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post #131 of 137 (permalink) Old 02-24-13, 02:09 AM
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Dark thoughts ran through his mind, memories of battles long past overlapped recent experiences. The whole of it causing Raxan to grimace, to wonder why he could not center himself. He longed for the peace and calm, the surity of purpose and intent that had been there not but a few days ago. "But then," he questioned himself," Do I really long for that? Do I wish to turn a blind eye once more to the problems that need to be addressed." He shook his head once more, clearing the cobwebs, banishing from his thoughts things that could not be changed, thing that merely demanded acceptance. Some things you could not change, the death of Sotha, the breaking of his beloved chapter, the betrayal of Astelan. But he did know, he did believe that he could inspire change. To prevent those things from happening again, to stop like events from dragging himself or his brothers once more to the edge of defeat.

The last several days had been uneventful, most of his hours spent in his quarters in solitary reflection. His actions and words at the training match haunted him, forcing him to go over them time and time again in his mind. Sometimes he convinced himself that he was in the right, that the things that he had said needed to be said. Other times he had seen the folly in them. He had set a bad example, he had tarnished his own reputation by losing his temper, a temper that until recent events had been mellow, easily contained, rarely flaring to anything but annoyance. Many things had changed and many things were going to change. He could feel that change brewing, coalescing around the Heart like thunderheads before a storm.

The time he had not spent in his room had been in the cages, sparring against servitor and marine alike. Through the burning heat of combat he worked out his frustrations. Much to his displeasure he found that he was no closer to calming the feeling of unease and disquiet that tormented him. His thoughts ran furiously, considering the best way to approach the problems that plagued them. In the end, his musings brought more questions than answers. He had even found himself in the Chapel on more than one occasion, something that was more than a rarity for him even in the days where the Reclusiam was represented in strength. Nothing, none of it provided a remedy for his taciturn thoughts.

It was in this frame of mind that Raxan found himself in the back of one of the meeting halls, his form draped in the shadow of the arches that spanned overhead and the columns that ringed the room, listening to his Lord and Chapter Master speak of his decisions. Wondering with unease if consulting the zealous Black Templars was the right course of action, wondering if returning to Ferim, so soon after the shock of seeing Sotha was going to do more harm than good. Raxan was glad that Lord Thrasius was finally taking action, the fact that his suspicions proving correct that his Lord was just as concerned with moving forward as he was about looking back providing a lifting of his spirits. The thought of Tyranids re-emerging on the surface of Ferim was also something that pleased him, odd thought that sounded in his head. Perhaps this would give the chapter something to wet its teeth with, to met out its vengeance in a manner that would provided catharsis for many. All in all, despite his reservations about joining with the Templars, Raxan's mood was much improved as he left his shadowy corner and approached his squadmates. Intent to speak with both Kain and Cleomenes, determined to find out about their thoughts on recent developments. Things were about to get interesting, the thunderheads were no longer on the distant horizon. The storm of change was coming and coming fast and Raxan knew that to weather it, he would need his friends, his brothers, and his squadmates to rally together. He was determined to be the one that see that happen, regardless of what it took.

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post #132 of 137 (permalink) Old 02-24-13, 02:26 PM
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Vermaas swung the practice sword to his left, then back around to his right expertly blocking both swings by the combat servitor. He swiftly moved back as a third blade came swinging by him before moving in for another attack of his own which was parried. Vermaas' mind was reeling with dark thoughts, more so these days since he spoke with Sergeant Kain. He knew it was slowing him down, making his reaction time slower and it was exactly why he was here. Should duty ever call he would need to be at his best and could not afford such luxuries as doubt or confusion. Only by sweat, blood, and strain could a true Astartes clear his mind -- for there was no other state of being that felt more at home to them. For nearly a week he'd kept himself locked away either in the training cages, ruthlessly going through exercise after exercise, in the Reclusium in deep prayer to the God-Emperor, or in his private quarters meditating on the issues of the Chapter.

'Increase threat level,' he intoned, 'Maximus.'

The combat servitor came alive and swung like a wild beast with blades swing in all different directions trying to throw him off his balance with feints, thrusts, swings, and stabs. He felt the doubt in his mind begin to recede as his combat instincts took over and he came into his more pure state of a gene-forged killing machine. He blocked two of the servitor's blades on his practice sword, grabbed the cold metal of another sword-arm and kicked out knocking the machine back a few paces before quickly moving in to slam his fist into its metal body -- leaving a small dent. Blades flashed out and he dodged most and blocked the rest. The duel between man and machine continued for hours. Vermaas could have ended it at any time but it kept his attention and his mind on war, tactics, and combat instead of matters that were of no concern to him; such as the murky fate of his chapter.

'End,' he stated coldly and the combat servitor went from a raging mad machine to docile in a heartbeat. Sweat poured down his body and his muscles ached, the bruises of several injuries covered his body. As he exited the practice cages he made sure to robe himself in simple cloth, adorned in the Chapter's colors, before leaving.

It was some time later that he stood alongside the remnants of his Chapter before Lord Thrasius as he made his decree about the Black Templars and Ferim. He fealt uneasy as soon as he heard of the Templars. They were one of the very first successor chapters of the Imperial Fists and they were known to be vengeful of psykers of all kinds. He was unsure if the Scythes should adopt such a stance. He kept his council to himself though and disbanded back to the Reclusium to pray on the matter.

Perhaps the Emperor would give him the wisdom he needed.

Originally Posted by Oldman78 View Post
The chaos gods abandoned Horus most likely because they saw the can of whoop ass coming their way and wanted out of the way so as not to get fucked up!
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post #133 of 137 (permalink) Old 03-11-13, 11:57 PM
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Raziel was in the chapel when Vermaas and Kain expounded their views of Cleomenes, he was knelt in a side alcove, all but invisible in the deep shadows and partially concealed by the drapes hung from the top of the arch. He stayed silent as they talked, considering his own dark thoughts in the safety of darkness. Where they had nought but shadowy company.

He smirked at their comments on Cleomenes, and raised a surprised eyebrow. True he felt much the same about the arrogant Space Marine, but he was amused that these two would discuss him so. He had always been the rebel in his youth, now these two appeared to be trying for the mantle, though he had to admit pulling a pistol on a brother was a new one.

He was rubbing the Aqulia clutched gently in his huge calloused hand, and bent his head back to it as footsteps echoed out of the chapel. He waited and before two long, Kain followed. Rising, he exited the chapel, made one last genuflection, before turning and going the way of his brothers.


The Black Templars. They were... interesting men. He had fought alongside one in the Death Watch, a fierce, unforgiving man who was terrifying in battle, he had ripped an Ork Nob limb from limb and then used those limbs to beat back another mob of orks. Though they could be, unforgiving, whether they would consider the Scythes as still pure when one of their number had fallen to Tzeentch. His jaw tightened. Only time would tell.

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post #134 of 137 (permalink) Old 03-14-13, 12:24 PM Thread Starter
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(the parts that say 'everyone' at this time includes Solaki, Vermaas, Cleomenes, Raxan, Raziel, Kain, Dymethus, and Spurius

As Thrasius directed, the crew aboard The Heart prepares for warp travel and soon enough the massive Flagship sails through the colorful demonic ocean.


During warp travel You have a vision. Oddly, you cannot recall when you experienced it. Whether it was during prayer or meditation, battle practice or sleep...you just seem to have it in your memory now but it is as vivid as your own hands before your eyes. In fact, thats how the vision starts. Your hands open palmed and fingers half curled in their black gauntlets for a moment as if they are both holding something other than air. They seem to move forward on their own, your body with them. They suddenly take a strong grip upon two handles with large triggers attached to them. An Assault cannon mounted on a turret extends over a crumbling building wall, a few stories above the ground. Several bombed out structures fill your view beneath a gray smoke-filled sky. Below you in the street marches what must be at last a hundred men dressed to the Imperial Guard. They march toward your position.

You cant see them, and you cant make out who the voices belong to, but you know that some of your brothers are near you on the building's rooftop. You open fire, see bright muzzle flare and distant sparks of dark red, and thats it.


If your characters had something to say to someone during the previous update but did not get to, it is during this time that they may.

The Heart Makes good time, taking only eight days to reach Ferim's system. It takes about another days travel to reach where the Black Templar strike cruiser already awaits, not far from the orbit of Ferim's further of two moons currently designated only as M2.

All of what is effectively squad Scrious as well as several other Scythes of the Emperor.

As to seeing the moons designated as M1 and M2 Thrasius makes the comment, "It certainly is not like the Imperium to take its time in naming its territory...odd."

"The Black Templar Strike Cruiser Indignere Iudex in view my Lord, both ships are en route to approach." says one of the dozens of piloting crew from his hunched, seated position; only turning his head to speak and exposing the cables attached to his head and chest that lead into the panels before him.

Within the next couple of hours, all of you are in the hangar bay area to accompany Lord Thrasius in his formal greeting. Alexander, Ryan, Zurick, Izrael, Tobias, and the remaining sergeants are also present.

By this time you are all well aware that Thrasius has two obectives in mind for the Templar Chaplain. The first is to inspect the new recruits for tainted minds. The second is to train one of the Scythes to be a chaplain and teach them how to detect taint without the use psyker powers.

You all know you are among your Lord's favoured troops...

A black Thunderhawk swims though space toward the bay opening. It slips through the shields and gravity containment fields, going from a silent fish to an obnoxiously loud beast. As its engines whine and cool, you all come to formation behind your Lord. Your ears quickly mute most of the engine noise and pick up a new sound, one of heavy clanking coming from behind the blast doors. And before the thunderhawk's black doors open still, something slams into your sense of smell.

As soon as the doors opne a dusty looking cloud of smoke pours out onto the metal floor and slowly up into the hangar air. The source of the smell: incense, and lots of it. From out of the cloud of incense first emerges a Black Templar with the chaplan's banner rising from his powerpack. Behind him come two Sword brethren in terminator armor....something your chapter has been lacking since Miral. One of them bears lightning claws, deactivated of course, and the other bears a power sword and storm bolter. Behind them emerges Chaplain Albrecht. His armor a more coal-like black than his brothers' jet-black. His helm sharply edged and all black as well, looking more like a skull than the usual MKVII helm. His red eye lenses also brighter than normal, but the light more focused to appear as pupils. Six more Astartes line up beside the banner holder.

All of them have impressively decorated armor. Each suit is marked with several campaign markings of white and red. They bristle with iconography such as skulls, eight point stars, and litanies... not to mention weapons. Intricately designed blades of many sizes, chainswords with gleeming teeth, and so many chains and strips of parchment as if they were ribbon. All of them but the chaplain have their helmet's removed as a polite formality.

Thrasius and Albrecht approach, a warriors handshake between them and formalities spoken. The chaplain introdues the two terminators, each the sergeant of the two terminator squads under his command, one assault based the other standard.

"Brother Sergeant Ulric," he says waving to the one with lightning claws, "And Brothe Sergeant Roth," he says waving to the other.

"Have you had time to scan the planet yet Chaplain? I noticed the two moons haven't been formally named yet, which seems odd."

A harsh voice lashes out from the Albrecht's grill-vox "Despite this oddity, Ferim itself seems to be breeming with hive-city activity since when you last left, according to the information you sent me regarding its condition at that time. The section you are familair with, Vorspire, has increased more than ten-fold in size and population. Your chapter has been semingly out of contact with the Imperium for more than a decade now. I regretfully inform you, the Imperium is not what it was in the late 41st millenium. Th beginning of the 42nd has been unkind to say the least. We need a chapter like the Scythes o the Emperor back in the fight...thus, why I am so eager to offer my assistance on this day."

"I see," replies Thrasius, "Let's not wast time then. To the first order of business. Alexander, Tobias, I assume Brothr Niko has prepared the youths for the Chaplain's examination?"

Alexander begins to offer his affirmation when Albrecht interrupts, "Let's not waste time indeed, Lord of the Scythes. I am plenty capable of performing both tasks simultaneously. Lead me to them."

Though he doesnt explain how, and simply follows Thrasius. Alexander, Tobias, the other Scythe sergeants and the two terminator sergeants leave with them. This leaves the eight of you looking at the seven remaining templars...who all stare back with little to no emotion on their faces whatsoever.

But without warning they become alive. One who bears a long sword sheathed at his hip, with bright blonde hair and dark eyes moves forward pointing at Vermaas, "A brother-cousin I could come to like quickly I think." he then offers his hand to Vermaas.

The one with an axe and plasma pistol, a grim face like tree bark, brown hair and several service studs to boast speaks next,"Always so quick and brash Leonard..."

The largest one who carries te heavy bolter booms out in a loud voice that nearly echoes, heavily accented, "Well this is depressing. You Scythes were such a lively bunch in the Damocles."

One with a pistol and chainswod turns his head to one with a bolter and sword, both have dark hair and tanned faces, "Is this really all they have left?"

The second replies by adressing the Scythes, "Indeed? Are there less of you than what we saw on Tri'vaa? You took losses on the world we orbit? How did those tyranids escape Tri'vaa and make it all the way here? We bombarded the surface.... By the way, I am brother Zamiel my holy allies."

Another Templar holding a pistol and chainsword on his form remains still, but as more begin to speak the more you can pick up shaky muttering of some kind escaping his helm.

The one with the banner atop his powerpack cooly walks to Solaki, looks him up and down and asks, "What legendary veteran do I have the honour of standing in front of? I am not familiar."

The last one who has a bolter at one hip and what appears to be a short linked mace on the other stands with arms crossed, merely scanning.

Greet the Templars. I will make mini updates as necessary. That or I will PM replies. Other than that, post your charcaters reactions to the rest of the update as usual.

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

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post #135 of 137 (permalink) Old 03-21-13, 11:36 AM
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Solaki stood in the hangar bay with the rest of the remaining Scythes of the Emperor. He had been asleep for most of their transit from Sotha’s system to Ferim. Again, he had almost expected to dream, but he had not. Nothing was out of the ordinary and if he could only forget that he had ever dreamt in the first place, it would be like nothing had ever changed. He knew that Thrasius had gathered many of his favoured troops as well as his most senior staff to greet the Templars. Solaki could only assume that he was here to demonstrate that, in some capacity, the Scythes were still functioning normally. Well, almost normally. All they lacked was a means to detect psykers and a chaplain to nurture the spiritual health of the chapter as it recovered. But then, that was why they were here.

Solaki couldn’t help but go back in his mind to the last time they had been here, orbiting Ferim in high anchor. They had known their quarry was somewhere down on that planet, but had yet to find it. Him and Brother Devin had joked and laughed about his brother being able to kill the larger of the tyranid’s bioforms. They had bet and laughed and embraced. Then they had gone back down to that blasted planet and it had torn them apart. Their most hated foe had been more prepared than they anticipated. Solaki had not seen Devin aboard the Heart since Ferim. It was possible that their paths had just not crossed, and that was possible. But it was also possible that he had died with too many others on that forsaken planet, and Solaki did not want to ask in hope only to have it crushed. Better to live in ignorance.

The black form of the Templar’s Thunderhawk eclipsed Solaki’s view of the planet he had almost lost everything on and snapped him back to reality. The Chaplain Albrecht waded through the fog of incense which swirled around their feet. There were two terminators which accompanied him and seven other marines. Each was ornately decorated, as to be expected of the Templars. However, it only served to accentuate the contrast between the noble, well stocked chapter that the Templars were and the struggling, barely recovering chapter that the Scythes were. If Solaki’s chest moved as he breathed in, he would have puffed out his chest in order to show he would not be cowed.

However, he doubted the Templars would have been impressed. Solaki wasn’t sure if it was his own standing within the Templar chapter or the fact that the Scythes were barely larger than a half company of marines, but Albrecht seemed to only show the most base respect for Thrasius and even less for Alexander and the other senior members of the Scythes. Or perhaps that was just how chaplains were; they flaunted authority and need answer to no one. Honestly, Solaki could scarcely remember how chaplains were meant to behave or treat their brothers. The only half memory he had was Arx, but even then he was not a true chaplain. He just might have been, given the chance.

The Lord of the Scythes and the others apart from those in Squad Scrious lead the Chaplain and his terminator sergeants out of the hangar. For a moment, the Templars just stared at the Scythes. They were like Black Sentinels. They neither moved, nor spoke; they simply stared in casual indifference as the Scythes gathered before them. However, the moment both the leaders had left the room, it was like these men of obsidian suddenly ceased to be stone and became alive. One seemed to have taken a liking to Vermaas. Another identified the first as Leonard. "Well this is depressing. You Scythes were such a lively bunch in the Damocles." said another. “A lot has happened since Damocles.” Solaki said.

"Is this really all they have left?" said another. The one who identified Leonard agreed and identified himself as Berek. Solaki was sure they meant not offence by their words, but surely they were not dense enough to realise that the Scythes needed no reminders about their numbers, or lack thereof. The one with the banner approached Solaki and coldly assessed him. "What legendary veteran do I have the honour of standing in front of? I am not familiar." Solaki hoped the Templar was not being sarcastic in how he spoke. Solaki did consider correcting him on the status he had bestowed on Solaki, but though better of it. The Templars did not need another reason to doubt the Scythes. “I am Solaki. I was on Damocles and Sotha, like many of those here. And who are you, cousin?” Solaki’s metallic voice rasped from out of his vox grill…

Last edited by Deus Mortis; 04-02-13 at 01:30 AM.
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post #136 of 137 (permalink) Old 03-24-13, 10:08 PM
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Vermaas stood near Lord Thrasius has the Templar's thunderhawk passes the protection field, a thin membrane seperating them from the harshness of the void. Its loudy engines resonate around the bay, a thundering sound that would deafen mortals but his helm's auto-sensors detect the danger and immediately protect his ear-drums from the worst of the pain. Still, even with a suit, given his proximity and the restrictions of his suit there was a slight ache for a few moments.

The craft lands and the loading ram hisses open and he sees only darkness. His nose, on the other hand, is assaulted by the smell of incense and he feels a moment of sorrow. Those same smells, not exact but close, use to premeate the Reclusium -- they use to drift around their own Chaplains to various degrees. Vermaas blinked as a question rose to his mind he couldn't answer -- who was their last chaplain? He found it disturbing that he, a veteran of three centuries, couldn't answer. Then the figure, a darker smother in the pitch blackness, emerged. He held aloft their Chaplain's banner and behind him came two more in tactical dreadnaught armor, something the Sycthes were grossly lacking. He eyed them as they marched in silence down the ramp but then caught the sight of the man himself.

Chaplain Albrecht. Their supposed saviour. Vermaas was a righteous Astartes and while he felt his faith was not as strong as it needed to be he clung to it nontheless -- still this man struck him with a kind of arrogance. His walk spoke of authoritarian duty, of unyielding rigidity to an equally stoic set of beliefs. His skull-faced helm, so typical of Chaplains, glowed with a malevolent light those promised only swift death to those who fell short of those eyes and perhaps a slight compliment to those found true. It was not a balanced trade in Vermaas' eyes. But then nothing ever was.

Lord Thrasius and Albrecht approach has cousins and embrance like warriors. Vermaas eyes his chapter master wearily and begins to wonder why the Templars of all Chapters. He catches himself and purges the thoughts from his mind -- it is not his to question only to do. His attention remains on the conversation and his mood grows dark with each passing second. Who was this Astartes, a mere Chaplain, to disrepect Lord Thrasius? His grip tightened on his botler, held at a ceremonial 'at-the-ready'. He kept himself in check, even to the Templars it would only have appeared to be a slight rebalance.

He did not move his head, kept it firmly forward like an statue as Thrasius and Albrecht left the hanger bay, surronded by their honor guards. Scarcely fifteen seconds later he noticed the other six Templars standing in front of them, each as unmoving and unspeaking as he. Suddenly one of them came alive. He had long golden hair and dark eyes with a sword at his side moves swiftly towards Vermaas.

'A brother-cousin I could come to like quickly I think,' he says extending his hand.

Time slowed and Vermass' equilibirum felt suddenly off. He looked at the approaching hand of the Templar, his fingers slightly curled and black and then he remembered a vision. His mind reeled and fought against it for a moment -- how could he remmeber a vision? He hadn't had a vision. His eyes stare at the painfully slow moving hands of the Templar and he digs up this sudden memory from his mind. He stands with his hands wrapping around an autocannon, in the distance he can see the massed ranks of the Imperial Guard marching towards them, he can feel the chatter of the autocannon as he unleashes it into the distance. He remembers hearing voices, they sound so much like his brothers but yet too vague to pin a face to. What in the name of the God-Emperor could this mean?

Then he realized the hand was just stopping before him, at a respectful distance and the eyes of the Templar were wide and full of curiosity. He hesitated for maybe a heartbeat or two, before lowering his weapon and mag-locking it at his side and grasping the hand before him.

'Like-wise brother-cousin,' he said, letting the title hang waiting for a name, it was given to him by one of the Templar's brothers, 'Leonard. I am Vermaas, how was your travel?'

He felt conflicted. He dispised Albrecht but the one before him held none of the pomposity of the Chaplain. He dismissed the Templar Chaplain altogether -- perhaps it had truly been too long since the Scythes had one. Maybe their's had been just as arrogant and rigid and the memories were just dull in his mind.

Originally Posted by Oldman78 View Post
The chaos gods abandoned Horus most likely because they saw the can of whoop ass coming their way and wanted out of the way so as not to get fucked up!
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post #137 of 137 (permalink) Old 04-01-13, 09:48 PM
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Standing in line with the rest of the Squad Dymethus felt, proud, awkward & worried. Proud that he had been chosen for this duty, to have risen so far so quickly was unexpected, even in a chapter as ravaged as they Scythes. Awkward because it was his first time as an honour guard for anyone or thing, and due to his sudden meteoric rise in station he had not yet formed a true bond with the rest of his unit. And worried that he’d make some error and bring dishonour upon the chapter and himself. He felt sure that there were other Scythes who should be here, there were some he thought would have made this kind of rise naturally in any chapter, though for one reason or another they did not make it to full battle brother.

During the journey Dymethus had taken to having discussions with the other members of the squad, with mixed success as several members were otherwise occupied with various duties.

The noise produced by the Templar’s Thunderhawk was overwhelming as it entered the hanger and bought Dymethus out of his revere, he listened intently to the various sounds of hearing the slight differences between the engines. Analysing this he determined that the craft was in perfect working order though the port engine had a stronger spirit than the others, a quirk that had developed over centuries or perhaps millennia of use.

The spectacle of the Chaplain’s arrival was almost enough to break Dymethus’ composure, he had seen anything like it before, not even during the feast days back on Radnor when the priests of the Imperial Cult put on dramatic and impressive displays of the power of the Emperor. The two terminators only raised the opulence of the spectacle, as the Scythes had no remaining terminators or suits of tactical drednought armour Dymethus had never had such a good look at a suit. The mass of additional detailing added told of the wearers deeds but did nothing to hide the sheer power and intimidation of the armour.

As Lord Thracius and Chaplain Albrect introduced each other and their closest, Dymethus remained in position awaiting the instruction to fall out and opportunity to see the Templars method of examination. He almost turned to follow his lord out of the hangar, but the lack of order held him in place. He now looked upon the Templars lined up opposite his squad, there was little else to do at this point. A few of the Templars started to introduce themselves to other members of the squad.

One of them mentioned Damcoles, a campaign fought before the Adeptus Astartes were more than just a rumoured bogy man used by parent to encourage their children to behave. Another piece of history I am not a part of, but have to live up to, he thought.

Dymethus decided to take the plunge and pick a Templar to introduce him self to. Unsure about approaching any of them, he decided to just announce himself in the same manner as Zamiel. As he spoke he changed his mind and approached Zamiel offering his hand

“I am Brother Dymethus Galunus, of Sqaud Scrious.”
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