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Post by Deleted on Apr 19, 2013 14:22:18 GMT -7
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Name- Kratos Breed- Zebra|Shire|Fjord|Clydesdale Age- 7 Gender- XY Height- 19hh Alliance- Dark Health- 95% The Terms;; Two hits & One dodge. |300-3,000 word limit| 7 days to reply. Ω Not even a week had lapsed the occurrence of Luke's inevitable grasp within iron-blood-rusted shackles, before one of his endearing lackeys balled the jack and tried to steal Kratos himself as a form of currency to bond out his liege. Little did this ally know that "trading" was not a custom to the minds of the hellish ghouls that ran Carnevale. Trading was a sign of weakness, an "easy scapegoat" for the invertebrates. A written shame across the blatant face that should be bitch slapped for it's waste. Spinal column or not, Kratos would find something to crush. The Versai and light alliance would learn to consider their actions before dealing them and evade really pissing him off. Once leased the freedom of wrathful anger, the gilded tyrant was nearly an unstoppable force. To chisel away at the barred cage until cracks turned to divisions, was suicidal. The beast intimately snug within the infernal core region would only tackle the advantage to wreak unrelenting, apocalyptic, rage unto it's ignorant antagonist. Today, it was mildly disturbed by the summons of blood and fleeting promises for liberty. Just like the barraging myriad of tempest conniptions, detonating above his ascended crown, the inner demons writhed for play. Mother Nature's work was well endowed with beauty tonight. Black, unholy manifestations rolled across the immeasurable sky. The layers of rolling moisture condensed deeper within themselves; darkening their shades to abyssal hues even Caidas would be fond of. Interval ribbons of high-voltage-terror, streaked abroad the nebulae's exposed underbellies; shattering the silence with crackling war tunes that stung the listening ear and jolted the present nerves. Not moments after this dangerous spectacle, did cool, replenishing water slant from the weeping wounds gouged by the white-hot scalpels. The liquid pattered on the compact stone, slicking it with hazardous potential under-toe and painting him -with one easy stroke- a shade darker than his norm. Lengthy strides engulfed the substructure; traversing it with the loud, ungraceful lope that resembled the unpracticed step of a titan. He was not a floating Arab, nor a dressage worthy Andalusian. He did not walk from the tip-of-the-toe like an elegant friesian danseur; impressing his piers with ballet moves. He was a destructive Goliath; rolling cobra-like sinews beneath taut-leather-strappings garnished him, aided him, characterized him for what he was. The draft vessel barged the masonry groundwork in all the glory of his own gate. A heaving, prideful, weight distributing waltz that was -in it's own imperfections- grandeur. The war-lusting czar infiltrated 'pon the familiar abode. The necropolis much more contradicting than his last visit and yet still none effective to his strong mind. Ω Glistening sheets of accumulated water cascaded down the slight slope. Tributary sections meandering to their partnered streams; rolling down the hillside with scarlet remains tinting them. Their network of crimson tides revealed like the exposed veins of a living creature. The twisted scene toyed on the started frays of his mind. The hallucination unfurled and the rock came alive through pulsating venations; bleeding out to unseen lesions and the thunder served as agonized protest. Robin chasms narrowed and sinuous commodities within, contracted his right-fore-limb; leasing a hefty strike 'pon the oozing rock; however, he did not lose himself in the whimsical ploys innermost his cerebral vortex. The hellion knew too well the details of reality and farcical fabrications to fall prey to their alluring depths. A tactic that his poor queen -Necropolis- failed to achieve. Kratos leered through the veil of rain; easing to a coarse halt. He was set on the same stage where he had prior met with "The Shadow"; however, the cerebellum thoughts were transfixed on his distraught empress. The hideously crowned and vestige embroidered damsel -lending mass epidemic fear and atrocity by the might granted in ungodly ideals- was continuing to become lost in the labyrinths of her own self. It was a shame. The goddess of the dead -defeated by no one- was slowly defeating herself. A justifying way for the wicked temptress and he was certain she would have it no other way. When the vile creature transcended, the universe will weep in it's silence. The pain and terror bestowed by her reign will become missed in it's own morbid fancies. Kratos never found himself to like anyone before, let alone respect their rule over him. Needless to say - that wouldn't change. Kratos wouldn't mourn. He acknowledged her intangible "crown", but not fully to bow down and accept her as his superior ultimatum. That was a natural rebellion augmented within his essence from the first oxygen intake. He would not pity her nebulous gaze, nor the cease of that rhythmic heart. He would simply bid adieu and Caidas all the luck in the world and perhaps reap her kingdom as his own. That's right... Kratos was only thinking of his own sand. If there would be a space between time to take that gold mine, then he would obtain it and uphold it's frightening grasp, but with his own charismatic flare. But what stopped him from taking the first step now? Hm? What was to stop him from puncturing the septic tank and challenge her? A mind boggling question indeed. Perhaps there was nothing stopping him. Perhaps the gilded devil would drag Necropolis by that pretty, skeletal necklace to these sepulchral grounds within the next fortnight. Perhaps Kratos would spill a bit of her seemingly "untouchable" blood and remind her that she can indeed bleed. Guttural, organ melodies sinisterly ventilated from the employing tracheal bands; wrapping around the silence and constricting it's fragile nonsense; hushing the wildlife into instilled anxiety with their noxious tunes; however, as pleasing as the thoughts were, they were not the reasons why he was here. Ω Kratos moved after a lingering paralysis. The hessian warlord bowed tenacious brawn; anatomically abrading the crag with the sharpened ends of blackened blades. His thick-matted-plume struck the taut coverings, wrapped seamlessly over muscled quads. Pinnacles flickered atop the handsome demon's roman-shaped scalp and an ease of peeling velvets revealed the stained varnish on readied, glistening, ominous bridgework. He was here to ensure that Luke Skywalker did not obtain his weak path to freedom. No trade would save his sorry excuse of Versai carcass. If Luke wanted his freedom, then he would have to do it the old fashion way. Luke would have to fight. Be it Necro herself, Kratos, The Pumpkin King, or the rest of the in-line to kill him. Luke would be lucky to sever himself from CL, without severing his spine and if he would be so inclined to be so lucky then CL would continue to harass his home and soul. In other words; "it's best to just stay down". Kratos shifted his grandiose weight from his previous spot and more towards the centered arena. Doused by pummeling rain, his usual gravity-defying threads wilted. His caustic glare fixating where he assumed his counterpart would arrive. " Let us be done with this."Finished |Chara| Kratos |Muse| Excellent! |Count| 1161 |Music| -- |Notes| Sorry for the wait!
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Post by Deleted on Apr 26, 2013 1:26:28 GMT -7
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| [bg=white][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,472,true] Name- Regal Breed- Arabian Age- 10 Gender- Male Height- 15.1 hh Alliance- Neutral Health- 100%
The Terms;; Two hits & One dodge. | 300-3,000 word limit | 7 days to reply.
After biding his saplings good night and watching as they drifted off to sleep (his son and oldest child, Kaysar standing guard over them), the sable patriarch left his home, Guardian Rocks, to make the short journey towards the blood stained, ruined battlefields. His thoughts were upon his task at hand, though they tried repeatedly to return to the sleep figures left with only a yearling to protect them. His task, on this dark and danger night, was the scrimmage that would take place against the dark hessian Kratos. Now, Regal had no qualms against the thundering giant, save the fact that he and his kind has been relentless in their attacks against his ally, the one called Jedi’s Return, a Versai who went by the name Luke Skywalker to hide his true identity. He had become Regal’s ally when he had come to his rescue, saving him from the clutches of the Helkaer temptress, Yvette, who had whisked him away in the night, right out from under the nose of his friends and family. The light stallion had wanted one thing in return; Regal as an ally, to help in a time of need, a time that had come much too swiftly, for the sable stud. He had hardly returned to his life, setting up a new harem his family, when Jedi had come to collect the said favor, warning that a fight was at hand and that, if lost, he and his beta dame would be bound in chains to the dark ones. Though fearful, Regal was a stallion of his word, and after some quick maneuvering and planning, he had stolen the hulking figure Kratos, hoping to exchange him for the two he had recently gained as slaves. Little did he know that those of Carnevale Latele refused, as a rule, the trade of any herd member for the freedom of another. Therefore, Regal was forced into battle against the stallion many times his height, to try and help save the freedom of his ally and friend.
Any knowledgeable and wild stallion would know that the fight about to commence was going to be challenging and the outcome unforeseeable. Would Kratos, the towering hessian at nineteen hands prevail, or would the smaller, but sure and quick-footed Regal, win? Kratos may have his height as an advantage but Regal had lived four years longer then the other hessian, and had been in many fights before. Besides, with so much weight and mass beneath him, he definitely would not be able to be as swift and limber as Regal was. Regal knew how to use his small stature to evade hulking and lumbering figures such as Kratos, and though surely the same could be said about the dun stallion and his height, had he ever fought a stallion as slight as Regal was? Had any fifteen hand stud ever dared to challenge such a monstrous beast? Probably not willingly, though some might have become entrapped such as he was, fighting to defend his friends, or their family or freedom. It definitely would be a battle for the ages, to see such unmatched creatures clash together beneath the thundering sky, their screams piercing the air as they both fought for something they each thought was more important then the other’s cause. Which Regal knew and understood; Kratos was fighting for his own freedom, and his “slaves,” something any dark hessian believed belonged to him. So while Regal could concede the stallion’s freedom, he could not concede Jedi and the Shadow’s independence from their captors. With these thoughts in his head, Regal reached the battle field, just as the heavens opened and loosed upon the world a downpour, thereon turning the tawny and mahogany sands into a congealed mess, sticking to Regal’s daggers and pillars as he strode purposefully through the land, heading towards natural amphitheater where their battle would begin.
The dun stallion had arrived before the sable one, standing and facing the direction Regal entered, knowing the location he would enter from, owing to the fact that he was coming from the neutral harems. Brilliant, cerulean blue orbs met flaming, russet ones, showing no fear or uneasiness at the episode about to take place, only strength and determination. Though other studs might quiver like a leaf at the sight of such a gargantuan beast, Regal was not afraid, and would not show fear during the encounter. To do so would to show weakness, and Regal would never do that. He had worked too hard for his reputation (though it was largely unknown here in Wild Equines) , and showing fear now would discredit him. A stallion’s standing in his universe was a reflection of his actions, his reputation, his demeanor, and his respectability. Each facet of his standing took years to build, and showing fear at the wrong moment would send that pillar tumbling, which, with a domino effect would tumble the rest. With those thoughts firmly in mind, Regal paused before the other hessian, the words Kratos had spoken a moment before lost before the sable stud could hear them fully. He knew they had not been addressed specifically to him, and so, dipping his head a fraction of an inch, eyes never leaving the other hessian, Regal only responded with, ”Let us begin,” before suddenly lunging forward. His cerulean orbs flickered to the left, suggesting, along with his head and neck, that was the direction he was going, though his pillars propelled him in the opposite direction. His daggers flew beneath him, cranium low but outstretched, aiming to strike out at Kratos’ side. Regal knew that standing before the dark beast would give him little advantage, and would be crushed by the hulking figures plate-sized daggers with one miss-step. Staying on the stallion’s side, he would have a fighting chance. Rounding to the side of where Kratos had stood, Regal reached out with yellowed enamels, aiming to make contact with the bulging muscles of Kratos’ shoulder, spotting in an instant that reaching any higher would be almost impossible unless he was brought down to his knees or foolishly lowered his cranium into striking range. Knowing that to stay close would mean to be crushed, Regal planted all four legs together and leapt away from Kratos, flying through the air for a fraction of a second before landing out of striking range. Regal pivoted instantly – with a slight wobble after so much footwork on the uneven and soaked sands – and backed away, blinking the rain from his orbs as he kept them glued to the other hessian, waiting for the attack he knew would be coming any moment.
[OOC] Character: Regal Muse: Awesome^^ Count: 1110 Notes: Sorry for the wait on my end! Gotta love finals, right? xD Gotta say, though, I really liked the challenge of writing this post. Its been a long time since I had to concentrate so hard on everything; I hope I can keep it up in my other posts! Breakdown: Regal begins the battle immediately. He tries to fake out Kratos into believing he is headed left (Kratos' right) but goes to the right (Kratos' left) instead. As he runs by, he tries to tear into Kratos' shoulder with his teeth, then pivots and jumps out of striking distance, though he starts to loose his balance on the uneven and wet sand. --Two hits & one dodge left
Link to DA
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Post by Deleted on Apr 28, 2013 14:07:54 GMT -7
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Name- Kratos Breed- Zebra|Shire|Fjord|Clydesdale Age- 7 Gender- XY Height- 19hh Alliance- Dark Health- 88% Ω Moments withered like spring blossoms falling victim to Autumn weather - quickly and precisely before his opponent's visage could be seen through the hailing storm. Though, no physical ice pelted down, it still felt solidified 'pon impact. Amusement could barely be arrested in the pits of that flexing gorge when the much smaller stallion tentatively stepped forward. Lingual organ snaked from ashen brims; thieving the accumulated rain 'pon the lamina of his lips. Crimson atriums never left Regal's facials; trying to decipher the thoughts that could be awol with intelligence; however, the time needed to crack his opponent's intentions were slit open and gutted from him. "Let us begin." The smaller-swifter-more agile figurine danced mockingly to the left, but double-took and swerved to the right. Kratos' more heavily built anatomy could not match the grace and speed in which the Arabian lord was gifted. Thus the tyrant did not bother with a dodge. He let those damnable teeth of Regal tear away his precious membrane. Blood slithered from the laceration and woed his systems, but not hindering them. The monumental-statuesque-draft only swung his extravagant skull around so the hatred in his scarlet voids could envelope the onyx-donning liege. Out of reach and though the pain burned a path into his capitulum - the evidence did not ink into the exterior expressions dawning his facade. Kratos turned with a slower, heavier speed. Grandiose weight allowed dinner-plate-sized daggers to sink and purchase better 'pon the congealed muck. The only time graciousness could be given to his fat ass. Kratos was able to compact the ground enough to make a better; although, not perfect ground to work with. The champagne vagabond loosed an unruly, sinister, grin and that's when the stag's abdomen heaved; hefting dangerous hind enamels air-born; kicking them toward Regal's head. One connection could probably bludgeon the poor sap into a coma... or brain him. Though the thoughts were pleasing and desirable, Kratos doubted that would be the case. If anything, the light weight would get lucky with sad footing - slip and just dodge under the aerial force in which Kratos applied. The brute - hoisted on an injured shoulder- could not hold his upper strength for as long as usual. Intervened by the fatiguing element of pain ambushing the tender nervous system and blossoming throughout Kratos' concentrated sinews, he had to cut the assault short. Kratos thought he felt something connect with his heels, but could not be assured whether or not it was Regal, or the cliff wall. The only betrayal to his success would be the wailing from agony, or the bulky collapse of a new corpse crumpling to the bedrock. For now, he only heard thunder and falling rain. Ω Hindquarter daggers reunited with the slab of pavement; eliciting a propagating splatter of muck which back-washed against his own limbs and hocks. Low, agitated growl pitched from his throaty constrictions. His discontent from being overlayed with cosmetic sludge. Nodes flipped like a switch crowning his broad dome. Regal must think himself clever for being so swiftly gifted and thinking Luke backed his motives. Kratos will sponge those aggressions from him. Desaturate his honor and pride and steal away the most precious thing to him, and make him sit and think about his deeds - his reasoning for allying with Jedi's Return, and hopefully turn his nose at the prospects of helping the Versai brother again. It was pleasing to know that Regal had the balls to spice up the fight and take Kratos' deal. He felt Regal's daughter would be just a lovely addition to the rust-clad, iron prison - nestled deep in the bowels of his carnival home. " I hope your daughter wants to see the carnival Regal. It'd be a shame if she were afraid of clowns. Oh right, how could she be afraid of them? She was raised by Clowns." Deep within the crib of his ribs, a droning laughter reverberated through the layers of flesh and fumed through tracheal passageways. The amused chortle assailed the stratosphere, and rose above the pummeling monsoon. Kratos perambulated across the slick floor, and over to the opposite end of the Colosseum; letting the venom of the speech ensnare Regal and seep into his mental distress like salt would an open wound. Let the trifling words upset him. Kratos wanted that. Now facing the inked stallion - Kratos waited. Articulated features smoothing to an expressionless plain. Burgundy receptacles locking on their target. Fierce and rife with a look of savagery. Kratos' bristled chin tucked toward his bosom. Cardio vascular organ beat rhythmically within the brute's chest cavity. Neither fevered by anxiety, nor lethargic with imprudent nonchalance. Time seemed to wane and so did the torrential showers. Lighting still branched transversely over the tempest's underbelly, and thunder still cracked mercilessly 'pon the inhabitants below. The rain thinned to a tolerable glaze and Regal could now be seen, almost perfectly, from where Kratos stood - waxed with clay. The large stallion took this loll in the battle to examine the smaller stallion. Smaller, but not without strengths. Regal possessed agility and lightweight advantages that poor old Kratos could only wish for; however, the most daunting disadvantage the smaller equine has, is if his agility fails him. Should Regal fall victim to one blow from Kratos, the damage would be indefinite. While if Kratos dodged, or not, the smaller set of opposing hooves would inflict minuscule damage; depending on where they connected. Ω Kratos flickered his lobes forward, leaning them toward the light's direction. An unusual suit for the usual grumpy stag. The curious guise did not befit him. The annoyed characteristic was more honest of his nature; ears pinned; blunt countenance stating boredom - clearly unimpressed. Sated with his found information, Kratos shifted his weight on fresh limbs. " Come on. These moments are turning into hours. I wish to be home, tormenting your daughter for your mistake." A comical yawn stretched the shadows across his broad countenance; casting them under his luminous eyes, and brushing them by his jaw-line. Inwardly smirking at the brazen claim. Finished |Chara| Kratos |Muse| Excellent! |Count| 1018 |Music| -- |Status| 88% Now a weeping gash along his shoulder |Hits| 2|1 |Dodge| 1 |Notes| Sorry for the wait. | Summary| Did not evade Regal. Turned to look at Regal before moving closer, and then turning to buck at Regal's head.
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Post by Deleted on May 5, 2013 0:39:54 GMT -7
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| [bg=white][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,472,true] Name- Regal Breed- Arabian Age- 10 Gender- Male Height- 15.1 hh Alliance- Neutral Health- 80%
The metallic taste and coppery tang of the monster’s lifeblood was the only indication to the sable Arabian that his strike had hit the mark. Nostrils flared in disgust, but no second was taken to relieve the stag of the discomfort; for surely if he did, he would face even further discomfort when Kratos caught up to him, unsteady as his footing was. Auditory peaks pinned back, flattened amongst the sea of ebony locks, Regal instead concentrated on the other brute, cerulean orbs upon the colossus as his dial rotated to look back, a sickly and malicious grin spreading across his face. Fallow enamels seemed to stand out in the rain, mocking the sable stallion as he regained his footing against the shifting sands, though they disappeared as, with a sudden heave, Kratos threw his back pillars out, razor sharp daggers speeding towards Regal’s façade. With a gasp at the speed at which the attack came flying, the sable stag tried to dodge the plate-sides weapons. While one might think the uneven granules would help the lithe stud evade the attack, such was not the case in this instant. Regal’s right leg buckled beneath him when he tried to take a step to the side, sliding in the slippery sands, sending him down towards the ground, and straight into the daggers flying towards him. In any other circumstance – like Kratos having his full strength, or if the combat had taken place upon unmoving terra – Regal most likely would have been knocked unconscious or even killed. But because Kratos’ daggers struck at the end of their extension, a lot of the power was gone, and with his cranium turned to the side to brace against the inevitable pain about to befall him, the strike landed against Regal’s arched boa. Sanguine fluid gushed from the gaping wound that almost seemed to appear in an instant, causing the stag to have a moment of panic, for he thinking a critical artery had been sliced open.
The next moments were crucial, and if the colossus had taken the time to stop and look back, he could have taken advantage of the moment of weakness, but instead he lumbered off to the other side of the amphitheater, to turn and wait for Regal to approach and attack again. Breathing heavily, the sable brute was relieved when the fluid leaking from his neck started to slow, though it had already dripped completely down his front, staining his already black coat an even deeper and darker color, causing him to look like he just might be on the brink of death. Though he had lost some life-giving fluid, and had a bruised neck, none of his motor skills had been compromised, and so he started forward, following the colossus figure as he drew to a stop on the other side of the arena. Frustration rose slowly as the other spoke, first of his daughter – who would be Kratos’ prize if Regal were to fail – and then of continuing the battle because it was dragging on. Regal had promised himself that his words would be sparse or completely avoided, if able, but with Kratos’ words, he had to spit out, ”You want this battle to be over? Stop running from me as an elephant that runs from a mouse.” Only when his voice floated between the spaced between them, sounding as if he had been chewing gravel, did the stud realize the bruise was deeper then he realized, affecting his voice. He swallowed, and experienced pain he had not felt before; perhaps it was because the searing pain from the gaping wound, the deeper, inner pain had been masked, or perhaps he just hadn’t realized it before, but there was definitely some damage to his voice box. He would have to deal with his injuries later, though. Right now, only the battle mattered. He definitely did not want Jedi and his beta stuck as slaves to this herculean monster, but even more dire, he did not want his daughter, his youngest essa Kaliana, stepping hoof anywhere near Kratos. He would warp and twist her mind; and while Regal cared not what alliance his children chose, he did not want his children to have anything to do with Carnevale Latele. With thoughts of little Kaliana floating through his cranium, he advanced forward and an ever-increasing speed, not allowing Kratos to have too many moments of leisure to regain his composure or plan his next attack.
Knowing that the same attack would never work, Regal’s next plan of attack was almost the complete opposite of his first, and hopefully, something Kratos would never expect. As soon as he was within striking distance of the gargantuan beast, he took one more step, planted his front flints into the ever-shifting granules, pivoted on the spot and stuck out with his own back pillars. He may not have as many bulging and rolling muscles as his colossus rival had, but he was still strong and stout in his own right, and if his hooves were to make contact, with façade, boa, or oozing wound upon his shoulder, the could cause their own damage. He bucked once, then a second time, then, once all four pillars were on the ground, flew from the colossus’ side and back into the middle of the arena where he stood, facing the giant as the rain continue to pour down around them and soak the ground. His breath was growing haggard, though it wasn't from being out of shape; the extreme discomfort that continued to grown in his throat made him wonder if a windpipe had been bruised, a long with his voice box. He needed the distance he put between them, to regain his breath. No longer would he allow his competitor to strike while he was in distance and then amble away; his game of cat and mouse was pointless and annoying. Regal was the one at a disadvantage here; he would start to control the fight, and not let the other – who had everything already going for him – charge at him, open and full of weakness.
[OOC] Character: Regal Muse: Good Count: 952 Notes: N/A Breakdown: Regal slips as he's trying to dodge Kratos' attack and ends up getting kicked in the neck; a large gash is opened but no major arteries are hit. Its also bruises and sore. After Kratos runs away, Regal chases after him, spinning as soon as he gets close enough and bucks twice, then runs away. --Two One hit & one dodge left
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Post by Deleted on May 10, 2013 15:43:58 GMT -7
My time has been discussed and approved to be extended until May 17th; however, it is a possibly that I may reply before then, but no promises. Thank you for your consideration and patience.
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Post by Deleted on May 11, 2013 17:21:51 GMT -7
Dropping out. Kratos will be captive. Lose by forfeit
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Post by Deleted on May 11, 2013 17:24:22 GMT -7
That's not what this battle was for. If you lost, Jedi and the Shadow got to go free.
So Kratos is free, but he has to give up Jedi and the Shadow.
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