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On any other night Aaron would have rolled his eyes at Max’s textbook indolence, but tonight he valiantly refrained, though he did break character for a smirk and a raise of the brow at being called, well, Aaron. The lack of effort for even so much as a tried and true “Fido” meant Max was either very angry or barely conscious, though on this sort of special occasion Aaron supposed it could be both at once.

He spun his ring behind his back, a look of vague amusement on his face. He was well aware this party was nothing but a chore for half the mages present, and if not for the fact that Max was Eris’ mage and any offhand comment he made about the evening would be piped directly to Varis, he might have even encouraged him to kick back with his earbuds in and pretend to look engaged if anyone came down the hall. Unfortunately, tonight was as much a show for the guests as it was for host and help (albeit a dull and disinteresting one), so Max would just have to grin and bear it like the rest of them. Or whatever his equivalent to grinning was; Aaron had only ever seen the sneaky kind.

“Oh dear, Eris didn’t get you into his soaps, did he?” he teased, shaking his head with a grin. “Better not. If he comes down the hall and sees you watching one, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Channeling Eris, Aaron tossed Max a cheeky wink before melting seamlessly back into his pleasant, professional demeanour. “I don’t have any alcohol to serve you, but if I can get you something else to take the edge off, let me know.”

There, Max could chew on that for a while. After all, angry with a story that would make Eris giggle must have been better than boredom, or else Max shouldn’t have been complaining in the first place. Meanwhile, Aaron checked his watch: it would soon be time to serve the next bottle to the sitting room. At least disengaging from the conversation wouldn’t be difficult; Salem, clearly nursing his injured pride if that sullen look out the window was any indication, was content to leave him out of the newest discussion on arcane majors, and with a knowing glance to Maddie, Aaron was all too happy to hold his peace on that.

Still, he wasn’t completely frozen out, and Lilie seemed a little left behind in the conversation too. “The rumour mill’s been blissfully quiet on my end as well,” he offered, leaning a hand on the back of the couch where Lilie was sitting. Lips curving into a wry smirk, he quirked his head and added, “Although, do you remember that TA I told you about who hated me? I learned something pretty interesting about him a few weeks ago.”

Chuckling, he straightened, crossing his arms in lingering disbelief. “Turns out Ralph and I are distant cousins. I ran into him after the practical and shared my discovery, but I don’t think he was as thrilled about the news as I was.” The very memory was almost too much, his shoulders quaking with silenced laughter as he replayed the sight of Ralph storming out of the post office in his mind. He still couldn’t believe he did it; seeking out chances to piss people off was so out of character for him, and yet despite the plummeting temperatures and outright hostility he’d been getting in Affinity Mastery ever since, his only regret was that he only had one chance per week to torment Ralph with the curse of sharing a drop of Starag blood.
[Scribe of Thoth] [Hero]

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  • Name: Radaam Esi
  • Age: 23
  • Race: Suryana
  • Appearance: At a height of 8’2”, Radaam towers above even other Suryana, the sheer size his of typically broad and muscular six-armed frame only emphasized by the deep, rich brown of his skin. Deep black hair tumbles from his head down to his chest, with pieces often braided or otherwise wound, framing a sharp jawline, straight nose, and sharp blue eyes so dark one could be forgiven for mistaking them as black.

    Being known (by those not scared away by their savage reputation) for their fine craftsmanship of textiles and jewelry, Radaam also follows the Suryana tradition of adornment; he can usually be found with an array of colourful beads or ribbons woven into his hair, and his neck, wrists and ankles usually bear some form of jewelry. His taste in clothing and accessories is simpler than most Suryana he knows, but he still rarely goes without something to decorate himself with.
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  • Personality: Though the constant stoic, unamused expression he wears might indicate the contrary, Radaam at heart is a kind and gentle soul, more apt to avoid confrontation than to seek it out. Quiet and a little shy, Radaam is happiest when he doesn’t need to do the talking; he’d much prefer to sit quietly and listen, or otherwise calmly reflect. To that end, he highly values serenity, playing the mediator more often than not in his continued efforts to keep the peace.

    As a devout follower of the Suryana’s reverence of fate, and can usually find peace in the idea that everything happens for a reason, and whatever happens to him is the will of fate. Unfortunately, though he tries to reconcile it, this faith rarely softens the blows of judgement from the ignorant. Though he’s gotten good at turning the other cheek and does his best to keep a thick skin, suspicious looks and whispers of the Suryana’s supposed “savagery” wound him; he tries to disprove them by example, going out of his way to be courteous in new places, but there are still times when the lies become too much and drive him away.
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  • History: If asked about his life, Radaam would say there isn’t much to tell. He had a simple, pleasant upbringing; his parents, a weaver and a woodcarver, loved him dearly and taught him the value of an honest day’s labour, and his little sister Zahra’s playful innocence and mischief taught him how to set a good example and appreciate the simple joys of life. The Suryana territories of Eastern Strahn were peaceful and the communities tight-knit, and Radaam developed a deep attachment to his people and heritage.

    While he was encouraged to try his hand at myriad different disciplines, Radaam never quite found his niche in any of them. Weaving was fun and engaging, but his fingers were clumsy; woodworking was well-respected, but he struggled to reign in his strength; cooking was tempting, but his palate simply wasn’t sensitive enough to tell between the good and the bad. In fact, the only skill he ever found considerable success in was the one that matched his demure personality the least: fighting.

    Combat in Suryani culture was not an outlet for aggression, but an amiable pastime, so far removed from sentiments of anger or hatred that disputes between Suryana would rarely, if ever, come to blows. Instead, fighting was a friendly engagement, not unlike a game of ball or cards in other cultures. Thus divorced from aggression, Radaam’s only qualm in his one special talent was that it wasn’t the most refined of endeavours; still, his natural endowments of height and strength made him ideally suited to all manner of brawling, armed and unarmed alike. Over time, the fighting ring became something of a second home to him, the one place where the typically withdrawn youth could really emerge - or indeed, explode - from his shell.

    His twentieth nameday brought with it the next stage of his journey, when he would be expected to undertake a traditional pilgrimage far from the forests of his birth. While the thought of leaving the familiar lands he’d grown up in intimidated him, expectations were high, and the goal of his journey too precious to ignore: on his travels, he would discover whether his fate would unfold in his homeland, or if destiny lead him elsewhere.

    There was no certain time his pilgrimage was to end, and so Radaam has spent the three years since wandering lands near and far in search of destiny, never settling too long in the same place. The new places and people fascinate him, but he longs for the day his wandering will finally come to an end; hopefully when it comes, he will have gained the wisdom to recognize it.
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  • Abilities/Skills:
    • Radaam excels in unarmed combat, especially proficient at grappling and groundplay. He is also skilled with a staff, though he does not tend to carry one on him.
    • Ever averse to conflict, Radaam makes a patient and diplomatic mediator, a skill that can be translated into negotiation should the need arise. While bartering with tough merchants or staving off a possible fight, his imposing stature also helps.
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  • Other: Nothing atm - will update

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Class prog:
Monk -> Mage -> Warlock -> Gremory

Spells:
Blizzard -> Freeze -> Fenrir -> Fimbulvetr

Uniform:
Long skirt, standard blouse w/ mild bishop sleeves (jacket omitted), short boots. In place of bodice on blouse is a dark sash wrapped around midsection (dark brown like pic?) tied in a loose floppy bow on front right.
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Family:
Duke Rodolph von Riegan - father
Tatiana von Riegan - mother
Delia von Riegan - sister
Charlotte & Dolores von Riegan - little sisters (age 6)
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Ben
Irina
Lilie



fontmeme fifth century caps size 30 light sky blue

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“The only thing that can define me is me! Now shut up and do something useful!”

“I am Euryphaessa, and naught escapes my sight!”



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joey thing ideas
name: Kyreth (maybe goes by Kyr/Kyrin?)
race: Tainted who tries and fails to pose as an elf
age: 18-19


Born in some city centre to some cheating bitch who got rid of him asap (possibly a bastard of some then-unmarried rich/noble woman?)

Grew up in orphanage until he was old enough to start working for food/lodging (~7) (has no surname)

Worked in various taverns/brothels/drug dens doing menial tasks (clearing dishes, other chores) for food, had some minor fire accidents, not understanding why

Also got roped into all sorts of untoward schemes because he was hungry and kids are great for staging thefts

Wasn't taught much about his heritage, just that Tainted are supposedly cursed demonic traitors and that a lot of the Tainted he grew up around seemed to embrace that stereotype

Kyreth wasn't cut out for that kind of life, he didn't want to take advantage of people, didn't like the cutthroat lifestyle, just wanted to make an honest living (but there's nobody honest in Urchin's Run or the Reprieve and honest folk outside of Buscon don't hire Tainted)

Eventually went to Straithmoor, struggled to find work but ended up with a steady setup doing odd jobs for a blind old lady who befriended him and introduced him to Selene

Taken by the first truly kind soul he'd ever really met and receptive to the message of deliverance for the downtrodden, the faith became a lifeline for him. The old lady gifted him a crude iron crescent that he treasures and keeps around his neck on a leather cord at all times.

Eventually causes another accident (setting the neighbour's thatch roof on fire?) and is run out of Straithmoor, now he has to find work elsewhere and he's heartbroken about having to leave his gentle old friend



Took a walk to the summit at night
To burn a hole in the old grip of the familiar
And the dark was opening wide
Do or die


TEST TEST








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“I don’t want any trouble.”


Male | 18 | 5’11” | 140lbs


Name
Kyreth

Appearance
Kyreth is fairly tall and slim, with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Classification
Primordial - Fire

Abnormality
Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Personality
Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

Bio
The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.


Likes
  • Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
  • Helping people when he can
  • Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
  • Fish, almost any way

Dislikes
  • Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
  • Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
  • Conflict
  • Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
  • Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits
  • Looking over his shoulder
  • Apologizing
  • Checking his belongings
  • Grabbing the back of his neck
  • Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
  • Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory
Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry:
  • A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
  • A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
  • An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
  • A sharpening stone
  • A large water skin
  • An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
  • A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other
  • Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
  • Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
  • Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.

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✦ Maya [surname]
✦ 22
✦ Female
✦ Faceclaim and/or physical description
✦ Weapon

✦ As opposed to a personality or bio section, I’m going to request that you do an in-character response to one of the following prompts:
✧ The way your character died (and thus entered Decibitus). Please be aware that all souls that enter Decibitus have significant personal reason(s) to not simply move through to the After.
✧ A brief excerpt of your character’s first job as a reaper or a job that impacted them significantly
✧ Your character has just been given the offer to become a reaper, what brought them to say “yes”?

✦ Magic Branch
✦ Magic
For the sake of balance, I’m going to give everyone pokemon syndrome and limiting initial spells to 4 per character to start with. Please note that these are specifically significant spells that can be used for combat or have a massive effect in setting. Spells for day-to-day living do not have this cap. Spells in this list should be within the same branch of magic–if you tell me your magic is elemental, I want your spells to be elemental.
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