Sept 24, 2020 3:24:33 GMT -6
The Hunter nodded, unrolling a tarp cloth and placing it between him and the witch. He picked up the stones in turn, placing them on the four corners of the tarp. Each were of a slightly different shape, and carried different inscriptions on them- the first was a smooth, square stone of turquoise, the blue and black-veined surface etched with an archaic seal of Solomon, along with a string of other kabbalistic sigils.
“The totem will first direct Atol's power here, which will bind him in place and prevent him from escaping,” Casmir explained, before setting down the next stone, a polished carnelian in the shape of an egg, the symbol of the ouroboros carved into it, alongside the symbols of ka and other Egyptian hieroglyphs. “From there, it will travel here, keeping Atol's magical circuit open and maintaining the flow of energy from one point to the next.”
The fire crackled as the blonde Hunter picked up the next stone, his red eye glinting in the darkness. “This is the most important piece,” he said, placing the oval stone of sapphire down. Unlike the others, there was no symbol or central rune on it, but a winding string of complex, ancient Hebrew writing. “Atol's magic is based in corruption. Likely, he's so steeped in it by this point he's developed an immunity, so trying to poison him with his own magic won't do any good." The Hunter's thoughts drifted to the sight of the painting appearing to melt in the Magus' presence, Atol's very existence gnawing away at the fabric of reality.
"When it's funneled through this, the stone will cleanse it and divert it here,” he finished, placing the triangular amber stone down, the runic symbol of the Sacred Horse serving as the centerpiece. The Hunter leaned back, pulling out a cache of silver bullets, each imprinted with the nordic rune of destruction. “The Ehwaz stone will redirect Atol's purified power back into him, closing the circuit. Being force-fed a barrage of purified magical energy, it should overload him, burning him out.”
Casmir took out a small vial of salts and began rubbing them across the surface of the bullets. “If the trap doesn't kill him, well...” he held one of the projectiles up, examining it. “It'll at least let me finish the job.”
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Post by jarahamee on Oct 3, 2020 1:46:04 GMT -6
The keen eyes of the Witch studied each step, as if he was explaining the pieces of a complex puzzle to her. As her eyes moved, here and there, they caught the fire’s light with an animal’s yellow-green glow. She touched each after he was finished explaining it, studying them. The religions were alien, but she could feel their power, their presence like the many pieces of puzzles working together.
She pulled from her pouch some thin, yet long, dark ropes, that appeared to be made of hair (human hair or horsehair?) and lay it down and around the ritual items, carefully placing the items around them, feeling their pattern. Asking a Witch to purify something. Well, it was not her doing so directly, and it was true, she did have a medicine man's power, but... what she might call differently. But it would function. She was confident in it, now that she could see the web of magic stretching from each component.
Everything would flow and redirect through the eye. The eye would draw in all of the power. It would need to be stronger to hold something like this creature, Atol. And it could not be a physical bond. All doable. She could invest in it, invest herself, invest the rest of her power. It would not matter anymore if they were able to achieve her goal, this strange predatory man and herself.
As for his request…
“Banishing your fear is easy. Do you become disgusted eating unclean things?”
She was asking him an honest question. Most of the magic of Witches had a certain unclean quality that disgusted most decent people, but worked efficiently. She knew what would work for his purposes, and probably would not taste too awful. At least in her opinion, but at this stage of her existence, she was not a food critic.
“How long do you need to be without fear?”
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Post by luscen on Nov 19, 2020 18:57:11 GMT -6
“I've been in America enough times to have had my fair share of 'unclean things,'” Casmir replied with a bit of dry humor. “I'm sure whatever you have won't be any worse. As for how long I'll need to keep that fear from bothering me...”
Casmir thought back to his initial meeting with Atol. He didn't scare easily, these days. In fact, he'd only ever truly been terrified four times over the course of his strange career. Two of them had happened in this city, one of them when Atol placed his hand on the Hunter. It had been such a small thing, but that one action had caused every primordial survival instinct, every fear response that had kept his kind alive since the prehistoric era, to fire on all cylinders. It was a response he couldn't allow to have happen again, no matter what. Being paralyzed with fear around a foe as dangerous as that man was as good as a death sentence.
'The problem is I can't be sure when he's going to show up,' Casmir thought. It could have been tomorrow, or it could have been a week from now. He knew Atol wouldn't wait too long, not after telling the Hunter to stay away from “his dragon.” He also knew he couldn't let himself remain without fear for too long- inconvenient though it was, it was a valid defense mechanism. Without it, he'd be more risk-prone, put his neck out too far, if placed in the wrong situation.
“Three days,” Casmir replied, deciding to gamble on his foe's punctual nature. He could manage his condition by sticking close to Sjira for three days and simply planting his traps, avoid looking for more monsters on this mountain, and keep his risk to a minimum. If Atol didn't show up in that time frame, well... he'd just have to improvise.
His decision made, he looked over at Stella as she began to lay down the hair that would serve as the magical connection between the totems and the stones that would act as the building blocks for Casmir's trap. His eye could see the flow of magic moving from one stone to the next as the witch laid her bindings down. “Is that doable?”
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Post by jarahamee on Nov 23, 2020 0:59:14 GMT -6
“Three days.”
She repeated softly, almost to herself, and placed down the rope in a careful pattern between the objects, before forming a circle of powder from her pouch. She muttered to herself in a language he did not know. She surrounded both herself and what she had placed down. The circle was surprisingly exact, perfect.
A different pouch’s powder was then removed, and from her fist she made a careful design. If Casmir was observant, he would find that it was… powdered bone… Fine like sand or shells, but the irregularity, the hollowness of the interior. Small and uneven pieces. Human bone.
From this she fashioned an ornate design, with strange creatures living within geometric patterns. Different shades of bone, different degrees of burnt.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she appeared to be done. She then looked up at Casmir, and smiled, her white teeth flashing sharp. Her muttering stopped. She stepped out of the circle carefully, and he recognized, an unholy and unclean version of a sandpainting.
From the center, from the mouth of an unsettling drawing of a monster, she picked up a single clump of human hair. She mingled it with the bone powder in her hand, and then rolled it, like clay, into a small ball, before offering it to Casmir.
“I will need to sing over this all night, and then, in the morning, you will destroy it, but now…swallow this…”
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Post by luscen on Jun 22, 2021 6:55:30 GMT -6
Casmir watched as Stella carefully laid out her patterns while working through his cigarette. There was a peal of thunder outside, followed by the light patter of rain falling on the forest, and the Hunter looked up again at the shadows lurking among the stalactites, watching them shudder and flicker with the flames of the cooking fire. They almost seemed to twist and writhe in time with the witch's mutterings.
The blonde found his thoughts drifting as he returned his gaze to the woman's motions, her slender, dark-skinned fingers spreading the lines of bone dust out and around her in a drawing, continuing to mutter her spells beneath her breath. His eye showed him the way her magic- a wispy, ethereal substance like purple and blue tendrils of smoke – seeped out from her, laying itself over the dust, the hair, and the magical stones, which all seemed to hum with their own sense of power, the connections being formed under Stella's ancient guidance. He felt as if he were privy to some ancient primordial rite, the air in the cave feeling old and austere.
When at last she was finished and looked up at Casmir with a grin, the blonde saw a very disturbing image of a shadowy beast with yellowish-green eyes leering at him, a haze of ancient magic forming into the shape of a still-greater beast beneath the feet of the spiritwalker's ominous figure. The sight of it was enough to send his more basal instincts on edge, regardless of whether or not she'd promised not to harm him.
The scarred man's face remained stony as he took a final drag from his cigarette, listening to Stella speak of needing to sing as he put the butt out on a nearby rock. She plucked a bit of hair from the maw of an unpleasant-looking creature, fashioning it into a thoroughly unappealing dumpling and holding it out to the Hunter in her long fingers.
“Well, if your singing is half as good as your artistic skills, then I'm in for a real treat...” Casmir replied with a small smirk. Reaching out and taking the ball of hair and bone dust from her, he suppressed the urge to shudder; he could feel the wrongness contained within the ball, but he didn't exactly have the luxury to be picky about this arrangement.
“I suppose I can't make this more palatable by dipping it in some koperkowa, can I?” the Hunter asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman. “Actually, nevermind- it'd probably just ruin the soup.” he then stuffed the ball in his mouth and choked it down, grunting in displeasure at the taste, but managing all the same. It didn't, however, stop the short bout of coughing that followed.
Once he was finished, Casmir wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Before you get started,” he began, looking back up at Stella with a slight lowering of his brows. “What exactly set you out on this little mission of yours? Who did Atol take from you?”
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Post by jarahamee on Jun 23, 2021 23:58:46 GMT -6
Casmir felt the effects of the magic immediately.
The ball of… whatever it was sank into the pit of his stomach, and made him feel a little nauseated. Not that this sort of thing wouldn’t create some nausea just by its existence.
For a moment, he might wonder if he had been poisoned, but the feeling was different, distinct, and after a moment, it dissipated into a feeling of absolute calm. A lack of fear crawled through him. Not that he had much before, but the lack of any vestige of it felt odd. Inhuman.
She looked up at him slyly. She also lacked fear, but for a different reason; she had nothing to lose, and little humanity remaining within her. Perhaps, in this moment, they shared this thread. They were both predators, fearless, hunting, and alone in this world.
And then he asked his question. She supposed she should have prepared for this. She had heard the question a million times now, but never was it any easier. How could she express it, without telling him too much? Perhaps, being direct.
“I lost my wife. Gone forever.”
Her voice became harsh again, and her dark eyes squinted closed as she grimaced. Her hands closed around the bone and fat that she still held within them, causing them to squish between her fingers like clay. The skinwalker cried out, a sound of animal frustration, before falling to her hands, the sticky mixture coating them saturated itself with dirt.
“I will..never hold her in my arms again. Not that I deserve her, after what I have done.”
The shapeshifter’s voice cracked, and she sobbed softly, her shoulders shaking violently. She balled her hands into fists again, and sat back upright again, smearing the dirt-ridden mixture she created on her dress.
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Post by luscen on Mar 11, 2022 0:36:09 GMT -6
Casmir raised an eyebrow at the admission of Stella having a wife- as far as he was aware, it wasn't common for Inuit to openly have lovers who shared their gender. They didn't even have a word in their language for such things. That didn't mean it didn't exist, of course, but - like with most things related to indigenous culture - it was not something that they spoke about with outsiders. This was true, even in the modern day; they kept to themselves, only let those not of their tribe know as much as they deemed necessary.
Still, uncommon or not, the raw emotion on the witch's face was real enough. If she had been expecting disgust or revulsion or - worse, perhaps - insincere pity for the nature of her relationship, there was none to be found on the Hunter's face. Instead he merely closed his eyes slightly and lowered his head. "My condolences, for your loss," he said quietly. He offered no pithy platitudes, no assurances that things would be alright; even now, the loss of Stella's wife pained her, and it was a pain Casmir himself was all too familiar with. A pain he felt every morning when he looked at the photo of his mother and brother, and urged himself to remember them.
Sometimes pain could not be undone. It could only be shared.
"What happened?" he continued, after she had collected herself. He didn't bother reassuring her she didn't have to speak, if it was too difficult- either she would, or she wouldn't.
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Post by jarahamee on Mar 13, 2022 0:42:09 GMT -6
“She was a gifted diviner. We call it a ‘hand-shaker*.’ She was a local hero. She helped anyone who wanted it. Everybody loved her.”
The woman's hand shook as she balled it into a fist on her lap, digging her sharp fingernails into her thigh flesh until it bled. Her voice trembled with grief and anger. Stella’s voice dropped into a soft growl and she bared her bone-white teeth at the thought, as if the rage she felt made it difficult to concentrate.
“She was killed, and her body torn apart by Atol. I watched her die.”
Her voice cracked, and she made that horrible, deep, gasping sob. And then she grit her teeth so hard they ground together, dark eyes gleaming greenish in the fire light. The Witch's hair fell over her face, obscuring it in shadows.
“I was…without power, but… If you are as I am, you are already a little bit witch*. I wasn’t going to let them get away with it. I committed endless blasphemy, and lost my soul… but it gave me the power and focus I needed to hunt him down. I am only fueled by hatred now, the darkness that is the inverse of the Beauty Way*, and I will have my revenge.”
*A hand-shaker is a kind of medicine-person who divines solutions and resolves interpersonal problems. They are also able to find missing objects.
*In some regions, relationships between women is seen as an aspect of witchcraft (male/male ones were traditionally accepted before westernization)
*The Beauty Way is a positive lifestyle that most Navajo embrace. It stresses not focusing on anger, hatred or sadness, and living in balance and being in harmony with nature and the divine.
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Post by luscen on Mar 14, 2022 7:31:00 GMT -6
Casmir let Stella tell her tale, clutching the memories of her pain to her like strips of cloth from a ruined wedding dress- whatever she had had before - companionship, compassion, hope - was gone, and there was nothing left now but the deep, abiding fury of a woman who'd had everything she'd ever loved ripped from her fingers.
Women were often considered the more compassionate sex, and while Casmir had no interest in speculating on that fact, he knew that compassion was a dangerous thing when tested; ask the "compassionate" mother bear how tender and loving she is, as she's ripping you limb from limb for threating her children, for example.
When the Dreamwalker finished, Casmir could see the shade of her spectral beast writhing around her, fueled by her hatred for the man who'd taken her life away from her and trampled on it. His eyes drifted to the fire as he sat forward, twisting the last stick with a bit of rabbit on it, considering something.
"Hózhó," he began, referring to the Navajo term that she had mentioned. "It isn't a bad way to live. Far from it, in fact. But it's not a life everyone can abide by." he examined the carcass of the rabbit he had killed for sustenance. "We kill for food. We despoil the ground for it, as well. Strip nature of its beauty for clothing and shelter. These things, Hózhó permits, perhaps, as long as it's taken within the proper balance, and the due respects given."
The Hunter tossed the remaining bit of the rabbit into the fire. Perhaps he was offering it up to some god or primordial entity. His expression gave away nothing, instead looking into some far distant place. "But it's never so simple as all that; the men who go to war, for example. Who choose to risk their lives to protect their loved ones, that have to watch their comrades die, sometimes in their arms, and are powerless to stop it. When they return home, the society they fought to protect may welcome them back as heroes, but they are expected to put their lives as warriors behind them. To embrace again 'the way of beauty.' Some do. Most don't, however. They remain changed by the destruction and violence that war brings to them, even if they do not bend or yield to committing violence for violence's sake, they can never exist with Hózhó as they once did."
Casmir's red eye seemed to glow in the light of the fire, alight with its own sheen. "Likewise, the children who have their families taken away from them in a single moment, with no input or say in the matter, themselves. Is there balance, there? Is there beauty? Should they be expected to cling to it? I can't say, that's between the child and the world. But sometimes, revenge helps address the balance. Sometimes there are those who must exist outside of the Beauty Way, in order to make sure that those who still dwell within can continue to do so, freely."
He turned, now, to gaze at the dark-skinned woman, with a curious expression on his face. "Vengeance can be dangerous, Dreamwalker. What happens when you find yours? What will you do with yourself, afterwards? Will you be content? Or will you find some new hatred to cling to?"
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Post by jarahamee on Mar 18, 2022 0:51:16 GMT -6
The Witch shook her head, balling her hands into claw-like fists. Her answer should be obvious; they could not, and she could not, and that was why she had become a Witch. Anger, hatred, vengeance, these emotions came naturally to her as she bathed in her grief. These were all negative emotions that counterbalanced the way that things should be. One should not mourn the dead, one should not dwell in the sadness of their loss. It was the duty of the living to continue with as much positivity as one could have. To rejoin the community and take heart with them. Let them in and aid them. And yet…
“I could not. I could not. I had nothing else. I had no one else. All I had was her, I could do nothing else but become this thing.” She looked down at her hands, tears rolled down her dirty cheeks. It was clear she took no pride in becoming a monster, and perhaps, even hated herself for it, but it was too late to take back what had already been done. There was no saving witches like these, even among Navajos. One simply had to destroy them.
“I… When we are done, I will make sure I…go. It is the least I can do…for her. I know that when I accomplish my task, I will lose what is left of my human soul.”
It was unclear what she meant when she said ‘go’ but Casmir might infer it meant more than just leave Wathais. She did not elaborate, however, and after a moment, wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Considering how much bilagáanas glorified anger, hatred and revenge, she imagined there would have been many more witches if their situations were comparable. She wondered, if such power could be considered a punishment, or if it could be considered a gift. She supposed something of both.
“I think, you understand why I chose this path.”
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Post by luscen on Mar 25, 2022 2:09:32 GMT -6
Casmir regarded Stella for a moment, before speaking again. "As I said, there are those of us who cannot abide by the demands of Hózhó," he began. "Some, who suffer a great loss, seek power in order to try and establish a speck of control over the world around them. Sometimes, though, they want more, until power becomes all that matters to them. It's no longer a means to an end, it's simply the end, itself. Once that happens, they become a monster, no different than the monster that took the control away from them in the first place."
The Hunter regarded the shadow on the ground for a moment, the silhouette of the beast that was Stella's anger and indignation. It was something of a corruption of how traditional shamans and medicine men invoked their own powers. The Skinwalker he'd fought in the warehouse was one who'd long since forgone the man, and instead indulged in the beast. Stella, while similar to him, had not fully succumbed to her desire for power, yet, and Casmir hoped she would not let her anger twist her any further beyond this.
"It's not my place to tell you how to life your life, Spirit-walker," the scarred man continued, settling back and making himself comfortable. "I will see to your request, since you've offered your aid and expertise. What you choose to do after that, well... that is your decision, not mine." He seemed as if he had something more to say, but chose instead to keep his own counsel.
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Post by jarahamee on Mar 25, 2022 2:29:22 GMT -6
“At the very least, we can both agree that Atol and his cult deserve to die, and I will do anything in my power to ensure that happens.”
The Witch looked into the fire, her gaze growing distant. Even if she did have regrets, it was too late now, far too late. And what did she have to regret? She had been an outsider her entire life anyways, this was just the final set of steps to solidify her stance as a true witch. Atol had taken everything that she loved in an instant, the entire life they had dreamed about since they were children, and worked so hard to build. With that, there was never any possibility that she could have remained on the Path. Mable’s death might as well have been her own.
“If you need something, I will create it.”
She spoke confidently, with power. There were certainly limits to her abilities, but her new form had its advantages. Hunting, scouting, casting magic, predictions. Like a third, unholy eye opening in the center of her being that allowed her to perceive everything in this world that she had been without. The path was clear, the pieces were all in place, but victory was never assured, even to those well-prepared, but he was her best, and perhaps, her only shot.
On the positive side, her dress was finally starting to dry off. While she did not perceive discomfort like most mortal humans now, it was nice to be dry and warm. She wondered, vaguely, what business this Hunter had with Atol. But then again, he did seem to leave his mark and create his trail. There could be a thousand reasons why. And then it occurred to her, why not ask;
“Why do you hunt him? Is it for the good of mankind?"
Her dark eyes shone yellow-green in the firelight as she turned her head, watching his expression.
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Post by luscen on Mar 27, 2022 6:37:35 GMT -6
Casmir seemed amused by the notion, in so much as the corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "Do I seem like the type, Spirit-walker?"
He stoked the fire with the stick the rabbits had been roasting on. "The Magus - or his cult, rather - took something from me. At first, my only intention was to find the one who'd committed the act; a baptism by fire, I guess you'd call it. Either I would kill her, or she'd kill me."
He went silent for a moment, his eyes growing distant, lost in his memories, the crackle of the fire the only sound to be heard. "As you can see, i survived my ordeal. That was when I realized that there exist hundreds of Atols. There's always a cult collecting children for fodder, or a monster seducing the young and the innocent. The Soundless is just the most significant threat, right now, due to the scope of their aims."
He eyed the shadows on the wall, his thoughts turning to Rhys. It seemed absurd to believe a pregnant woman, Super or not, was the thing Atol was after. It still made no sense, as whatever power she had seemed far below a god, especially in comparison to Malthiel's presence. Still... he knew the red-eyed mage wanted her, and to enact whatever plan he had in mind, he needed Sjira.
So, Casmir would see to it Atol didn't get the Stormling.
"No, Stella. I'm not so noble," the scarred man continued. "I want to see Atol's cult burn and be consigned to the forgotten ashes of history. After that, I'll find the next monster that turns a mother's joy to dust in her mouth. The next beast that haunts the shadows of a child's dreams. I'll keep doing so, until I finally find the monster I can't win against."
As many children as he could save. As many lives he could stop from winding up like his. It was the least he could manage, having survived the way he had. Otherwise, what had it all been for?
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