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  #31  
Old Dec 6th, 2017, 12:50 PM
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Roland Jenseric
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Roland sat in the front of one of the longboats, now fully armed and armored, the links of his chainmail clinking and rustling as he pulls at the oars. When the murmurs started to erupt amongst the crew at the sight of the survivors, the knight-captain's brow rose slowly in surprise and he put his back more firmly into rowing in response. The idea of survivors amidst the devastation they'd endured thus far was almost overwhelming, not that it altered Roland's expression of stoic fortitude.

As the boats drew closer to the shipwreck looming on the beach, there seemed little point in advancing further with no announcements made. Standing at the bow of the boat, Roland projected his voice at a volume generally used for commanding across a battlefield towards the survivors. "Hail, the beach! Allies approaching, under command of Marquis Darrien Cassimar! Stand by for parley!"

His voice boomed out with force and authority, easily reaching Seth's group. As the boats approached further, Roland took a point position. He would be among the first to leap out onto the blood-red sands when they arrived, tall and imposing with the robes of the Sundered layered over his clinking chainmail and one hand resting lightly on the longsword at his left hip. Steely jade green eyes survey Seth's group, steady and evaluating - the gaze conveys none of the relief expected of finding survivors, instead projecting forceful caution. "Who commands here?" he asks, his tone more command than question.
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  #32  
Old Dec 7th, 2017, 03:46 PM
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Morning on the beach
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Reza disagreed with the decision to delay their return to the falls. Leaving the bulk of the colonists alone with no indication that they are intentionally delaying their return would leave imaginations to run wild. Even a few days could be enough to splinter factions along a decision to wait at the falls or to move out on foot. Reza decided that once again, Korvus would have to aid them. He removed his pen and ink from his pack and scrawled a brief message on a scrap of paper torn from the pages of his book.

Found Aspard ship. Investigating. Delaying return by a few days.

"Korvus, take this message to Elara at the falls. Bring back a message from her if she offers it, otherwise return to us at the shipwreck we found yesterday." He slipped the message into the necklace vial which had served them well so far, and set Korvus on his way. He watched the raven fly towards the inlet before turning to ready himself for another day of rowing.
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  #33  
Old Dec 8th, 2017, 02:43 PM
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Gemmell LokeyGemmell was conspicuously silent on the final strokes to shore. He had turned, as had the rest, at the first sighting and again as they got closer. He looked until he was able to identify a single person on shore. From then on, he put his back into rowing and watched the faces of those in his boat. The First Couple of the New World had quite different faces to match their varied reactions. All Darrien had hoped for was there on the beach. As was all that Vovia had feared. He closed his eyes and listened, feeling the boat jostle as people scrambled to be the first ashore. He heard someone ashore yell out in pure excitement. It was not the voice of finding a lost friend. It was the welcoming of a savior. They are shipwrecked too.

He heard, too, Sir Roland bark out his demand, planting his flag on this new shore. How does he not recognize the Cassimar brother? Their boat hissed ashore and he opened his eyes to the clamor of bodies. But his eyes from the start were locked on Vovia who had not yet moved. He caught her gaze and held it for a moment. There was no expression to him. As he stood and turned, though, a grin made its way over his face and remained there as he followed the rest off the boat by jumping gracefully over the side into the dry sand.

He watched the meeting unfold without a word.

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  #34  
Old Dec 9th, 2017, 09:19 AM
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Mid-Afternoon on the 18th of the Fading, the 95th Year of the 15th CenturyAs the first of the longboats were dragged ashore, with the crimson sand bleeding along those white hulls, the Lady Ocela watched those around her with silent caution. There was cause for celebration for some, evidenced by their large, almost laughable smiles that creased their cheeks and foreheads alike. Clearly, there was some recognition between the old Dartmoore crew and the newly discovered Lisburne survivors. But as one after another clamored out of the boats, following the Knight-Captain’s bellowing introduction, Vovia remained still, failing to hide her suspicion.

For within that crowd already gathered on the beach just ahead of them was Seth. Searching for her betrothed within the throng, Vovia watched from her seat as Darrien disembarked, slowly and steadily walking towards his brother. Even with some distance between herself and the Cassimar twins, both their similarities and differences were striking. While Darrien had the longer, golden hair of his father, Seth’s was darker, richer with tones of brown and mahogany, and cut far shorter and closer to his scalp. Seth was also paler, with his physique notably larger, his muscles more defined, particularly through his tailored leather armor. Though both brothers maintained their rough stubble along their lower cheeks, jaw, and neck, Seth had a number of additional lines and wrinkles, appearing perhaps a half decade older than Darrien.

As Darrien closed the gap between himself and Seth, Vovia watched the awkward, silent exchange. Darrien clearly advanced for an embrace, his arms elevated, and body pitched forward. Seth, however, was quick to bring up his own hands, holding his brother’s shoulders and preventing him from completing the hug. Though there was relief there, seen on the military commander’s face, Seth was anything but expressive with his emotions.

Taking in a lengthy breath, Vovia finally stood and stepped over the hull of the longboat and into the red sand. Stretching her back, she scanned her surroundings, watching as several anchored the longboats in place. Others ran from their place next to Darrien and to their stores on the boats, grabbing waterskins and ceramic jugs filled with their dwindling supply of water. Without speaking, the Lady of the Marsh watched as those containers of water were rushed to the Lisburne survivors, accepting such with relief and exhilaration.

It was within that swiftly moving crowd that Vovia spotted another watching her. Gemmell. Perhaps he had caught sight of her suspicion or perhaps there was genuine curiosity. Either way, Vovia stepped in, angling her path to eventually merge with Gemmell’s before they reached the Cassimar twins.

As the pair approached the ring of survivors forming around the twins, Vovia could hear Darrien introducing the knight-captain to his brother and continuing on down the line with others. As Darrien’s sight soon reached Vovia’s, she tilted her head to look at him directly, waiting to hear how he would introduce her.

“...and surely you remember Lady Vovia of House Ocela,” Darrien finally managed to get out. “And next to her, Master Lo-”

“Lady Ocela,” Seth said, interrupting his brother and the proceeding introduction of Gemmell. “I am… both shocked and relieved to see you alive.”

Vovia failed to flinch, even as her gaze settled on Seth’s. “The shock is mutual, Ser,” she replied flatly.

Taking two steps closer towards her, Seth left the immediate side of his brother, instead fixed on Vovia. “I am surprised you are not yet being introduced as Marchioness Vovia Cassimar, given that my brother has clearly had the time to already establish a colony, invoke the charter, and declare himself Marquis.” Though his statement was offered with a smile, there was little joy in his words.

Clasping her hands before her, Vovia continued to maintain her icy exterior. “The Marquis did not take or ask for the title, it was assigned to him.”

“Truly?” Seth asked as he turned now to look back at his brother, that same contradictory smile still evident. “Then, praytell milady,” he continued as he looked back to Vovia, “Who assigned it to him? You? The good knight-captain?” He asked with a lazy motion towards Roland.

“Lady-Sister Elara the Veiled,” Vovia stated crisply. A small measure of satisfaction became evident on her expression as she watched Seth’s own smile wither away, replaced with a cold grimace and clenched jaw. “We were in need of leadership. Someone had to make the final decisions.”

Seth took a step back from Vovia then, his gaze seeking out the now quiet ring of survivors around them. “So…” He began, turning to look at his brother. “You allowed father’s holy harlot to unlawfully grant you a title?”

Though Vovia herself was not surprised by Seth’s remarks, as her eyes swept the crowd around them, she knew others were not so lucky. The whispers began almost immediately, with clear looks of disapproval from many.

“Brother,” Darrien said in a pointedly calm tone. “As I said, let us speak in private,” he said as he motioned away from the crowd. “There is much to catch you up on. From there, we can decide our next step.”

Silence bloomed for several long moments, with Seth watching his brother carefully before finally nodding his head. Though there was some immediate relief that came with the decision, Darrien still appeared to be anything but relaxed. Together, the two stepped away, the crowd parting for them reflexively.

Briefly, Vovia looked to Gemmell, as if preparing to say something. Yet, she held her tongue, and instead shifted her focus to the shipwreck ahead of them. “What have you found here so far?” She asked generally, looking to several of the newer faces surrounding them. As silence continued to hang on the air, with no one voice rising up to answer her, she looked pointedly at the nearest newcomer. “You, what is your name?”

“Willard Frisck, milady,” the man offered, his nerves briefly shaking his voice.

“Master Frisck,” Vovia repeated. “Tell me, what have you found in the wreck so far?”

He shook his head then, holding up his palms. “Not very much, I’m afraid, milady. We’re not even sure which ship this is. Any part of the hull where her name would have been etched has been removed entirely.”

“Any supplies?” She asked.

“No, milady,” Willard offered. “Even the sails are gone.”

Taking several steps towards the wreck, Vovia continued her line of questioning. “Any idea how she wrecked?”

“There doesn’t appear to be any damage to the hull,” Willard said, clumsily falling into place at the Lady’s side. “We haven’t had much time to truly investigate. But I’d wager that the captain purposefully ran her aground and beached her.”

“Bodies? Skeletons?” Vovia asked.

“None of the surface,” he said. Lifting a hand, he pointed towards the ship. “Behind her, there is a graveyard. Twenty-three individual graves. It looks like they attempted to mark the names of the fallen, but we can’t make them out anymore.”

Stopping just a few feet short of the wreckage, Vovia stared up at the exposed hull, studying the broken masts. “Anything else you have found?”

“There is a trail, milady,” Willard offered, immediately capturing the Lady’s attention once more as she looked to him. “Behind the wreck and graveyard. It is rather steep, but appears to ascend the cliff and go further inland. The Quintenant sent several scouts, but they returned after a pair of hours, reporting that the trail appears to just continue on with no clear end.”



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  #35  
Old Dec 9th, 2017, 10:21 PM
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Linus Lapointe 24: Among the Dead
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Many on the Dartmoore survivors were silent as they rowed, and Sir Linus Lapointe was no exception. The man rowed at a constant pace, evidently not willing to rest or slow. His eyes stayed fixated on the shoreline ahead taking in every detail, from the damaged ship to the crimson sands he'd become so accustomed to seeing. Even Allard held his tongue, not prodding at or joking with his friend during the boat ride. They both knew what was at stake when the boats landed.

Roland's voice echoed out across the water when they had been deemed near enough. The naturalist was one of the first off the boats, no longer showing the calculated caution that he regularly possessed in such situations. They're allies, clearly. If not, they will burn. As the separated crews began to mingle and the Cassimar brothers started their discussion, Linus was making his way around the ship. He knew were they would be found, the objects that he had so dedicated his focus unto. Linus... The serpent began, but was unable to finish the words. There was nothing to say, and they had arrived.

Linus gazed out at the structures. Stacked stones marked nearly two dozen graves, almost certainly among the first of the lives claimed by this dark, new world. The crimson sands seemed intent on claiming whatever life they could, their hostility boundless, and their bloodlust insatiable. But what she among them? To the others, the scene was almost certain to seem surreal, a man in dark hooded robes stepping slowly through a graveyard and rubbing his hand along the tombstones. The etchings were faint -- too faint to read, even though his eyes desperately tried to learn the secrets that had been sandblasted away by over a year of aggressive weathering.

There were no marking aside from the etchings. No way of telling who had been buried there. Only exhumation could reveal who had been buried here, and Linus knew enough to know that such an attempt would be foolish. They were close enough to the waterline that the water-table underground would have reduced the corpses t bloated, festering monstrosities at best. What about the salt Linus? The naturalist hadn't considered that. Could the salt in the water have protected the corpses from rotting? Unlikely. But it's our best chance to find out. After a few moments more, he left the graveyard, head held higher than it had been and with purpose restored to his step. It might not be today, with all these people watching... but he would find out who was buried there, even if it involved digging himself.

When he returned, the situation was tense. Words were being exchanged between Lord Darrien Cassimar and someone else. Judging from the tone, it had to be one who outranked Darrien. Seth, perhaps? He'd expected the brothers to reunite with joy and relief, not veiled threats and aggression. Now was not the time for words, now was the time for ears. Linus listened to the exchange, and observed the faces of everyone involved. Master Lokey, Sir Roland, The Lady Ocela, At'thania, and even the foreigner Reza would be scrutinized by the naturalist. He'd missed the bulk of the conversation, and needed to figure out what was happening in case the already high tensions worsened.
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  #36  
Old Dec 10th, 2017, 12:18 PM
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”Survivors of the Northern Inlet”
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The sun fell from the zenith as the rowers continued, At’thania among them, toward the shipwreck beyond the northern inlet. The sand had a way of devouring the sunlight in its blood-like hue, and the high cliffs around the Dartmoore’s longboat-sailing survivors cast relieving shadows over parts too far to reach. However far down the sun went, its heat remained ever-oppressive.

Some of the rowers surveyed their hands. They complained of blisters caused by the rough, unfinished wood. At’thania’s own hands were hard and prickly — shelled within callouses grown through years handling a stretch of hickory worn smooth only by the pads of her fingers. And to say that the bow’s string, comprising dried elk ligament, was any softer would be similar to claiming that a week old kill would be safer to eat than a month old one. Instead of gazing in self-pity at her hands, the tribeswoman’s eyes were scanning across the beach.

The movement of ant-like silhouettes grew into rodent-sized simulacrums of people. Not tribes-people — thankfully — but what looked to be a mass of Archarians. As the longboats edged into the beach and cut shallow valleys into the soft sand, Cassimar stood and departed toward a man that bore to him a familial resemblance. This man was older, with darker hair, and notably stronger in appearance. However, these things were small, like the distinction between the alpha in a pack of wolves from its closest rival — the Cassimar that At’thania had been acquainted with, being the challenger. He had been concerned with the identification of the ship... Was this the reason?

Further discussion and the juggling of terms that the Chulurkin had hardly any chance of understanding brought an off-putting nausea into her stomach. There were more of them now — the Archarians. And more Archarians surely meant that her own situation would become more volatile. Aboard the Dartmoore were clusters of those unallied with that confusing country: the mast-feller and his kind, the other tribal lost at sea, Reza and his raven, even Linus to an extent. Had the Archarians acted in past-seeded ill-will toward her, she was confident that the others might have acted in her defense — if for no other reason than to protect their own interests. Here however, both her own liberties as well as those of the other non-Archarians was put at great risk. How long until she was made a slave by the “mob”?

At’thania’s uneasy concentration on the new cluster of survivors was stolen away by Linus as he put the tips of his fingers against the cold mounds of stones in the graveyard. He wanted to know something. Something that those stones could no longer tell him. The tribeswoman was indeed knowledgeable of the man’s plight; but she could offer him nothing if he did find what he was looking for. She held her hopes against this.

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Magwalbi’s tail thudded against the gunwale. He wanted to leap onto the stillness of land, but awaited his master’s direction. The braids down his stomach splayed across the splintering wood, his mouth hung agape, his tongue flopped out the side, and his black dog lips dripped globules of foamy saliva into the surf. At’thania put a hand on the back of his neck and scratched him passively as she continued to watch Linus.

The naturalist eventually departed from the field of mourning with an unexpected confidence. He stole a glance her way before joining Cassimar and his relative. The tribeswoman took this as her queue to move, rising carefully with her sapling-crutch wiggling against the hard wood of the boat’s hull. With no shortness of difficulty, she hoisted herself into a seated position on the gunwale and heaved off onto the beach, sure to keep her broken leg elevated from the sand. No matter the precaution, the pain that shot through her ankle could not be stopped, and she yelped before biting her tongue. This sent Magwalbi jumping from the boat down onto the sand with his ears up and a growl on his breath. He circled the Chulurkin as she wobbled on her one leg with her face pinched in an agonized wince. The dog’s nostrils flared in quick puffs as he searched for the threat. Not good.

”Magwalbi na— gnotou!” At’thania forced through clenched teeth. The dog would not have it, and continued his fierce pacing. ”At’thi na t-tokat to dokani kra!” So be it. At’thania couldn’t reach the hound to swat at his ears and merely pushed forward onto the beach.


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Last edited by FernStepper; Dec 10th, 2017 at 12:27 PM. Reason: Forgot to add translation notes...
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  #37  
Old Dec 10th, 2017, 07:29 PM
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Lady Vovia Ocela
Late-Afternoon on the 18th of the Fading, the 95th Year of the 15th Century

In a mix of both caution and suspicion, Vovia’s stark eyes scanned the circle of mortals that had formed at the request of the Cassimar twins. Most of them were familiar by now -- Gemmell and Roland in particular, as well as the pompous Linus. The Churlurkin, At’thania, was still being invited as well, her survival expertise clearly being seen as invaluable by Darrien. The black-clad Reza, while absent of his pet bird, continued to be summoned as well, something that quietly intrigued Vovia. But the most surprising of all was the mute Aendal. Just why did Darrien continue to bring him to these? He contributed nothing, said nothing, offered nothing. Was there private counsel happening separately between the two?

Failing to reveal her frustration with that mental question, Vovia’s eyes went to the newcomers. A she-elf, one who held a stance fit for a commanding officer and equipment to go with it. Saoirse, if Vovia recalled the introduction correctly. There was another she-elf, this one, dressed for exploration and mobility. Lilain. That name she remembered easily enough. Then there was the curious half-elf who had failed to introduce himself, yet nonetheless was deemed important enough by Seth to be present. Curious, Vovia thought to herself, wondering if there was a reason Seth trusted in the counsel of elves more so than his fellow men. The fact that he asked for women to be there at all was already a surprise.

“I appreciate you all gathering here,” Seth began as he stepped into the circle, slowly turning so that he appeared to be addressing all of them. “My brother tells me he has relied on most of you here for his counsel thus far, as I have on these three,” he said with a motion towards the three new faces.

Vovia’s eyes shifted from the newcomers to Seth, watching him in quiet, concealed contempt.

“This New World has offered neither our group nor yours a warm welcome,” he continued. “And it has only been through our collective efforts that we have managed to survive at all. I have no intention of leading this expedition on my own, just as Darrien had no such intention. So, I would hear your voices, your thoughts, your insight before proceeding forward.” Seth motioned back towards the larger group of sailors, soldiers, and commoners that were mostly taking refuge from the sun within the ship’s corpse. “There are too many of us here to rely entirely on our dwindling supplies. Now, the most obvious and safest course of action would be to return to the cascade encampment the Dartmoore survivors have already established.”

He paused then, lowering his outstretched arm. “The problem is, there are clear signs of life on this beach, and that cliff trail has been recently used, most likely from whomever survived this wreck,” he suggested as he pointed then to the caravel. “Though I cannot completely eliminate the possibility of curious natives, all signs seem to point to these being Archarians. Thus, as fellow countrymen, not only do we have a moral responsibility to seek them out, but it is the most pragmatic course of action. These men have survived here for more than a year, which means access to fresh water and a reliable food source. We know these lands can get cold, so they must have found or even built suitable shelter.”

Seth paused again, his focus shifting from one face to another before continuing. “My intention is to follow this trail and seek out these lost Archarians. My brother will return to the cascades camp with the majority of the longboats, our people, and our supplies. One longboat will remain here, while I and a handful of others, go deeper into these mountains. Astraga, Saoirse, and Greenwell will come with me,” he stated with clear authority as he looked to each of them.

“Knight-Captain,” came the voice of Darrien, who had thus far been quiet. “It is my wish that you also go with my brother,” he said as he looked to Roland. “I know your duty is to your knights and the people, but it is not clear what dangers my brother may face above those cliffs. It would make me feel infinitely more comfortable if you were with him.”

Vovia watched the exchange between Darrien and Roland, her chin lifting up in slight suspicion. Darrien was a good, practiced liar. He would likely convince most of everyone here that he was telling the truth.

“I will also have you,” Seth continued as he pointed to Gemmell, failing to provide Roland much of an opportunity to reply. “And you,” he said again as he then pointed at Linus. “Join my group.”

Vovia narrowed her eyes, watching as Darrien took a brief step forward.

“Seth, that is not what we agreed--” He began.

“My soldiers will return to the camp with you,” Seth interrupted as he looked to his brother. “I need them replaced. Your men have an edge my soldiers do not. It is what I need. Besides, is it not you that explained it was these two that found the wreckage to begin with?”

Darrien’s shoulders slumped faintly. “They did, along with At’thania.”

“Right,” Seth said as he turned to look to the barbarian woman. “You will accompany us as well.”

“She is injured, Seth,” Darrien replied quickly, only to be waved off by his brother.

“She is Churlurkin,” Seth said quickly. “I’ll probably be the one struggling to keep pace with her. And if anything, I can carry her,” he stated with a half-smile. “Besides, her hound will be invaluable on this excursion.”

Vovia refrained from rolling her eyes at Seth’s hollow compliment. The man was charming to strangers exclusively.

“And you,” Seth continued, his focus now settling squarely on Reza. “I would have you and your bird join us. Darrien tells me that your group would have likely perished without your talents and… heretical, but incredibly valuable connection to that bird. Your magic could help us alleviate some of the disadvantage we are at in this foreign land.”

Curious, Vovia once more looked back to Darrien, watching as the aristocrat lowered his gaze, his jaw locked and tightened. Did he honestly think Seth would share the burden of command with him? She subtly shook her head.

“I also want your diviner,” Seth stated.

Vovia’s eyes snapped back to Seth then, her brow furrowing slightly. Aendal? The boy was not a scout. He could hardly walk properly without startling himself with his own shadow, and yet Seth, a military commander, wanted him on a scouting mission? Looking then to Darrien, Vovia watched as the younger Cassimar grew increasingly distraught.

“No. Aendal will remain with me,” Darrien cleanly stated.

Slowly, Seth turned to face his brother, one eyebrow raised at the foreign sound of refusal. “It wasn’t a question, Darrien,” he replied, his tone low and words pointedly enunciated. “I am walking into uncharted and unknown territory in a land that seems to have developed rather creative ways to kill us. Now, those stranded Archarians are our best chance for long term survival, but I can only guess what stands between us and them. Having someone like your diviner, with those abilities you claim he has, could grant us the edge we need against this hellish world.” Seth paused then, having nearly closed the gap between himself and his twin at that point. “Besides, what would you do with him at camp? Braid one another’s hair?”

“I do believe that Marquis Darrien Cassimar has the final word here, Ser,” Vovia said, finally interjecting. With quiet pleasure, she watched as Seth turned slowly to look at her, the effect of her words clearly displayed upon his expression.

“I am relinquishing the title,” Darrien said quietly after a moment, causing Vovia to look at him with sudden and sharp disapproval. “Seth has seniority and thus, is in command of this expedition.”

“But, Darrien--” Vovia began.

“We do not have the time, Lady Ocela,” Darrien stated immediately, cutting her off from voicing her disapproval. “The charter was never officially evoked, thus, the title of Marquis cannot be mine lawfully. Seth is your commander.”

Broadening her shoulders, Vovia flashed her gaze to Seth then, watching him for a silent few moments before speaking. “Fine. So do tell me, Commander. What are your plans for me?”

Her question prompted a smile from the darker-haired Cassimar, who took several steps towards Vovia. “I would be a fool to try and command you, Lady Ocela. You decide.” His gaze lingered on Vovia’s for a moment longer before looking back to Darrien. “But the diviner comes with me.”

Vovia looked to Darrien then, watching as he deeply inhaled, causing his shoulders to rise and then fall. He then shifted his own gaze to Aendal, to whom he offered a silent apology. “As you wish.”

“There we have it then,” Seth said, his tone mocking a merriment that was so clearly fictional. “We will all remain here for the night. Darrien and his group will leave at dawn, as will my group. Supplies will be divided up so that my group will have at least two additional days worth of water and food. Questions, thoughts, objections?” Seth asked, looking around at the others, finally providing them a space to speak, despite how his tone suggested they do anything but offer up their voices.



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Last edited by Cipher; Dec 10th, 2017 at 07:30 PM.
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Old Dec 10th, 2017, 08:45 PM
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Returning to the LisburneDamien had followed Seth up onto the decks of the ship as Jacob tied the Raven off. The young Paladin's eyes widened, and he staggered backwards in horror as he saw the sailors hanging in the rigging of the ship like some cursed fruit.

"Milord..." The words barely scrape out of his throat as he stares upwards. Three days. It had been three days, and now everyone was dead, it seemed too swift, too total for such a short period of time. The weight of the knowledge is crushing, the uncertainty - maybe if he had stayed behind, he could have stopped this disease in its spread, or maybe he would have only sentenced those who he had brought to this land of horrors to their deaths as well - the uncertainty was worse. He staggered backwards, nearly tripping on one of the corpses on the deck - he hadn't even realised that more of the dead lay scattered around his feet.

"Damien!" Jacob has reached the top of the ladder, but hasn't stepped onto the boat, and his voice cracks like a whip as he draws the young Paladin's attention back to the present. The Half-elf's eyes are hard and his expression callous as he regards the corpses, but his cheeks are pale with fear. Seth is issuing orders - to jump, to cleanse the taint of the boat from their skin and lungs before it can infect them as well, and Damien follows, his heavy chainmail dragging him down until an oar is thrust into his face, and he sees Jacob, back in the boat, trying to fish him out.

"There is nothing to be done here." He says flatly.


Jacob Astraga hung back as he watched the Cassimars sceptically. It seemed unlikely that all three ships had made it to shore largely intact, and honestly, unless the crew of the Dartmore had made far better progress than that of the Lisburne, it seemed even more unlikely that this reunion would offer anything more than company as they all starved to death. The half-elf’s wood craft was not comprehensive, but it was competent – and it seemed that every single potentially edible object in this barren wasteland was determined to be toxic, indigestible or otherwise inedible. Even Damien's knack - and irrepressible enthusiasm - for cooking had failed to make any headway against the relentless hostility of the environment.

The paladin is at his side, even Damien's good cheer flagging in the face of such circumstances, although he had mustered a tired smile at the reunion of the Cassimar brothers. Jacob was trying very hard not to be angry at his friend - after all, Damien hadn't forced him to come, had even suggested he stay home. Arrayed behind the two was the contribution of House Chevelyan to the voyage - Lucy, Damien's sixteen year old niece, nominally his squire, despite her parent's objections; Walter, an aging tutor who had no business being on any frontier, much less this one, except for his abiding affection for his former student, and Charlie, who took care of Damien's horse - or at least had, until they'd slaughtered the poor creature, rather than let it consume their meagre supplies. Now all that was left of the animal - one which Damien had loved more than either of his elder brothers, and nearly as much as Jacob himself - was a few strips of jerky, and the horseshoe Damien had retrieved and tucked away in his pack.

"Let's go meet our new allies." Jacob said quietly, nudging Damien. "After all, we're not dead yet, maybe they have ideas for how to stay that way." Although he tries, Jacob doesn't manage to inject much hope into the words.

The MeetingHonestly, Jacob found himself slightly discomfited that Seth so blatantly preferred his council over Damien's - although, as much as he cared for the Paladin, he couldn't exactly fault Lord Cassimar's judgement in the subject. He doesn't speak as the senior Cassimar twin lays out his plans. The one point where Jacob does react during Seth's speech is when he points to Reza, although, rather than reacting to the ashen skin that he knows enough to recognise as the mark of a Fallen Aasimar, his focus is on the bird on his shoulder. One of Jacob's treasures is a spellbook - a tome he found in his journey south, following a secret he heard on an errant breeze, and a tavern rumour. The dense, ritualistic formulae are incredibly complicated, particularly when he tries to reconcile them with his own, intuitive magics, but he has made some slight progress. One spell, he has deciphered enough to use - a useful little ward that would sound an alarm if anyone entered the warded area - and another, he was fairly sure he had nearly unravelled. It was the one that he was most eager to learn, at least of those which were simple enough for him to have a basic understanding of their purpose - because it summoned a small creature, or possibly a fey spirit in the shape of a creature - which he could use for any number of purposes - in recent days, his studies had taken on a new urgency. After all, there was food to be found here, it just wasn't anything they could safely consume. Damien's god-granted magic would have been a solution to that, except that they had yet to find any suitable creatures they might sacrifice, and Jacob was hoping that the familiar summoned by the ritual in his book would suffice. Since it seemed more than likely that Reza's bird was such a creature - although maybe of a different origin, given Lord Cassimar's distaste - Jacob was hoping that studying it would help him understand the last few details of the spell.

Despite his musings, Jacob was still paying attention to Seth's words, and he relaxed slightly as the darker-haired lord finished his list of companions. At least Damien would be safe... marginally less likely to die quiet so soon... and he would be of benefit to the colony - even the nascent powers of an inexperienced paladin could be of great worth. And it would probably be beneficial to soothe some of the feathers that Seth has so callously ruffled.

"My Lord, Lady Vovia, if you wish, I could introduce you properly to Ser Damien Chevelyan, who will be returning to the settlement with you? I am not certain if the two of you have ever met, although I imagine you might know his brothers, Oliver and MarkusBecause Chevelyan is a vassal house to Cassimar*. He is a knight sword to the crown, and while he may not be as experienced as Ser Roland, I am sure he will be a credit to the colony." And Damien could make friends wit ha rock. Jacob's words are smooth and friendly as he greets the two deposed rulers of the new colony, his bow just a fraction deeper than might have been strictly necessary, offering them the respect that Seth Cassimar had so blatantly ignored. "It seems, that if you have any settlement at all, you have managed more than the Lisburne so far, could you tell me something about what you have found to be edible so far in this land?"


 

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Old Dec 11th, 2017, 10:13 AM
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Roland watched the meeting between the Cassimar brothers with arms folded and a slight frown pulling at his brow. In many ways, Seth was the leader Roland would have hoped for from the beginning - widely respected, proven military record, and none of the self-doubt that seemed to plague Darrien. But something about the power dynamic being demonstrated here disturbed him. There was obvious tension between the brothers as well as between Seth and Vovia, and that didn't bode well for Elara's reaction either.

The fact that Seth prioritized seizing leadership from his brother immediately meant that leadership itself was his highest priority. This in turn meant that if there was any resistance to his ascendance, he would waste energy and possibly lives quelling the dissent. For all his decisiveness, if Seth possessed ambition too much in excess he could still be the death of them all.

His record earns him the right to try and lead at least. Should he threaten to bring chaos, he will find that I do not bend quite so easily.

When Roland was instructed to accompany Seth, he had just opened his mouth to reply when the elder Cassimar barreled past him and continued with his orders. The knight-captain raised a brow fractionally at Seth, a momentary tightening around his mouth and a hint of ice touching his eyes, but allowed the moment to pass. When a break in the conversation did present himself, he inclines his head to Darrien. "Knight-Lieutenant Serana is more than capable of ordering the knights and protecting the camp in my absence. I ask that you bring what arms and armor we recovered back to the camp, however, so they can be outfitted."

Roland turns back to Seth, then, fixing the elder Cassimar with an inscrutable jade gaze. "Under the Code, then, you have command. May you prove worthy."
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Old Dec 11th, 2017, 10:22 AM
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In a minute there is time. For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.Gemmell was rubbing his palms with the bloody sand to relieve the itchiness from his blisters when Seth pointed at him. He continued to roll the soft round grains over them as he offered a faint non-committal smile and a slight bow of his head in acknowledgement.

He listened as the new Cassimar plucked arrow after arrow from Darrien's quiver until there were none left. His approach was crude but effective. The final cruel machination was to leave Vovia to choose between asserting herself as her own woman capable of command, leaving her betrothed beaten and alone or giving Darrien the smallest modicum of respect his brother seemed intent on denying him by following him back to the hearth and seal her fate. He almost gave Seth grudging respect if the whole thing didn't seem to come from some childish grudge.

He waited as the final insult was made, taking Darrien's only friend away, before speaking. He wasn't the first to, though, and he waited as Seth's attendant tried to soothe things over. Not bad, but let's see how the bully responds to resistance.

"My Lord Cassimar, he began. I am pleased to find our fellow Archarian's alive and well. I'm sorry to hear the fate of the Lisburne but at least it gives us hope that the Audacious still sails. I have no questions and I have no objections." He let the sand fall from his hands and dusted the remaining grains from them. The stain of blood remained there matching the cloak around his shoulders. "However, I must insist on two more joining us on this trek."

Gemmell cast his eyes back at the people of the Dartmoore. His eyes lingered briefly on Janilan and Han but did not stay on them. He turned back to look in Seth's eyes. "The Lady Ocela must join us." He looked back at her. "Though you are free to do as you wish as Lord Seth rightfully said, your courage and calm, steady leadership will see us through to success. And I would not feel confident of that without you." He faced Seth again and paused to read his reaction. No doubt he was tickled with the suggestion. It played right into his plan. "She is also the only one to find food in this hostile land. So her resourcefulness should not be underestimated. Fish," he concluded glancing briefly at Jacob.

It would take the others to see this through and he wondered if they would support him. Roland, Linus, At'thania, Reza. They had all had their disagreements in the past, but that was before. He wondered if they saw what effects the decisions here would be for them all. Aendal, of course, would only watch and accept what was done to him.

"And the other," he blinked once, "is Lord Darrien." Gemmell that that linger for a breath and enjoyed the brief darkness that fell over Seth's face though his own face remained unchanged. "There are many reasons." Let's head off the first argument before it can be voiced. "You have chosen the entire strength of both ships to join you and it only makes sense to keep our two Lords Cassimar together in the safest place in this New World. I dare say there is more danger from the ocean on the way back south than there will be here among such capable warriors.

What decisions must be made will be made here."
He pointed at the trail. "Whether this is conquest or rescue, the fate of our new colony lies that way. I have heard tales of your valor, Lord Seth, but our Lord Darrien will be the one to settle this land. He was chosen by your father to do that very thing. He will need to lay his own eyes on the land ahead to determine which place best to settle. The harlot tends camp. It would be a waste of talent to send him back there.

But you, yourself, have made the strongest argument."
He smiled. "You are taking the Diviner. He is useless without his mouthpiece. Aendal speaks only to the Prefecti. Surely you know that. There is no reason to laden your back with arrows if there is no bow with which to use them."

He glanced back at his fellows and nodded at them before turning back to Seth. "I'm afraid I must insist. Until the colony is founded...and we have established it is not...we are still bound to the leadership of our respective ships. I will follow you into battle willingly Lord Seth such as I am able. But Lord Darrien is my leader and I go where he commands and where he leads." Words. Gemmell had many of them. But it would be those of Darrien and the others assembled that would determine if any of them had bite. He turned his shoulder if not his back on Seth and looked to Darrien, bowing his head. Perhaps more deeply than he had moments earlier.

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Old Dec 11th, 2017, 10:51 AM
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Roland turns his eyes to Gemmell as the Veiled agent makes his play, moderating his curiosity to a simple raised brow. I was wondering when Master Lokey would start his prodding. Best make use of it, though.

The knight-captain shrugs before weighing in behind Gemmell in a tone of disinterested professionalism. "Our camp is well governed by Lady-Sister Elara and my own knight-lieutenant; no one here is truly needed there for the time being, not until we can direct them towards food. Lord Darrien does have the only working relationship with the diviner, and Lady Vovia's talents both in combat and survival are best used on the proverbial front lines."

Roland makes no comment for or against Gemmell's overt declaration of loyalty to Darrien, simply letting it stand. He would only support the man's schemes so far, and he had no interest in dividing the leadership when neither candidate had truly proven themselves capable or incapable yet.

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Old Dec 11th, 2017, 01:09 PM
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As they arrived on the shore past the second inlet, Reza let his eyes scan the horizon. Everything looked the same here as it did to the south. Desolate blood red sands, ocean, cliffs. The beached ship was the only notable change in scenery, as were the new survivors.

One by one the survivors of the Dartmoore disembarked from their longboats and congregated with the survivors of the Lisburne. Reza saw little need to tend to their gathering, and followed Linus to investigate the graves. The servant of the raven queen knelt beside the headstones which already showed signs of wear and silently uttered prayers he believed were being unheard.

May the mistress of the night watch over the fallen. May they pass through the mists between the worlds safely. May they be at peace.

He wondered if they had been given the proper rites, or if they had simply been buried in shallow graves. So many questions for which the grave markers yielded no answers. He brushed his hands over one of the headstones. The crude etching in the stone was shallow to begin with and had faded despite being no more than a year old. He could barely make out the name. P. J. Griffths. She was one of the first to have reached this new world and must have lived an extraordinary life to have earned such an accomplishment.

He remained, knelt beside the graves, for some time after Linus had moved on. Reza knew better than most that death was a certain eventuality for all, but he still felt the weight of the dead. Caelyn...



Apparently, the Cassimars are a group of survivors. The twins each having survived the voyage, only to be reunited by the grave markers of those who had come before, leaving behind a trail of bodies of those who had come with them. The grey man stood, leaning on his wooden staff as the elder Cassimar disarmed his sibling of his command. Reza felt no loss or pity. Darrien was not a born leader, likely a consequence of being the youngest of his noble family. Reza listened to Seth's plan to divide and conquer the survivors in order to give the roots of his command the time to take a deep hold. Reza saw it for what it was, a simple play to establish power. However, Reza also saw the necessity of Seth's command. This world was proving far more difficult than the colonists had anticipated, and their original number of colonists of over three hundred was down to just a few dozen, with no clear location established to actually settle.

As Seth requested Reza's accompaniment, Reza simply nodded. He ignored the comment about heresy, knowing that it was simply another of the man's power grabs. Push down those you find a threat, separate them from the masses in any way possible, to deprive them of their opportunity to unite a resistance to your control. Reza had no intention of usurping the Cassimars, but neither did he have any intention of being ruled by a tyrant. For now, though, they needed the strong and decisive leadership.

Roland and Gemmell felt compelled to maneuver for small victories to keep Darrien in a seat of some power. Reza understood Gemmell's reasoning, but Roland's surprised him. The knight seemed to have shown little love for Darrien's leadership, but perhaps he feared that Seth would wrestle command of the knights away from Roland as he was currently wrestling command of the colony away from Darrien. Reza simply watched, having no desire to play at politics. He had been sent to this world for reasons which neither of the brother's command would impact.
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  #43  
Old Dec 12th, 2017, 01:46 AM
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Seth Cassimar's systematic dismantling of his brother's authority was difficult to watch, even for those that firmly supported the elder Cassimar. All the same, Quintenant Saoirse de Riagáin gave no indication of the discomfort she felt at seeing Darrien stripped of his title and his command. She simply responded to Seth with the briefest of ayes and nos.

"Saoirse will come with me," he had said. "Aye, Ser," Saoirse responded.

"Questions, thoughts, objections?" he had asked. "No, Ser," Saoirse responded.

She could forgive the others if they dismissed her as a mindless drone, following orders without so much as a thought. Truthfully, the elf was content to be underestimated by her peers. As they squabbled over who was to go where, Saoirse half-listened, taking advantage of the opportunity to size up her would-be companions. The talker talked; there was always a talker. But what surprised the Quintenant was the Knight-Captain--Ser Roland, was it?--who was surprisingly outspoken for a man of the sword. The Sundered were hardly men of ill repute, but still, they were essentially zealous mercenaries; if anyone ought to be mindlessly following orders, it was him.

The others drew her interest as well, particularly the stout primitive-looking woman. Saoirse recognized her almost instantly as a Chulurkin tribeswoman, and her gaze lingered on At'thania longer than on any of the others. Having no desire to be caught staring, de Riagáin returned her attention to the present discussion. She was only mildly interested in the outcome; Darrien belonged back at the Dartmoore encampment, for the commonfolk would need a man of noble birth to lead them, but ultimately, Saoirse merely wanted to get moving.

Maintaining the upright posture of both an officer and a noblewoman, Saoirse adjusted the cuffs of her leather gloves impatiently.



 
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Old Dec 12th, 2017, 04:58 AM
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Discovering one of Aspard's ships had been a strange experience. It was one thing to hear rumors, but quite another for some of them to be true. It was because of those same rumors that Aendal did not go poking his nose into the timbers, the cargo, or the graves. After this long, what could there possibly be to learn? Plus, the most he could have said with relative certainty was how long any of the crew would have survived, if any had. This sort of study would have resulted in hypotheses at most. Certainty about the past... Even after ten years, he still had made no progress on it. Aendal shook his head and forced that dangerous subject out of his head, not for the first time, his mouth twitching slightly. As usual, he had spent most of the trip in the boat in relative silence, even with blisters forming and bursting from helping to row (albeit poorly). Dan never complained about what they were required to do. Never.

Further rumination was put on hold with the Knight-Captain's voice attracting the attention of everything within two miles. The suddenness of the yelling made the diviner jolt to the point he stares at Roland for the space of two seconds before his eyes catch up with everyone else's.

The rest seemed to happen like a story presented by mummers. Aendal was more than content to let this whole matter act itself out in front of him, letting everyone push by or cluster close. A part of him was rather shocked with the way Seth Cassimar comported himself, even to his own brother, to the point the diviner's lips part before he catches himself and returns to a neutral expression save for his slightly wider eyes. Another part was relieved that Master Ihvan had been the one to take care of being the liaison. Aendal wanted as much to do with Seth Cassimar as he did... some of the others here. He did, however, turn an ear toward Lady Vovia's interrogation of Master Frisck, who confirmed at least one theory: the ship had very little to say after so long.

Beyond mutely aiding in doling out water to the Lisburne's survivors, his eyes remained fixed upon the Cassimar siblings speaking, a tiny frown set on his lips and thoughts of lost research going through his mind.

Lady Vovia was not the only one wondering why Aendal was brought up to listen to what was going to open. His brows knit together from the start, but any confusion or bewilderment rapidly evaporated when his name came up indirectly. There, his head whipped up to start volleying his attention from Seth, to Darrien, eyes bouncing between the two as they exchanged verbal blows.

And his face was turning redder every second.

By the time that Seth Cassimar and especially Gemmell Lokey had finished speaking about him as if he weren't there, Aendal's face had transmuted into a considerable shade of crimson. It wasn't anger that was the predominant reason, but utter embarassment over what had not been said aloud. He had (details forthcoming from Google Docs)opened his mouth one night to say he'd partly solved two particular problems their expedition faced, and it wasn't even two days before everyone knew the source of it. The ink was still wet when the letter was read, so the saying went, which was why he did his best to surreptitiously hide behind Vovia Ocela as if she were the best choice for impeding everyone's line of sight to him. Futile as it was, he still harbored some hope that everyone wouldn't accost him over the why of it. He saw no way how to avoid it when the sun reached the horizon; Aendal was quite sure just what Seth Cassimar would demand, and for who, from "the diviner", and without his mouthpiece present. He even had a guess on how it would happen. Just thinking on the possibilities somehow made his face feel even hotter.

If that wasn't bad enough, there was also that disturbing matter that Master Lokey had mentioned in the first place, one that had implications that made Aendal glad the Veil Priestess was not present... even if in some ways she still was. He tried not to glance sideways at Gemmell and promptly failed. Those comments of his had cultivated questions as voracious as weeds, questions that had consumed most of Aendal's focus the entire time coming from the Cascade and after the salvaging. Was that what had happened to him, the day that the Dartmoore had struck the reef? Aendal could vaguely remember being told he'd had quite the nightmare, but try as he might he couldn't really remember the contents of it, only waking up with Master Ihvan's hand on his chest, and Aendal covered in sweat.

He found himself rubbing at his right palm and forced his fingers back to a rigid interlocking motion, taking deep breaths and failing to banish that very physical feeling of mortification.

At least he wouldn't need to worry about being cold anymore.
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Old Dec 12th, 2017, 09:53 PM
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The reunion of the two crews was tepid. Those of the Dartmoore were slow to come ashore as they assessed from the white long boats whom they were dealing with. The Cassimar brothers did not embrace as Lilain had expected two siblings that had survived harrowing ordeals to do so. She wondered if her own siblings back in Domun would react to her the same way. The five of them had been separated for nearly two centuries now; it felt like a different life time, a different person’s life she had witnessed. Sorrell and the Abbey had been more of a home than her original one. Now she had no home, no family; only a hostile new world and beach full of strangers that did not seem to want to compromise or cooperate in getting even the simplest task complete.

She gathered around with the co-mingled crews as the Cassimar siblings postured and discussed who really was in charge now that both were confirmed alive in the new world. As Darrien introduced some of his party, Lilain’s eyes darted to each person assessing how they were responding to this tense discussion. A lull in conversation allowed her to notice two of the Dartmoore crew assessing the makeshift grave yard. Having no information on how the crew of the Aspard ship died Lilain had advise Lord Seth and those of the Lisburne to avoid the area. They did not know if the same circumstances had taken the Aspard crew. She shook her head at the thought of being killed by a fungi, it would be slow, so she found the description Lord Seth had given her haunting and troubling.

Again, Lilain was surprised when Lord Seth called for her to be present at a small council of the two Cassimar siblings. Her stomach tighten as the smaller group assembled. The sorceress tried to take comfort in the wellworn staff in her hand but its familiarity did not sooth her nerves like it usually did. She had been merely a passenger on the Lisburne, money was what had gotten her a place. Now it seemed she was more than just a devoutly, holy passenger…Lord Seth Cassimar certainly saw something in her. Maybe it was her honesty, maybe it was her naïve nature. She had no ties to the Cassimars unlike some of the others present.. Lady Vovia for one seemed very close. Lilain had no idea what ordeals the Dartmoore crew had been through thus far and no real idea of anyone’s allegiance or relation to one another. The politics of the Cassimars and the ranking knights was lost on the girl. She did not want to be dragged into this tangled web but had a feeling she would not have a choice. Lilain reckoned she had the strongest tie to Seth Cassimar, even though she had only met him on the voyage over, he had treated her fairly so far. She had just met Darrien so had little compare the siblings with, but felt compelled to keep to one side for the time being.

“I will do as you ask of me,” she replied to Seth as he selected those he wanted to take inland to explore the trail.

Lilain remained silent while those of the Dartmoore expressed their opinions and offered recommendations. Some she agreed with, some she had no stance on. She only added her own proposal, that had nothing to do with the current group’s discussion, ”Lord Seth, if I may suggested sending my companion back to the Dartmoore camp. He is advanced in age, but experienced and may be useful for the men there to tend to them medically. I would feel more comfortable going inland knowing he was being watched by others,” she motioned at the elderly male elf wandering the red beach aimlessly, occasionally poking his own staff in the sand at something unseen.

 

 
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