The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 28, 2016 12:56:41 GMT -8
Live? You call this liv-
The shepherd's sermon was interrupted by the sudden, icy shiver that raced down his spine as the Force warned him of the impending danger. His royal blue weapon arced across the air, sending a blaster bolt into the stone floor. Another swing of the lightsaber sent a bolt racing into the sky. Two bolts missed altogether. A fifth shot was batted away by the Zabrak, taking a small chunk out of the far wall. From her hiding place, Na'an wouldn't have been able to see any of the poise expected of a Jedi Master, even one as far gone as the shepherd. She'd see none of the discipline he relentlessly called for. None of the form he mercilessly drilled into his students. Were it not for the success the Zabrak had in defending himself from the assault, one would have wondered if the lightsaber's wielder could be called a Jedi at all. The shepherd appeared to notice this as well; in the space of two shots, the old zealot regained his form and his discipline, the iron snarl on his face reverting to its usual stoic grotesque shape as a sharp, controlled swing sent a bolt right into the blaster rifle's receiver, rendering it useless.
Undaunted, the shepherd continued to preach to his lost little bantha.
How then, the Zabrak chided across the Force, shall you live? Nice little shack on Dantooine with that wretch in your toy's arm? Tranquility with that girlfriend of yours? Don't delude yourself, Snot-Nose. You know as well as I do that you'd never be satisfied with that life. You know you'll never be satisfied with them, either. They'll disappoint you. Turn on you. Just as the rest have.
The Force radiated out from the Zabrak, continuing to probe for Na'an.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 25, 2016 14:14:42 GMT -8
Na'an had been in the tree for some time when the broken-horned Zabrak reached the formerly pristine garden. In its time, even the gargoyle-faced Jedi Guardian had to admit that it was beautiful. But the Mandalorian siege had burned it. His occupation had neglected it. And the filthy stench of his darkness-stained apprentice now tainted it. That, the shepherd decided, he could not abide.
He stepped into the courtyard slowly, the blue blade of his lightsaber casting a contrasting glow against the massive red planet in the sky. Each step was measured, taken less as a mode of movement and more as a tactical decision. The shepherd had underestimated his former student's tenacity before, and the peculiar soreness in his body stood as testament to that. It wasn't a training soreness. It was a soreness brought on by carelessness. Weakness. Foolishness. The shepherd had not been careless or let his guard down against an opponent since he was a Padawan, and it was not a mistake he intended to repeat. Especially not when so much was on the line. He should have known better.
The shepherd stretched out with his feelings, his mind peering into every nook and cranny of the ancient courtyard. But the girl's talent for deception extended even into her skills with the Force. So far as his most versatile weapon could tell, the Human girl wasn't here. She had been, just moments ago. And he couldn't feel her presence anywhere else. Almost a century of hunting instincts, honed and sharpened by experience, told the Jedi that his wayward student was still here. Somewhere. The shepherd had half a mind to do much the same. Hiding himself in the Force was a recent skill of his, and he had no doubt that he would surpass her in a game of cat and kath hound. But while he evidently didn't know all her tricks, he did know her. Na'an was drawn to battle, just as he was. Na'an would seek an enemy out, just as he would. It was only a matter of time. Time, and perhaps some bait...
You're stalling, the Zabrak silently called, not like you to run and hide like a scared pup.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 23, 2016 23:10:05 GMT -8
There wouldn't be any need to break out. Almost as soon as Desmonde had begun his escape attempt, the only doors in or out of the Praxeum's archives slid open to reveal four of the strange cult's scarred soldiers. The first one to cross the threshold was a young Human male with olive-toned skin, wearing a black and green painted version of Phase II clone trooper armor less the helmet and holding a small hold-out blaster. Following behind him was a portly Gran mercenary and a small Bothan, both wielding E-11 blaster rifles. The last one in seemed the most dangerous of all; towering over his comrades to the point of having to bow his head to enter the library, a dark-scaled Trandoshan in truly ascetic garb - save for the large stun baton he grasped in eager clawed fingers - glowered at Desmonde.
From the security monitors, the Trandoshan had seen the show that their uninvited guest had given their solemn savior. He knew that their shepherd would greatly appreciate it if the disrespectful clown was taught a lesson. But as it stood, the Human dressed in a relic was calling the shots.
For now.
"Righ', now, you'll no' be comin' wi' much o' fuss, will ye now?"
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 12, 2016 11:47:08 GMT -8
Two of Rutil Iorek's soldiers rounded the far corner of the corridor that led to the Praxeum's strategy center. The first was a Barabel; rather diminutive for his species, with scales and coloration that betrayed his age, making the stark scar on his forehead stand out all the more. He made a point not to go all the way around the corner, preferring to post just behind the wall, lest any of the shots he and his young friend had heard fly their way. The second man was an Arkanian; dark scavenged armor was slapped hastily over snow-white skin, and he took the corner with aplomb.
"No! Kalid, you stupid son of a bit-"
The heavy accent of the Barabel trooper was drowned out in automatic gunfire as the zealous Arkanian let a hail of blaster fire loose, eager to slay those that had tainted his shepherd's temple.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 27, 2016 14:56:01 GMT -8
The girl was weakening. With each massive strike, with each expression of his disappointment, the shepherd felt only renewed. The exertion was immediately met with relief. The ebb and flow of battle had become a crashing wave of triumph. In his mind's eye, the shepherd was back on Kashyyyk, slaying the denizens of the dark side by the score. And Na'an - dressed in dark garb and wielding a red shoto lightsaber - was certainly dressed to die at her master's hands. He could feel her resistance falter with every strike, her will lessen with every barely-parried blow. She slowed. She breathed. Foolish girl; the shepherd struck almost out of pity to end her life, his royal blue lightsaber racing through the air to cleave her head from her neck - - only to be stopped by the tidal wave of Force power that erupted from Na'an's lips. The shepherd was launched from his feet, his weathered body sent careening towards the long rectangular windows. His lightsaber was flung aside, crashing into the far wall, with Na'an, her droid, and her anchor between him and it. The Zabrak was gathering the Force around it to call it back to his palm when his flight was suddenly stopped by gravity and the hard stone floor of the Praxeum. Whatever air had been in the shepherd's lungs was forced out as his body rolled along the floor. And the world around him - slowed ever since his student decided to stand against him - once again flowed with the natural current of time as his focus was shattered. He finally came to a stop at the edge of the center window, fully bathed in the red light of Yavin. His cloak, however, traveled farther, and flew into the hot jungle night. With a growl, the Zabrak forced himself to stand, readying himself for his wayward apprentice's next little trick.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 23, 2016 16:51:27 GMT -8
"Sir, please stop! Tort-"
Na'an's plea was cut short as her jab was blocked, and the shepherd returned the gesture with a barrage of strikes that seemed to come from every direction. Among the Jedi, the seventh form of lightsaber combat was rarely used, as it all too often drew its users towards a darker, more insidious path. When he was but a youngling, Master Windu had developed a variant known as Vaapad, and of those he had taught it to, only the legendary Korun Master had stayed within the Force's light. The shepherd was no such weakling. He had studied Juyo academically in the past, and occasionally put a few of its movements into his training rituals. But ever since Kashyyyk, the shepherd found beauty in its honest ferocity, and the movements came to him almost naturally. Unlike the acrobatics of Ataru or the precision of Makashi, Juyo's fast and furious strokes did not tire the old Zabrak. Rather, the old master found the form's movements almost empowering. And with each increasingly powerful stroke, the shepherd's focus strengthened, the barrage aiming to either find a hole in Na'an's bladework...or make one.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 21, 2016 10:30:17 GMT -8
He had used his former student to take the impact of one of the droid's concussive shots. But something within the shepherd caused a flicker of doubt; a moment of hesitation. This brief lapse in his mindset forced the old Zabrak to take the full brunt of the second shot, and the leathery gargoyle was blasted backwards as the third shot sailed harmlessly overhead. It had been stronger than the shepherd had expected, knocking the air clean out of his lungs. The old man rolled with the shot and landed in a crouch out of habit, taking a sparse moment to catch his breath. A sparse moment was all he had; almost as soon as he'd put his dark green eyes on Na'an, the girl was right back at it, swinging her short red blade at his legs.
The shepherd barely caught the first of Na'an's strikes with the tip of his blade. As the blows continued to rain down, muscle memory kicked in and each swing was neatly caught before it carved through flesh and bone, creating a shower of sparks around the two duelists. Na'an's Ataru continually and forcefully crashed against the shepherd's Soresu, until finally the Zabrak angled himself and his blade to create a precise and powerful parry, forcing the blades to lock.
The shepherd had always felt the most clarity when in the throes of combat. As the two energy blades crackled against one another, the Zabrak recognized the pang of emotion that had caused him to be felled by the droid. Even when directed at someone else as opposed to within - like a student that was continuing to demonstrate worth that other teachers had failed to see - pride was deadly. Even now, as he was about to slay her, the shepherd was proud of the woman that Na'an had become. Disappointed by her decisions, yes. Angered by her refusal to see the true light, for certain. But nevertheless proud of her combat prowess and her unwillingness to back down.
With a grunt, the shepherd poured the Force into his muscles and broke the blade lock with a metaphysically-powered shove, sure to send Na'an flying. As an Ataru practitioner, she would be comfortable in the air. She would recover gracefully, but while in the air she would be unable to do anything other than land, opening herself up for a killing stroke. Unwilling to drag the confrontation out any longer, the shepherd already began to sprint towards where she would land...
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 16, 2016 15:44:12 GMT -8
Banned for falling away from the light and wasting your time with a droid with a soul.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 16, 2016 15:34:14 GMT -8
True to form, Na'an had opted for an acrobatic approach to close the distance between herself and the shepherd. Her droid had also gotten in on the action, opening fire on the old Zabrak. The timing of the movement was impeccable, and it didn't take decades of training and experience to see that the two had done this before. Not only was the girl's blade work good, but now she had learned how to utilize whatever advantages available to her. The shepherd smiled a grim smile, impressed. It wouldn't stop him from killing the three of them, of course, but the snot-nose continued to surprise him even now. While the tactic was impressive, however, the woman's choice of movement was not. Sure, it closed the gap. Sure, it built momentum. But in somersaulting herself, Na'an had exposed her back to the shepherd for a split-second and took herself off the ground. Both of which were dangerous - if not fatal - mistakes.
In response to Na'an's Ataru flip, the shepherd moved and acted in line with the philosophy of ysalamiri, countering with efficiency and thought. As Na'an came down, the shepherd reached out with the Force, seizing Na'an's body and pulling her down to the ground at an angled trajectory. It would force her to the ground before she was ready, possibly putting her off balance...
...and right into the path of her droid's cannon fire.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 15, 2016 15:37:18 GMT -8
The air was empty by the time Na'an's blade reached its mark. She had been taught well, the shepherd noted; the girl had always been an instinctual fighter, grew in strength and skill under the shepherd's own tutelage, blossomed under Master Parr, and now stood firm against a superior opponent in what she knew was a fight to the death. For an instant, the old Zabrak was reminded of the first time they'd ever crossed blades, and he demonstrated to an overwhelmed and bewildered snot-nose exactly what the fourth form was capable of. And then, as now, she refused to yield. It broke the shepherd's heart even further to see her opposing him. And in the next instant, the memory only strengthened his resolve to end her.
The world still moving slowly, the shepherd inventoried his surroundings as he slid backwards. Unless Na'an had changed rather dramatically, she still fought with Ataru, and she would easily take advantage of the vast open space in the audience chamber. Moving outside through the large rectangular windows wasn't an option. And with the damned droid blocking the only exit, taking the fight into the corridors and negating her advantage was also not likely. Yet both Na'an's bladework and the droid's massive cannon might yet present opportunities.
The shepherd continued to pace backwards, giving Na'an ample space. And giving the droid a clean shot.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 17:36:06 GMT -8
"...so be it." The whispered words carried on the air and into the red Yavin night, taking the last of Jedi Knight Rutil Iorek with them.
The sheperd's world slowed to a crawl, and all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing as his pulse began to surge. The power he had discovered within himself on Kashyyyk washed over him like a baptizing river, sharpening his vision and strengthening his body. The pressure within him built and stabilized like the tide, reaching equilibrium only for another wave of power to crash over him.
And when he could finally withstand it no more, the old Zabrak was little more than a blur, rushing Na'an and leveling his blue blade towards her midsection. With any luck, he could finish his recalcitrant student and her precious Sith lover with a single stroke.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 17:14:31 GMT -8
"Why? So he can be pardoned? So he can find peace? Peace is a lie, Na'an!"
The Force seemed to growl around the Jedi Master as he roared his final few words, gathering its power into himself. For all her expected growth, for all she had experienced and suffered, Vidalu Na'an was only a child, brainwashed by years of faulty teachings and - somehow, bloody somehow - ignorant to the true threat posed by the dark side of the Force. She pleaded with him even now, begging for the life of a man that she herself had supposedly killed, only to once again find herself unable to get the job done. Yes, take him to trial, so the Masters could pardon and rehabilitate him just like they did the Shan boy. Yes, take him to the Masters so that he can be shown the way, like that entitled street rat Na'an had taken from Nar Shaddaa. Yes, take him to the Masters and help him to find the peace he had so long been denied.
The shepherd's own affections blinded him. Vidalu Na'an was a failed Jedi; a child making play at doing an adult's work. And it fell to an adult to help her. Reaching out with the Force, the shepherd ripped his lightsaber from her grasp and sent it screaming into his own. The resulting sting caused the old man to grimace as the royal blue blade erupted from the marred durasteel hilt.
"Vidalu Na'an, step aside," the shepherd hissed, "I will not warn you a second time."
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 16:49:49 GMT -8
The Zabrak's fingers curled in each hand, becoming rigid. Had he possessed them, there was no doubt that claws would have sprung from his fingertips.
"Leave us."
Without a word, the two guards dropped Formidonis to the floor and jogged towards the door, not caring one whit that a titanic armored droid was in their way. Even they, as blind to the Force as his prisoner was to empathy, could feel the growing storm surrounding their master. But it was not anger that fueled the shepherd. Rather, the old Zabrak was something he had not been in a long time. The shepherd was heartbroken.
He had hoped beyond hope that she had come to stand by his side. He knew, however, that she wouldn't. Not without some sort of impetus. The shepherd didn't say as much; that he used Formidonis specifically because he feared she would not come just on his request. He did not at all suggest that he did so on the suggestion of the Praxeum's artificial intelligence, using knowledge he had unfairly gained. The hopes he'd held for his movement - while not completely up in smoke - had darkened considerably. The shepherd had always known the cost of his crusade would be high. But he had never expected that this would be the price he would pay to save the galaxy.
"Even now, you choose him - your specter, the shadow over your shoulder - over the oath you swore."
The old man's jaw set as he steeled himself for what he had to do.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 16:16:54 GMT -8
Now? Her future before her, her past one sword stroke away from truly being history - even though he could not sense the so-called "shatterpoints" through the Force as Master Windu had done, the shepherd knew one when he saw one - and she was choosing now to get sentimental? The shepherd's telltale scowl returned as his jade eyes once again seemed to bore through the young woman. Could the story of hers not wait just a paltry few seconds?
The shepherd's anger subsided shortly thereafter, though; he had been in her position before. It had been a long time ago, but he had been there. He remembered being nervous. Scared, even. But also determined to see the job done. And he did carry out the task he had needed to, in the end. All he'd had to do was steel himself for what was to come. He suspected Na'an was doing much the same (even if he had expected her to have already come to terms with the reality of things by now). And she was doubtlessly having a much harder time of it than he had; the shepherd only had to dispatch a clone squad leader, and he was asking her to execute someone whose influence over her life had been almost total.
In light of this, the shepherd suspected he could allow for a moment of recollection.
"Does it now?" he asked, with no small amount of distaste.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 15:52:11 GMT -8
"More sick than playing on a young woman's emotions? Pretending to like her? Love her? And sending a machine to kill her? He's a symptom of the disease we've let fester for far too long, nothing more!"
The shepherd's tone was just as Na'an remembered it; scathing, and yet honest. The Zabrak Jedi had not known Formidonis personally, but his exploits had been explained, and that had been enough for the horned zealot. To say nothing of his aura; the shepherd could smell the taint of the dark side on people, and even now, Formidonis was rife with it. His efforts to heal others were a sick joke made to appease whatever guilt he'd felt in the past years. His time with the so-called Family was little more than a ruse. The emaciated Human was little more than a rabid dog, and always had been. But even then, there was another scent about him, one that the shepherd had not encountered in almost a century of hunting. The smell was akin to copper, but it almost burned the Zabrak's nostrils. It was almost as if the Force itself demanded a long-overdue death.
"Your sentiment for this wretch has hounded you for years, Na'an. And if you continue to look over your shoulder for this man's shadow, you will never fulfill your destiny..."
The shepherd stopped his diatribe for a brief moment, reaching into his dark cloak. When his leathery hand reemerged, it held something that the shepherd did not dare entrust to anybody else. The durasteel hilt of his lightsaber was marred in various places, having stuck by the Zabrak's side ever since he was just a Padawan learner on Coruscant. And now he extended it, offering it to his favorite pupil.
"...I'm offering you the chance to remedy that."
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 13, 2016 5:32:34 GMT -8
The cliff face that served as the shepherd's face shifted slightly, coming as close to honest surprise as the hardened Zabrak was capable of. She must have heard of his exploits on Korriban. And there was absolutely no way she had not heard of his actions on Kashyyyk, something his fellow Jedi were within a hair's breadth of trying him for. She likely even heard the viral broadcasts he had sent to the galaxy in that time. And if she hadn't...
"Na'an," the shepherd said, "the dark side is a disease. As are those that use it. As are those that harbor it. If left unchecked, as the Jedi have done, it will infect this galaxy world by world, star by star. Every man and woman in this temple that bears my mark has sworn to fight it wherever they find it, because we all hold to one ironclad truth; the dark side must be purged from this universe.
"Who better to help my lieutenant lead the charge?"
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 12, 2016 11:03:37 GMT -8
The old Zabrak raised an eyebrow. But of course. His old student's thoughts betrayed her; even now, with the prospect of helping to save the galaxy, her thoughts were on the wretch in the dungeons. Of course, this had been expected; his anguish had helped to lure her here in the event that his own summons failed. But what the shepherd hadn't expected was her continued concern for the man, nor had he expected the fervor with which the thought dominated her mind.
The shepherd, as he did for all of his flock, held the answer.
Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the teacher produced a small comlink. Guards, he growled, bring him up.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 8, 2016 15:52:44 GMT -8
Two of the Praxeum's new soldiers strode confidently towards the open ship. The first, a tall Trandoshan carrying a trophy bowcaster, raised the weapon towards the lowered boarding ramp in anticipation of an ambush. The second, a blond Human dressed entirely in knockoff Mandalorian armor and toting an E-11 blaster rifle, stood off to the side as he waited for his Trandoshan partner to do his thing. The massive reptilian mercenary's senses far outclassed the Human's, and he could usually suss out just how many people were on board by the number of scents. This time, however, the Trandoshan looked confused.
"What, something wrong?"
"Yeah...I'm only smellin' one guy...faint, too..."
The Human stepped back and took a quick tour of the ship. The freighter's bridge seemed okay. The bow was carbon-scored and dented all to hell, but was otherwise fine. It was not until the make-believe Mandalorian reached the port side of the vessel that he saw the problem. Walking back to his partner, he reported his findings.
"Escape pod's missing. Might just be a trace smell?"
The Trandoshan hissed in defiance as he swung to face his partner. His bowcaster clipped the bottom of the Human's mask, breaking off the faceplate; a common enough problem with his armor. Atop the Human's forehead was a deep scar, freshly made; the Aurebesh symbol for "one". Deep in the reptilian hide of the Trandoshan, the Human could see the exact same scar.
"Don't be stupid. If he was gone or dead, I'd know it. He's in there. C'mon..."
The two scarred mercenaries walked up into the rampway, and into the darkness of the ship within...
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 4, 2016 9:22:01 GMT -8
"I trust you've heard of my exploits by now. Korriban. Kashyyyk. Sith worlds both. I destroyed the academy of one," the shepherd stated, silently lamenting that it had been more of a symbolic move than anything, "and I destroyed the dark leaders of the other. And people noticed."
The shepherd's jade eyes moved back to the long windows of the audience chamber, now looking at the red giant above them.
"The galaxy saw that someone was doing something. And many wanted to help. Not the Jedi, mind you, but countless others. Soldiers. Farmers. Beggars. Slaves. Many of whom without training, but each one more willing to take the fight to the dark side than many of our alleged brothers-in-arms," the shepherd said, the last three words spoken with no small amount of venom on his tongue, "so I rallied them. I became their teacher. Their shepherd. And in turn, they became my students, just as you had been. My flock."
The shepherd almost beamed with pride. His organization was small, but each and every man and woman that swore fealty to him had the heart of a true Jedi Guardian (if, in some cases, not the discipline or the temperament).
"But as of late," the shepherd continued, "they've grown restless. And I - as you may have already figured out - have grown distant. Some are threatening to break ranks. And if we're to show the galaxy the true way, I need a lieutenant that can inspire our forces the way I can't. To instill discipline when I can't. And - should the worst happen - to lead when I can't.
"And there is nobody I would rather entrust these duties to."
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 2, 2016 18:20:30 GMT -8
The shepherd heaved a sigh. The woman wasn't about to make this easy for him, and - even when he desperately needed her by his side - he wasn't about to beg. The organization had already proven that it could do without her, and if need be it would continue to do so, but the old man was growing tired of the modesty. His mind silently peered into hers, looking for some kind of leverage. In an instant, the Zabrak found it.
Him.
"I think," the shepherd began, his already rough voice now even harsher, "that the time you've spent on Felucia has dulled your edge. I think that you have something of a confidence problem, considering what you've accomplished. And I know that you seem to be punishing yourself for things that happened a decade ago."
The shepherd rounded to face Na'an fully, tilting his head downward to look his former student in the eye.
"You aren't what you were supposed to be, Na'an, I'll give you that. But perhaps I can help you towards your potential yet again..."
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