((The Thalmor have a room containing the items of prisoners, but if you don't mind, I'm just saying they may have had too many prisoners at the time, and had to store Orbznot's items in a room nearby.))
A blade, a blade of fine, steel craft, not the beautifully decorated blades of the Nords, but instead a Cyrodiillic fashioned rapier, appeared in Orbznots' hands, manifesting, slowly, building. It was transparent, made up of a purple, ectoplasmic glow. A great, passionate force then overtook Orbznot, like that of a musician, or duelist, he lunged with it, and the Thalmor retaliated, her sword strokes matching his own, but barely. Orbznot felt he was going slack, not even trying. Still, the Elf persisted with her constant parrying, it annoyed him. The heat of the battle suddenly tired him and strained him. His Orcish blood protested it, but Sheogorath wanted more, and so he gave him more. Orbznot backed up, disarming the elf with a quick swing from his magical arms, the sword did it, with a spirit of its own!
Suddenly, another purple aura, and a ghostly version of a lute, a lute! It tucked itself under Orbznots' arm, and as if by magic his fingers started to play it. A dramatic tone, fitting for a battle, though Orbznot had never used a lute in his life (except for bashing a bards' head in) until now! He played and strummed its strings, and the duel resumed, the elf more offended by this act than surprised, roaring in anger as their blades met. However, the sword and lute demanded more of him, playing fair music and fighting a good fight, until his body could carry both burdens no more. He let go of the sword, and focused on playing the lute, but by some unknown force the rapier still swung, an invisible wraith continuing the fight.
Orbznot performed, and strummed on with his lute, the song getting tenser, tenser, louder and faster and the sword did the same, he was a musician, a fighter, a magician all in one! Or perhaps he was just one, he didn't know, nor did he care as his fingers moved in a blur and the Altmer faltered, her blade flying into the air and the purple blade took her head. The bloody severed thing flew into the air, red, Elven dew raining from the sky as it landed, severed neck first, right on Orbznots' head. Blood dripped down his bald green scalp, one ran along his nose, dropping right into his lips. Oh, how sweet, the blood of his enemies was at last! The fighting and music-making strained him, and this was how Sheogorath rewarded his efforts. It also sparked a hereditary interest for wanting to use the Altmers' innards for skipping rope.
Looking at the bloody corpse though something else caught Orbznots' eye, subconsciously taking and munching the half eaten loaf the elf had, he found several cracks in the floor, the blood revealing it, and dripping down it to a room below. Orbznot looked at it closely, and brushed the dust off of it, revealing a wooden trapdoor. He felt around for a metal latch, and pulled it opening the door to reveal a room below, with several chests below. Orbznot poked his head down to check the room below, the elves' severed head, still perched on his head dropped down and hit the ground. Nobody seemed to be nearby, but he heard noises nearby, an agonized cry or something of the sort. The Orc steadily lowered himself to the room below gripping the ceiling, and dropped down.
It made a large clap, as his feet touched the ground, and he quickly started digging at the chests. Most of them were locked, (with Orbznots' track record, you should know how he would've opened them) and looked inside for loot. Iron armor, Legion plates and elven daggers. Useless! Scrolls, ale, useless goblets and tankards! Nothing! Nothing! Orbznot's temper was tested, and it failed. In his fury, Orbznot sent a large fireball rolling towards one of the chests he hadn't checked, and it burst up in flames, turning it to ashes but sparing what was inside. A staff, an old, staff carved from the gloomy willows of Morrowind. Carved into it was a multitude of faces, small skulls and shrunken heads impaled into it by metal pikes, old furs and bones attached by small ropes. It was covered in random charms, blessed by Sheogorath himself! With it were his other items, including a small strip of paper signed by him saying he owed the Winking Skeever 50 septims. He made sure to burn it as he tied on his old clothes, taking off the Thalmor robes he had tied onto his waist.
((A Crazed Orc and a Witch-Hunter/Daedra hunter don't mix well, and they'll probably end up killing each other.))
While he tiptoed away from the bloody scene, he made sure to pull the Thalmor Robes tightly over his waist and ran quickly, he didn't care how much noise he made. This place was tiring him, and he demanded a change. The Iron door lead to a long hallway, dripping with murky water, pools of it forming on the ground, lichen and hanging moss growing out from cracks in the walls and ceiling, cockroaches and other nasty bugs skittering along the ground. It was wretched, it smelled wretched. The sweet, horrible smell of rot creeping on his nostrils, and they flared, blowing the odor away. He found a split in the hallway soon enough, each one of them with a wooden door at the end.
He took a right turn, and it did not disappoint, for on the other side of the door was a single Altmer, a female, beautiful and elegant, with rich, blonde, flowing hair and a fair face. She sat in pleasant, fancy clothing, eating a loaf of bread. She noticed him immediately, and drew and Elven fashioned blade that sat beside her, under a pile of ragged robes, pointing it at the Orc.
"Tell me your name before I turn that skull of yours into a Candle holder, Orc!" She sneered viciously, her grasp on the hold was that of a trained killer, unflinching, merciless. He would not be daunted, not by that. No Orc would've been intimidated by it, to the least. Instead, he merely let his face curl into a smile, showing his large teeth and tusks, almost baring them, threatening her.
"Orbznot Kragg, at yer' service!" The Orc, Orbznot spat at her feet, and swung his bent Iron bar at her. It was in vain, and the swing was easily deflected by her blade. Disappointing, but expected.
"Is that the best you've got, Orc?!" She taunted, and hit the flat of her blade on the table, taunting him, it made his blood boil, and Orbznot started to hate her for it. He tried to calm himself down, breathing in, and out, deep breaths, yes, yes, good. he felt much calmer now, and looked at the High Elf.
"Yeh, that's the best I've got, Elf, in the terms of strength." He nodded, almost sadly, before raising his hand. A purple aura started to appear around it, and it started to glow, radiating with purple light. "In terms of magic, good Altmer, I wield the power to rival even the best."
His Iron bar bit into the Thalmor quite nicely, and the crushing of a skull could be heard as the Altmer slowly crumpled to the ground, blood already flying, droplets touching his face, caressing it, as soft as a maidens' touch, and it brought him some sort of pleasure. Everything went in slow motion, he could see his Iron bar, a piece of flesh and black cloth violently torn out of the Altmer donning it, as it retrieved itself from the Thalmors' head. Sheogorath was pleased with his display of stealth, Malacath was pleased with his display of strength, and his pleasure for the lust of battle that came over him. Now, his body and mind were at peace with one another, and he suddenly grew very quiet, silent, even.
The wheels of time started to turn again, slowly, slowly, faster, faster. He could feel his heart beating as he pulled the robes off the Thalmor and tied them around his waist, as a dress. He also found a letter on the poor Altmers clothes, yes, a message, one of great importance to him, what others were here with him as well, probably. Knowing no better, the Orc simply put it to the candlelight, and then threw it at the dead Elf, which soon caught fire, with everything else in the room. Breathing a sigh of relief, he simply slipped into the Iron door from whence the Thalmor came.
Oh, what merriment it had been, three nights ago, when Snerfalgus and Gaurus returned from their hunt, successful. They celebrated with some friends at the Winking Skeever, before the bartender was nice enough to give them rooms for one whole week. Snerfalgus had known the man, and it was safe to say that he wouldn't give you a free little cup of cheap beer if you hadn't had a drink in weeks. Fortunately, most of the other patrons in the bar would've been happy to cover the expense, but this time it was different.
Snerfalgus thought it queer, and was going to inquire about it during the party when he laid eyes on some odd Breton, or Imperial man in robes. He introduced himself as Sam Guevenne. Snerfalgus didn't like him, he, as absurdly as it sounded, smelled bad, no, not bad but instead foul. He decided to keep close watch on the man, and almost followed the man home, before stopping and thinking better of it.
It's been requested that I should head up a Roleplay. Well, I believe it's best to have you, the community help me in this venture. Also, if you're reading this from my trunk, please remember you are supposed to be dead, and I will be dropping you off at the landfill next week, so be patient. Also, if you could, please give me back my Phone. Thank you.
Anyways, I have several ideas in mind, some of which have been years in development, some of which I came up with just to make sure this post had some content in it. Thank you.
1. Hammer of the Emperor
We are his troops, the hammer of the Emperor, under the service of my lord Uriel Syverus, a Rogue Trader in charge of the integration and distribution of weaponry to small mining worlds, liberated Feral planets, and Worlds entrapped in war. Several times, my lord has us, Imperial Guardsmen hailing from several different regiments to my lords service, as well as that of the Emperors'. You, good Roleplayer, shall take hold of either myself or one of my comrades, as you experience and witness the daily plights and troubles of the Guardsmen, with many, many, plot twists.
This is a Roleplay based off the popular Tabletop game, Warhammer 40,000, and is set at the end of the 41st Millenium. You are going to be playing as supposedly "Special Guardsmen" Subjects who have been cloned many, many times in an attempt to ensure they are, literally, immortal, and placed under the command of Rogue Trader Uriel Syverus. Of course, everything will probably not go as planned, and this Roleplay will be more than you just walking around shooting random things that get in your way. Hopefully.
2. Ultima Crafticus
This Roleplay is a complete Sandbox, and is completely molded by the players, all in the planning stage. Whether you want a Strategy Roleplay, or a Skyrim Roleplay, you must decide amongst yourselves.
3. Animosity
We were great. Lords of our time, the wild was our Kingdom, our playground. We dominated the world with our primal majesty, and we thrived. All of it sent crashing down, by a rat, a puny rodent, who turned traitor, and gave itself over to unholy power, unholy majesty. He grew, and he became, man. He grew, and grew, and thrived. First, he was but a burden to anyone who tried to quarrel with him, but soon, he started to grow, too large to share space with any of us. He built homes, and settled, and he hunted. Even his own family has abandoned him, forsaking him! He did not care, he brushed them aside, and grew ever still.
He dominated us, and crushed us, no one was strong enough to fight humanity, and it slaughtered us. Soon, though, ah, yes, soon, it divided, split, and grew even more. We rooted our very survival to this division, and planted seeds of doubt amongst humanity. However, that was not enough, it wouldn't have ever been enough, and so now, we take even more drastic measures. We planted our strength, our being, into select individuals amongst humanity, and gave them our power. Now, dear Roleplayer, you must control them, and guide them to victory, against our traitorous brother. Do so, and let us reclaim our past Glory.
Humanity has long since dominated the world, growing and consuming it. Where once there was animals, now it's just humans. However, as you can tell, the animals are not very pleased with these changes of events, and have planted themselves into a few select individuals in man. These select individuals may fully morph, half-morph, or de-morph from the animal you have chosen. Yes, there may be two of the same animal. You will be starting in *INSERT COUNTRY HERE*. This will be a player decided plotline.
"Ah, there we go, hah, yes, I could'o something with this I bet!" The Orsimer grinned, and swung the metal bar, (Which was compressed and bent like a cane on one of its ends) at the jail cell, and the noise that was made, the original clang of metal on metal, the ringing, the vibrations, it sounded refreshing, almost invigorating, and he took a moment to admire the dent he made in the bars, before it came to his attention that the clang was not only heard by him. The jail-keepers, of course would think it queer, but they wouldn't pay much mind to it.
As a precaution, though, the Orc slipped away from the area, moving as quickly as he could, not caring about the ramble he made, and started his way up a flight of stairs nearby. He thanked Sheogorath that no elf met him in the room the staircase connected to, and found himself looking quickly in an unlocked wooden chest by a large table with several documents and a map spread out across it, as well as a bit of food and dried wine spilled over the mess of papers. A half eaten loaf and several crumbs near a table, and it was obvious whoever had been here left in a hurry, and hadn't been back for a while. As he scrounged through the chest, he found some septims lying around, seven in total, as he counted. With it, some old, must clothes, a small dagger, (both he had left in the chest) and a glass with blue liquid in it. Ahh, yes, he recognized this, it was a... Magicka Potion? A Mana brew? He didn't know, he didn't care. It refreshed him, it cleared his mind, as tasty, as good and fulfilling as skooma, but it wasn't as addictive. Grabbing it, the Orsimer quickly ran off.
Passing a hallway into another set of imprisonment cells, the Orc looked around them, he found some unlocked, as if others had been there, and found others with bones, skulls, in them, and softly scolded the jail-keepers for not bothering to clean it up. Hah! Tidy Altmer indeed! He passed the cells, and soon saw a corpse? Yes, a corpse, fresh, recently killed, an Agent of the Thalmor. So there were other escapees, near, so near, he could make out parts of dust that had been separated, and sniffed the air, to no avail, but it humored his master, and so, he obeyed. The comedic session was interrupted, though, by the sound of footsteps, closer, closer, Oh, he had to hide! Where?! Where?! He saw an Iron door, and leaped to the side, the one with the hinges, crouching low, a sudden fear in his heart. Cowardice, as Orcs would call it, oh, why would Sheogorath humiliate him like this!? Why?! But it was to his bidding, so he obeyed. Soon, the door started to move, open, sliding effortlessly forward and from it emerged an elf in black, decorative hooded robes. He saw it, a Thalmor Agent, golden flowers decorating it growing form trimmings of gold. It looked nice, and he wanted it, so much so it actually pleased him to see that the Altmer had started to brush through the bookshelves instead of leaving the room. Slowly, he moved, his feet silent, his feet manipulated to let no sound pass, his breathing stopped. He was invisible, and he slowly approached on the agent. Then, hesitating for one moment... He struck.
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Suddenly, another purple aura, and a ghostly version of a lute, a lute! It tucked itself under Orbznots' arm, and as if by magic his fingers started to play it. A dramatic tone, fitting for a battle, though Orbznot had never used a lute in his life (except for bashing a bards' head in) until now! He played and strummed its strings, and the duel resumed, the elf more offended by this act than surprised, roaring in anger as their blades met. However, the sword and lute demanded more of him, playing fair music and fighting a good fight, until his body could carry both burdens no more. He let go of the sword, and focused on playing the lute, but by some unknown force the rapier still swung, an invisible wraith continuing the fight.
Orbznot performed, and strummed on with his lute, the song getting tenser, tenser, louder and faster and the sword did the same, he was a musician, a fighter, a magician all in one! Or perhaps he was just one, he didn't know, nor did he care as his fingers moved in a blur and the Altmer faltered, her blade flying into the air and the purple blade took her head. The bloody severed thing flew into the air, red, Elven dew raining from the sky as it landed, severed neck first, right on Orbznots' head. Blood dripped down his bald green scalp, one ran along his nose, dropping right into his lips. Oh, how sweet, the blood of his enemies was at last! The fighting and music-making strained him, and this was how Sheogorath rewarded his efforts. It also sparked a hereditary interest for wanting to use the Altmers' innards for skipping rope.
Looking at the bloody corpse though something else caught Orbznots' eye, subconsciously taking and munching the half eaten loaf the elf had, he found several cracks in the floor, the blood revealing it, and dripping down it to a room below. Orbznot looked at it closely, and brushed the dust off of it, revealing a wooden trapdoor. He felt around for a metal latch, and pulled it opening the door to reveal a room below, with several chests below. Orbznot poked his head down to check the room below, the elves' severed head, still perched on his head dropped down and hit the ground. Nobody seemed to be nearby, but he heard noises nearby, an agonized cry or something of the sort. The Orc steadily lowered himself to the room below gripping the ceiling, and dropped down.
It made a large clap, as his feet touched the ground, and he quickly started digging at the chests. Most of them were locked, (with Orbznots' track record, you should know how he would've opened them) and looked inside for loot. Iron armor, Legion plates and elven daggers. Useless! Scrolls, ale, useless goblets and tankards! Nothing! Nothing! Orbznot's temper was tested, and it failed. In his fury, Orbznot sent a large fireball rolling towards one of the chests he hadn't checked, and it burst up in flames, turning it to ashes but sparing what was inside. A staff, an old, staff carved from the gloomy willows of Morrowind. Carved into it was a multitude of faces, small skulls and shrunken heads impaled into it by metal pikes, old furs and bones attached by small ropes. It was covered in random charms, blessed by Sheogorath himself! With it were his other items, including a small strip of paper signed by him saying he owed the Winking Skeever 50 septims. He made sure to burn it as he tied on his old clothes, taking off the Thalmor robes he had tied onto his waist.
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I love you. In a pasteurized way, of course, not Homogenized.
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While he tiptoed away from the bloody scene, he made sure to pull the Thalmor Robes tightly over his waist and ran quickly, he didn't care how much noise he made. This place was tiring him, and he demanded a change. The Iron door lead to a long hallway, dripping with murky water, pools of it forming on the ground, lichen and hanging moss growing out from cracks in the walls and ceiling, cockroaches and other nasty bugs skittering along the ground. It was wretched, it smelled wretched. The sweet, horrible smell of rot creeping on his nostrils, and they flared, blowing the odor away. He found a split in the hallway soon enough, each one of them with a wooden door at the end.
He took a right turn, and it did not disappoint, for on the other side of the door was a single Altmer, a female, beautiful and elegant, with rich, blonde, flowing hair and a fair face. She sat in pleasant, fancy clothing, eating a loaf of bread. She noticed him immediately, and drew and Elven fashioned blade that sat beside her, under a pile of ragged robes, pointing it at the Orc.
"Tell me your name before I turn that skull of yours into a Candle holder, Orc!" She sneered viciously, her grasp on the hold was that of a trained killer, unflinching, merciless. He would not be daunted, not by that. No Orc would've been intimidated by it, to the least. Instead, he merely let his face curl into a smile, showing his large teeth and tusks, almost baring them, threatening her.
"Orbznot Kragg, at yer' service!" The Orc, Orbznot spat at her feet, and swung his bent Iron bar at her. It was in vain, and the swing was easily deflected by her blade. Disappointing, but expected.
"Is that the best you've got, Orc?!" She taunted, and hit the flat of her blade on the table, taunting him, it made his blood boil, and Orbznot started to hate her for it. He tried to calm himself down, breathing in, and out, deep breaths, yes, yes, good. he felt much calmer now, and looked at the High Elf.
"Yeh, that's the best I've got, Elf, in the terms of strength." He nodded, almost sadly, before raising his hand. A purple aura started to appear around it, and it started to glow, radiating with purple light. "In terms of magic, good Altmer, I wield the power to rival even the best."
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The wheels of time started to turn again, slowly, slowly, faster, faster. He could feel his heart beating as he pulled the robes off the Thalmor and tied them around his waist, as a dress. He also found a letter on the poor Altmers clothes, yes, a message, one of great importance to him, what others were here with him as well, probably. Knowing no better, the Orc simply put it to the candlelight, and then threw it at the dead Elf, which soon caught fire, with everything else in the room. Breathing a sigh of relief, he simply slipped into the Iron door from whence the Thalmor came.
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Oh, what merriment it had been, three nights ago, when Snerfalgus and Gaurus returned from their hunt, successful. They celebrated with some friends at the Winking Skeever, before the bartender was nice enough to give them rooms for one whole week. Snerfalgus had known the man, and it was safe to say that he wouldn't give you a free little cup of cheap beer if you hadn't had a drink in weeks. Fortunately, most of the other patrons in the bar would've been happy to cover the expense, but this time it was different.
Snerfalgus thought it queer, and was going to inquire about it during the party when he laid eyes on some odd Breton, or Imperial man in robes. He introduced himself as Sam Guevenne. Snerfalgus didn't like him, he, as absurdly as it sounded, smelled bad, no, not bad but instead foul. He decided to keep close watch on the man, and almost followed the man home, before stopping and thinking better of it.
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Anyways, I have several ideas in mind, some of which have been years in development, some of which I came up with just to make sure this post had some content in it. Thank you.
1. Hammer of the Emperor
We are his troops, the hammer of the Emperor, under the service of my lord Uriel Syverus, a Rogue Trader in charge of the integration and distribution of weaponry to small mining worlds, liberated Feral planets, and Worlds entrapped in war. Several times, my lord has us, Imperial Guardsmen hailing from several different regiments to my lords service, as well as that of the Emperors'. You, good Roleplayer, shall take hold of either myself or one of my comrades, as you experience and witness the daily plights and troubles of the Guardsmen, with many, many, plot twists.
This is a Roleplay based off the popular Tabletop game, Warhammer 40,000, and is set at the end of the 41st Millenium. You are going to be playing as supposedly "Special Guardsmen" Subjects who have been cloned many, many times in an attempt to ensure they are, literally, immortal, and placed under the command of Rogue Trader Uriel Syverus. Of course, everything will probably not go as planned, and this Roleplay will be more than you just walking around shooting random things that get in your way. Hopefully.
2. Ultima Crafticus
This Roleplay is a complete Sandbox, and is completely molded by the players, all in the planning stage. Whether you want a Strategy Roleplay, or a Skyrim Roleplay, you must decide amongst yourselves.
3. Animosity
We were great. Lords of our time, the wild was our Kingdom, our playground. We dominated the world with our primal majesty, and we thrived. All of it sent crashing down, by a rat, a puny rodent, who turned traitor, and gave itself over to unholy power, unholy majesty. He grew, and he became, man. He grew, and grew, and thrived. First, he was but a burden to anyone who tried to quarrel with him, but soon, he started to grow, too large to share space with any of us. He built homes, and settled, and he hunted. Even his own family has abandoned him, forsaking him! He did not care, he brushed them aside, and grew ever still.
He dominated us, and crushed us, no one was strong enough to fight humanity, and it slaughtered us. Soon, though, ah, yes, soon, it divided, split, and grew even more. We rooted our very survival to this division, and planted seeds of doubt amongst humanity. However, that was not enough, it wouldn't have ever been enough, and so now, we take even more drastic measures. We planted our strength, our being, into select individuals amongst humanity, and gave them our power. Now, dear Roleplayer, you must control them, and guide them to victory, against our traitorous brother. Do so, and let us reclaim our past Glory.
Humanity has long since dominated the world, growing and consuming it. Where once there was animals, now it's just humans. However, as you can tell, the animals are not very pleased with these changes of events, and have planted themselves into a few select individuals in man. These select individuals may fully morph, half-morph, or de-morph from the animal you have chosen. Yes, there may be two of the same animal. You will be starting in *INSERT COUNTRY HERE*. This will be a player decided plotline.
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As a precaution, though, the Orc slipped away from the area, moving as quickly as he could, not caring about the ramble he made, and started his way up a flight of stairs nearby. He thanked Sheogorath that no elf met him in the room the staircase connected to, and found himself looking quickly in an unlocked wooden chest by a large table with several documents and a map spread out across it, as well as a bit of food and dried wine spilled over the mess of papers. A half eaten loaf and several crumbs near a table, and it was obvious whoever had been here left in a hurry, and hadn't been back for a while. As he scrounged through the chest, he found some septims lying around, seven in total, as he counted. With it, some old, must clothes, a small dagger, (both he had left in the chest) and a glass with blue liquid in it. Ahh, yes, he recognized this, it was a... Magicka Potion? A Mana brew? He didn't know, he didn't care. It refreshed him, it cleared his mind, as tasty, as good and fulfilling as skooma, but it wasn't as addictive. Grabbing it, the Orsimer quickly ran off.
Passing a hallway into another set of imprisonment cells, the Orc looked around them, he found some unlocked, as if others had been there, and found others with bones, skulls, in them, and softly scolded the jail-keepers for not bothering to clean it up. Hah! Tidy Altmer indeed! He passed the cells, and soon saw a corpse? Yes, a corpse, fresh, recently killed, an Agent of the Thalmor. So there were other escapees, near, so near, he could make out parts of dust that had been separated, and sniffed the air, to no avail, but it humored his master, and so, he obeyed. The comedic session was interrupted, though, by the sound of footsteps, closer, closer, Oh, he had to hide! Where?! Where?! He saw an Iron door, and leaped to the side, the one with the hinges, crouching low, a sudden fear in his heart. Cowardice, as Orcs would call it, oh, why would Sheogorath humiliate him like this!? Why?! But it was to his bidding, so he obeyed. Soon, the door started to move, open, sliding effortlessly forward and from it emerged an elf in black, decorative hooded robes. He saw it, a Thalmor Agent, golden flowers decorating it growing form trimmings of gold. It looked nice, and he wanted it, so much so it actually pleased him to see that the Altmer had started to brush through the bookshelves instead of leaving the room. Slowly, he moved, his feet silent, his feet manipulated to let no sound pass, his breathing stopped. He was invisible, and he slowly approached on the agent. Then, hesitating for one moment... He struck.
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