the Rift


[PRIVATE] Desperate Measures

Aquila Posts: 95
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.2 :: 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Craonos :: Common Narwhal Leviathan :: Boil smitty
#1
the language of waves</style>

The finding of the goliath demon had been equal parts luck and intelligence. She had known he fought, regularly by his efficiency and his scars, and with pleasure as he had so easily swelled with pride after their battle. Disapproval struck through her brain; though there had been plenty (too many) Akvian soldiers that had reveled in cavalier victory, she had been taught by her father otherwise. Fighting was as much art as it was technique. The victorious could forever improve, so why were they boasting? Braggadocio swayed the memories, made oneself seem better and highlighted the shortcomings of the opponent. But the opponent had strengths as well, defeated or not. And one should learn them, to improve oneself.

But, alas, such battle-heavy thoughts were dashed from her mind as her hooves began to strike hard, hot black rock. Her ears swing forward, gait pausing as she looked up with unblinking eyes to the monolith of a man that she followed. He was large, and the skull he fought with had marked him easily as the sounds of battle she had searched for.

And now, for better or for worse, she was following him to these gods. She had sworn not to trust gods again, after Vjanta had brought such ruin and misery on her people. But here she was, following the training-hardened hind end of Volterra. Only a blind woman would miss them— and she was not blind; she was a warrior. So she appreciated the battle-honed physique of the earth-bound equine that led her. Though she could not stop the occasional twitch of her ridged skull as she caught the flash of dragon wings in her periphery during their long journey.

Her legs were more accustomed to land-walking, now, however. Much to her chagrin. What was she doing? Her eyes sharpened on the rocks, part of her had reconciled the permanent loss of her people.

But a she was a fighter to her core. She had been raised by the blade of Akvian horns and the sting of their poison. She was proud. She was fierce. She was resilient. So there was a part of her, a part that swelled against the need for poison in her barbs. That was selfish. If the gods could bring the Isles to Helovia, if they could murder other gods, then couldn't they bring her people? Slowly, the small persistent spirit in her swelled. Who needed barbs when she could have her people here, safe?

“Are we close?” Her husky voice finally sounded after long moments of silence. But there was an undercurrent of excitement thrumming in the throaty noise, aqua eyes snapping up from the black rock to look at the black stallion.

a q u i l a
image - table


@Volterra No VOTG pass, I have other ideas ;)

Please tag Aquila in all posts.

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#2


When she seeks him out, he is only too happy to keep his word about showing her the Veins of the Gods. Perhaps his intentions are not entirely altruistic - she intrigues him, with her savage fighting style and her ability to push him to his very limit, with her hard scaled body and razor fangs, her sharp wit and accented voice. She is like no other woman he has ever seen, and whilst a lot of men would be revolted by her unique appearance, Volterra is quite the opposite. She is alluring, her beauty different to other mares but no less inferior for it.

The leviathan leads her across Helovia, his summer coat gleaming like polished ebony in the fierce Tallsun heat, his dragons darting like living gemstones above him. He casts the occasional interested glance over to her, his eyes unbound by common decency as he greedily devours each sharp line of her armoured body. He is pleased that she decided to find him and take him up on his offer - perhaps she is as intrigued by him as he is by her. The dragons, proud creatures that they are, do not share their bonded's enthusiasm for Aquila. They have not forgotten her derision towards them, or her derogatory terms for them. No, she does not understand them, does not respect them as they must be respected, and Volterra can feel a sharp undertone of dislike radiating through their minds into his.

Still, this is not unusual. Both red and gold have exacting standards, and it's rarer for them to like someone than it is for them to not like someone. The goliath pays them no heed.

It is not long before he can see the blue veins in the distance, like livid trails of ice. "Yes, we are close," comes his earthquake of a voice as he slows for a moment to drink in his surroundings. His eyes, which had left her in order to observe the land around him, return to meet her own. "If the Gods attend, have you an idea what you will ask for?" Curiosity bubbles, hardly hidden, beneath the surface. When she thinks of power, what does she see?

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


I LIEK OTHER IDEAS ;D @Aquila

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Aquila Posts: 95
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.2 :: 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Craonos :: Common Narwhal Leviathan :: Boil smitty
#3
the language of waves</style>

She was accustomed to being watched—how else did a warrior become trained if the trainer did not watch and critique their movements? But his eyes, the scarlet demon pits, did not watch to critique form or fix stance. No, his eyes did neither of these things and it was foreign to the mare; her plated skin rippled the moment it is relinquished from his stare, his eyes turning to the scenery around them as his voice booms in answer. And she is surprised, not by his answer, but by the coolness that washes through her as he looks away from her; if felt like the cool embrace of the sea after leaving termikoj.

Scaled ears sweep back, unblinking large eyes leaving him for the icy threads in the distance, before glancing towards the earth as he turns a question on her. ”What will you ask for?” Had he asked her when she first found him, the answer would have confidently shot from her lips without hesitation. Poison for my vosto armilo. But now…

Her bright aqua and yellow eyes snap up to his, and there is some sharpness to her glare. Her uncertainty and her uneasiness distrust of the gods puts her on edge, on the defensive. Her tail flicks rapidly, sending a buzzing of barbs into the hair as her sharpened teeth show more than necessary in her answer, “My people are still there, in the Rift—“ but her heat raises, ridged nostrils flared and lifted towards the gods’ rock.

The sea.

A blessedly cool breeze carried the scent of brine to her nostrils. “Your gods are at the sea?” Her ears perk, defensiveness melting from her athletic body as she can nearly feel the salt’s embrace. Living in the Falls, it had been too long since she had dipped into the salt water—the longest she had ever gone.

Long limbs begin a brisk walk for a few strides, before breaking into an easy canter, and finally a slow gallop. She did not look to see if the giant followed her. His heavy, earth bound hooves would tell them with their clop against the rocks. Her own, cloven and webbed hooves made little noise, but they protested against the sharp and uneven surface. The hardened pads were no match for the rough rock and slowly began to shred; but she paid the slowly seeping blue blood no mind.

Soon she would be there, at the sea. And if these gods surrounded themselves with the ocean, how could they deny bringing her people here?




termikoj = thermals/hot water vents
vosto armilo = tail weapon

a q u i l a
image - table


Sorry there isn't a ton to reply to in this <3 the next post will be more interesting, i think.

Please tag Aquila in all posts.

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#4


She seems agitated, flickering that deadly tail of hers around behind her. His gaze travels down to it, her unique and devastating weapon; it had hurt enough even sans venom, he cannot imagine the agony it could cause should it possess poison in its barbs. He fully expects her to say that this is what she desires - death in the spikes of her tail, flesh-rotting corrosion to bring down her opponents with a single innocent twitch of her hindquarters. From what he'd gathered of her during their fight and ensuing conversation, he'd thought he understood her motives, thought he knew that she would unquestionably seek a return of her old power.

He is wrong.

Instead, she mentions her people. People lost within the Rift, which Volterra pictures as something akin to purgatory - the space between worlds, the void. Hell. Could it be that he's misjudged her, and rather than seeking out the Gods to ask for a boon for herself, she instead simply wants them to rescue her people? "Are they trapped?" he asks, scrutinising her once again (under the guise of listening keenly for her answer, although it's largely so he has an excuse to drink in her features once more).

But she trails off, sniffing the air like a snake and pointing out that they're near the sea. He nods, a small grin darting across his jaws, then breaks into a heavy canter himself in pursuit of her. He's forced to look down between strides, as he is not as sure-footed as her and doesn't trust himself not to break a fetlock by slipping on the stones. A fine end to a life filled with such potential that would be!

"Look up there," he says as he draws as close as he can behind her (he's too slow to fully catch up with her). He looks up to the shrines perched upon the cliff; four of them, some more ruined than others and crumbling into the sea, others in a better state. "Those are the shrines of the Gods. If you go to them, you have more chance of successfully summoning one." She seems to be making a beeline for the sea, however, and he wonders if that is a greater priority in her mind than conversing with a God.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Aquila Posts: 95
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.2 :: 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Craonos :: Common Narwhal Leviathan :: Boil smitty
#5
the language of waves</style>

“Are they trapped?”

His question reverberates into her ears, just before her aqua-striped limbs take to their sprint towards the sea and the gods. “Are they trapped?” Are they? Are they conquered by the Yotheans? “Are they trapped?” Are they crushed by those sloppy warriors, imbued with a greedy goddess’s power? Are the egg sacs rent, leaking the blood of infants to the sea’s womb? Did the colorful coral fade to grey, crumble to sand beneath the gluttony of those crude Yothean fins and ragged teeth? “Are they trapped?” Were Akvian bodies ripped and torn to shreds, pieces floating on the currents and resting on the sand? Never to properly be returned to Maro, their ravaged spirits destined to float the endless current alone?

“Are they trapped?”

The thoughts rattle in her skull; a mind so used to black and white decisions of war and battle entirely cast adrift and drowning beneath the weight of such consequence. The consequence of her failure. Because she was here, in Helovia, and her people were not. She was safe. But she had failed.

So she did not answer his question, only pushed further and harder towards to sea; would this be where Akvo was, on the other side of the Rift? It was far enough from the Isles, here. Her unblinking eyes stare at the deep blue waters, so much darker than the sea of her world. (But is this her world, now?) At first she does not even see the series of gods, so intent was her focus on the possible life beneath the waves—or the possible return of life beneath the waves.

But then, once again, the rumbling voice of the goliath broke into her thoughts, bringing her attention to the very shrines she shunned and needed. And her unblinking eyes blink once, These are your gods?” There is disbelief and derision in her voice, coupled with and undercurrent of despair.

These black statues were crumbling, ruinous things. The god who had brought down Vjanta had seemed strong, capable, resilient. But these shrines reflected no such thing. Her head swings, ears tilting back, pinning Volterra with an accusing gaze as her teeth once again begin to show from behind scaled lips. Her ridges rise and undulate once, a physical manifestation of her desperate anger beginning to simmer beneath her plated, drying skin. “How do I summon them?” Her tone is sharp and demanding, but desperation begins to overcome it.

Again her head whips towards the sea, eyes staring as hard as they could so that they might peer through the waves to the great Akvian city below. Her trust placed in the gods and the bloodstained skull of the stallion that led her to them; but she did not yet know that it was too heavy a burden for their crumbling hands.

“Are they trapped?”

Yes. But so am I.




Maro = Sea

a q u i l a</style>
image - table

Please tag Aquila in all posts.

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#6


Her silence is damning. He thinks he may have touched a nerve; he should probably feel sympathetic or apologetic for bringing back harsh memories, but those are not emotions that he commonly suffers from. If he knew her better, he'd ask more questions, but he does not, and so he remains silent.

His question only seems to have spurred her on, and he's soon falling behind. Speed has never been a defining trait of his, and the undersides of his hooves are nicked in several places from the sharp stones. Running on these conditions wasn't smart, and he soon slows his pace to a clattering trot before he damages his feet further. The dragons chuckle cruelly from their position in the heavens, and neither of them hold any sympathy for his plight. With their diamond-hard scales that even extend to the palms of their paw-like hands, they have little idea of the pain caused by a sharp stone to the foot.

Her tone does not imply the awestruck reverence he'd hoped, but he's quick to reassure her that the rocks are not the Gods. "No, the shrines aren't the Gods themselves - they're just how you summon them," he explains. The fish-mare fixes him with her glare, baring those savage teeth of hers (damn, it'd be useful to have fangs). He meets her stare, unwavering, indomitable; his chest rises and falls with greater force than usual from his headlong gallop and his muscles thrum with unused energy, but his face is its usual stony mask. The leviathan isn't sure what he can read into her posture, her words - he thinks there's desperation there, but he is not the best at judging such things.

He can't help but wonder if his suspicions are correct, however. Are her people trapped? Had she hoped his Gods could release them from whichever prison they were entombed within? He doesn't know if they could. They can spawn companions, give magic, forge amulets, but can they tear a hole in the fabric of the universe? She looks to the sea, then back to him. He's not sure why, but he hopes the Gods can help, if they choose to heed her call. Not just because doing so will earn her favour and that could lead to all sorts of delicious privileges for him, nor because having a herd of fish-people would certainly spice up Helovia's landscape.

No, it's because nobody deserves to be the last of their kind; nobody should feel so hopeless, as though the weight of the world is on their shoulders. She could have children, siblings in the Rift - Volterra knows what it's like to see family members trickle slowly away. He would not wish that on anybody.

She asks how to summon them, and he gestures with his nose to the shrines. "Go to the shrine of the God you wish to summon, and touch it. But, Aquila..." He fixes her with his sharp red stare. "Remember what I said during our last meeting. The Gods do not always heed the calls of mortals - please, do not be too disappointed if nothing happens." But he has a feeling it's too late to stop her building her hopes.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Aquila Posts: 95
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.2 :: 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Craonos :: Common Narwhal Leviathan :: Boil smitty
#7
the language of waves</style>

The pounding of her webbed hooves radiated up her scaled legs as she races over rocks that shred pads meant for cupping water rather than pounding against the earth. They had grown harder during her time on land. But, still, blue blood began to run freely from her hooves and left smeared prints behind her, gleaming and barely seen against the dark rocks.

He had fell behind her sprint to the gods, but soon he was alongside her again as she pulled up and halted in disbelief at the crumbling statues. Her ears swing forward from their slightly pinned position as he answered her question: These were just shrines, emblems of the gods. Though his answer quelled the surge of desperation and rage that boiled in her, it did not entirely remove the skepticism from her face. In Akvo, the gods were only as powerful as the people made them. If their shrines were left in shambles, if people did not pray and devote time to the tasks the gods were patron of, then those gods grew weak. Their powers dwindled as their sphere of influence waned.

So, to Aquila, these shabby shrines immediately reflected to power of the gods. But this behemoth warrior, Volterra, did not seem perturbed by them. So her unblinking, overlarge gaze follows the gesture of his broad muzzle, following the instructions he gave. Her long legs carry her close to the shrine of the god she recognized: the God of the Earth. His curved horns and massive wings were barely recognizable amid the crumbled rocks and charred surfaces. A trail of bloodied, azure footsteps marks her approach of the shrine.

She glances back at Volterra’s sharp red gaze—as if for some kind of reassurance. It was so unlike the woman that one couldn’t be certain that her intense glare was entirely for that. But, regardless, her unblinking eyes bored back at the man. And his caution fell on ears deafened by the roaring hope that suddenly surged through her.

And then, with a square of her shoulders and flare of her fins, she walked up to the god’s shrine. “I am Aquila, emissary for Akvo. I invoke your presence to save my people from the persecution by Yothea,” her growling voice was someone more refined as official words she had been given by the council flowed from her lips. Her ridges raised slightly, head proudly raised—only a slight buzz of her tail belied the tension that wracked her body. This was her moment to save her people, to fulfill her purpose and duty to Akvo.

And she waited.

And waited.

“Gods? I beseech you to save my people,” again her voice called to the imposingly silent statue. And her defenses began to fail, her ridges raising as desperation began to swell and spill into her voice, usually so proud began to crack, “They are trapped, infanoj ripped apart by Yothean jaws in front of patrinoj. Her eyes grew wide, painfully dry as no tears fell from those dwelled beneath the sea. They searched the statue, her legs taking faltering, futile steps closer to the shrine.Dioj! Do you hear me!” The shout was hoarse, desperate, as her neck craned and she reared up to strike her bleed hooves against the shrine’s base.

And silence reigned.

Her eyes, they stared. Large and glassy and unblinking. Up at unseeing gods who did not heed her plead to stop the genocide of her people. And a tremor shook her plated body once. Twice. Before it shook her whole being so hard that she crashed to her knees, proud body crumpling as waves of loss crashed over her. Unfeeling rocks with sharpened, black edges cut into her scaled skin with ease, leaving more of her blood as some futile sacrifice on this godsforsaken rock. ”Bonvolu,” her whisper fell to blue-stained rocks, ili mortos.

And silence still reigned.




infanoj = children
patrinoj = mothers
dioj = gods
bonvolu, ili mortos = please, they’ll die


a q u i l a</style>
image - table


@Volterra SO this was so out of character for her and it was very hard for me to write her so broken and pleading :[

Please tag Aquila in all posts.

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#8


Something makes him take a step closer to her, as though to offer reassurance with his bulk. It is not like him, especially around a woman he hardly knows, but...perhaps his presence might encourage the Gods to heed the call of the piscine mare. Perhaps two voices will work better than one. Or perhaps he just thinks she needs somebody there beside her - he does not claim to be a good judge of character, but there's just something about Aquila's posture and mannerisms today that seem to be a world apart from the fiery, feisty fighter who duelled with him in the Flats.

She chooses the God of the Earth's shrine; approval flares in the goliath's thick chest. Of all the Gods, Father Earth is the only one he has reason to respect. From the moment he met the God when he was just a wet-eared boy and received an amulet for his troubles, he has held a deep sense of reverence for the behemoth deity. He is strong, stalwart, and the sire of Isopia - don't think about her, not now, not ever. Volterra is quietly confident that the earthen giant will obey Aquila's call and help her get whatever it is she seeks.

As the mare begins to speak, the beast's suspicions are confirmed. She does not ask for power for herself; she does not request venom in her barbs, or a companion to meld to her soul. She asks for her people, and suddenly the stallion's flesh begins to twitch - he feels like he's intruding, like Aquila should be doing this alone, away from prying eyes. He glances away and shuts his lids over the crimson irises within, saying a silent prayer of his own to the great Earth God. Please, come to her. Help her.

Nothing happens. Nobody comes. The giant opens his eyes and looks from the shrine to Aquila, but Father Earth is nowhere to be found.

She tries again. Her voice grows more frantic, a shout, a cry, a need. Pain spears the leviathan's chest as he looks at her; strong Aquila, steadfast Aquila, she of the razor teeth and razor tongue, bellowing her command at a God that refuses to answer her. It hurts him, to look at her. He doesn't understand why - he is not an empathetic creature, who feels the pain of his fellow horses, who shares their misery and their fear. But there's just something about seeing this primal, raw display of want - something about seeing this Aquila laid bare in front of him - that makes him ache for her, that makes him want to cross heaven and earth to try and bring her people home.

But he can't. If the Gods can't, neither can he, a mere mortal. His head lowers, crushed beneath the weight of failed promises. "Aquila..." His voice is soft, the opening rumble of a storm rather than the full-fledged wrath of an earthquake, and he steps slowly towards her. As he does, she crumples like a house of cards, tumbles to her knees. The ache deepens, because no proud woman should be humbled in such a manner. It is wrong...A tiny fragment of his respect for the Gods slips away. They will answer requests for power for individual Helovians, but not for those who try to save their own race?

He leans down to her, tries to press his massive head to her scaled neck. "Víz királynő, I'm sorry." What else can he say? What else can he do, but try to offer support? And what support can he truly offer? He is not one of her people - he is just a man she happened to fight, a man who happened to have a handful of knowledge about the Gods.

Perhaps he should never have mentioned this to her. From the moment he spoke of the Gods and their power, he was setting her up for a fall.

IF IT FEELS GOOD, TASTES GOOD, IT MUST BE MINE
HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE
image: chan <3


víz királynő = water queen

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Aquila Posts: 95
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 16.2 :: 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
Craonos :: Common Narwhal Leviathan :: Boil smitty
#9
the language of waves

The sound of earthborn hooves is a hollow one—as hollow as her chest that had, moments before, been filled with hope. A hope of salvation; not for herself, but for a maritime race of warriors, traders, craftsmen, academics… But now, beneath the blank and half-missing faces of the gods’ shrines, there is no hope. Nothing left but blue blood the bled out the lives of many.

Her scaled ears splayed, the bright blue glow of her coat slowly softening and fading as her unblinking eyes stared at blue-blood-smeared rocks she kneeled on. ”Aquila…” The behemoth’s voice, already soft for the battle-hardened man, was a faint whisper beneath the roaring sea of loss that frothed in her mind.

It is the soft, warm press of his skull against her cool, scaled skin (skin that was drying and growing ashen from her extended time out of the water) that draws her attention outwards. Her flesh twitches beneath the touch—she is not one for caresses or pats. Her family did not do such things, her warriors did not do such things. So the sensation of his soft muzzle and hot, furred skin is an alien one to the seaborne woman.

”Víz királynő, I'm sorry.” Her tail snaps once, head and neck twitching beneath the weight of his soft, gentle apology. There is a part of her—a small and petty part—that wishes to blame him for this. To blame him for the gods’ silence. Is he not the one who brought her here, under the pretense of the gods’ presence? Is he not the one who told her of such possibilities? So should it not be his fault that they failed her?

Her ears tilt back as desperation slowly gave way to anger. As a warrioress, she does not know to cope with helpless anguish. She cannot contend with her despair. So her mind resorts to fury to defend the shredding grasp on reality she had. Slowly at first, but then with an abrupt lurch, she lunges to her cloven, bleeding hooves.

Víz királynő?” The words are spat out of her mouth at first—enraged loss making her entire body bristle. Even her aqua striped skin pulsed once, warningly, with bright light.

But it is a false bravado; an anticlimactic finale to her self-preservation. Aquila’s intelligence and training tells her it is not Volterra’s fault that the gods do not heed her. It is her own. She is the one to blame for failing her people. So her ridges fall flat, her face-fins droop. Dankon, Volterra. I will return to la maro,” her voice, hoarse and breaking, grates against her throat.

And so she does. Body slumped with defeat, she returns the embrace of the sea.



Dankon = thank you
la maro = the sea

a q u i l a
image - table


@Volterra I wanted to wrap this up for her <3 I know it's from forever ago, so we can end it here!

Please tag Aquila in all posts.


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