The Silent Frontier

Davorn's Log
Our Journey to the Lands North of Nathir

Blessed be the Seldarine, and blessed be the Tel’Quessir, their people. I am Davorn Soronath, of the Teu-Tel’Quessir, ‘moon elves’ in the Imperial tongue, and this is an account of my travels, such as they are, into the Takor Wilds.

It is late October, as the Imperial calendar would have it. I myself recently arrived to this town called ‘Nathir’, upon rumor of the area suffering from the presence of one of the Three Enemies of the Tel’Quessir, the undead. I have traveled out into the Wilds two times, both times to the Blood Hills. I have not accounted for those travels here. Doubtless some other companion shall do that. I myself do not see those travels worth mentioning as of yet, save for the affirmation of the presence of undead in that region. This account concerns the region to the North of Nathir and the purging of undead from a haunted ruin.

My traveling company was comprised of two humans, Jim-Bo Stafford, a Bard, Timorias, Cleric of the human god St. Cuthbert, and a dwarf by the name of Krazkan, a warrior/shaman of sorts. We met in The World’s Edge tavern, and after some discussion agreed to set out towards the area known as ‘Sorrow’s Rest’ for exploration. Directions known by us at the time were vague at best, and a crude map (I use the term ‘map’ loosely) carved upon a table by some unskilled hand was all that we had for reference. Not being the type to trust our lives and fate to foggy memory and the suggestive table etchings of a dullard, we enquired upon the local denizens ensconced within the tavern about Sorrow’s Rest. Preliminary attempts to discern any sort of information were met by the slack-jawed, glazed eyed response that I’ve come to expect from these Imperial backwater communities. Our luck ran true, however, with one particular hunter named Marc or Marcus, who was familiar with the area enough to give us directions to ‘Sorrow’s Rest’, or as he colloquially put it, ‘Bug Town’. The directions were to travel North past the Wolf Rock to the fork in the river, and to cross the fork in such a way as to be on the right hand side of the main river. Following this to the North, Northeast would place us at Sorrow’s Rest. Directions fresh in our minds, hopefully committed to paper lest I am mistaken, we set out upon the road.

Our first day of travel proved to be an eventful one, scarcely four hours had gone by, with us just entering the shadow of a large hill, when we heard the sounds of pitched battle around a wooded bend. A pack of kobolds garbed in wolf’s hide armor accompanied by disgusting rodent pets were attacking what seemed an equal-sized pack of wolves. Joining in the fray, we pushed the advantage to the wolves, and the surviving kobolds were routed. The encounter very nearly ended in tragedy. Krazkan, remembering the muttered exorbitant price of a pelt from a wolf of the region from the tavern, sought perhaps to take one as a trophy and began making threatening intimations towards one of the wolves. Naturally, the other five wolves did not like this and very nearly attacked us. The situation was more or less diffused however with some well timed submissive body language on our behalf, and before disappearing with the rest of the pack as they dragged the spoils of their victory off, the largest wolf (the Alpha, perhaps?) let loose an oddly pitched howl. I’ve never heard it’s like before, though I wasn’t wholly surprised, as the local hunters had mentioned that the wolves in the Howling Heights region behave queerly, to say the least, and not at all like normal wolves.

Soon enough we were on our way again. We traveled some more, and shortly before reaching the fork of the river we came across the rock shaped like a wolf’s head. Well enough, our directions were sound. Moving closer, my eyes picked out a scrap of something in front of the rock, and inspection revealed it to be…and this was most loathsome…a human face. It was as if someone or something had peeled the facial skin (like a mask) off a body and placed it as a bloody offering to the wolf rock. Ghastly though it was, there was nothing for us to do but to press forward. We made it to the fork of the river just as night was falling.

The night started quietly enough, until deep into second watch with Timorias and myself. Timorias spotted a figure approaching our campfire. It was a man garbed in kobold hide, with slicked back hair and a feral appearance. His speech, however, was not as uncivilized as his looks. Indeed, Lucien, as he called himself, spoke to us with a weary and imperious tone, the type associated with one who had to explain something for the third time to those beneath their worry. After greeting us, Lucien asked that we handle a problem to the Northwest of our camp, where the ruins of a mansion or dwelling lay. This was a problem he had previously broached to two other groups such as us, but with little to no avail. Recently, things had gotten worse: the ruin of the mansion had been opened, letting out some nameless undead menace kept at bay inside. Simply put, it needed to be expunged from the area before things got any further out of hand. An opportunity to fight undead was not an opportunity to be denied, I felt. Waking the others we explained the situation and, though I had to coax Krazkan with the lure of treasure, we ultimately decided to head for the Northwest immediately come daybreak. Lucien, after giving us a gold necklace, with an amulet in the shape of a hand grasping a wolf-headed pommel, disappeared into the night, and no further incident happened.

We broke camp at dawn, crossing the river on the side that would allow us to move to the Northwest, and after some travel we reached the mansion. We scarcely had time to appreciate the sight of the place before three skeletons set upon us. I managed to fell an armed humanoid one with the flat of my longsword before being felled by a smaller one. Fortunately Krazkan and the others proved their mettle, and made short work of the others. Though wounded, we took in the sight of the mansion. A statue out in front appeared to be that of a human covering its face with its hands and was in surprising condition considering the supposed age of the area, whereas the mansion itself was in somewhat fair condition as well. Three corpses, not undead, lay strewn in the front of the place. By their garb and equipment recovered, I was saddened to discover that these were the first companions I had met and befriended upon arriving in Nathir. Three who had disappeared not shortly after my arrival. I pray that in their final moments they took as many of the damned undead with them as they could. Geoffrey, Richard, and Maelthor were laid to rest out near the mansion, may the gods have mercy on their souls and may Sehanine Moonbow guide them to their final rest. I marked an odd scuttling sound retreating from our presence near the cavernous maw of the mansion, but, gladly, nothing came of it. The shadows inside the house proved to be unnaturally dark, despite it being well around noontime, and daylight penetrated not at all into the foyer. Relying on Krazkan’s dwarvish sight and my torch, we steeled ourselves and headed inside.

The first battles we had were quick and victorious. We purged the first few rooms we entered of the undead filth, systematically turning and destroying the mindless abominations like the wretched creatures they were. In the second room I procured a rusted light mace to relieve myself of using the flat of my blade. Onward we pressed. Krazkan noted that the double-doors at the end of the main hallway were covered in what appeared to be faces, faces of the same condition as the one found near the wolf rock nailed to the wood. It was gruesome, but on the whole unsurprising. The undead are ever capable of such acts of depravity. More reason for their destruction, one would think. We opened another door and discovered what appeared to be an overgrown arboretum of sorts. Krazkan spotted an enormous undead skeletal wolf hiding within the recess of a large rock in the center of the room. Though it appeared intimidating at first, it was no match for us and we cut it down. Jim-Bo, spurred on by our prowess against the undead thus far, hurried and zealously opened the door opposite to the arboretum. Would that he had left it shut…

The door was flung open, and we were instantly assaulted with a horrid stench. A booming voice that rattled me to my core exclaimed “AH, FRESH MEAT”. Looming in the doorway was a terrifying figure: a hulking zombie with a rictus grin, wearing a bloodstained butcher’s apron and wielding an enormous meat cleaver covered with rust and dried blood. Behind him was what appeared to be a kitchen strewn with body parts and gore. Our first true test had begun.

The battle that followed was fierce. Drawing it out into the hallway, we surrounded it on all sides and proceeded to rain blows upon it. The damage the thing could do with its cleaver was not to be laughed at. Great cords of rotted sinew and muscle stuck out as it swung its cleaver at us. Krazkan laid into it viciously with his axe, I with my longsword, Timorias with his mace and Jim with his quarterstaff. Though I dealt it a good deal of harm for my part, the thing took note and struck me down. Cunningly, Jim disarmed the creature of its cleaver as the others struck at it, and it was swiftly finished off. The moment it toppled forward in a great sodden heap, the room behind it underwent a change. The limbs and other body parts underwent a year’s worth of decomposition in the course of a few seconds, such that there was scarcely anything left save for old bloodstains; even the stench was gone. It was at this point that, wounded as we were and Timorias drained from healing, we decided to tactically withdraw to rest and recoup, and begin a second attack on the mansion the next day.

We traveled away from the mansion for about an hour, and made camp. Blessed be Sehanine Moonbow, Goddess of Moonlight, enemy of the undead and mother to the Teu-Tel’Quessir. She surely smiled upon our quest, for we were not disturbed that night. Upon awakening, we discovered that we were not all fully healed of our wounds. Thus, staying in camp, we gave ourselves another day before beginning the second assault upon the mansion. Again, the Goddess of Moonlight smiled upon us, for the second night was as peaceful as the first.

Our second assault upon the accursed mansion began at daybreak. No new enemies had risen during our absence, and we moved unchallenged down the hallway. We prepared ourselves, and picked the door to the right of the face-covered double doors. I had drawn my bow at this point, so my distance from the entryway to the next room prevented me from seeing what horror lay within at first. I did not have to wait long. Clutching at a large gemstone, a desiccated figure with skin drawn taut over its bones sprang from the room, hissing and glaring at us with hate-filled eyes that burned like coals: a ghoul. As always, Krazkan pressed the attack and struck at it with his axe. I loosed an arrow at the thing and struck true, and, naturally, it took notice. I escaped injury however, and seeking easier prey it turned on the others, who laid into it with relish. Calling upon the might of his god, Timorias smote it into the dust with his mace, and that was the end of it. Krazkan, with avarice showing hungrily in his eyes, pocketed the large gem. A sweep of its room revealed naught but rotted books and a desk with furrows gouged on either side of its top. According to Krazkan, the thing had been seated staring into the gem, dragging its claws on either side of it, before it attacked us. We moved to the next room and discovered it to be a training room, with two skeletons and two zombies occupying it. The creatures were sparing with one another, re-enacting scenes of their previous lives no doubt. The centuries of undeath they suffered had not improved their swordplay, and we made short shrift of them. This room had nothing of note either, save rusted armor and weaponry. Steeling ourselves, we opened the double-doors and entered the room that lay beyond.

As the doors creaked opened, a grisly sight greeted us. The entire room was covered with skinned faces. The stench was almost overwhelming. At the end of the room, a throne on a raised section of floor sat, and it, like the walls and ceiling, was covered with faces. A rotted red carpet led from the doorway to the throne, like it awaited a procession of the macabre. I stood near the doorway while the others opened the doors to the other rooms previously visited. Nothing was to be found, so they moved back in the room towards the throne. Moving away from the double-doors, I was about to enquire Timorias of something when things started happening. The double-doors slammed shut, as did the other two doors, and a loud hissing sound came from above. Dropping down directly in front of Krazkan was something horrible. It was like a ghoul, in that it had the same taut skin and desiccated frame, but its eyes. Gods above, the eyes. They burned out from behind the mask of flesh it wore like twin glowing embers, seething with intelligence and unbridled rage. If there was ever any doubt that some form or shape of a soul was left in the thing, those eyes shattered it. They reflected the very howling, shrieking pits of the hells. A noxious stench, worse than anything we yet encountered, washed down over us. It was the stench of death, corruption, and pure evil. I managed to not be distracted by it by virtue, I’d like to think, of my calling, but the others reeled from it. Krazkan managed to dodge its initial blows, which further infuriated the thing. I struck true with my bow, which, shall wonders never cease, drew its attention to me. It, like a spider, scuttled up the wall and launched itself at me. It missed with its bite and first claw, but the second managed to catch me. In the instant its claw painfully tore into me, my muscles seized up and I fell, immobile, to the floor. Helpless, impotent, I could only watch as it turned its full fury on the rest of my companions.

Perhaps distracted by our proven ability to deal harm to it, it did not connect with many of its blows and bites. Just as well. I shudder to think what could have happened had all of us been paralyzed. Nevertheless, I was able to move again after a few seconds, and while its back was turned, I attempted to make use of the vial of holy water that I took from Geoffrey, and so threw it at the thing. I missed, but Jim-Bo and Timorias both connected with the accursed creature, drawing its attention and allowing me to slowly and cautiously rise and draw my longsword. Jim-Bo and Timorias were both paralyzed by its claws and bite, and at this point the fight seemed a near thing. I struck at it with my longsword, and it turned to finish me, but Krazkan connected with a mighty blow to the base of its neck with a rotted cracking sound, and it was dead before it hit the floor.

Jim-Bo and Timorias recovered, and we made further inspections of the rest of the mansion. The double-doors, which had creaked so loudly before, now opened silently at our touch. The unnatural darkness had also lifted, and sunlight could be seen dimly throughout the place. On either side of the throne were doors leading to other rooms. The door on the right led to a room filled with bookshelves with a desk in the center. Most of the books were rotted, but I found one in good shape. The cover bore gold tracery of a hand grasping a wolf-headed pommel, but the language inside was such that I had never encountered before. Jim-Bo discovered a secret compartment within the desk, with a letter that bore writing in the same language. I shall endeavor to have both translated somehow. The other room was a living quarters of sort. The armoire contained rotted clothing and a chest filled with gold and jewels. Krazkan eyes shone with barely contained hunger at this, but they positively glowed at the discovery made hanging on the armor stand. It was a necklace, much like the one Lucien gave to us. It was obviously magical, that much was certain. Not a speck of dust or age showed upon it. Pocketing our wealth, we left the place. I would have liked to perform some act of consecration, to ensure that nothing undead or evil would stalk that ruin again, or at the very least put it all to the cleansing flame, but we did not have the resources nor the time to do so. Our journey back to town was uneventful. Lucien did not show himself to thank us for our deeds. I’d liked to have enquired if he knew anything of the people who bore the wolf-headed pommel as their standard, and, if so, would he be willing to share such knowledge, but I doubt I will ever see him again.

Back in town, we had our gems appraised for worth, and we made quite a haul in terms of gold. The others were quite excited by this, but I was more interested in the book and letter. The amulet proved to be an interesting item, but ultimately useless to me. From the pompous posturing of the self-proclaimed ‘Master’ wizard Strom (a common hedge-wizard if I ever saw one) we learned that the item would increase its bearer’s strength, but at the cost of decreasing their perception of the world around them. I am a Ranger, and the ability to perceive the world around is my greatest asset, thus the amulet did not intice me. Krazkan and Jim-Bo set to haggling over it, and I believe that Jim-Bo is now the bearer of, as Strom called, the Amulet of the Faceless. After that, we went our separate ways. Doubtless we shall meet again in The World’s Edge tavern, and finally travel out to Sorrow’s Rest. If four days in the Wilds can yield discoveries such as the ones we made, I look forward to it.

Blessed be Sehanine Moonbow, goddess of the Teu-Tel’Quessir. May she watch over her people, as sure as the moon in the night sky watches the lands beneath it, and may Davorn Soronath, ever her loyal servant, continue to hunt her enemies, until they trouble her people no more.

Geoff's Record
The Beginning: Spider Itch and our Meeting with Doran

Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile an account of the things accomplished among us, it seemed fitting for me, having investigated everything carefully, to write it out for you in consecutive order, most excellent Triana; so that you may know the exact truth about the things you have been told.

I began my search by employing the use of a number of stout warriors to guide me through the wilderness, each adventuring just as it seemed fit in their own eyes. Joining me were these: Tomax, a mysterious jokester and warrior of the whip; Richard, the mighty Orc champion of righteousness; Maelthor, whose deadly sights with a bow are straight and true; Havoc, a wild and fierce gnome whose axe has spilt the blood of many a kobold; and Aubec, may his spirit be soothed by Pelor’s grace in death. All fought valiantly for the sake of comrade and honor, and among them cowardice cannot even be uttered. As one place is just as good a starting point as any other for the completion of my mission, I decided it prudent to begin by aligning my motives for the future with those of Tomax.

Thus, we set out from Nathir on the misty dawn of October 6th for a place that Tomax called Sorrow’s Rest, upon which I could find no information during my research in the Nathir library on the 5th. We made our bearing north by northeast and traveled quietly until noon, at which time one of our number fell into a sort of crude pit trap that lay hidden in the underbrush. Helping him out we continued onward until evening, whereupon we camped on the banks of a large river we found to be flowing in a southeastern direction.

October 7th found us well and in good spirits, following our newfound river in the direction of it’s flow until noontime where the river met a large body of water; here we first heard, then saw a group of Kobolds who busied themselves digging deep pits, apparently for the purpose of trapping poor, unsuspecting creatures in accordance with what we bore witness to the previous day. True to the gnome nature, as the rest of the group readied themselves for a stealthy assault on what can only be considered hostile creatures, Havoc charged forward screaming his cry of battle. The enemy was soon put to flight – a glorious victory! I must make use of this time to make note of kobold characteristics. They seem to be in the habit of building such traps, which most assuredly are a curse to man and beast alike. These foul creatures seek only evil for those who are not their own.

After these things took place we pressed forward toward our destination, moving around the circumference of the lake and once again meeting with the river, we stumbled upon what I soon identified as a Fairy Ring. The Fey were silent as we approached them then, but later that evening when we camped a few hours back up the river the sought to bother us once again, repeatedly hitting me on the head with a shovel Tomax had left at the Ring. The night continued in like trickery, concluding with explosions, lights, and nefarious illusions that made sleeping rather difficult – I may not know much about Pixies, as we later identified them, but of this I am sure: avoid them as best as can be done.

October 8th saw our departure from the river for a few hours on the recommendation of the good Aubec, which proved rather fruitful for my cause – we soon came upon what appeared to be the dwelling place of a small community of kobolds, a collection of Mud Huts which, upon further inspection, led to a series of underground rooms, all completely empty. From this I was able to learn quite a bit about the nature of kobolds and their living conditions, foremost that their tenacity at trapmaking for protection is much more immense than I had considered the day before, much more than a mere “habit.” They live under condintions that civilized races would consider filthy, their abodes strewn with rotting meat, old bones, refuse, and the like. As nothing material could be gleaned from this endevor, however, we thought it wise to head back to the river, where we again camped due to our trap-induced injuries. Kobolds attacked us again that evening, but we easily fought them off – I am beginning more and more to appreciate the company I have been keeping.

The next morning I was able to make an interesting observation regarding our evening ambush: the gold that we retreaved from the bodies of the slain kobolds does not look like the normal gold pieces that are in circulation in the Morn Empire, but rather carries a curious inscription. The coin’s face depicts the hilt and handle of a sword near the top, while the space wherein the sword’s pommel ought to reside is occupied the a picture of a wolf’s head. Who minted such a coin?

Our travels continued in a northwestern direction against the current of the river we again followed on October 9th, and much of the day was spent traveling in peace. After a few hours our company came upon what appeared to be the remains of an Old Cobblestone Road with a tattered signpost planted in the ground next to it, apparently the remnants of some ancient civilization. The sign’s message was something of a mystery, the thing being imprinted with the image of a wolf’s head and an arrow which presumably pointed its observers somewhere of importance in days past. We dared not tarry there to ponder the mystery much, being on a mission as it was, but I would very much like to return there and examine the site once again; regardless, we continued to follow the river some ways until our river met up with its parent, which seemed to head roughly west-east to my best estimation. Not desiring to cross the river and seeming to have traveled too far away from our intended destination, we returned the way we came, somewhat distraught.

My directional confusion soon turned into extreme fright, though – the next thing we encountered was a small group of kobolds being preyed upon by two of the most monstrous creatures I have ever seen! They appeared in the form of common arachnids, but they were as large as men; their hideous fangs dripping venom, their thirst for blood! Havoc was quick to dispatch his hated enemies, but the Giant Spiders decided to make us their next meal; against this, though, Havoc was also especially zealous. Bloodlust rose in the young gnome’s eyes as our defenseless group members were one after another stuck with a sickening web-like substance and reeled up into the trees. In a fierce display of valor in defense of his own, Havoc mightily ascended the branches of his foe’s fortress, rose up, and smote the terrible beast with a stalwart arm and an unforgiving axe. Shortly thereafter my own weapon found its mark: one cleft in two, and the other with a missile through its head, both of the spiders were slain. Unfortunately, Aubec found the bottom of his grave before the battle was over – we mourned his death as I tended to the wounds of my defenders for the rest of the night and the next day.

We beheld a welcome sight on October 10th as we lay resting – a brave hunter named Doran happened upon our slowly recuperating group, and I was able to learn much from him:

  • The area we were currently in is inhabited many Spiders both small and large. Spiders in the trees by day, and spiders that run along the ground under the cover of darkness.
  • The Howling Heights refers to an area on the western side of the river we were following. Wolves said to have a sort of superanimal intelligence live there in abundance, and their pelts are highly prized by hunters.
  • North of the river we had just recently turned back from, there are said to exist a group of Goblin Slavers, though Doran seemed somewhat unconcerned with them.

Doran also turned out to be a sort of savior to both Tomax and Maelthor by identifying a strange ailment that had come upon them, commonly referred to as Spider Itch. Doran became very distressed when he learned that they had aquired the itch, and on his word we allowed him to lead us back to Nathir so they could both receive proper treatment. I later gathered that spider itch is contracted through contact with the spiders’ webbing, causes intense itching all over the body, and can eventually end in insanity if left untreated, but I likewise learned how I may personally treat the itch, anulling the danger it presents to us in the future.

After half a day of travel back toward town, we camped for the night and were again attacked by kobolds. We quickly diminished their numbers and put them to flight, but not before sustaining some injuries; I grow weary of the kobold antic.

We continued our travels until finally reaching Nathir on October 12th. During this time Maelthor’s condition grew steadily worse, resulting in a breif dance with madness just before we made our way out of the wilderness. Tomax on the other hand, seemed more or less unaffected by all but a mild itching. You remember, Preistess, how then the bright and shining Pelor and his faithful servants worked a wond’rous healing upon Maelthor, and shortly thereafter I treated Tomax lest his condition grew worse! The itch was taken care of.

Beginning on the 15th of October I set about continuing my research on Sorrow’s Rest quite studiously, and continued until the 18th. With much effort I uncovered three distinct reports from Old Morn which discussed the place known as Sorrow’s Rest at some length, and I will condense the valuble information from those reports for you here.

Sorrow’s Rest was already in ruins by the time that scouts from Old Morn came across it, apparently the ruins of some city from another kingdom in another age. The site is said to be found at the fork of a river somewhere, so that at the time these reports were composed water lay to the west and the north of it. However, this site is also supposed to be found in the Howling Heights, which presents something of a problem logistically as I understand the area’s geography; after comparing this information to the map Tomax has composed, I conclude that either Tomax’ map must be incorrect, or that the lay of the land has shifted since these things were recorded. There is also mention of a cobblestone road that led from the ruins to the east, and at the end of which there sits a cave with strange, seemingly ritualistic carvings on the inside. As to the ruins themselves, the scouts that first found Sorrow’s Rest were of the opinion that kobolds gave the place a very wide berth, as if they wanted nothing to do with the place – is there some fear in them of this site? Witnesses tell of a half-ruined statue that once existed among the rubble, but it was destroyed or else removed by the time that the next group found the site – the statue is no longer there. There also exists one partially-standing building among the rubble, inside of which and under which there are a rusty, metal hatch and a basement. The report tells of a series of rooms and a false wall that the reporters were able to somehow get behind, but they were shortly thereafter overrun by giant spiders and were forced to flee.

This is all that I have to chronicle for now, my lord Triana – I will tell of more when there is more to tell.

Old Log
Rumors floating around the Tavern

September 24th

Umm… stoned is more accurate than lynched… but yeah that’s about what happened. And we’ve heard rumors around town that Sven escaped prison! There’s been no sign of him yet though… I hope he’s alright…

Keldyn Thinthicket

September 24th

Marik Bane, Keldyn Thinthicket, Sven Magson and I all left Nathir on September 17th in search of a strange, stone fortress that we saw in previous adventures to the east, and quickly ran into a group of torn-up looking Kobolds of whom we slew three (two strangled to death with Glint’s old belt for the sake of vengeance). Then we ran into Lucien (that crafty beast), who pestered us for about a day or so, joining and leaving just as slyly. There’s something I don’t trust about that human.

He didn’t stay long enough to help us with the group of Kobolds that attacked us in the early morning on September 20th, nearly overtaking us as we slept. Luckily for us Sven, or the “Champion of Pelor” as he is now called, arose mightily in a way that appeals to my more orc-like side and slew three of our oppressors as the rest of us lay battered with slingstones. Such heroism saved us from certain death.

Resting for the next few days, we altered our course and headed toward the Creepy Magic Estate (cowards!), where we learned virtually nothing and I sliced up my hand a bit on some broken (but not really) glass. Then we headed back to town and the REAL chaos began.

Naturally, I was outside of town spending time in meditation amongst the trees when Keldyn found me and informed me that the emotional climate in Nathir was taking a turn for the worse. By the time we got back, the townspeople were rioting, Sven had been arrested, the mayor and the high priest of Pelor had been lynched, and I got mixed up in defense of the priestly order of Pelor. The three of us that remain unimprisoned are currently under house arrest in the tavern, awaiting the word of the new acting mayor, Gerard.

Othaniel Hammerfeet


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