Rimeglen

The Expanse of Nymure

Snowcoated Lands

Far in the northern lands of Azuras lies a vast expanse known as the Rimeglen, a land of pine-coated cliffsides, large wooded groves, and immense glacier-covered shores. All with a lingering and set permafrost over the region, as the land is almost entirely covered in snow. A token hold from the nearly constant snow falls that linger over the area, providing a coating from dreary clouds that blot out the sun. In terms of settling, this land is one of the more difficult regions, where, if it is not the cold that dries out crops, it is the beasts that roam the region that have dissuaded a significant descendant presence in the area.

That said, it is not uncommon to see markings on the land, from abandoned villages and half-built homes to warning signs dotted throughout the region, intended to inform those who come after. Regardless of the descendants' habitat, the area is fairly populated with various creatures acclimated to the low temperatures. These creatures vary rather widely from common foxes, wolves, and acclimated bears to large beasts of furred and serpentine nature more akin to monsters than animals.

The Pale Veil

Close to a century before the Descendants traveling from the realm of Aevos arrived on Azuras, a large fleet of ships had set sail towards the Rimeglen. The only remnant of them that remains to this day is the immense glacial formation that the many galleons and evident hunting brigantes now sit within to the far northern coast. Not much is known of the fleet and where they might have arrived from. The facts that are made clear are that the band was most likely descendants of Horen, as those who trek out to the ships would note that a number of the vessels scattered about the glacier bear the names of many canonist saints. Some notable examples are Godwin’s Eye and Harald’s Spear, which can be found submerged in ice or left upon high ice peaks, utterly desolate. The effort they had made to come to Azuras remains primarily a matter of speculation. Still, they had arrived with the intention of pursuing a hunt, as large ballista and harpoon-like bolts are stored within a number of the under decks of these broken ships, leaving many to speculate what brought down such an organized force now commonly referred to as the Argent Spears.

Many wise tales from explorers of Rimglen offer potential theories about what caused the hunting band to be left in the state they were in, from stories of a great sea beast sundering their boats and casting them into the glacial cliffside, to suspicions of foul magic that grew the very ice into unsuspecting ships. That said, there is one that is undoubtedly the most popular, accounting for the majority of these other suspected theories. A tale known as The Pale Veil is commonly told to children as a means of reason to avoid the frozen north. It is said that during the Argent Spears' final preparations for their hunt, a sudden and great storm began to rock the coast, one that would last for years. Battering down upon the anchored vessels, causing them to crash into one another as a great hollowing screech rang out across the coastline that was great enough to cause one's blood to run cold. Attempts were made to call out to one another and give orders to one another, but it was to no avail as something had befallen the band of hunters. As one by one clashes were made against the ship, leaving immensely sized claw and talon marks, the troop was only able to make out the large form moving between the Pale Veil that obscured their vision before all the ships had fallen. The region was left only to remember the remnants.

The Village of Valgor

Resting within the center of Rimeglen is a relatively small village that appears to have been utterly abandoned at first glance, long since being brought up by settlers from Skjoldier in the mass settling by King Bryndr. Though it is now a space, with abandoned food left to rot about, it seemed as if the settlers picked up what they could and left much behind. Some believe they found the lands too hard to tame and shifted west with the rest of their kin, while others believe the elements themselves had claimed them.

Regardless of their fate in the modern day, many explorers of the region often use the abandoned fishing village as a staging ground for expeditions, setting up temporary camps at the established location before heading off further or going about their day's ventures before returning. Acting as one of the only staging grounds presently available within the region.

The Emberrest

The Fogged Wood

Lands of Eternal Autumn

Resting within the middlelands that comprise the center of Azuras is a vast woodland commonly referred to as The Emberrest, which appears to be locked in an eternal state of autumn. Each of the trees holds hues of gold, rust, and ember-red, occasionally flickering off and littering the forest ground only to regrow in the same almost withered state. Additionally, residents of the region often found that these trees occasionally produced thick fogs that lingered throughout the woods. Those who may be more knowledgeable on wood elven practices may form a comparison to their own Taliame’miruel or Trees of the Red Autumn. However, this comparison is more akin to a sister species than an exact copy. Taking on a far darker coloration often leads to a more foreboding presence. Travelers who are forced to travel through this fog usually speak of how the wind never ceases to shift in the forest, as the branches carry sounds like whispers or forgotten voices.

Some believe that the Aspects cultivated the forest itself as a blessing upon the land, meant to protect and preserve it. However, over time, an apparent sickness has appeared to root itself through the wood, as if the cycle of nature had been broken or twisted inward, causing an eternal rot to fester like an infected wound. Such things can be seen in the subtle signs within animals that linger in the area, often accompanied by occasional malformations or the shifting fogs of the wood, which are said to whisper the voices of those lost to it.

The Forgone Ruins

Throughout the woods, it is not uncommon for travelers to come across various ruins that litter the land, each clearly a remnant of humanity. Stone carvings and foundations hidden amongst the fog, with no true origin aside from clearly being multiple forms of grave sites. Superstition has left many of them unexplored, and rumors of curses falling upon those who wish to disturb the long-dead. The ominous presence in itself leads many to avoid taking the risk. Some believe that these ruins may lead deep beneath the twisted soils of the decaying lands and suspect they may be the heart of the forest.

With such a fact beside these sights across the Emberrest, often they are small and may only rarely hold any substantial building. Only one such ruin is an exception to this, known as the Village of Rowland. An island colony of once foreigners set out to make Azuras their new home, which now rests mysteriously abandoned. Compared with the other ruins of the Emberrest, the village is far more recent, likely only half a century old when it was inhabited. Visitors to the site would find the town in a state of disrepair, as if the colonists had suddenly disappeared. Farm tools and rotted food litter throughout the village, and children’s toys are left upon now cluttered and dirty floors of the homes. Rumors scattered throughout suspect that the colonists may have sailed away from Azuras or been claimed by what may linger in the forest's fogs.

Creatures of The Fog

It's a common occurrence for tales of travel through the Emberrest to be told by hunters and merchants as they traverse the dense autumn woods, being suddenly enveloped in a thick, misty haze that obscures their vision of the traveled roads—said to begin only with whispers flickering between creaking branches, followed by the cracking and crunching of sticks beneath foot before suddenly being attacked by packs of pale snarling creatures. Said to be descendants, like in form with lanky limbs and twisted forms, the attacks are common and jarring enough for the creatures to be given a simple nomenclature of the Ravyns. 

The origin of the Ravyns is unknown, mainly because so few have been captured to perform a study, often disappearing as soon as travelers are ambushed. The beasts frequently only claim one victim at a time, dragging them away into the forest, not being long for prolonged fights. Some hunters in the region believe the creatures that linger in the fog are ancient, appearing when grave sites across the forest are disturbed. Others believe that they are the now twisted forms of the colonists of the Village of Rowland, the fact of which is to be seen. But the fact remains that stalking the various roads of the autumn-coated lands is a shifting foreboding haze.

The Southern Shores

Coasts of Marigold

Lands of Golden Grass

Spanning a large swath of the southern coast, a rocky and grassy expanse lies, holding a warm temperament and relatively peaceful plains of golden grass, with the occasional sprouting of marigolds. The land itself provides safe travel for most explorers of Azuras, holding little to no geographical dangers across the expanse. That said, those unlucky enough to linger near mountainside and cove caverns might find themselves facing some of the unique beasts that make their home within the plains.

In terms of civilizations, past or present, those who find themselves traveling across the southern mainland might come across remnants of old pillars that once formed the foundations of small buildings, along with remnants of long-abandoned campsites darting across the landing and hinting towards some descendant or beastfolk presence within the space at some point in time. That said, while the mainland itself is not greatly inhabited in present times, the coves and isles that make up the entrance to the waters spanning the center of Azuras often serve as staging grounds for roaming sailors or bands of marauding vessels. These bands constantly switch locations to avoid competition within the space before taking their journeys elsewhere on the seas of Eos.

The Silver Oath

Throughout the Southern Shores, travelers who frequent the land spread rumors and tales of creatures that lurk within its caves —most would consider them mythical: one-eyed giants, multi-headed serpents, and creatures that can turn men to stone. That said, one legend is far more prominently told, focusing on a singular hero, Diodros, and his crew, the Oathbound, who came in search of a relic said to offer a glimpse of the future. 

Diodros was a foreigner, like many others who had set out for Azuras when Descendants first touched the lands of Eos centuries prior. His main charge, along with that of his crew, was to locate a site of power somewhere within the southlands known as the Oracles' Pool. Said to be able to offer a glimpse into one's future and the height of their potential, the crew of glory-seeking sailors were keen on gathering a glimpse of their fate, even if potentially bleak. It is spread throughout tales of Diodros that each of his crew took an Oath, granting them their given title. Each Oathbound swore upon a silverblade which they would carry on their person until death or their mission was made complete. However, the Oathbound would soon find that this quest would be far more challenging than they had assumed.

Once they had gathered a suitable camp and staging ground, Diodros and his crew set out to explore the various hills and cave entrances, seeking clues and encountering numerous dangers, some of which are still said to linger around the inner coves and mountain sides. Their journey and search through the southern lands spanned years, claiming many lives of the expansive crew to the beasts of the land, until it is said that Diodros and a handful of men were all that remained. Whether the man ultimately discovered the Oracle’s Pool remains unknown; one defining fact is known: Diodros left the Southern Shores without an Oathbound aboard a small vessel and was not seen again. The rest lingers in speculation; some say the Oathbound now stand as eternal guardians of the so-called Oracle’s Pool. Others believe that the original vessels of the Oathbound were stolen or sunk, leaving echoes of them throughout the shores and depths of the nearby waters.

The Marauding Isles

Throughout the central isles of the Southlands, it is not uncommon to see stray ships docking for or setting up within the coves. These ships often carry foreign goods from other established descendant lands and serve as a stopping point before moving elsewhere. That said, this fact makes the area a ripe target for numerous marauding pirate bands seeking to make a quick fortune from undefended vessels. A reputation has arisen that ships known to linger in the area for more than a few weeks have a crew that is either seeking other marauders to expand their crew or awaiting unsuspecting vessels foolish enough to resupply.

The Tranquil Forests

Current Day

Nestled in the North-West of Azuras, between mountain ranges and valleys lay a thriving land of both forests and open, clear plains. Small game and peaceful creatures generally inhabit the forest, they live where it is most dense with trees. The meadows sport open fields with creeks which run through them, split by a dip and rocky drop. The entirety of the region is surrounded by peaking mountains with valleys in between them sporting their own forest trails. The trees are always colored to an autumn tone, sporting a similar wild botanical theme with squash and pumpkins existing on their own. The forests themselves are dense and break off into neighboring fields which are open, with some indications of land having been intentionally cleared.

The Wooden Ruins

Nestled right in the middle by the creek is the existence of a ruined village, one seemingly abandoned and left to the elements to rot. Some homes are clearly more capable than others, supporting the idea that each home and building had stopped being inhabited at different times. All indications show that it was once a sprawling village which lived on the land, lumber and equipment supporting the idea that this was once a bastion against the elements of weather and otherwise. Families were likely responsible to each home, inhabiting them together with their own natural professions. It is clear perhaps through what is left that this civilized village clung to the idea of faith, symbolism and a place of worship is present.

The Fog Phenomenon

Those who inhabit the land, or near, often report stories of thick fog which pools itself in the evening or early morning. Said fog is accompanied with odd revelations of terror, specifically rousing around the idea of undead. Most who are unfortunate enough to experience such a spectacle often speak tale of whispering or whining ghosts, spirits which seem at great unease. Something preventing their rest, which in turn has led them to take it out upon the living. So too is the supposed existence of undead, battered and dirtied corpses which wander mindlessly through the fog. Guttural tones of dismay made audible as they seemingly have no directive in sight.

The Height of Fright

The most outwardly of all claims to have come from rumors and present tales of the land is one which cites the existence of a figure, clad in black armor and cloak which rides a steed. The most unusual thing of all in regards to said being is the fact that there is no helmet, face, or head present to the body. Some claim to have been attacked by the being, though none truly seem capable of presenting enough evidence to support such an idea. The only thing which lay as a common concept amongst all reports are the fog which covets the forest into an even deeper tranquil state.

The Silverwoods

The Island of Purity

Current Day

The Island of Silverwoods is nestled within the furthest South-East of Azuras. Secluded and surrounded by water, it is mainly untampered with by external forces. Leaving a unique and rare ecosystem to thrive unimpeded. One great peaking mountain range runs through the island, reaching great heights with rock and marble pure and white, accented with gray segments throughout. This range divides the forests into three, leaving one of the only options to either cross the mountains, or go around. The forests themselves are teeming with life, similarly colored a pure white with other trees being multiple shades of gray. This gray extends to the leaf color, though a cyan blue is more commonly found.

What occupies these lands you'll find are animals colored white, a certain albinism which seems to affect every being on the island itself. Most predatory creatures are lacking here, allowing a sprawling, peaceful, and mainly herbivorous species to exist. Pegasus exist to the peaks of the mountain and on heights which overlook the rest of the forests. The forests seem to teem with life and lights during the night, something innately calls to it to come about. Plant life illuminates the forest floor during these hours, vines and other unique flowers seem mainly responsible. So too are the animals most active at these times, though one would assume most creatures of this type to be the opposite. Somewhere on the island there is said to be a cave which inhabits a special kind of crystal, they offer dim light within the darkness of the ground and allow those who dwell within to see.

Past Tales

Not much is easily known of the region before it is now. However, evidence suggests that the island was not always as pure and white, colored in a unique way as it is now. There are skeletal remains and fossilized structures of predators which once inhabited the land, clearly different from the system of animals it perpetuates now. There is little to no proof that there was any successful or unsuccessful civilization which inhabited the region. The only thing left are odd stone carved remnants which stand in different parts of the island. Within the gem cave on the island, a certain mass of crystal is present and discolored from the typical makeup of the materials, it seemingly blocks a path which leads further within the system of caves.

The Battlefield of Unknown Gods

TESTAMENT & TOMBSTONE

Sat within the Skull Sea of Azuras, the Isle of Storm rises from the dark, turbulent waters like a bastion of charred stone. Eternally battered by the elements, it has endured for over a millennia since the continent’s once Shattering, both a testament and a tombstone. Whatsoever the quarrels of the Gods, the Isle seems determined to outlast them all, yet forever shall it bear the scars of divine conflict. The skies of Storm are torn with bolts of lightning, its shores crushing all against hard stone, the howl of its wind enough to bend the trees, and the nigh incessant rain makes a quagmire of its earth. For all the hardship Storm promises, lush growth permeates the Isle, fueled by the monsoon rains of its Ever-Storm. Life here exists in a constant cycle of decay and renewal, as a palpable energy crackles in its very air. Like a gauntlet thrown down in contest, Storm invites those with the will to survive its scars to prosper in its bounty.

While many theories exist, few know what caused the Island to be as it is. The most commonly accepted theory is that Storm was once a battlefield for the Aengudaemonic, perhaps even a hallowed dueling ring as is so common amongst descendant cultures. Thus the island is sometimes called the Battlefield of Unknown Gods, for none can say for certain who once fought, but when the calamity of their strikes hit the earth, it forever imparted the Ever-Storm its charge. So to have adventurers, duelists, competitors, and rivals since sailed to Storm in the centuries after its discovery, braving its treacherous waters, all to settle their scores atop the Island’s peak. While it appears no magical means draws in these combatants, it has puzzled several Scholars endlessly as to why so many unrelated Warriors would make such an arduous journey to conclude their rivalries. An enigma whose answer is found only by those who live and die by their sword.

TALE OF TWO COLONIES

While Storm has remained relatively unsettled throughout its history, a few attempts have been made over the centuries. Evidence of these settlements is tepid at best, as the constant deluge of the Ever-Storm has since washed away any shred of them. Of these, only two are known to have lasted any length of time. 

The first was a colony of seven dwarves who washed ashore, their boat put to splinters on the rocks. While they survived for near two decades on Storm’s lower ranges by digging into the rock and stripping useful ores from the surface, their's was a miserable existence. Bereft of any of their staple crops, they took to boiling the grasses, plucking the bushes, and a diet of boney fish to survive having no luck in hunting the Island's game. Moreover, on the eve of their first year the colony had run dry, depriving the dwarves of much needed intoxication. A madness soon gripped the colony as each dwarf withdrew, grappling with their personal flaws in stark sobriety. By the fifth year, over half were dead, one had died to the lightning, another was knocked off the cliffs in an attempt to corral the native rams, and two more had perished in raids on each other over suspected hoards of rum. The remaining three by this time had learned to peel the bark from the wind-blown pines to brew a whiskey, only to discover far too late its psychosis-inducing effects. By then, there was only a single dwarf who remained, clinging to life and meager survival amidst a personal hoard of trinkets made of all manner of metals and materials. It would not be for another decade before this solitary survivor was discovered, marking the next of the known attempts to colonize Storm. 

This second colony was one of men, exiled from their homeland for lesser and petty crimes, led by a so-called Vice-King Boyce of Setring. They had come to Azuras with a squadron of pirates biting at their heels, only managing to lose their pursuers in a wayward gale of the Ever-Storm. Shipwrecked upon Storm, they numbered no more than a hundred, yet their ship was not irreparable. In little time, they had restored their vessel, only to discover the lone survivor amidst their cargo-hold. After a swift interrogation and impressment, the Vice-King of Setring was led to the hidden treasure trove carved into the rocks, salivating over its riches as a devilish thought crossed his mind. Stepping back onto deck with a trunk laden with loot, he enticed the crew to serve under him officially, making a Lord and Duke of the First Mate and Helmsman respectively. With their loyalty secured, the crew then promoted the Vice-King to the office of King of Vice, marking the beginning of their wooden demesne. For about eight years hence the Kingdom survived, relatively well off, it had specialized in shipping and mercantile pursuits, using the stored treasures of the dwarven colony to build for itself a burgeoning enterprise. As their notoriety grew, so too did the ire of pirates, yet none could threaten the King of Vice’s base of operations on Storm. With the wealth he had amassed, the King took a prominent merchant’s daughter for a wife, and began raising a castle upon the cliffs to crown the Island. Little by little the castle was built, stone by stone, through mud and pouring rains. Eventually the day came that the last stone was laid, and neither wind or water could knock it down. And so the King of Vice announced the birth of his son, a prince, and the rise of their Kingdom to weather all. It was not but four strides from his door, on a sojourn to the docks to fetch a pail of milk and parcel of tobacco did the Ever-Storm strike, whipping into a frenzy unlike any other thus far. With a single bolt, cast like a javelin from the heavens, was the King of Vice’s castle struck down, mother, son, stones and all fell from the cliff and tumbled into the yawning sea below. The King was never the same after that, his dreams and aspirations dashed to pieces, his fleet was equally as destroyed, though enough remained to rebuild it all, should he have desired. Instead the King of Vice was found wanting, and gave no order as he spiraled into grief, matters of his state falling to the wayside. It was not long until the crew, whose loyalty was bought and paid for with baubles and trinkets, filled their pockets with what remained of the Kingdom’s wealth and departed their weeping King, no compassion to be spared by Duke or Lord. All that remained was a King, a dwarf, and the dilapidated shanty town that had once been a Kingdom. It is said the King of Vice and the dwarf took to dwelling in the former treasure trove, now empty in the colonies final days. They held great feasts with what remained of the larder, slating their thirst with barrels of pine whiskey and reminiscing of times long since past and putting on macabre plays. That was until a mudslide made the trove their tomb, forever putting an end to the colony of men and their Kingdom of Vice. 

Crystalized Storm

The tephra that rained over Azuras in a past age of primeval might was not simply volcanic ash and molten stone. Charged by such cataclysmic forces, particles of destruction pelted the earth, striking with unparalleled might as though they were bolts from the heavens. From such sheer kinetic forces a new element was fused, entombed within the fossilized lightning born then. Eroded by centuries and covered by sediment, from those pulverized fulgurites came sand, which within the hands of mortals might be tempered to Fulgurglass.
 

Fulgursand (Raw Form)

PROPERTIES
This pale golden sand, hereinafter referred to as Fulgursand, bears a slight magnetic quality, sticking to metallic surfaces and giving off a faint electric blue shimmer in doing so. Though exceedingly rare, it can be found in clumps across Azuras, most often on the coastal ranges of the Skull Sea. Fulgursand is thought to have traveled on the currents of the worlds’ oceans over the centuries from whatever event led to its creation, the material being inexplicably drawn back to Azuras. While any given beach may contain several individual grains of Fulgursand, such miniscule amounts are entirely nonviable for the production of Fulgurglass. Workable amounts of the material are a highly prized commodity, jealously guarded by prospectors. This leaves most untapped deposits out in the forgotten places of the world where few dare tread. Be it on treacherous shores, blighted with storms, or far beneath their roiling waves, bounties of Fulgursand remain out there to be claimed by those willing to brave the danger.

Being a coarse magnetic sand, Fulgursand will rough up whatever metallic surface it is bound to, irritating automatons and clogging up machinery as it gets everywhere, most especially between fine parts of machinery and wheels. This damage is entirely superficial, however, and can be restored through diligent albeit tedious repair work and polishing. It serves as something of a bane to automatons and metallic limbs as it will impede their function, but not outright disabling them.

If Fulgursand is added to the preparation of Storm-Forged Oil [See: [Alchemy] [War-Forging]], it will alter the resultant effects. The arcs of lightning will grow in length with the motion of the metal, creating the effect of an afterimage trailing behind. As the kinetic excitement rises, so too will the metal begin to make a chattering noise, akin to birds, that rises in volume until the metal stalls. The color of this effect defaults to a blue electricity, however introducing impurities into the Fulgursand allows one to tinge the lightning whatever color they wish. 

Redlines (Raw Form)

-Fulgursand, or derivative items thereof, necessitate an ST Signature to be considered valid.

-Weapons, armor, or other metallic objects of steel or lesser durability that come into contact with Fulgursand will be damaged as if scrubbed with a sheet of 32 grit sandpaper.
-Automatons, constructs, or otherwise metal limbs will find heinous noises, akin to nails on a chalkboard, emitting from their precision components if coated by Fulgursand, impeding silent function. 

Harvesting Method

Harvesting Fulgursand is a simple matter, provided one can find it. Simply sift it into an appropriate bag, this is best done with a non-metallic shovel, however one’s bare hands are also sufficient. As for how one would discover the sand, one should begin by hovering a metallic object over a suspected clump and recognizing the telltale electric blue shimmer of Fulgursand when in contact with metal. The harvesting of a typical clump will usually result in thirty-five pounds of Fulgursand, the rough equivalent of an ore chunk. Without exception, the harvesting of Fulgursand will result in the prospector being coated in the material, causing all metallic objects on their person to be superficially damaged.

Redlines (Harvesting Method)

-Harvesting Fulgursand will invariably coat the prospector, refer to Fulgursand (Raw Form) for specific effects. 

-Fulgursand can be identified by its electric blue shimmer when in contact with a metallic object.
 

Refining

An entire thirty-five pound bag of Fulgursand is considered the necessary amount to begin tempering into Fulgurglass, worth two ingots of the material. First, the Fulgursand must be placed within an appropriately conductive crucible, free of adulterants. Then, the crucible must be dramatically heated within a near instant, as the quicker heat is applied the more workable the resulting material is. The exact means of achieving this rapid heat is left to the discretion of the individual. The most common method is for the crucible to be connected to a lightning rod atop a spire, and left to be struck by the elements.

Once the crucible has been properly heated, the Fulgursand within will fuse into a transparent semi-molten goop, glowing the color of straw. In this state, the material can be poured from the crucible and treated with heat to maintain its workability which is much like molten glass. It can be blown with a hollow metal rod, rolled against hard surfaces, or pinched with specialized tongs to manipulate its shape. If continually heated, the semi-molten goop will turn molten, allowing for strands to be drawn from the material, which can be further woven into a string. Alternatively, the molten Fulgurglass can be used to enamel metallic objects, imbuing them with a glossy, neon coating, but none of the material’s other effects.

Once the shape of the material is set to the crafter’s satisfaction, it must be annealed by once again heating the semi-molten object then slowly cooled over the course of three days, which will render the final Fulgurglass product. During this process, the semi-molten goop will harden and its formerly transparent appearance will become semi-opaque, rendering it with a cloudy complexion. Failure to properly anneal the material will leave it incredibly brittle from the internal stresses of the shaping process, resulting in a Fulgurglass that will fracture at the slightest amount of pressure, regardless of the source. Fulgurglass by no means can be reforged or reclaimed or reshaped, once it has cooled its form and color is set, any attempt at tampering will result in its destruction, its shards only usable to render an opaque glass-like slag that bears a vibrant neon glow when in contact with metal, known as Fulgurslag.  

Impurities may be introduced into the Fulgursand before refinement takes place, allowing one to tinge the final product and its lightning a particular color, with minimal effect on the material’s integrity. However, if the delicate ratio [10:1] of Fulgursand to impurities is not maintained, the result shall be the same opaque glass-like slag produced from broken Fulgurglass that lacks the full properties of the material, only giving off a vibrant neon glow when in contact with a metallic object.

Redlines (Refining Method)

-Fulgurglass cannot be reforged, only processed from Fulgursand.

-A Bowstring’s size must match the Bow-Limb it is used with. 

-A Bowstring [Short] of Fulgurglass consumes [2] ingots of Fulgurglass to produce.

-A Bowstring [Large] of Fulgurglass consumes [3] ingots of Fulgurglass to produce. 
-Fulgurglass will always be semi-opaque with a cloudy complexion, regardless of what color it is tinged.
 

Fulgurglass (Refined Form)

PROPERTIES
Fulgurglass is a glasslike, semi-opaque material. While some light may show through the material, it is obscured by its dark cloudy complexion. By default, Fulgurglass bears a gray-green hue, however this may have been altered according to whatever impurities were introduced during refinement of the glass. Objects made of Fulgurglass have a comparable weight as though they were made of steel, presenting little difficulty to their use by descendants. However, Fulgurglass, much like glass, is a brittle material, and will not hold up if struck forcibly by weapons, causing it to shatter into hundreds of smaller shards. Broken shards of Fulgurglass, while sharp, bear none of their former properties, becoming entirely opaque and giving off a vibrant neon glow when in contact with metal, only usable as Fulgurslag.

Should Fulgurglass be waved around or otherwise accelerated, it will produce sparks of static electricity around itself, allowing it to briefly illuminate itself, with those sparks subsiding as its kinetic motion ends. The color of these sparks and light correlate with the impurities introduced into the material, allowing for a plethora of color combinations. These sparks produce a chittering sound akin to thousands of chirping birds, which in combination with their light makes concealment of Fulgurglass impossible as any bearer will become easy to spot unless they remain perfectly still.

Fulgurglass Swords, while largely impractical, are known to be coveted by a certain faction of knights within the Aeldinic Empire.

There are two recognized uses for Fulgurglass in a combative sense, those being Shock and Awe, each is mutually exclusive. Shock applies only to solid objects fully made of Fulgurglass no matter their shape, whereas Awe applies only to bows strung with a Fulgurglass bowstring.

SHOCK
Any motion will build up a static charge within a full Fulgurglass object, whether it is a simple jaunt on the road or being wormed between one’s fingers, all in proportion to the kinetic energy of the action. Within the semi-opaque complexion, small arcs of electricity will begin to build as the charge grows, eventually accumulating enough to point at the object’s center mass. Contact with Fulgurglass in this state causes one’s hair to stand on end.  Should an object made of Fulgurglass be thrown in this state, it will release the static charge upon impact, this dispersal protecting the Fulgurglass from shattering. The released static charge, while minute, strikes all within a [3x3x3] area with a non-debilitating zap of static electricity, breaking their concentration and focus momentarily. Once the static charge is spent, the Fulgurglass will need to charge itself before it can be used again, meaning that this effect can only be used once per combat encounter. 

AWE

Fulgurglass that is woven into a bowstring will operate differently from its Shock counterpart. Because of its construction, rather than shatter from trauma, it can instead stretch and flex akin to a cord. In this state it can be used to string a bow or for a stringed instrument such as a lute or shamisen. When plucked, a Fulgurglass bowstring will still emit static sparks like its baseform, however the chittering noise instead becomes a much deeper reverbed twang, similar to that of an electric guitar. If fully drawn, the bowstring’s electrical excitement will manifest into a single point and will zip off as a small bolt of electricity once the tension is released. Any target struck by this bolt will receive a concussive zap similar in force to an arrow or bolt of its respective bowtype, while also inflicting a first degree burn. This bolt strikes through metallic armor, shields, and weapons, only being blocked by [Kingstone]. Akin to when Fulgurglass shatters, if a target struck by Fulgurglass bolt possesses any [High-Density Boomsteel] on their person, they will incur a duplicate first degree burn in the area nearest the boomsteel. An archer may continually fire with their Fulgurglass Bowstring provided they remain capable of fully drawing the bow, making ammunition completely unnecessary. 

Redlines (Refined Form)

-Fulgursand, or derivative items thereof, necessitate an ST Signature to be considered valid.
-Fulgurglass shards cannot be reforged, only used as decorative elements.

-Fulgurglass sparks are largely aesthetic and minimally ticklish if touched, akin to a static shock produced by wearing socks on carpet.
-Illumination from Fulgurglass sparks is only enough to illuminate the object itself, providing no lighting or blinding effect aside from easy identification in darkness or at a distance.
-The chittering of Fulgurglass sparks is only heard within #rp range. 
-Fulgurglass will shatter if it receives a weaponstrike of any caliber. Fulgurglass must be /use’d if shattered.
-The effects of Fulgurglass Shock and Awe are mutually exclusive. All Fulgurglass items must state whether they possess Shock or Awe in their description.
-Any object of Fulgurglass that isn’t a bowstring receives the properties of Shock.

-A target in armor of Kingstone making up at least a chestplate would be immune to the effects of Fulgurglass Shock and Awe.
 

-Fulgurglass’s Shock will temporarily disconnect any target struck by it for [1] emote.

-Fulgurglass’s Shock can only be used once per encounter.
-Fulgurglass’s Shock can only affect a target once per encounter.

-Fulgurglass’s Awe cannot be used in conjunction with other munitions without causing those munitions to overload and self-destruct.
-A bolt from a Fulgurglass’ Bowstring will create [2] first degree electrical burns on a target that has any High-Density Boomsteel in their inventory.
-Fulgurglass Bowstrings follow the respective techlock of their bowtype.

Fulgurslag [Player-Signed] [Open]
Should Fulgurglass be improperly produced, shattered, or otherwise reprocessed, the resultant material, Fulgurslag, loses all of its former properties, becoming a dull, opaque gray color. While this material can be reprocessed into any variety of shape or size, and even cast, it can never again be made into Fulgurglass. The only noteworthy property of this Fulgurslag is that while in contact with metal, it gives off a vibrant glow from the object's entire being, akin to a neon gas lamp. Vivid colors and lights can be produced based on what impurities are introduced into the material’s mixture, making it ideal for eye-catching signage. Much to the chagrin of many glassblowers, however, mass production of Fulgurslag is achievable with minimal amounts of Fulgursand, as even a few grains blended with glass-producing sand can turn the entire product into Fulgurslag, leading to many contaminated batches of what would otherwise have been mundane glass.

Credits

PROPERTIES

Raw Resontantium, colloquially known as “Ripple Rock”, is a curious, ever-shifting substance with a peculiar attunement for vibrations and ambient mana. Iridescent in appearance, the hue of Raw Resonantium shifts with a violet-blue hue that ripples when exposed to external stimuli. Vibrations spurred by sound or motion cause the ore to shimmer, whereas the imbibing of mana causes the ore to hum lowly, stiffen, and spike outwards, akin to a magnet’s effect upon iron sand. Due to its attunement with ambient Mana and other unique interactions.

Raw Resonantium does not behave as a standard ore; rather, it more closely resembles a viscous metal comparable to liquid mercury or caesium. The ore displays a natural sluggish “flow” which increases or decreases in viscosity dependent upon environmental temperature. Because of this unstable consistency, Raw Resonantium cannot be quenched, alloyed, enchanted, or treated with alchemical oils save by the process outlined in the Refining Process. In its base state, Resontantium’s interaction is purely symptomatic rather than channeled.

MANA GAUGING

Raw Resonantium, given its unique response to stimuli, can most often be employed as a form of mana-gauge for the purposes of research or measurement. As Resonantium is subjected to greater funds of mana, the pitch of its hum and the frequency of its soft, protruding spikes shall also increase. Unlike Thanhium, Resonantium incurs no adverse deterioration when in the presence of mana, thereby making it viable for long-term exposure and data collection. For this purpose, craftsmen may make devices or containers that facilitate this interaction.

RESONANT TOOLS

Raw Resonantium also retains a unique and thematic tether to Resonance, and by extension, the sacred art of Kani. Oscillists who imbibe their Resonance (both passive and aggressive) upon the liquid metal may condense and reshape its form to a dull instrument of their choosing, and may even harden it to bear a strength comparable to steel. These objects are capable of functioning as a Resonant Tool, whereby an Oscillit may use them as casting implements for the purposes of administering their abilities. This interaction lasts for the duration of a CRP scenario or until Resonance is broken.

REDLINES:

⌘ Raw Resonantium, or derivative items thereof, necessitate an ST Signature to be considered valid.

⌘ Raw Resonantium, in its natural state, retains a viscous liquid form. It therefore lacks any notable durability and can be cleaved through and/or made to fit the form of any vessel.

⌘ Raw Resonantium, when subject to external vibrations, will shimmer with colors reflecting its iridescence. If imbued with Mana, the liquid metal will begin to hum a lone tune and harmlessly “spike” outwards; the pitch and frequency of the spikes scale directly to the amount of mana in the environment. These interactions can NEVER be used to impair the senses of a being.

⌘ Raw Resonantium, if used as a mana gauge, will only react to ambient sources of mana in the environment or that is active from an ability. It CANNOT determine if a being or item is “magical” unless mana is actively being channeled from that source. This is all to say that one cannot determine that a sword has an enchantment unless the sword activates said enchantment, nor can one test for disguises.

⌘ Raw Resonantium may be TEMPORARILY condensed and hardened by Kani through means of Resonance, taking precedent over any potential conflicting redlines in the Kani lore page. If Resonance is dropped, the Raw Resonantium will return to its fluid state and splatter lest contained prior.

⌘ Raw Resonantium, when condensed and hardened by Kani, can adopt a solid form bearing equal or less value to its Material Compendium value (e.g, 1 ore = 2 ingots = 1 shortsword = 1 raw resonantium shortsword).

⌘ Raw Resonantium may be transformed into a custom ST item for the sake of personalization (e.g., an ore chunk being contained in an alchemist’s flask) without risking reforging cost. The amount of raw ore contributed to the item must be noted and clearly indicated as RAW.  If used for the purposes of Kani, an Oscillit needs only to have the raw ore or a custom ST vessel in its inventory.

⌘ Raw Resonantium cannot be forcibly shoved down someone’s throat to force consumption; the individual will gag and instinctively vomit. In the event an individual is foolish enough to willingly consume it, they will rapidly perish as their inner organs rupture from intense vibrations.

Resonantium is not discovered in pools of liquid metal, but rather as geometric, bismuth-like nodules embedded within huge veins of redstone. Experts suggest that the reason for this formation is due to redstone's nature - petrified mana - that has since become dormant over centuries; Resonantium, having been drawn, thus naturally accumulates and crystallizes around these veins. With regard to the nodules themselves, thin layers of brittle crystal function as a shell for the liquid core and, due to their transparency, can be identified via the shimmer of the Resonantium within. Miners would do well to strike around nodules for preservation and transport, or they may simply crack the shell and drain the Raw Resonantium into an appropriate container.

This said, the harvesting process may prove hazardous given the delicacy required for the extraction. If an excess of mana via activated redstone, or otherwise, is subjected to the nodules, the internal liquid may “spike” and fracture the shell due to increased pressure. This may inadvertently cause the Resonantium to leak from the shell, become mixed with impurities, and/or drip into cracks without proper preparation. Furthermore, the newfound instability of the ore vein may even lead to cavernous collapse if an errant strike weakens a critical support juncture.

REDLINES:

⌘ Resonantium Ore can only be gathered through official ST distribution and must be ST-signed.

Refining Resonantium is a complex process that demands, akin to Arcanium, an intense introduction of Mana. However, given Resonantium’s raw liquid state and unique interactions with mana, smiths and magi alike have found great difficulty in channeling this energy into the ore. Ingeniously, mundane smiths soon came to employ a means of “tempering” whereby they would gradually introduce and mix Liquid Mana with the ore to fabricate a mana-composite substance. 

A blacksmith must gradually introduce [15] measures of Liquid Mana over the course of [3] OOC Days in an attempt to stabilize the ore. Upon the Third Day, the Smith will “roll /20” to determine if the tempering was a success; if the roll renders a value of 5 or less, the process will fail. In the event of failure, a Smith must introduce [5] measures of Liquid Mana per day until successful. In the event of success, the Raw Resonantium will - at last - attain a stiff texture.

Once adequately imbued with Mana, the Raw Resonantium will resemble that of a standard ore and hence be dubbed a Mana Composite. At this stage, a blacksmith may surrender the mana-composite to a high-temperature forge, whereby it will undertake a process of self-purification. As it heats, impurities will render and separate from the composite, akin to an alembic. Once the composite is adequately heated and purified, the Smith may cast or shape the material into any form that is desirable. 

The final stage of the requirement necessitates the quenching and subsequent fortification of the mana composite. Dissimilar from standard practices (quenching by water or oil), any abrupt change in temperature will cause the mana composite to shatter violently. Rather, a blacksmith must employ means of steady dissipation.

To accomplish this end, one must devise a small sealed chamber composed of amethyst, quartz, or any other applicable crystal. These crystals help to draw away excess vibrations and harmonics from the composite as it settles into its new shape via ambient air-cooling. Paradoxically, over the course of hours, the composite will expand and stretch out whilst cooling as its internal lattice settles to a lower frequency and elasticity, which adapts to forceful stimuli. This dissipation process must be repeated in the event of reforging.

For the purposes of future clarification, amendments, or precedent-setting, “Low Lattice” and “High Lattice” are herein defined. Low Lattice denotes the natural state of Harmonic Steel and is characterized by low-frequency vibrations, high elasticity, and a subdued hum. High Lattice refers to the energized state of Harmonic Steel, wherein the metal is subjected to vibrations or force, and is characterized by high-frequency vibrations, enhanced rigidity, and a sharp pitch.

REDLINES:

⌘ Refined Resonantium (Harmonic Steel), or derivative items thereof, necessitate an ST Signature to be considered valid.

⌘ Refining Resonantium necessitates that the player provide screenshots/logs of the forging process and roll as described above.

⌘ The “dissipation” method of quenching necessitates that a smith prepare a chamber of quartz, amethyst, or any other crystals that a player wishes to portray in-game. This process must be repeated in the event of reforging.

⌘ It is impossible to forge new alloys with Resonantium.

⌘ Refined Resonantium, per its mana-composite nature, functions as a [T3] Enchantment. It therefore cannot store any additional foreign enchantments. This said, it CAN sustain an enwreathe.

PROPERTIES

Refined Resonantium, or Harmonic Steel, retains a perpetually dull and smooth surface layered by Resonantium’s characteristic iridescent shimmer. Having been purified and solidified by means of a mana-composite lattice [see: Refining Technique], Harmonic Steel passively emits a low harmonic hum that is amplified with motion or vibrations. The amplitude of these vibrations scales directly with the volume of metal present, with higher quantities rendering a greater and more violent reverberation. Harmonic Steel also retains a unique and defining elasticity that permits it to adeptly mitigate, absorb, and redistribute applied forces. While initially elastic to the touch, the resilience of this metal grants it a durability stronger than steel while in a state of High Lattice. Harmonic Steel weights approximately the same as standard steel.

RESONANT AMPLIFICATION

Harmonic Steel, if fashioned into a musical or vocal instrument, may be applied for the purposes of amplification. When exposed to vibrations, be they auditory or physical, the metal will mirror the sound and amplify it two-fold in both volume and clarity as it resonates with the tones that interact with it. Instruments fabricated from Harmonic Steel thus produce an elegant depth of sound not dissimilar to the acoustic reverb of a studio. Bardmancers in particular may extend the range of their sound-based abilities, if applicable, by TWICE their standard distance.

Despite its potential for beauty, Harmonic Steel also renders a debilitating side effect whereby those who wield or wear the material become extra vulnerable to sound-based attacks. If caught within the range of any noise that would stun or break the concentration of a victim, the Harmonic Steel will react adversely and begin to resonate dissonantly. This will induce stacked-on vertigo in the bearer for [2] emotes, whereby their combative motor skills, magical focus, and ability to aim will be significantly hampered.

DAMAGE MITIGATION

When applied defensively, Harmonic Steel may be used as a supreme form of shielding. When struck by a solid impact, Harmonic Steel will shimmer brightly with an array of purples and blues as it reacts to, redistributes, and stores energy. To quantify, Harmonic Steel is capable of mitigating the concussive force of a received attack to HALF of its potential, and “absorbs” the other half. The interaction offers no debilitating effect to either party, though it will cause the attacker’s weapon to recoil significantly and the defender to devote all focus to maintaining the stability of their shield. To counterattack, a Harmonic Steel shield may use its stored energy, which can be stored for a maximum of [2] emotes, to bash/shove forwards and knock a single target from their footing (no knockback) while releasing an auditory resonant thrum. To garner these effects, the object used for shielding must be specifically designed with the intent of acting as a shield and must be composed of at least [2] ingots to account for the minimum surface area required.

It is important to remember that Harmonic Steel’s ability to redistribute force renders great difficulty in maneuvering the material. When used as a proper shield, a descendant MUST DEVOTE BOTH HANDS to maintain and raise the device lest vibrations overwhelm the body; even ambient vibrations from motion can render an arm numb lest properly braced by two hands. Attempting to wear Harmonic Steel Armor will also result in the force of an attack being absorbed and vibrated directly into the bearer’s body, causing internal trauma, organ failure, and may lead to death due to shock. This is all to say that one cannot “sword-and-board”, but rather one must devote oneself solely to maintaining the defense safely. 

RICOCHET

When applied offensively, Harmonic Steel may employ its elasticity for the purposes of throwing weapons or objects fabricated from [1] total ingot. When thrown at a hard surface [see redlines], the projectile will ricochet from its surface for the purposes of trick-shotting. While useful for striking enemies behind cover, it is noted that each time the projectile recoils and bounces, it will lose half of its current damage potential. To exemplify: 1st Strike = [1], 2nd Strike = [½], 3rd Strike = [¼], and so on. To garner this effect, the throwing weapon must be composed of [1] total ingots.

Objects greater in size than a throwing weapon cannot be adequately thrown due to their uneven distribution of mass, increased weight, and tendency to tumble. The only exception to this clause is a [2] ingot circular shield due to its medium size and perfectly symmetrical, disc shape. Despite this unique exception, circular shields will find that they can only be thrown a maximum of [8] blocks and cannot render the knockdown effect if thrown.

REDLINES:

⌘ Harmonic Steel objects retain a perpetually dull edge and weight equal to steel. Due to its elasticity and ability to mitigate force, it retains a durability superior to steel.

⌘ Harmonic Steel, while theoretically possible to forge into traditional melee/ranged weapons, will yield no additional combative benefit, given that it cannot reap the effects of Force Mitigation or Ricochet, lest designed as outlined in their respective sections. Rather, these weapons will remain perpetually dull and vulnerable to their weaknesses.

⌘ Harmonic Steel cannot be treated by Alchemical Oils.

⌘ Harmonic Steel, per its mana-composite nature, functions as a [T3] Enchantment. It is thus highly vulnerable to Abjurations and Thanhium and may only sustain [2] total hits before destabilizing and returning to an inert, raw liquid state. This requires the user to “/use” the destroyed Harmonic Steel. Auric Oil, on the other hand, will prevent the Harmonic Steel from rendering the "Damage Mitigation" effect by virtue of disabling its ability to shift into High Lattice.

⌘ Harmonic Steel, per its enchanted nature, cannot sustain any additional foreign enchantments.

⌘ Harmonic Steel, given its density, is INCOMPATIBLE with Kani.

⌘ Resonant Amplification:

⌘ Resonant Amplification’s “vertigo” detriment afflicts the bearer in these quantified ways for [2] emotes: An inability to concentrate on magic, an inability to aim or load a ranged weapon, and difficulty with combative motor skills (sword play, combat rolling, etc.). If afflicted, a bearer will not have their movement inhibited for the purposes of retreat or repositioning. This detriment only applies with sound-based attacks (bar Boomsteel Thunder Clap) that would BREAK CONCENTRATION; simply yelling at someone will not work!

⌘ Damage Mitigation:

⌘ Damage Mitigation may be used in an unlimited capacity during CRP, though its “stored energy” mechanic and knockdown counter retain limitations. The stored energy mechanic may only hold [1] charge at a time. This is to say that while a group of enemies may strike at the shield thrice in a single turn, the shield will only store enough energy for [1] counter knockdown until expended or until the storage duration expires.

⌘ Damage Mitigation can only be rendered by an intentionally designed shield of [2] or more ingots. This is to say that a Harmonic Steel Greatsword is unable to mitigate incoming damage when blocking due to its improper design. Likewise, a Buckler Shield of [1] Ingot will also be ineffective due to its lack of surface area.

⌘ Damage Mitigation extends only to physical force rather than magical properties. This is to say that a concussive fireball will still heat the shield considerably, albeit halving in concussive force. Kani’s Penetrative Inertia may bypass the force mitigation.

⌘ Damage Mitigation’s “knockdown” ability necessitates that the user make physical contact with their target during the bash, and have adequately stored the force of a mitigated attack prior. Force may only be stored for [2] total emotes lest it disperse harmlessly back into the environment. This force may not be independently generated by shield bashing.

⌘ Damage Mitigation applies only in defensive applications. This is to say that a shield bashing with its face or rim will still deliver the same force as any other shield and will not have its offensive power mitigated.

⌘ Ricochet:

⌘ Ricochet can only be rendered by throwing objects of [1] total ingot. This is to say that a Harmonic Steel Shortsword cannot be thrown or ricocheted due to its imbalance and awkward shape. Likewise, a small metal part [½ ingot] will also be incapable of ricochet due to its lack of springing mass.

⌘ The only exception to the above redline is a [2] ingot circular shield, which may be thrown due to its perfect symmetry and manageable weight. Due to its increased size, a circular shield may only be thrown a maximum distance of [8] blocks and cannot administer its knockdown ability at range.

⌘ Ricochet's range defers to the total distance permitted by Tech Lock. This is to say that a throwing knife possessing a [16] block range may travel [12] blocks, ricochet, and then travel an additional [4] blocks. The angle of the ricochet must be intuitive and reasonable (think Billiards).

⌘ Ricochet cannot chain between Player or NPC targets - only hard surfaces. Applicable surfaces for Ricochet must be HARD, i.e., stone, brick, wood, etc. SOFT SURFACES are those like gravel, dirt, sand, etc. 

CREDITS:

It is the natural way of life that some individuals attempt to remain hidden, undiscovered, and unbothered by the world at large. Others, however, hope for the opposite and shoot for stardom and heights never before seen. Most land somewhere in between, but all listed below have become notable - even if that was not the intention.

Famous outlaw, John B. Steel

Across the open plains and dense forests of The River's Expanse, there is a legendary outlaw said to have once terrorized both kingdoms. While the conflict between them quickly turned into a quagmire, the outlaw - John B.Steel - and his gang would famously appear as a dusty stampede racing through exposed fields. They would rob farms and lone sentries before riding back into Godscar Canyon. Those lucky enough to survive the brief bursts of violence could hear the thieves singing the last lines of a famous ballad.

"Border wind, border wind,

Where do you go?

Cover my trail, tonight."

It is said that John and his gang could ride so fast that fire would spark from beneath their horses’ hooves. Some dismissed this as just a rumor, though occasional burnt horseshoes could be found where an especially large robbery or heist had occurred. Nevertheless, John and his group of thieves disappeared as the two kingdoms did, leaving only fireside stories behind.

Drodvik, a well-known hermit alchemist.

Hidden within the hills of Ilharcress is a lone alchemist who’s never been found, even by those who sought him out the hardest.  It is said that Drovdik knew how to brew extremely potent and extraordinarily rare elixirs using steam vents from nearby lands, yet no one has ever seen him around such sources. Rumors tell of potions that are twice as strong and half the cost, and of alchemical flasks that could bring a small band of soldiers to their knees just by being uncorked.

Rarely did he sell to customers, and his notes seldom saw the light of day, even when hunted by the most ambitious alchemical students. Nations supposedly sent entire regiments led by top commanders to find him, but none succeeded. To this day, many advise keeping an eye out when wandering the area, hoping to spot either the hermit or his home. Some sought strength, others wisdom, and even wanted more power, but all knew the alchemist Drodvik as a solution to their problems.

The Old Crone, a mysterious librarian.

The origin of the Old Crone comes from an ancient book that appeared in various libraries across the land, always in pristine condition. It is theorized that those seeking knowledge should wander aimlessly until they find a solitary old woman. Offering her a home-cooked meal was said to earn an invitation into her home. Following her until your legs gave out would supposedly lead you to her house.

Her home was described as a small stone building, always warm from the hearth and packed with books. The collection was beyond what anyone could read in a lifetime, yet she always knew what each book contained and where it was. Many who left her home claimed to forget the location entirely, as if their minds had been worn out. Others dismissed these stories as bandit tales meant to keep people wandering outside their protected kingdoms. Still, those in search of rare knowledge often ventured into the woods with hope and a warm meal to offer.

A depiction of The Well of Life.

As the lives of many in previous times began to dwindle, some were not content to die as their brothers and sisters had. To combat this, they set out to find The Well of Life - a ritualistic stone structure filled with still, peaceful water at its center. Some were wounded, others ill, but the well cared not. This mysterious pool was said to heal everyone who entered, curing wounds and sickness with no discrimination and no charge.

The water’s level never changed, but the cost to use it did. Initially, one could crawl in and walk out healed. Later, that stopped working. Some tried swimming and holding their breath, and eventually, it was said that a person had to drown themselves to be reborn and healed. Bodies would sometimes remain face-down in the pool for years, never decaying until they were moved by the next hopeful. 

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The Current Era

Lavaridge is a near uninhabitable land today with noxious sulfur fumes stinging the lungs of those who traversed the land unprotected. The mountain range on the north east coast of Azuras once resembled the greater Rakhâs Gamil region. However Lavaridge was the epicenter of a centuries old cataclysm. The Molten Maw, the domineering volcano of the region, remains active with periodic and frequent minor eruptions that prevent the life of the land from ever fully recovering before being met by lava flows. Because of this activity, little remains of what once resided here.

The Molten Maw

The mountain range and the spouts of geyser water were the first things witnessed by the Saffron Citrine Company as they approached this seemingly untouched new world away from the grudges of their fellow dwed. It reminded Bromli Aurumvein of the mountain peaks of a home before and called to him to settle his employees and their kin here to rebuild what they left behind. For better or worse, he would get his wish. The unity the company had brought with it from the War of the Beards would not last forever as disputes festered. Some of the Saffron Citrine Company witnessed their company chairman Bromli, the company heads and many employees naively follow the directions of a large gear that fell from the sky, believing it to be a messenger of the god Ogradhad. But not once had the gear invoked or acknowledged the invocation of Orgadhad’s name, some skeptics amongst the company noticed. It all came to a head when the gear had directed Bromli and the others to transition from their descendant forms into a machine form. Like an epiphany, something did not seem right to one of the skeptics named Orrik, a beardling born in their diaspora, and he confronted Bromli Aurumvein about his thoughts of the gear. That they tampered with technology and a divine they did not fully comprehend on their own. But Bromli Aurumvein grew irritable believing Orrik was stuck in the past they left behind afraid of the blessings the Brathmordakin had in store for them. And this thought process, Bromli told to Orrik, was what led to the decline of Dwarven spirit that caused the infighting back home. They could find no middle ground, and Bromli would command Orrik and those that thought like him to take their steamships they left Urguan in and go back. But Orrik had never known an Urguan, Kaz’Ulrah or Axios for that matter. Instead of leaving, Orrik and his sympathizers would hide in the mountain range along the coast and rebuild within the earth. As an act of defiance to the path Bromli Aurumvein led the Saffron Citrine Company onto, Orrik would erect a shrine to the old patron of the Goldhand clan Armakak.

Little came of the conflict as each side had wanted the other to come around to their viewpoint. One value remained shared between each side and it was the value of dwarven life, the reason they left their homeland. But their grudge brewed. Although Bromli knew where Orrik and the other dissenters resided, he believed there was no point in pushing them away further when their contributions could be regained in the future. During their time in the mountain, Orrik and his following would discover the immense lava tubes underground and restructure their livelihoods around harnessing the power of the dormant volcano and using the lava beneath the earth to forge their metal. Orrik found great potential in their ‘Volcanic Smithing’ as he’d coin it despite the dangerous labor. Two of his followers had already ruptured a lava vein and were melted inside of the mines. He had hopes of one day amending the grudge between him and Bromli to show his former boss the amazing techniques they had cultivated on their own without the need of the soulless machines constructed to ease their burden. 

Life went on. No one had time to react to the bright light in the sky as something hit the summit of the mountain Orrik and his band resided in. Triggering the volatile earth beneath the volcanic region, the mountain’s peak was blown off as lava erupted over Rakhâs Gamil burning the land black. No life was seemingly left behind in the destruction on either side. While the western portion of the region would be reclaimed by nature and recover overtime, the newly opened Molten Maw would periodically and frequently spew more lava with smaller volcanos forming around it now having the ability to properly expel the lava beneath the earth forming what is today referred to as the Lavaridge, a sight to the destructive side of what lurked beneath the rest of the region.

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Karaagnar'korazhufmar - Volcanic Sky Waterfalls

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The Current Era

Rakhâs Gamil teems with life from the tall water spouts of geysers to the occasional rumbles of the earth beneath one’s feet and the abundant fauna that creep the land. Deer, cougars, bears and other local wildlife call this land home. Amidst these at first glance uncharted lands though, one would discover worn machinery and the scattered husks of decrepit shelters in the cliffsides people once called homes. Innovation, progress and entrepreneurial spirit once inhabited these lands but were long gone leaving only the scraps and ruins of what potential laid here once upon a time, and a vacancy of what potential was to come from descendant kind. Those who have traveled through this region at night time have periodically spoken of seeing red and green flashing lights within the night skies of this region but are never able to tell their exact origins. 

The Calamity of Karaagnar'korazhufmar

A minor business subsidiary of the Goldhand Clan, the Saffron Citrine Company, found itself stuck between a rock and a hard place at the dawn of the War of the Beards morally and economically. The inter-dwarven conflict had splintered their host clan and pitted Dwarven-kind against one another for their human rivals to take advantage of. Many dwarves abhorred the death of their kind regardless of the sides they found themselves on. A tough decision was made and under the leadership of the company chairman Bromli Aurumvein, five dwarven steamships were taken to flee the conflict in non-violent protest in the year 1632 for the great unknown of the great sea. The five vessels carried 30 dwed employees, their few accompanying kinsmen and dwedlon and supplies to begin anew somewhere.

After a long wayfarer's journey, the Saffron Citrine Company found themselves in the golden valley Rakhâs Gamil that they would call Karaagnar'korazhufmar in their native tongue for the geyser spouts they witnessed upon approaching the shores of the land. Both its beauty and geothermal energy capacity drew Bromli Aurumvein to settle the eastern coast of Azuras and expand inland. Through their knowledge in steam engineering, the Saffron Citrine Company would harness the geyser power beneath them to rebuild their lives and form a hold independent of Urguan and Kaz’Ulrah. At last though, they were relatively isolationist except for trading wares with other populations of the continent for gold. The company had become enthralled by their increase of smelting and mining output that their previous lives left behind were not awfully missed. They had lost all communication with their homeland and were ignorant of the war’s conclusion by the time it had come.

Sometime during the next century, a titanic gear would fall from the heavens and land in the valley some distance away from the dwarven hold. Believed to be from Ogradhad of the Brathmordakin, the gear proclaimed its marvel of the industry of so few hands and wished to deliver trade secrets upon them so they might continue to advance. The Gear did not need to instruct them on the basics of clockwork but instead described to them how to bring life to their machines and output greater power. These lessons were periodic with many years of the gear remaining dormant and unalive. Members of the Saffron Citrine Company would offer many creations up to the gear in hopes of garnering the gear’s attention again so that it might impart more secrets of its machine craft. But the gear seemed to operate on its own time, sometimes awakening in the middle of the night and proclaiming divine knowledge in a booming mechanical voice that erupted the geysers of the valley and woke up the company employees. But many still answered its beckoning call to advance the company’s technology. Through the innovations of animatii, the labors and production of the dwarves continued to increase to levels they had not seen back when they were in Urguan. It was after a decade long of silence though that the most troubling revelation was offered to the Saffron Citrine Company - to transition to the machines they built. It was the strongest form of descendant, the pinnacle of the next step of their progression, the gear spoke to the dwarves who would listen. Bromli Aurumvein, being the chairman, was the first to undergo this transition. After a year’s time in isolation, he would re-emerge from the dwarven hold as a walking humanoid steel chassis. Seeing their chairman undergo the transition successfully, more of the company members starting with their senior employees would do the same and pressure their family members to do so as well. There were some though who grew to distrust the gear witnessing the gradual change of their people. Those who sought independence from the bickering of their benefactors had found themselves enthralled by a new one so much so they would surrender their descendant hood. But after some time this transition was no longer optional. Those who would not give up their flesh lives were exiled then to the coast and told to return to Urguan. They would not however. The scarce few that refused the call of the gear would opt to build within the mountain and commit a shrine to their old patron Armakak. Out of sight and out of mind, thought Bromli Aurumvein. And so the two dwarven populations withdrew further into isolation. But a prideful god would not wait long for a dwarven grudge to subside. A bright light ignited the sky above the land akin to the gear that landed decades prior, but striked the mountain on the coast causing a major eruption that wiped out the Saffron Citrine Company and the dissenters who made their home inside of the mountain.

And the prideful god was satisfied for now with his new conscripts to defend Val’garis. All that remained of the dwarves that resided in these lands was ancient machinery, the few automations that survived the cataclysm and the strange red and green lights that sparked up in the night sky over the golden valley.

__________________________________________________________________

Umbravale

The Amalgam Heath and The Inheritor

The Amalgam Heath

Hiding in the west of Azuras lay a vast, bowl-shaped valley named Umbravale. It's walls shear as mountains contained within them an otherworldly environment that bore a perfect synchrony of magic and nature. To the east of the valley, a single narrow passage broke the ring of stone where a shattered arch of an ancient gate, it's cracked pillars and faded runes degrading by the day, stood guard at it's only opening. Beyond this gate bore the land of an alien landscape draped in azure light and unstillness of wild, untamed magicks.

Flora of glasslike stalks and transluscent petals bloomed across the vale, oftentimes trees and other flora phasing between substance and illusion. Some strictly conjured while others more grown, fading if touched and returning in full moments later as if nothing had disturbed it. A ground of blued grass and treetops of azure and violet glowing as if The Umbravale were in perpetual twilight. Between the roof and floor of the thick forest, focus-crystal veined ferns and pale, brittle bark breathed with dust of mana itself.

The wildlife of The Umbravale was spared not from the enchantment The Monolith brought; creatures with glowing hides and glimmering eyes which roamed beneath the azure roof of the forest. Insects which darted forward like sparks in the air, manafish within the river with scales that gleamed an unnatural, unearthly glow. The river which roamed west to east was the heart of the vale; it's waters shone as it was so perfuse with mana it's aqua-coloured surface was glasslike. Where it's shores ran long the grass, soil, and stone, they too seemed to bear an enhancement as the diluted liquid mana of the river brought with them life.

Despite it's unnatural, alien beauty, something greater held above. At the centre of the valley, high above the treetops and falls of the river, The Monolith sat within the sky. A collossal black-gray diamond that flickered in and out of existence and sight. As if you blinked with your eyes open and fixed upon it, it escaped and entered reality in a way your mind could not fully comprehend. Across its smooth surface glittered stars from an otherworldly sky, an inky black that crept no further than the bounds of the structure itself. Anchored high above, The Monolith of The Amalgam Heath stood as threshhold to something beyond - something unfathomable. Between all spectrums of The Void did it harbour a tenuous balance - one without precedent, an exception of existence.

The Inheritor

On occasion within The Amalgam Heath that is The Umbravale, one word is heard echoing throughout the valleys. Flickering images, hallucinated words, illusions of figures and sounds - The Inheritor. Though there exists no written record of what or who this may be, was, or will be, The Inheritor is a haunting word of power throughout the land. Symbols often spoken in moonspeech and cryptographic runes which danced in and out of sight. Patterns noticeable as you inspected both less and more as shapes and signs made themselves clear no matter the resolution.

Although the voidal flora and fauna of The Umbravale tied to the land, one could decipher them strictly as created, and not natural. As if this "Inheritor" was not only legend, but the decisive maker, of The Umbravale. Whether it be the monolith itself, the land itself, or something farther beyond is unknown to any knowledge.

Centuries ago did scholars of The Dandelion Guild, experts in anomalous activities from around Aos and Eos alike, come to know closely of The Inheritor. While few remaining long-lived descendants may remember the guild from The Ando'Alur Hollow, The Dandelion Guild's experience in such catastrophe was curiously warranted then. Fractions of a misplaced ledger, which have in the past scarcely left The Guild's possession, have illuminated some discovery as to what The Inheritor may have been, although often does miscontextual information only beget further questioning. Curiously, do certain parts of the text itself seem to shift and change as the viewer beholds it - enticing them to answers they would never have.

...It is my hypotheses that The Great Dark Beyond holds no inherent malice, only nature. Though whether by intention, or mistake, This Inheritor, ████████ , hailed something which was not, until it had been conceived. The Amalgam is a creation that reflects it's maker - a ████████ which attempted to become one. A single, unified spectrum - a cohesive spool that wound all threads neatly and nicely. Yet The Void persists to be entropic - a beast of it's own which is not malevolent, but is inherently antithesis to our own. Much like The Inheritor. What The Inheritor has left behind is remarkable; though far beyond our means of containment, or even procurement. While on a knife's edge does the balance of The Amalgam Heath hold, I believe it is a continued existence of The Inheritor. A successive state to what once was physical, to now be beyond that. Perhaps it could be argued that what is still yet real, if not tangible, is infact still physical. A state of being we are unfamiliar with, incapable of perceiving, even with our boons.

I believe the best course of action in our doctrine is to leave it as means of self containment. Legend and wanderlust will attract the foolish and foolhardy alike, but I find it doubtful that, even with all our means, even we would be capable of breaking the scale of balance that The Amalgam holds itself in. The Umbravale, thusly, is deemed by I to be left in isolation.

Should that balance suddenly change, then may our lady bless us with any hint of an answer as to how we restore it.

From The Eos Expedition,

Ser Marsellus, Chaptermaster

Sinister land of the east.

"I could feel their infectious breath upon my neck, and hear their scurrying below my feet."

A former miner from Ilharcress.

When someone speaks of the easternmost part of Azuras, they are most likely referring to Ilharcress, where dark grass covered with trees stretches toward the ocean with rocky outcroppings that discourage ships from arriving. Here, tiered mountains dot the land, which is split by deep rivers and draped in a seemingly endless coat of leaves. Some plants struggle to grow beneath the large trees, while others thrive due to the intense rainfall and shade. 

The land of Ilharcress is divided into two regions.

The northern part is filled with lush grass, mostly covered by large trees, except for barren patches where mushrooms and vibrant flowers - golden, white, and red - appear. Mossy stones rest at the bases of tall mountains, once dislodged by ascending travelers and now firmly at rest. The centerpiece of the northern landscape is a large lake that nearly forms a circle, yet is paused in its efforts by a land bridge leading to a central island. While nature's beauty can be appreciated in the sunlight, even the most unimaginative child wandering through the dense forest would see monsters lurking behind every shadow cast by the trees, which grow aggressively out of the ground in relentless hunger for sunlight, and which hardly permit any to touch the ground.

The southern portion is characterized by a darker palette, with grass of a deeper hue and more sunlight filtering through. The trees here are more consistent, but they are less fervent in their quest for sunlight. Instead of large patches of grassland, there are areas of mud and loose soil covered by low bushes. When color appears, it’s only because a few blue flowers or a particularly hardy berry bush have managed to establish a permanent place.
 

Rats plagued by Kholidav.

Ilharcress is not just a land where fear is only a shadow in the mind or where traveling merchants tell ghost stories around an open fire. Instead, the land itself has witnessed great horrors over the ages. Initially, there was little to truly fear. Merchants reported of rogue bands of Ratiki that sometimes appeared from the hillsides and ran into the forest shadows where they could operate in low visibility. These were little more than a nuisance and were often dealt with by setting a trap or with a quick slash of one's sword. But times changed.

Long ago, Ratiki bands in Ilharcress fought each other mercilessly, both in the surface shadows and beneath the rocky exterior of the world. Each band fought for control without fear of death or repercussions, and their actions caught the attention of sinister forces. After a period of observation, when the Ratiki bands were especially weak, Kholidav swiftly allowed sickness to spread among them. Soon, The Crow began to take control, and it wasn’t long before the warbands united under the singular banner of pestilence.

As the Ratiki forcefully put aside their differences under the iron grip of the pentacle, their forces grew significantly stronger. Where rats had fought needlessly and died, they now festered and became more toxic, like a harmful disease. Beneath the surface, warriors and spellcasters equipped themselves with stronger armor and dark powers. It wasn’t long before they were unleashed.

A depiction of the rats stealing a relic of Goldleaf Gap.

Kholidav grew tired of the paradise of Goldleaf Gap, free of disease and evil. The rats were released, and they began to storm into the holy lands from the nearby mountain. War machines launched boulders and spells of sickness across the border, and an army of thousands of Ratiki quickly overwhelmed Amara Veythiel. Many fell, but the rats were undeterred. They eventually killed the mighty paladin and quickly looted whatever artifacts they could - of course, the rats remained skilled at looting. After this, they retreated to their land, and the written history fades away.

Perhaps they still fester beneath the rocks, or maybe pestilence got the better of them. Who knows if the story is true at all, rats are not always the most accurate sources of information.

The land of Amara Veythiel

"When man speaks of land, given from God, their mind rightfully wanders to Goldleaf Gap."

Words from a bygone peasant.

Located above the mountain chains that sprawl throughout all of Ruhnskar in the south, and below the forests that blanket Ilharcress and Ironhowl Range, is a land full of golden trees and rich soil, where rivers lazily wind throughout the countryside and give life to fresh flowers and brush. Here, small rocks slick with moss and algae blanket the land, offering only a small obstacle to those who travel in wagons and atop horses. This is the once-holy land of Goldleaf Gap.

Goldleaf Gap is comprised of two notable landmarks. Firstly, a couple of small ponds feed into a river that slowly snakes around the land before it reaches and travels deeper into Ilhacress. During its path, the river is surrounded by steep rocky cliffsides that linger overhead. Patches of shade gently cover the pathway, tempting travelers to rest for the night as they continue through the wondrous lands. The second notable feature is the golden trees that appear across the countryside in sparse bands and as beautiful patches. These trees dot the landscape like a pile of golden coins tossed onto a tavern table, and they occupy the minds of merchants in the same fashion as well.

The golden leaves of the trees are known to occasionally shine bright, as if light is reflecting off of some precious metal. During a full moon, when the moonlight is especially intense, the region can be seen over the neighboring mountains, akin to stars in the night sky. Rumors have spread around Azuras for years, speaking of a mighty paladin who once carved and shaped the region by herself.

Evil is a universal force that afflicts all continents and walks of life without restraint or fear, and Azuras is no different. Notes and scattered pages from descendants of the past mention hideous creatures, evil entities, and malevolent spirits that often lurked in the shadows of various regions. While some areas were safer than others, there was no place where one could live completely without fear of the darkness and what might be hiding within it. This was until Amara Veythiel arrived.

Where Amara was from is unknown in the stories. What is known is that she possessed an incredible blessing from Xan and an even stronger will. At first, she wandered the lands, killing all darkspawn she could find, though it soon became clear that the continent was too vast to patrol constantly. Seeking a more permanent refuge, she established the Goldleaf Gap. Some say that Amara herself carved out the valleys, allowing water to flow freely through the land. Others dispute this and claim that she merely established a zone that darkspawn would dare not enter.

Two things are certain. First, Amara used her blessing to create artifacts of immense power. These artifacts were used to bless the land and to repel dark forces trying to attack it and its inhabitants. Those who believe that Amara physically carved the land cite this as their explanation. Second, it is known that Amara created the golden trees still growing in the region, which initially bore the color of pure ivory.

This sacred region endured for a long time, but the forces of darkness were not content to stay at bay forever. A powerful army ultimately swept into the land and overwhelmed the holy defenses. Here, Amara sacrificed herself to ensure the safety of those within. As she died, witnesses reported that she was consumed by a radiant light that burst outward into the ivory trees she had created. The trees began to glow intensely, infused with the holy powers, though over time - and with the death of Xan - they gradually dulled to their current golden hue.

It remains unknown how many artifacts still exist within Goldleaf Gap, though it’s said that their powers likely have waned, just as the trees no longer glow with sacred energy.

Cragshell Isle

The Nightmarket and The Visitors of Moruuna

The Resting Giant

Laying adrift in tranquil waters, Cragshell isle to the southwest of Azuras as it basked in the sun nearly year-round. To it's east the dry and arid Godsrend canyon, and the north, the fertile and large River's expanse, Cragshell Isle was a paradise found scarce amongst southern Azuras. From afar, unmistakeable ridges and cruves that told story of The Greatturtle Moruuna who has entered her final slumber beneath the open sky.

An unshifting warm calm endured through every season, the central spine of the island rising to high ridges as broken plates of the turtle's carapace thrust upward into peaks veiled in mist. Below, the extremely fertile basins flooded by orchides, vines, and canopies of palm and fruit trees. Moss blanketed boulders and tree trunks alike as a veridian green painted the land in the colour of wild life. Small reptiles and insects littered the land as bountiful fish were found around the island. Upon it's southern shores, the broken remnants of the infamous Nightmarket which oft took place there.

Despite all it's beauty, Cragshell Isle often avoided colonization or visitation by any but the bravest and most dubious of adventurers. Beneath the undergrowth roamed Screechwis, a small and flightless bird - curiously, one of the very few birds among all of Azuras, a creature who's piercing cry would ring out like a banshees wail. Among all of Moruuna's travels, travellers swore to avoid the great island due to their terrifying call, many a legend spreading of a wandering isle of angry and furious spirits. With so, Cragshell Isle was fertile, vibrant, and tranquil - remaining largely untouched as it now rested a living garden growing atop a great lifegiver's corpse.

The Legend of Moruuna

In legend of sailors and traders alike, told in the storybooks of children who’s parents had dared ventured to the side-less-travelled, was that of a small turtle. This turtle was a greatturtle - though the runt of her spawn, hardly able to crawl to the shores from the egg whence she came. This turtle’s name was Moruuna, though it is unknown where the name had come from, or what exactly it meant, if anything. 

Moruuna grew sluggish unlike the other spare greatturtles of the sea, slow to hunt and poor at diving. She could swim, but her little lungs could not carry her nearly as deep as the others. She had felt doomed by circumstances she could not change - a body she could not train, which would not grow, which she could not feed. Destined as the runt to be discarded or left behind, perhaps miraculous she’d made it thusfar to begin with. 

It was one day that she floated upon the top of the sea, the sun bright as it shined upon her craggy shell. Though the sun bathed her in light, warmth residing upon her shell, air in her lungs and the watertides gentle, she felt only sorrow. These were things she would all miss once she was dead - things which the greatturtles of her spawn would take for granted as they grew only size and size larger. But then she heard the cry of gulls - pushed lightly into the water as a flap of wings fluttered above her. A seabird had stood upon her back, weary from a long flight. Too was it lost, and hungry, unable to feed upon the shores which surely she was far from. Perhaps it was lost. 

Moruuna thought it was perhaps nice to provide some use. The seagull was warm, lost, perhaps afraid. And though the two were wordless, there was an agreement. Perhaps he could rest for some time upon her back, and it would not matter. She navigated the seas until the winds blew favourably with the scents of dust and land - and the seagull flew offward.

It was nice to have use, for once, she may’ve thought. But the joy faded, and soon again was she alone and soon to starve. That was true, until the seagull returned. Perhaps returning a favour, perhaps to establish a symbiotic relationship, the seagull had brought with it seagreens that came along the shores. Though it’s wings struggled to beat hard enough to carry the netted flora, it did so. And Moruuna ate - perhaps more than she had ever eaten. 

It was than that the greatturtle Moruuna found her friendship, and her purpose. Perhaps she was no diver - nor would she need to be. She could be a sanctuary thousands of miles from any shore for those lost, wandering, or upon adventure. And thus she was - though it took decades, ships had begun to notice the moving island, and with it, the flora and fauna which had grown upon its back that helped sustain it. And they too saw the novelty and use of such a curiosity.

Now comes the part less savoured in the stories - an extension shared from father to mother, sailor to sailor as they regale their childrens love of Moruuna and her lifelong tales.

Most curious of all were the sailors of Berillia who saw an opportunity - that to skip tariffs, tax, and most important of all, the sticky fingers and scornful gaze of the lawman. Establishing upon her back a small town (More akin to an accumulation of driftwood shaped as shelter than establishment) did The Nightmarket form. It’s word spread as a place where one could buy any and all, claiming prizes and treasures of lands afar and ships lost to their maidenport upon return. Without law nor land did Moruuna provide a location one-of-a-kind upon Eos. 

As time went on, this port thrived, The Nightmarket open upon rare and random occasion with great fare as a place of great wealth, experiences, and wonder. Peddlers of fortunes both artificial and true, sailors as far from Rh’thor to Aeldin would venture to The Nightmarket to buy, sell, and share all of their wealths. To this day, when the winds are just right, The Nightmarket opens even still.

Though the story tells glory and wonder for any a seafarer, all stories come to an end.

As millenia had passed, Moruuna grew old. Slow, titanic, truthfully no amount of food could sustain a beast of such size. She knew this as well as the seas which she grazed. She’d noticed the areas which she fed, and fed from, were often left bereft of life. Barren of seagreens and fish, the ecosystems she and those symbiotic to feed her were more damaged than she would allow. Minnows would swim by her great eye to feed off the kelp that grew by her face, and she saw them small. Anemic and underdeveloped, she saw herself long ago with creatures that perhaps could not be afforded the same luxury she did not understand.

So Moruuna ventured home - though it had been countless years, she returned to the shores from which she was once spawned. Resting upon the shallow shoals on the coast, she had finally stopped. She breathed air from her lungs which blew bubbles that spilled out along the shallow shores, and her eyes shut. And as the greatturtle Moruuna drifted off, she knew peace as she returned to the nothing from whence she came.

And though it took decades, her remains had provided for the sea and life nearby, as well as the unique flora and fauna compared to the rest of Azuras. Though sailors stayed wary of the unknown jungles of Moruuna’s back, her craggy shell remained as the earth surrounded it - embalming her scute in dirt, sand, and brine as she gave to the earth back what she took from it.

Material Name and Description (Raw form)

When wandering through Azuras, one might find themself crossing old battlefields of civilizations long gone. Some learn about these sites through history books or texts scattered around the realm; however, others know that Corrospores thrive where battles once took place. When armies fought and slaughtered each other, leaving their armor to decay and be reclaimed by nature, these mushrooms began to appear across the landscape, feeding on rust and metals. 

The mushroom itself has a metallic smell, and its taste matches. Many choose to avoid eating them directly, though the adventurous might discover a flavor or two that complements the fungus. The younger spores of the fungus - marked by their white color instead of brown - have less of this flavor, due to the minimal amount of rust they consume.
 

Signs/Symbols:
 

Earth | Reduction [x3]
Earth | Vigour [x3]
Earth | Courage [x2]
Earth | Connection [x2]

Applications (Raw Form)

Many hungry travelers who cross fields dotted with Corrospore have dreamed of creating food that doesn't taste purely of iron and metal, though nearly the same number have failed in their attempts. Because of this, most of the mushrooms are left unpicked, except for the younger spores, which are more white in color. 

Besides eating these fungi, some with incredible patience have discovered that burying a rusted piece of metal in dirt and planting these spores above will eventually cause the rust to be eaten away, though this process can take anywhere from a few days to months, depending on the size of the material and the number of spores.

Red Lines (Raw Form)

- Corrospore smells and tastes metallic due to the rust that the mushrooms consume. Fresher spores, which have consumed less, will have this taste dulled.
- Corrospore may be grown atop fresh dirt to remove rust from an object buried below, and it does not require an ST signature, however, the herb item must be thrown away. More herbs cannot be harvested or farmed in this process.
- Corrospore will slowly remove rust from the metal buried beneath it, taking anywhere from a couple of days for a ring to two full years for a metal chestplate.
- Corrospore (ST Signed) is represented by leaf litter, and is harvestable via the botany plugin.

 
Material Name and Description (Refined Form)

Corrospore, when placed in boiling water, will quickly turn the water into a dark brown color as it releases much of the broken-down rust that it consumed. Further grinding the fungus down into a paste and adding it back to the water before quickly cooling will condense it into an oil. This oil may be applied to polished metal in the same fashion that other oils would be, and it will cause it to shine and glisten to an almost supernatural level. 

Red Lines (Refined Form) 

- Creating an oil does not require an ST signature but does require the herb item to be destroyed.

- Using the oil requires the item to be destroyed.
- Metal polished with the Corrospore oil will not shine so brightly as to blind people or give a combative advantage, though it will polish metal better than previously allowed.

 
Harvesting Method

Corrospore poses no direct threat to descendants and can be harvested simply by cutting it from the ground. Leaving part of the stem intact allows the mushroom to regrow, although some will die during the process.

Item representation: Leaf Litter

Item Description: A tough brown mushroom with white dots splattered across it that grew in areas where metal rusted. The fungus smelled metallic and had a similar taste, yet when diluted into an oil, it could be used to polish a weapon to perfection.
 

Harvesting Red Lines

-This item is represented by the Botany Plugin in roleplay.

Ruhnskar

The Final Journey of ᛒᛟᚷᚱᛁᚾ and the Kadrin’nazkarumm (Anvilbreakers)

The Broken Anvil

The Ruhnskar is a land characterized by it’s deep valley and jagged, thin mountains that part each way for it. Separated from Goldleaf Gap and Ilharcress to the north, and The Southern Shores southward, The Ruhnskar runs deep across the southeast as a natural barrier upon Azuras. Bearing golden fields of grass and buckwheat with hillsides of tall trees on each side, The Ruhnskar is an idyllic place. Shear cuts and cliffs lined much of the central valley, signifying what may have been landslides in the past. Quiet windswept forests watched over the lowlands, snows dotting their treetops. At times, the mountains split abruptly into knife-edged passes and plunging gullies where rockslides had torn paths straight into the valley below.

Bearing woodland creatures oft found in temperate climates, The Ruhnskar would find itself basked in sunlight throughout most of the day. Despite it’s calm and collected nature, The Ruhnskar would bear a sobering feeling to any of Urguan’s children who entered it. A sense of pride, respect, and heritage that they felt connected to this land. 

Nearby one of the mountainside peaks, at the far side from the tallest point upon Azuras, Mount Bezmadan, lay a forlorn dwarven ruin forgotten and abandoned to time. Tattered to pieces, the land beneath it almost seemed disconnected from the ground and earth nearby. It brought to attention that at one point, it seemed likely a massive glacier must have run through the valley to have carved such a shape. Yet, there bore no natural rivers or streams throughout the entirety of The Ruhnskar. Down the straight of the valley, plantlife refused to grow other than short grasses and shrubs. A blackened burn of when the world was rent and The Anvil, the mountainrange of southeast Azuras, was split in two. There was no magic, no remnant of some careless god or fated creature of design. Only the remnants of raw might as The Anvil was split in two.

It was unknown what caused the formation of The Ruhnskar. Only the wound upon Azuras which remains.

Material Name and Description (Raw form)

From around Azuras is there a sapphire blue flower known as Silvershade. A plant that has been native to the continent for centuries, stories tell of sailors who transported the dying species of plant from a continent distant upon Eos. Emerald green stalks sprout upward toward the Silvershade plant, known to flower and remain flowered nearly year-round. Cold to the touch, Silvershade is found in areas cooler than the surrounding climate, such as under rocks, overhangs, trees, and riversides. Becoming dormant and closing it’s flower buds in the summer due to the heat, Silvershade is a remarkably dainty and delicate plant that can prove extremely arduous to harvest. Growing often alone due to it’s fragile nature, Silvershade is, even in ideal conditions, a rare species near extinction.

Silvershade is considered naturally toxic (due to it’s hypothermic properties), and thusly is not consumed by any known woodland animal, though is often nested nearby during warmer months due to it’s cold aura. 

Signs/Symbols:

Water | Lethargy (x3)
Water | Poison (x2)
Water | Fear (x2)
Water | Dark (x2)

Applications (Raw Form)

Silvershade, when harvested properly, may have it’s leaves crushed into a powder and either ingested outright, mixed into something, or dissolved in a liquid. Silvershade is naturally toxic, acting as a hypothermic which would lower the peripheral body temperature significantly, withdrawing all heat of the body to the core. This would make one who ingests Silvershade to feel sluggish and slow, but far more steady as their metabolism is effectively halved in speed. 

Despite the associated toxicity, some effects of Silvershade are desirable. Whilst one would have movement at [Half pace], they would bear a steadiness in both focus and aiming that enhances aim to the target. Along with this, one would be undetectable with Heat-Sight as they blend with their surroundings, paired with a perfect stillness and silence that makes one harder to detect in darkness. At cost however, one’s reactions would be notably slower than the average descendant. These effects would last up to [2 IRP] or [2 OOC] hours, whichever comes later.

Silvershade would bear a unique texture and mouthfeel that would distinct it when placed into a solution or food, akin to a creamy vanilla that coated the mouth easily.

Red Lines (Raw Form)

-Silvershade would be able to mix into any soluble liquid or food, though would be immediately distinguishable as having it’s presence in the food or drink no matter the concentration.
-Silvershade would not require ST signature when placed into something, but requires the herb to be disposed of with /trash when making. The proportion of items made to Silvershade used would always be 1:1.
-Hypothermia caused by Silvershade would be curable by exclusively magical means and Fervour Concentrate.
-Silvershade (ST Signed) is represented by a Tube Coral Fan, and is harvestable via the botany plugin.
-Ingesting Silvershade would render one with slower reaction times, and movement that is halved in all speeds.
-Ingesting Silvershade would grant one the boons of enhanced accuracy, immunity to heat-sight, and are harder to detect in darkness.
-Being more difficult to detect in darkness and enhanced accuracy are honor-CRP bound, meaning they do not provide guaranteed hits or invisibility in low light by any means, and are merely a note for others in CRP/Events to take note of.

Harvesting Method

When harvesting a Silvershade plant, one must be cautious (due to it’s delicate nature) to carefully clip each floret of the plant with time between for the plant to recover. Given it’s delicate nature and sensitive germination technique, clipping a Silvershade growth can be a long, time consuming process that often frustrates a botanist. Frustratingly difficult to grow, and even more tedious to harvest. 

Item representation: Tube Coral Fan

Item Description: A delicate sapphire-blue flower with sprouting green stalks. Cold to the touch, this flower hides in cool, shadowy areas and avoids budding in the summer. Naturally toxic, its raw or powderized form may be consumed as a hypothermic to lower peripheral body temperature for 2 narrative hours. Albeit reducing the consumer to half-pace, this toxin can improve both steadiness and stillness and render its consumer undetectable to heat sight.

Harvesting Red Lines

-This item is represented by the Botany Plugin in roleplay.

THE BLISTERGROVE

The Garden of the ???

BACKGROUND

Cradled in the North-West of Azuras, there lies a valley of pallid snow juxtaposed against a visceral, red forest. Bitterly cold is this region, yet any flake of snow that would caress these bloody leaves would find itself misting away as if it were the fog of an early morning’s breath. Strewn about the deepest depths, sanguine trees with marbled roots leech from the earth with a great hunger. Morbid and gruesome carvings of the ebon stone stalk the groves with an obsessive gaze, their unwavering focus betrayed by an overwhelming display of emotion.

A few theories have come to explain the strange Daemon-Palm. Superstitious and cowardly men shudder at the sight and are often the first to proclaim that these woods are inhabited by some kind of vampire, or otherworldly terror. Pedant magicians have discounted the mystery as a simple scar rendered by rogue magic. Hunters have claimed that the forest is a living beast in and of itself - a carnivorous super-flora, and that these woods sap away at the vigor of the living. Bright-eyed botanists have theorized that these woods exhibit only the natural evolution of the Bāne Mele Tēmbi, and that the carvings are but the hoaxes, or remnants, of people's past. And of course, the Alchemist cares little for any of this and fixates only upon its bountiful supply of Blisterthorn.

THE CURRENT ERA
In the contemporary age, the Blistergrove serves as a site of unknown horror. Guarding its Eastern Entrance, a duo of towering gargoyles keep watch - ever vigilant, ever unmoving. Those who delve within its depths may, in the most unfortunate of circumstances, find themselves accosted by warped terrors of the night. So on the nose is this grove's wicked origins that it is hard to conceive of it being anything other than the work of a being who wanted to be noticed. Whether such a display serves as a warning or as an invitation is unknown. What is certain is that one should not linger for too long in The Blistergrove.
 

[REDACTED]

C̶̡̧̧̠̦̞̹̫͙̥̣̆̽̃̆̑ͅȩ̶̭͉̫̹͓̟̝̯̈́ṋ̴̢̰̺̖͚̪́̒̊͆̄̄͆͐t̵̨̗͖͔̩͚͉̲̼̞͗ū̷̧̺͎̦͊̈́̓̐͌͌̄̈̔̈́̚r̷̢͍̪̓̏̃̽̆̂͜i̵̧̨̼͖̟̥̱̯̬̼͍̎̎͋̏͗̎͒̚͜͠ȩ̸̨̘͔̣̘̪̤̳̲̎͒̔̐́͆́͘͠s̶͉̙̫̒̅̎́̕͘ ̵̡̢̹̞̯͔̯͔͋͊̊̽p̷̟̺̘̝̄̈́̃̄̓̐̕͘ȧ̷͍͔́͗̃͒̽͂͘͠s̵̤̀̉́ͅt̶̡̧̨̨̹̦̮̗̻̹̯͕͂͒̽̋̔͠,̸̫̯͓̟̖̺͚͕̂͛̋̓̋͑̉̑͒̂̂͜ ̵͚̻̜͛̊̾͐̈́̐̚̚͜͝ț̴̨̹̳̟͎̳̤̤̣̑ͅh̸̜́̆̆̉̈́ȩ̸̫͙̲̬̜̌̉̋̈́̍̈́̕͘͠ ̴͓͖̙͉̜̼̲̱̗̊̒͂̈H̶̼̓̒̅͝è̴̤̈́͂̄̽̒͗̚͘͝͠å̴̝̘̺̮͎̊̇̿̒̾͗̀̄̈́͠d̴̬̮͇́̕h̴̛͚͚̲͖̘͇͉̹̯̺̖̀̑̇͆͂̂͊̏͘̕ͅú̷̘̩͈͍̤͌̍͘̕͝n̷͚̺̣̅̅̉̉̀̈́͛́̎͘t̷̢̙̪͉̘͇̔e̵̡̨͇͕̹͈͊͒̋͜ṙ̴̩̝̼͖̞͖́͊̃̃̏̑̂̍͋̋̈ ̶̧̧̲͇̳̼̹̊͆̃͒͐̂̋͝-̴̡̨̩̖̰̙̮̍ ̷̨̨̪͚̭̺̜͚̏͐͐̽̑̋̾͠A̶̛̞̒̑̅̔͐̂̓͋̕͘͝ŗ̷̨̲͇̩͕̖̯̭̫͊̏̽͛ć̸͎̘̰͈͕̥h̸̫̘͆͛̆̚ǫ̶̝̠͓͙͆̒͐̀͑̉͑̇̈͝ņ̴̡̮̰̤͊̔͒̆̎̄̀̓̕͘͜͠ ̷̚ͅK̷͕̤̰̤͔̲̫̜̊ͅr̴̛͕̹͕̰̯̹̠̽͒̂͗̉̽̿̈́͂o̵̧̙͎͙͓̬̜͆͋̉͐g̷̱̟̳͌̓͊͌͘͜͝ą̴̹͚̱͍̋̃͑k̵̢͖̺̈́̃͒̓̀̎̎͛̈͠ ̷͈̣̻͂́̈̒͑̒̆-̵̢̛̮̗̩͚͚̦̆̐̑́͌͠ ̶̧̙̘̺̫͎̆̈́̆̽͂w̶͉͍̱̘̥̃̎̑̓̆̉͌̂̕a̸̜̺͌͋̅̉̐͗͂̈́̕̕s̵̛̝̘̬̘̤͙̮̿̍̈́̈́̃̈̑͑̕͜ ̸̧̢͚̜̗̺͎̠͈̀̑̒͂͒͛̔̏̌̕͝c̵̰̩͙͖̱̭̲̝̃̑h̷͉͔̜̤͚͙̒̓͌̒͘ͅa̷̟͉̯͉̖̻̗̗̠̎́̒̌̉͜r̵̹͉͎̰̤͑̑g̸̺̲̖̠͋͊̐͑̾̐ĕ̶̢̝̱̹̯̹̺̺̫̟͓̣̔̃̚d̴̫̗͉͖͗͜͜ ̵̦̩̝̪̽̾͂͋̅̊̆̊̄͘͜͝͠b̴̛̝̩̖͖͙̫̗̈́̌͒͑̔̈́̓y̵͉̓ ̸͇͍̮͈͍̱͈͇̲͉̒͌̋M̴̢̛̻̹̦̪̰̱̜̳̈́̍͗̇̏̊̂a̴̙͔̟̖̪͆́̌͝ļ̶̨̨̛̻̳͉͇̬̺͗̾̌́͊̋̎́g̴͕̖̥̠̮̠͕̘̖̉͊͂̽̃̎̕͜h̷̨̧͇̮͈͖̜̬̯͆͜o̶̠̞͛̇u̶̢͍̒̍̍r̵͕͕̘̐̓́̍̌̇̓̀̃̔̚ͅṉ̸̞̰͍̰̦̦͎͙͑ ̵̣̙͖͆̑̀͝ẗ̸̢̧͓̼͚̭̠̗̣͉́ó̶̜̩̹̦̲́̀͑̌͊̅ ̵̢̡̛̻͓̥̗͆̒͌̏̈́͌̈́̕m̵̮̙̳̪̭̲̏̿̽̑͝a̶̲͎̪͕̭͈̱̟̗̮̤̅̒i̶̧̙̤̺̼͕̫̎̄n̴̡̼̲̣͙̯͆̈́́̚͜ť̷̺͇̘̰̗̣̙̒̔͂̓̈͝à̴̢̛̩͚̠͇̥͕͈̮̌͐͊͑̅̌̕͠i̶̧̧̙̦̲͍̥̳͓̥͌͛͊̆̄̅̿̑͆̈́ǹ̵̨̡̛̻̥̩̰̝̦͚̰̯͊̓̏͐̉ ̷̹͖̳̮̃̐͂̈̌̄̃̎́̇̄͘t̵̡͇̤͕͍̻͗̌̀̏̋͋̈͐́͆̂̎ḥ̵̼̟͌è̴̛͉̣͉͉͕̬̈́͒̀͐͆ ̷̼̟̙̫̦̄̐͊̆h̵̪̱̖̆̎̈́̀͛͂͂̽e̸̢̺͓̠͔̲̝͛̎̉̔̐͌͗̒̈́͘x̷̣̭̼̟̻̼̌͗̀͆̑̌̕͠à̷̢̨̘̺̣̦͈̘̫̯̱́̐̍̿͗̎̈́̚͝l̴̛̜̘̬͈̝͆́o̸̜̯̼͓͎̼̙̱̗̿̀͋͌̉̕͘g̵͎̳̯͊͗ų̵͔͉̖͍͎̰̬͎̞̒͑̀̾ͅę̸̛͕͉̲͍̞͙̋͐̃͒͊̈̌͗̕ ̵̲͕̱̭͍̝̂̊̾͂̆̿͗̊ả̷̧̻̬͍͈̯̩̖̜̼̰̤̏́̀͑͠ņ̶̨̛̻̝͔̤̦̥͌̔̏͒͋̈́͜͝d̶̫̹͔̺͗̉̍̊̊̆̀͘͝ ̸̜̖͈̦̭͖̊̊͑̚p̶̱̪̼͕̓̐ͅu̷̹̮̠̙͚̎̕r̶̪͇̳̖̠̖͖͕̱̫̓̓̃͑̾͘̕͠ͅg̴̥̦̦̝̯̝͎̝͍̳̙̀̍̎e̸͓͖̣̬͎̬̜͖͈̩͐̈̈́̈́̉̀̃̕̚͠͝ͅͅ ̸̛̜͉̙̟̼̤̩̺̀̄̀̍̇̉̑̾͛͘͝r̴̭͕̩͓̣̹͍̫̯̓̄̐̄͛̄̎͗̚ô̶͓̮̙̻͔̠̮̏̈́̈́͒̎͂͒g̶̨̛̖̼͔̾̀̅͂͒͑̈́̓͝u̴͖̝͚͈͋̌̄̅̕͘e̷̳̟̣̬̲̖̙̩̘̝̣̽̆̀́͌̉͆̂͝͠͝ ̶̧̡̧̜̣͇̠͖̌̅͛S̶̳͚̮̼̃ĭ̵̡̙͕͖͙̩͎̯̦͔͉̦̌̓̈́̏l̴͔̰̩̝̻͓̄͜i̷̺̹̣̐̋͊̄͋͂̀͠͝t̵̪̻͇̀̈́̐̈́͜i̴̧̤͙̖̥͕̖͕̓͊̅̈́͒̕̕͠ͅͅ.̶̥̯͋̐͊̇͘ ̵͇̌̈́́͂̓͆̂U̸̢̦̗̓̆͋͝n̵̖̫̊̏́̔̑̈̀̒͒̚͠l̴̢̛͚͔̺͚̝̖̦̥͔̜͐̀͋̈́̃́̃̋͛͛̕i̸͉͚͉̤̔̾̿̅̈́͂̆̾ķ̶͇̼̩̜̥̺̮͇̗̾͊ę̸̝͉͈̬̱̟̩̣͕͑̽̇̀̽̈́̏̽̈́̊̔̐͜ ̴̠̯̥̬̞̄̀̈́͌̄́̄́͗̚h̸̛̛̩̪́̾̉̉͘͝i̷͚̞̼̖̳̘̗̬̠̯̅͑͒̈̂̕s̵̨̧̙͚̱̘͚̪̮͖͇̓̆̓́͝͝͝ ̸̩̪̯̀̆̀̔̿̅̽́̚͝ͅķ̴̟̙͇̝͚̼̖͠ͅͅi̷̡̨̝̺͉̦͔̣͚͂̒̏͒͐̈̅̎̍́̚ͅn̸̨̫̥͕͕͈͕͉̟̱͙͓̂̿̈̔̇̌̓ ̸̥̬̍a̶̼͛̌̈̂̓͋͌ŕ̴̢̬͎̞̖͛̇́͌̋̇̓̽͐c̶̢̧̗̣̘̖̜̮͗̂́ͅȟ̷̗̲̖͎̦̭͚͈̫̘͚̀̏̓̐͐́̐̃͂̌͠ỗ̸̡̩̟̞̗̱͙͕n̶̳̘̈́̊͆ͅs̷̡̜̳͔͖̩͍͕̭̘̓̕ ̷̬̜͎͎̰̞̓ͅw̸̧̢̧̤̻̲͎͇̍ͅḧ̴̢̪̗͔̳͍̂͆̾ͅo̶̳̻̣̭̯̬͔͆͗ ̵̧̡̯̼͕̣̙̆́̀͂̊̃̔̒́͠ş̵̺͙̍̽̅͝i̶͉͋͌͌͋̃͜r̵̛̗͙͎̳̮̣̺͙̹̻ĕ̶̛̤͙̝̞̞͕͙̥̂̊̈́̃̐̋̾͛̈ḑ̸̘͎̣̯͖͇̙̝̲͔̔͌̽̌͜͝ ̸̛̾͊͂́͐̓̊̿͜͝ͅm̵̨̲̜̞͚̣̺͑͛ȃ̸̗́͊̒́̒̈́͛̉͘͘n̸̡͈͈̟͚͎̳̱͔͌̀͆̊͆ͅý̴̡̘̌̍̎̾͗̈́̓̀͠ ̶͇̹̤̹̠̾̄̎̊̒̚̕͠͝ȉ̶̞̟͕̖̘͓̖̥͕͍̳̏͑̀͆n̵̨̢̧̳̠̤̺̩̬̯̗̳̊̋̈́̓̈́̎͛̕̕͝ţ̶̬͈̯͓̗̥̹͍̺͎͒̈́̋̿̈́͗̕ö̸͖͔̜̝͉̯͚͓͙̤̟͍́ ̵̫͎̲̰͈͔̞̘̮̝͔̐̉͜͝t̶̘͇͍͎̼̮̋̃̈̔̈́̉̾̂̈́̅̕͜ḧ̵̨̨̳͈̩̜̠̮́̊̀͂͝ẻ̵̮̮̠̭͙̞͍͓̯̤̏̈́̔̏͗̔̚̚i̴̻͔̳̪̬͚͉͖̭͒̉̽̄r̵͖̜͕̤̳͉͚͓͗͐͌͐̒͂ ̴͔̝̬̙̊͒̄̐̔͜ļ̸̦̻̳̲̽̋̈́́̀̇̈́ỉ̶̛̦̰̃̈́͆͛̍n̷͔̄̉̽͊̕͝e̵̥͆̾͐̆͋̕ǎ̸̰̩̺̬̠̲g̵̢̛͍̙̼̩̬̱̥̅́e̸̯͎̜̥̦̓͆̚̚,̷̱͇̒ ̶̛̛̛̠̲̽̈̓̅͗͒͒̕̕K̴̼̝͔̥͆̄̾̄͌̐̕͝͝r̴̟̬͔͙͛̇͗̃̀̈́͋̂̎o̶̦̣̙̩̜̔́̔̎̾̂͝g̴̢̥̗̖̰̭̺͓͕͖̙̊̈̔̈́͊̿̌̽̍͜a̷̢̡̛̩̞͙̜͈̬͙̥̩̳͂̈̈́͐̑̂k̸̖̞͓͇̣̃̂͗̋́̓̋ͅ ̵̡̧̡̠̗̜͈͓̱͍͌̀͂̋͘ͅs̵̡̨̖̘̤͔̔̀̓͊̚̚͜͝͝i̸͓͈͗̏̈̎̋̎̎̽r̶̮̫̺̀͆́͝͠ě̵̹͙̬̘͇̞̅̐͐̈́͌̀̐͐͝͝d̸̡̧̖̘̮̜̮̥͎̭̺̉̉̃́̾̀̕͝ ̶͙̩͊̈̇̚͜b̸̭̂̏͊̌͠ü̷̡̙͕͓̾̆͌̈́̓̚͠t̵͔̂̒̈́̿̾͋͗͋̓̊͝͝ ̶̡̻̥͐̈́̋͝a̵̢̝͍͖͇͓̦̼̭̯̻͌͑̆͑̀͗̎ͅ ̷͙̙̭̒̅͐̓͊s̶̰͍͍̘͚̻̫̈̏̔̐̐͜͠i̵͕̖̥͙͚̰͌̈́n̸͎͍͍̉́̀̀͋͑͋͆̀͘͘g̶̨̼̹͚̟͈̙͓̓̇͑̑̌̋̕l̴̗͓͋e̸̜̔́͊̃̽͗̚͝ ̷̺͉̠̟̥̰̝͗̈̓̽̄̇̕͘͜͝͠͝p̵̨̮̫͐̈́̑̈̈̂̀͝ŗ̴̬̪͇͚̙̩͖͋͊́̀͆͐͑̐̅̈̂ǒ̶̧̩̻̬̝̳̮̬͎̠̐͛̅͂̕g̴̼͓̈́̇̚̕̕ͅe̵̡̢̮̟͓̺̪̲͖͗ͅn̵͕̞̣̉̊͋̏́͊̕͘̚͝͝͝ỷ̵̢͕̩͎̩̮̩̗͙̇͗͒̒͂̑̾͌̽́̋͜͜,̴̧̬͈̪͚̃̏̒̆̽̾̅̃͘͜͜͠ ̶̬͍̈́̊̂̐̐̋͝͠ḩ̵̡̡̤͔̼̟̝̠̩͎̔̌̔̓͒́͛̈̍͘͝ĭ̸̱͓̺̃̂̾͌͝s̵̭̰͖͙͍͍̭̠̄̓̎͊̃͑͛̈́̑̇͜ ̴̬̝͎̰͉̫̤͗b̵̺͈̦͉̪̤̭̉͆̿̕͜ͅi̷̢͚̖̲̠̅́͊͛͒́͂͐͘̚͜o̵͙͈̘̱̪̓͐̿̅̆̈̄̏̓͆̐̚ͅl̶̛̞̥̮̗͚͚̮͂̒̽̑̈́̐̓̍͒̈́̚o̵̰̦͍͔̟̣̝̬͕̬͌͝g̶̢̻̲̤͖̠̱̜̰̰̱̋͌i̶̫̬̫̺̻̹̹͉̯̤͒̿͘͜c̶͕̋a̶̛͖̮̗̺͍̤̜͙͙̞̻͛̍̀̆͗̿̀̕l̴̲̯̤͇̓̀ ̷̨̪̗̺͕͓̗͓̌̆͝s̸̭̪̭͙͚̯͈̿͋̽̋̓̑͠ō̸̧̘̩̫̫͖͎̭̎ņ̸̫̱̠̪̳̙̖̭̓́͗̂̔̍͛ ̷͈͍̱̥̻͍͓̑̔̐͛͐͘ͅS̸̡͙̱͙̤̹͍̣̩̀͒͒͗̈́̐c̷̛̳͍̹̟̗̭̱̻͗̔̈́͆̋̂͐̇̾̒́r̵̡̨̧̖̘͖̳̩̹̼̀̀͂ͅâ̸̡̺̘̗̾n̶̢̢̫̩̠͚̿͂g̸̢̯͈̜̗̍̀̽͋̍͋͘ă̷̝͙̰̺̫̼̙̌̏̾̈́̊̇̑̓͐́̋͘,̴̛̼͉́͊̏̔̏̓̏̒̎̑ ̶̧̬͎̤͂̑́̕w̶̘̬͔̬͙̖̻̥̯̯͇̽͌̾̓͊̅̕͝͝h̶̫̹̱̩͖̜͋̃̕o̶̼̝̗̫͈̥̤̲̽̎͑͗̉͆̿̿̚͝͝m̴̰̀̈͛̉̾̓͂̎̋͋ͅ ̵͉̺̹̓͘h̴̯̑̇͋̊̋̅͋̾̈̑ȩ̷͇͇̼͇͚̖̖̙̦̪̐͑͊̚ ̸͈̺̱̊̒̔̀̓̋͌̀̂͛̀̕s̷̢̢̢̢̛̝̟̘͒͛̃͗ḩ̵̬̰̝̘̙͊̀̅̎̃̔͘͝ą̷̛̰͍̝̣͚̫͑̈̓̋p̵̖͍̙͂̇̎̈̔͐͛̑͝ę̶͔͔͉͍͛̂̈̑̄̈́̈́̎̔͐ḏ̷̨̳̅͒̃̕ ̴͓͚͖̙̮̘͕̖͖͑̈͛͜͠ͅt̴̟̯̮̘̫̞̗͉͈̍́̍̈́̽̀̏͐̃̕͜͝o̸̢͎͉͛́ ̷̨̗̖̜̤͈̬̣̮̖̿̍b̵̧̘͈̞͈̣̾͒̿ͅȩ̶̨̙̹̥̙̭̎̏̋̃̎̓̀̕ ̷̡̪̟̥̝̦͊́͛͗͆͒́̕͘͠ā̸̧̬̖̠̩͉͂̓̃̽̅́̍ ̴̨̘̻̟̻̖̲̭͍̈̆͊͒̓͠p̵̡̛̝͙͇̹̹̳̗͓͉̿̾̅̈́̋͋̂͊́e̸̛͖͍̿͗̇̍̑͐̓̓̚ṙ̴̻̱̯̰̄̓̽̿̀͊̆͜f̸͎̙̯̝́͋̓̊̈́̚͝ȅ̶̫͍̬̮̒͊͆͊̎̒͗̀͆̕c̸͔̮̯̣̦̮̤͈̹͉̱̽͐ţ̴̧̨̗̗͙͖͖̠̼̆͋̇̌͘͝ ̶̻̥̜̓̎̓͠h̸̰̘͔̘̹͔̖͍̓̀̚͝u̷̡̧̼̻̭͕̣̜̟̝̰̓̈́̆̉͘n̵̛̥̗̭̍͆̐̑͋̚̚̚͝ͅt̵̜̲͍̳̩̟̐ẹ̸̢̮̬̺͓̥̪̓͝r̷͓̝̼̞̗̻̤͍̘͊̿͑̉̆́́͋̎͜.̷̪̬̎̊͑͝ ̵̹̦̩͝Ş̴̡̛͔̬̯̺̰̭̯̱̗̽̂͑͗͗͗͝c̷̡͓̰̳̗̙̭̺̖͐́͛̅̎̀̾̀̽̚r̷͈͉̱̰̗̅͋̇̀̔͐̾̕͠â̸̧̮͇̙̰͖̜͙̮̥̤̊̍́̓ņ̷̠͍̹̦͖͎̈́͊̒̑̄̂̇̄͐̿g̸̛͕̦̙̙͎̠̣̮̪̞̯͛̓̋̽̍ẳ̷̠̈́͆̈́̽̀̈́̚ ̵̹̻̪̱̟͚̗̬̮̥̀͂̀̓e̶̱͕͂̌͑͜͜x̴͚̗̞͕̮̦̻̳͓͓̜̤͒̓̋̅͝ċ̸̫̹̀̌ė̴̢̥̞͖͍͜ͅļ̶̡̛̫̝̤͙̬̬̭̗̈́̇̀͐͑͗̃̃ͅl̵̡͚̹̣̼̮̱̼̀̊̽͛̀̋e̸̤̜͌͑̽̿̓̔̿̿̕̚d̴̨̢͎̪͉̫̫̯͘͜ ̴̟̳͑͐̓̓̑̔̃͑͑͝͝͝b̵̡͚͍͇̗̘̙̦͕͉̈́̐̍̃̀̅̇̀͋̄ͅẹ̴̮̠̥̥̎͠y̴̨̪͕͙̞̹͈͛͐̎͛̿̇̕͜o̶̧̢̰͉̭̩͈̦̰͐ň̴̦̽̀̊̌͛̏̚͘d̶̢̼̭̰̦͈̜̹̥̫̯̅̔͂͝ ̸̡̬̻̰̯̘̙̭̮̫͕̆͆s̶̳̭̘̆̅̍̒̈̂̐̀͠͝͝i̵̢͓͉̜̦̮͖͍̠͋̓̏ͅm̷̢̙̰͎̙̤̺͖̩͕̿͝p̸̨̢̤̑̑͒͂̑̀͊͑̍̃̚l̸̛͇̝͚͓̪̼̟̰͉͉͛̾̀̾̈̉͋ě̴͚̙͖̹̥̺͔̜̗̎̾̾̃́̎̏̾͠͝͠ ̸̢̢̫̥͍̫̍͆̿̎̋͝e̵̻̤̱̥̍̋͋̓̌̑͝ṅ̵̡̧̘̰̝͇̟̇̄̾̔̚̚̕f̶̣̮̫̥̹̰̺̀̽͌̕͠ͅo̷̗̾͆͆͗̾͂̈́̐̋̊͗ṟ̶͉̳͎͆ͅc̴̡̥͓͎͖̆ẹ̴̢̢̝̘̮̤̗͖̪̙̉̎́̈́̌͒̈́̕͠m̸͙͉͙͇͆̓͌̾̊͐̌͆͆͑̈́̕e̷̪͎̯̳̞͕͈͛̈̾͌͊n̴͔͓̪͗̇t̸̩͓̣̰̗́̾̒͜;̷̖͖͓͉̣̫̖͑̂̓̆̈̕͝ͅ ̷̧̛̩̤̜̹̥̎̂́̈́͌͜h̵̦̬͕̎̿̉̐̌̀͑̑͒e̵̱͝ ̷̧̝̹̳̗̫̦͚̥̅̈́̂̌́̚͠w̶̢̟̯̰̲͖̿ǎ̶͖̩̹̹͆͝s̷̘̺̲͖̠̣̪̟͇͙̿̎͗̓̔̀̐͊͠ ̷̢̰̣͎̯͇͖͖̺̼̤̈́͆́̆̈́̀̆̆̑̾a̷̺͖̙͖͓͊͂̅̈́͝ ̷̜̠̪̼̑p̶̧̠̓͒͛̅ŗ̸̨̖̗͍͎̦̙̗̐͗̄ǫ̷̛̖̤͔͕͚̠͚̓̇́̄͝͝d̷̢̲̫̘̥̖̺̩̿ȉ̶͖̬͇̹̯̹̏̈́́̕͝͝g̶̩̳̓̑̾̀̈̃̆a̷̢͓̗͚̿̿̀̎͗͒́̏͝ļ̵͖̝̰͉̲͎͇̈́͐ͅ ̶̡͙̖̙̼̥̖͘ͅh̸̢͓̘͎̊ů̷̢̖̮͉̩͕̕͜n̶̯̱̮͇͙̘̦̪̖͓̯̺̆̾̓͋͂̔̀̋̃̆ṫ̸̠̭̠̙̯͔̲̙̠̈͝e̵͔̻͙͗̓̓̈́͋̉̾̓̋r̴͖̝̘̩̭̐͗ ̶̨͎͍̠̠͎͕͓͛̒̍̊̑̂̔͒̈́̀̎f̸̛̙̹̫̬̭͓͌̾̒̎̊̃̈́̌̋̃͘ḽ̶̮̻͓̎̄̌̀͆͌͝u̸̥̤̜̥̤̖̞͉̖̅͊̇̆͊̏̚͝ę̷̥̹͈͚͓͔͍̖͍̑̈́̆͒͆͂̓͗͛͠ǹ̸͇͚̽̏͘t̴̪̫̉͝͝ ̸̛̲̖̮̿̿͛́̔̄̄͗̋͝ĭ̴̛̪̞̙̰͈̳̜̠̞͓͉̎͒͂͗͋͘ͅn̸̥͍̜̫̯̹̈̆̒̍̆͝ͅ ̸̹̙̫͇͚̦͍̼̠̆̀̑̂͠a̸̺̳̍̔̍̈́̽̅̌̊̇̕l̴̨̮̝͎̎̒̄̀ͅl̶̨̧͚̣̰̝̘̦̲̩̈̒̔̒̓̉͜͜ ̴̰̱̠̙́̀̔͋͑͆͑ò̵̡̥͖͔̟̄̂̍̏̌̀́͠ͅf̷̨̡̢̟̟̮͉̭̟̲͓̥̑͆͐͑͒̉̔̒̚͝͝ ̵̟̏̋͌̑̈̈́͠K̸̩̺̗̱̋̅̔̓͊͘ŗ̴̩̖̥́̐̍͐̽̿͘̕͜ơ̶̧̹̜̯̼̤̺̟g̵̹̩͌a̵̩͈̝͇̖͉̼͊́̒͂̆̇̽̚̕͝k̴̢͉͇̇͐͂̈́̇’̷̛̤̿s̶̨̡̭̦̝͍̙̳̣̘͚͛̏̔̉͐̓ ̵̝̫̈́̓͊ą̴̪̫̣̮̠̱̗̙͖̯͕͆̈̓̔̈̿̃̔̂͠͠͝r̷̨̛̬̼̹̲̻̩̘̬̟̃̅͋͝t̶̲̞̮̱͔͙͔͌͐̉̅̋̚͘ş̷̛̤̝̩̮͔͙̥̘̆̄͐̓͐͂͐̎͜.̷̛̼̹̯̰̀̉ ̵͖̹̫̜̱̺̗͖̈́͐D̸̨̦̖̹̬̥̭̂̏̈́́͘ë̵̢̨̛̠̲͍̰̱̯̩̜̮̍͐̑̓̂͜s̷͉͚͖͇̖̋̂̏̽̊͋͆̊͝͝ͅp̴̧̞̳̘̠̤͉̮̰̪̮̖̈́i̵̻̗͕̟̤̟̭̦̝̍̒͗̅̂͌̅̃̆̍͘ͅt̶̡͕̹͈̣̦͉͚̩͋̾̐͛̍͋̈́̉͘e̸̡̮͓̼̬̭͕̻̠͖̅̃́̑̑́̓ ̷̛̲͇̹̤͉̭̠̃́̈̓̆̇̅̉͝h̸̺̗̖͂̔i̵̙͂s̷̖̏̃͝ ̷̻͔̣͕̦̜̺̻͇͆̾͛͛͆̇́̽͘c̴̦̑̋̈̀ȍ̶̲̟̤̜̾͛̇̈́͘̕m̶̧̨̨͕̪͎̻͍̼̲̆̔̅̅ͅp̸͕͓̈̏͆ḙ̶̡̙̹̙̩͇̱̿̎̅͝t̴̨̺̪̝͖̤̤̘̆̐̍͛̈̔̇̍̚̚͝e̸̝̲͈̯̓̀̎͝ͅn̴̡̢̧͙̣͍̤̤͕͙̈́̓̃̎c̶͓͓̙̟̭̬̜̥̩͇̪̲̈̽̉e̴͍̅̑̈̌́͝,̷͉͙̰̭̝̅͌ ̶̗͚̪͕̞̼͕̻̲̻͂̓S̵̼̖̭̗͛̍͗̎c̴̞͐͛̔̚̚͠͠ȓ̶̘̌̌͂͊̎̆͜â̴̧̞͙̓̿n̴̢͈̝̐̅̂͗̐͗̐̔̋̂̌͠g̷͇͕̎̆̅͂͂̀͛̕ͅắ̶̧̺̣̖͉̺͕̣̘͜͠͝ ̸͓̥͉͎̪̄̆̒̂͋̑́̆͜͝w̴̨̫͓̜̘̣̱̭͎̤͐̇̌̐́͋̈́̕͠ą̸̨͕̮̯̞̺͕́̋́͘s̴̳̖̟̫̺̰̣̓͆͆̎̊̽͌̏ ̸̛̥̜̅͌̀p̷̛̝̹͓̌̄͐̇̎̃̽̽̀́ḻ̶̫͍̣͆̄̓̌̕á̸͇̣̥͇̈́̾̏g̶̫̥̖͉̖̰̭̫͎̹̥͛̑́͌̈́̚͝ų̶̢͇̤͓̤̳͈̼̈́̂̄̐̉̀̍̚͘ͅͅe̸̯̪̫̪̅̈́͋̌̀͑͐͌̿̕͘͠d̵̨̘̫̗͚̗̮̙̔̅̊ͅͅ ̶̧̧͍̤̩̩̥̩̖̥̌̈́̔̃́͂͜ͅw̸̛͖̳̗̭͓̟̝̓̽̍͗̓̿̔́͘͝i̵̘̞͖̱̰̘̼̘̍͒̉t̶̹͂̋̚h̷̛̺̳͛̈́̒̌͛͒͂̈́̏̃͘ ̵̢̡̡̘̭͔̼̱̏̅͋̓́o̴̠̥͑̒v̴̧̦̱̠̗̬͕̤̪́͐̃͑e̷̳̍̽͊̆̌̓r̶̢͎͈̣̬̻̖͇͂ẁ̴̛̹̣͕͓̗͍̘̻̩̓̍̏̕h̵̻̞͕̹͉͈̭͕̲͇̤͗́͑͒͝ȩ̷̭͕̤̼̩͂̀̌͆̓̑͜͝l̸̙̬͙̮̠̥̀̂̃̂̑͋̚͜͝m̵̧̨̫͖̤̓̎͆̔̔̂̽̚͜ȉ̴̼̟̪͆͛̒̈́͂̾̾̚͝n̵̜͉̰͙̤̱͋̄̏̓g̴̨̞͋̍̔̑͌͂̄͘ ̸̛̲͎͓͐̒͆̃̔̎̈́͆̍̏͝b̶̨̛̛̖̙͖͓̤̣͖̳͓̎̉͋͛͘͠͠͝l̴̬̫̫̜͓̹̳̗̯̈͌̉̈́͝o̷͙͓̣̒͑͆̑̎̊̅͆̅͘͜͠͠ǫ̶̙̤͕͊̔̓̀́d̵̝̜̟̫̳̬̔̓͑̒̆̋͐̽l̵̢̟̦͎̝͎̰̥͔̞̳̄͛͗͌͌̄̈́̓̚u̶̢͙͓̲̙̘̠̱͘s̸̛̲͎̈́͛̒̿͒̔͝͠t̸̨̪̝̟͛̿͑̆́͒̕͘ ̸̲̝̻̙̞̹͎̥̓̐̿͂̈́͂̐̏͘͝ȁ̸̳̼̠̤͔͋͛̾̏̏́̔̈́͝n̵̛͕̥̔̐̓̈́̈d̶̰̲̯̼̯̪͖͓̬̻̥̑̃͌̌͜͠,̵̞̽̅̉̆̈́͊̌̌͘͝͝ ̴̯̊̆̑̉̔͜e̶̢̪͖̣̲̯̠͇͇̓͋͑ͅv̸̘̭̻̙̠̅̿̉̆̌̐ḙ̶̞͈̼̬͚̍n̵̨͇̟̞̞͈͎͚̤͋͊͘͜t̵͕̺̦̻̳̤̗̗̜͉͐́́̽̀̀̂̀͜ŭ̵͇̖̠̬̭́̓̐͒̚å̵̘͚̑l̵͕͕̺̘͙͎̭͈̩̀̌̏̆́̈́̿̈́̄͜l̷͍̪͓͗̈̆̈́̋͊͝y̷͍͂͊̿͑́̕,̵̨̨͇͎̣̪̯̜̳̳̹͍͋̾͝ ̴̨͇͙̭͔̗̜͎͖͎͛̄̑̑͘s̶̨̡͚̙̳̖͙͙̽̔̓̃̌͜͝u̵̩̻͍̩̖̥̲̎͂́̒̆̐̊͊͠ͅŗ̷̧͓̗͉̦̬̖̗̬̱̠̈̇r̵̪͎̭̦̘̭͐̊ę̶̠̼̪̖̦͍͖̎̀̆͆̌n̸̖̩̤̣̳͈͈̲̎͑̆̎́̆̑͛͑͝ͅd̴̤̙̜͋̄̆̌̓̃̅́̕͝e̶̟̭̗̮͐̋͐̾͐͗̇͝r̶̡̮̗̭̞̗͌̐̐̃ė̷͚͉̠̫̦̲͍͊̂̅̿͆̚͜d̷̺̣̯̖̠̼̮̊̂̽͋̄̚ͅ ̵̨̢̤̼̻͙̝̓̂̾̔̊t̷̡̡̡͎̣̘̜͔̭̗͖͕̅̚ọ̷̘̭̟̺̗̳͈͚̃̑͂͌̍̊̎͑̕͝͝ ̷̢̢̫̠̦̗͚͂͌̔̾ǵ̶̨͉̹͝l̵̨͓̥̪̪͎͍̪̏͝ͅū̵̢͎̞̣͉̱̅́͗͌̒́͒͗̚t̶͇̹̠̟͔̺̐̉͋̿̓t̶̞͎͎̬̤͉̯̅̈͐͌̂̎̊͋̀ơ̶̮̪͎̊̌̐̓̈̈́́̋̚͘̕ņ̸̛̜̰̠̹͍̼̗͓̏͛͑̈́ŏ̸̡͇̹̦̹͙͓̈̂̓̅́ͅŭ̷̱͖͚̮̣̀̔͆͒s̶̢̃̍̎͠ ̴̛͙̲̑̀̂̔̌̀̽̈́͒͘͠į̷͍͎͕͇̝̥̖͙̇̏̓̅̍͛̄͌̚ͅn̶͎͚̙͈̼̭͈̦͘s̸̘͓̰̓͒̈́̅̓͌͝t̷̻̰̣̩̩̘͇̜̦͋̐̐͗̂̏͒̃̇͘ͅi̶̻̙̓͛͊͊͌̃̓̀͋̕͘ͅṋ̶̯̺̺̲́̎̌̾̓͐ċ̶̗̃ͅt̴͔͙͔͊̉̌̐̒͛̕͝͝.̴̡̛̟̠̯͈̭̘̥̪͎̻̒̏̑̇͆͒̑͜͝͝͝͝
̷̢̥̱̟͇̹̬̩̜̆̆̓͊͒͠
̷̧͑̀Ẁ̸̱̹̺̫͉̐̐͌̽͛h̵̠̳͎͉̓͒͗̇̍̀͝e̸͚͉̜̪͑̔̎͂̈́̃̏̊͐̕r̴̢̧̞̤͔͙͚͎̱̍̐̽̾̉̿ͅe̷͙͚͕̘͚̜͛̽̎͑͒̀̀̇͐̅̚͘ ̷̧͓͉̅͒̍͊͂͆̐Ḱ̵͉̲̩̮̺̻̱͚̼͑͗̽̅̈̌́̕͝r̵̫͈̙͕̥͊͌̽́̓͠͝͠ơ̷͎̜̭̟̫͆̋͋͌̉͗͌͑͝g̸̛͇̳̲͒̈́͆̎̄͊̊̒́͝ã̵̧̬̹̜̖k̴̡͉̞̮̹͍͉̼̪̥̣̎͊̒̑̈̚̚ ̸̨͎͍͈̦̳͕͔͉̹͗̇̏ĉ̷̦̠͈̦̙̺̺̺̊͋̆̆͝ṵ̸̡̨̦͎̝̗̭̥̮̖̊̍̀͒́́͋l̵̨̛̜̞̹͈̦̗̘̣̟̪̦͆́̂̐̌͠l̸̡̟̻͕̦͎͌̾̉͐́e̴̩͚̭̮̙͇̩͒̒̄̈́́́̈̀͂̓͠͝ͅͅͅḏ̶̛͖͕̍͋̆̍̐́͌́͛̏̂ ̶̢̦̘̙̰͔̳̩̪̤̉̈́̽̿̀̈́̑̈́͝͝t̵̥̹͉̥͉̅̋̾͑̀̍̌̄͌̇h̶̡͍̖͍͇͓̥̪͖̟̻͐͐͗͂̈̏͋͊̏̚͜ȩ̷̙̥̘̲͎̟̭̞̺̱̞̍́͑͂̓̉̕ ̶̧͇̤̹̙́r̵̯̭̦͇̉͘ö̷͙̰̺͊̏͑̈̈́g̵͉̮̭̤̩̰͕̽͑͝ͅủ̶̻̬̬͍̜̻ẹ̶̢̬̻̋͛̈́̾͛̏̀͌͝,̵̰͆͑̉̇́̄͛̈́͗͌̐ ̷̦͓̈́̌̋̀̔̄͑̒S̴̺̍̇͐͊̚̕͘̚͠c̸̲̋̄̐̏̎͝͝r̷͔̙̻̭̣̤̲̉̔͝â̴̻̬̞̣͙͚͍͂̀́̎̌͒̍̚n̶̢̡̧̪͔̣̖̩̭̬̤̳̒̎̃̊͠g̴̣͂̀̅͋̒̕̚ă̴̛͉̹̘̖̑̑͗̉̌̀̉̀̆͝ ̷̨̟̪͙̬̺̯̯͖̰͚̈͂̀s̷̛̻̞̰̏͆̋͐͒͘͘ţ̷͎̩̗̹͎̟́͂̑̒͛͑͛̿̎̎͊̀ḁ̶̡̢̡̬̪͓̤̥̠̩̪̔l̸̼̪͕̤̖̘̱̝̱͍̭͇̽̉̾͐̂͒̚k̶̬̝̬̘͚̽̄̃̀͝ë̴͎̝͙͎̱̓̎͗̆̉͝͝d̴̡̯̠̲̳͚̹̥̜̽͒͝ ̴̨̡̠̗͙̺͒̄̓̈́͌́̚͜t̵̖̼̺̞͊̀͂̈̋̓̅̏͌̄h̴͍̣̙̮̗̲̎͑́̐̂͝ͅe̴̙̓̈̍́̈́̓ ̸̯̻̺̑͌̂̚͝S̵̛̻͕̼̺͎͎̹̥̰͒̿̅͑̇̇͗́̄̋͘ḭ̵̧̢̗̫̪̪̂̀̈́̆̄͊͝ͅl̵̤̈͛͊̉̐̈́͠į̸̙̠͙̘͔̯͎̤͎͈͒͗̆̌͑̕ť̸̨͔͎̤̳̻̘͇i̶̢̮͈̹͖͂̽̍̿̌͠ ̸͇̩̮̻͌̆̐̅̓́̈́͜i̶͔̍̈͋͑͑͆͝n̶̢̧͔̰̜͇̞̪͍̗͕͌͗̍̀̍ͅd̵̖̘͈̲͂̈̋̊̎̅̄̕͝i̷̢̨̢̝͌͆̔̎͑s̸̡̧̧͈̰͇̦̲͓̎̿c̷̙̘̰̺̟̦̲͉̙͙̿́̊͘͝r̴̰̹̥̹̻̃̈̐̓̏͛̀̇̾̀͂i̸̛̙̗͚͈̥̠̪̠͖̜̽̐͋̑͆̈́̕ͅm̴̧̤̘̠̟͈̳͇͕̗̽̾̃̇̅ͅĩ̶̝̪̖̿̐̉͐̈́̈͛͂͂͠ͅņ̷͖̼̙̫́̈͋͐̌̀͊͘͝a̶̲̯̱͌̈̄̔ṱ̵̜̙̆͂̊͠ę̵̯̤̭̼̄̑͋̓̍̕̕ĺ̴̠̼̜̞͆̍̇̓͂̏̿̈͘y̵̧̩͎̥̙͓͉̅͗̽͒̅͋ͅ,̵̧̻̘̺̻͔̥͕̞͈̀̕ ̶̧͕͓͓͍̮̳̀͂̓̾̆́͆ḏ̸̡̧̲͚͈͍͎͇̙́̌̋̂̚ȅ̶͉͎͉͉̠͖̮̇̋̀̿̀́͒͑͘̕͝ͅv̸̢̨͚̬̥͍̪͚̼͙̳̙̒̓̌̿̿̄̀̅̈́͝ỏ̴̰͔̠̠̙͖̪̺̠̾û̷̺̗̦͚̯̥̬̑̃́̚͠͝r̶͉̞̭̲͚̠͎̻̻̖̝̓̈́̽ȉ̶̢̛̳̫͙̃̒̂͝n̷̜̦̮̟̬̺̖̠͇̟̩͂ǵ̵̢̨̡̝̘̮̟̖͓̅̃̃̾̂̐̑̋͠͝ ̸̢̡̛͚̯͉̰͙͚̰̦̔́̆̊̅͌̐̇͜͠t̷̨̻̞̬̰̺͕̭̜͆̈́̒̓̈́̆̀̐̀́h̵̡̥̠͇͕͍̟͔̫̟̍́̾̊ͅȩ̷͇̩̞͔̜͕̹̙̞̌͐̽̇̎͠m̶̡̱͈̟̙̹̰̫̀̎͒̓̐̿͂̏̕̕̕͜ ̷̙̹̦̹͉̹̮͔̅̐̽̊̉͗͘a̷̧̢͔̥̱̭͚͖̎̂͌̃͛̌̽͒̔s̵̡͔̳̥̭͍̎͆͒̊͒̍̈́̐̆̉̚͠ ̵̛̜̭̬͛̓̒̚ȟ̶̢̢̝̱̘̠̻̭͆͜e̴̡̠̹̪͈͚̭̐͌͊̇̂̐̅̾̌ ̸̬̽̕ģ̶̭̹̫̤͉͌̔̈́̔̚͜r̷̨̨̹̤̋͒̎͘e̸͚̦͕̝̠̤͉̤͈͉̍͗̾̕͘͜͝w̴̨̰̲̝̭̱͍̟̏̄͒ ̷̯̠̯̤̂͗͌̒͂̋͐͒̉́s̴̨̩̜̯̲̝̰̪̈́̑̍̃̒́̉͛͝ö̴̝͖̺̱͓̳̮̖͓̖͖́̎́̌̍̀͋̀͒̕̚ů̵̢͖̩̰̪̝͇͌̀̄̈́̽͋͋r̴͈̣͖͕̺̳̍̈́̈̃͐̒̄͋́̕ ̸̧̮̘̟̫̫̇͒̐͘ŵ̴̛̤̻̙̲͉̘̘̳̗͖͚̓̊̅̒͗̔̓͘i̶̩̝̻̘̪̬͍͔̬͚̘̎͑̀̄̆͜t̵̳̾̂̉̋̾̒̓̅̃̚͘h̸̩̜͈͎̤͛͑͌̎͠ ̸̢̻̙͎͈̮̩̹̩̪̝̄̎̈́̎t̸̹̞̹͍̽͋̂̎̀̆̍͠͝ͅh̵͎̱̅̕e̶͖̮̮̳̞͚̅̌̒̈́̾ͅ ̵̛̗̲̪̱͚̪̯̦͉̟̃̌̾̃̽̒̅̆̕͠s̶̪̥̬̘̐̽̀͗̊̿t̷̼̩̻̫̹̿̃̽̈́͊̀̚͝e̴̲̳̻̯̟̹̘̟͙̹̜͕̅̉n̶̨̨̩̞̠͇̖̬̗̗̥͆̐͜͝͠c̷̦̟̪̔̈́̌̄̎̂̕̚͝͝h̶̘͉͗ ̴͔̭́̍̊̅͊͝ǫ̴͈̣̤̟̺̩͎̼͍̫̋̀̍́̊̈́̓̃̉͐̊͝f̷̖̦͚͙͕͕̜͂̉̄͂ ̶̨̭̟͙̏̏̔͌̎̓́̿̚ą̴̫̹̮͔͕̈́̎̔̈̀̈̂͘͘ ̸̩̟̲̦̮͖̪͔͉͕̈̿Ű̶͙͔̦̈́̓̑̂͋͂̌̑̀̏͝ĉ̵̺̼̻͍̮̎̇̃͆͆̎̆͛̚͝i̷̬̦̯̩̗͕̘̹͖̰̗̝̽͗̌̽̎͒͆̊̑͝͠g̴̡̫̭̯̙͇̎͜ā̶̱̣̄ͅs̴͉̩̼̦̭͔̟̻̀̚ͅ.̷̧̡̢͍̘̜̭͇̥̖̱͂̇̌ ̴̧͈͍̠̐̇̊̐͝͝Ṟ̶̢̨͖͓͚̳̫͎͇̜̆ḙ̴̳̭̬͎͉͖̭̮̍͆͛̃͜s̷̭̱̰̈̄͂̌͘̚͜p̵̺̲̤̱̹͖̲̝͕̠̓͒̏͛́͊̎̈́̕͜ö̵͙́̃̆̄̑̂̋̊͝͝n̶̝̫̪̈̒͗̀̅̊̾̂̍͝d̷̦̱̺̔͊̄̊̅̌̌̈͛́i̴͚̳̙̲͍͔̖̭͕̤͑́̾̀̏͆̚͝n̸̢̢̛͓͖̪̼̩̠̫͍̣̄̌̈́͑̍̃̔͒̃̚ͅg̴͈͖͔̻̣̪͆̑̀̑͒̀̓̂̈ ̷̞̲̳͖̞͙̝̲̜̎͋p̶͎͍͕̞̥̱̒̎̀̏̔͊̌̇́̚͜͝ͅŗ̵̟̠̝͎̲̘͂͗̿̅̽̅̆̀o̵̢̧̱̲̥̞̅ͅm̵͎͇̲͕͈̩̈́̇͒̇́͑͌̒̇̅͜ͅͅp̵̢̢͕͔̤̤̹̭̩̼͕̾̐͐̈́͌̌͐̒͗̾͘͜ṫ̸͙̮̗͓̝̀͂̕̕͜͠l̶͕͖̙̥̠̖̱̲͖͖̈́̈́̈́̅̏͆͘ŷ̴̪̣̤̤̋̃̆̊̔͂ͅ,̷̤̓̽͐̐̇̒̉͊̑͌͠ ̶̡̡̧͍̟̳̦̱̬̺̳͈̕M̴͍͔̣͈̳̫̝͐̾͋i̵̟̞͉͐̏c̴̖̥͍̼͔̩͂ͅļ̸̢̱̟͖̥̩̆̂͑̑̄͑̀͗̉͘͜ͅt̶͖̺̹̭̺̝̐͂á̴͇̜̫̦̤̪̲̊̋͒̈n̶̠͎̥̣̼̻͆̈́̏̍́̉͘͘͝t̶̥̪̟̾͛̅̊i̵͔͕̥͓̽͐̊̎̈̅̑̕͜ ̷̡͉̦̇͆̋̿͛͑̄͝c̶̛̛͉̘̑́̇͌̀̍͗̿͛͜͝ä̶̡̱̝̩̰́̈̈́̽͂̎̀̿̀͝p̵̧̲͓̺̙͖͈̂͛̃͆̏͋̃͐̔̚̕ẗ̷̢̠͊̍̽̀͆ú̴͖̆̽̒͌̽̚ṟ̷͚̖̋́̈̓ȩ̶͔̙̖͕̻̳̟̫̰͉͌̚ͅd̷̪̻͕̗̳̏̓ ̸̨̛͖̩̠̝̗́̃̈́̀ẗ̶̨̛̖̮̤̠̙́h̸͕̫͔̖̏̅͆̾͒͒̓͠e̵̟̘̦͛́̀ ̷͔͇̭͓͐̾͑̆ͅd̸̮̩͖̙̲̳̫͋̌̚̕̕e̸͕̪̫͉͔̲̤̱̮̫̙̊̌̀͆̌͛̔͝r̵̡̻͚̰̘̹̥̂̇̈́̈͜ͅą̸̡͎͉̤̟̊̂̑̔̉͑͐̌͜ͅͅn̷̙̫̯̿̓̄̽̍̕͝ǵ̵̭̣̤̤͓̞̦̬̪̳̰͐̈́̏̈́͜e̵̼̬͚͉̋̇̿̎̓͋́d̷̗̳̪͇̀̾̔̇͆͆̍̀̉̚͠ͅ ̸̡̱͔̗͖̜͓̙͔̄̿̈́͋̐̇̇̓̍S̷̮̖͕͈͎̪̻̳̺͉̙̆̋͋̍̽̊͜c̶͕̼̞̮̙͉̿͝ͅr̴̨̢̨̛͓̝͍̯̖͖̓͒̓̐͒̏̆̕͝ͅâ̸͖̱̹̠͓̠̭̄͆͌̀̅n̴̰̏̈́̍̓̉̈́̈́̑͝g̶̢̛̛͎̤̞̫̣̮͚̩̮̦̾͒̋̋̑̔̃̍͜ă̴̧̺̬̈͊͂͜,̴͔̯̺̒̈́͂̉̐͝͝ ̴̙̱͎̩̲̩̺͗̆̌̀͝͝ͅy̵̠͔͇͓͓͔͐͌͐͋̓̃̈́̈́̈́̃͜͠ę̵̻̙͔̱̙͖͂t̴͙̦͓͉̾̚͜͜ ̸̗̐́̓͑̈́̀̚͘͠w̶̳̦͛̽̄̂̀̏͝á̴̛̫̣̌̆̇́̔̉́͠ṣ̶̢̧̫̞̭̫̣͎̳̞͊͂͜ ̶̢̝̘͚͓͇̯͙͕̻̾̐̏́u̷̙̠̔̿̀͌̕n̵̢͔̖͙̬̖͇̠̠̤̥͕̆̎̌͐̈̊̋a̴͎̻͙̎̓͛̉̍̍̾̅̕̕b̸̧̧͇͍̗̩͈͗l̷̠̯͍͉͓̓͆̉̓͐̑͋́́͘e̴͍͍̜̟̩̯͕̩͋ͅ ̵̨̱̘͇̩͎͙̤̐̂͋̃̉̎̄́̀̓̔̚ͅẗ̴͈̼̠̤͎̗̟́̏ͅǒ̸̯͔̗ ̷̨̨̝̹̺͇̻̥̲͚͉̅͌̑̽̿͒͊̅̀͗͝ͅķ̴̺͈̟̂̑̃̾e̴̩̗̘̓͛̏̓̂͗͐̄̕͝e̴̲͎̙̪̤͔̙͋̕p̵̝̫͊́̀̿͘ ̷͑͑̆͂̋̌̂̾̒̆͜h̶̛͉̜̯̭̰͐͂̈́i̴̧̢̛̬̟̻̮͎͒̿̉̃̾̽͝m̵̹̻̤̙̮͎̮͌͑͋̽̅̅̉̀̒̀̐ ̸̢̦̪̤̩̪̯̳̪̖͛̅c̸̨͎͕̠͚̲̹̈́̄̽̽̾͐͐̑̊̎̕ö̷̢́̈́̾̍̌́̊̚n̸̢̔͆͂̐̐̆̄͘͝͝t̶͕̟̼̮̘͚̠͇̩̩̫̓͛ą̴̩̤̥͖̘̬̯̠̇̇̑́͗̍̒̅̀͜i̷̮̻͎̩̦͙̠̻̪̹̘͋͆ͅn̵̡̩̥̱͙̪̙̘̤̠̲͛͑̇͌͜͠ȩ̶͖̥̙̒̾̂̈́̅̒͘d̷͙̗̍́̈̋̈́́͆̎͝ ̴͓̻̼̝̣̞̤͍͍̆͂͛̈́́͘͝ą̵̙̹͖̯͌̔̇̀̉̍̄̀̕͝m̴̨̺̫̤͇̩̎̀͋ȋ̸̪̘̑̈́̌̑̈̌͋̋̾d̶̳͝s̸̡̼͎͓͇̫͙̰̝̄̈̇͜͝ṱ̶̺̪̪̙̝̦̤̰͔̺̑̈̀ ̵͖͓̏̎̈́̈́́̓͑̇͘t̸̯͙͍͕̯͍̫͆̂͌̓̓͐̔͗̈́h̴̨͖̠͠͝e̸̞̬̖̝̭͛ ̸̡̤̣̫̹̟͚̽c̸̡̡̝͉̬͚̩͉̈́͜ṍ̴̧͖̱͙͖̼̤̖̦͔̘́̀̏̕͘͘n̸̢̺̺̞͖̺̗͋͘f̴̦̬̙̲̠̘̦͊̏͑̓̒͊̚̚̕͝u̵̧̎̓̀̊̑͌̈́̅͐̉̿̔s̵̤͓̦̍̇͗̊̓̎͒̽͛͘͝͠ï̸͎̥͚̬̖̝͔͕̾̾͗̈́͗̑̆̽̔͝͝o̶̢͙̯̗̪̞̫͕̝̞͇̽͠ň̷̖̦͑̍̆̑̂ ̷͓̯̜͓̈̊͌̊͝ö̵̡̨̢̤̠̩̱͍̝͇̝́̀̄̄̓̔̾̚̚͘f̷̢̧̛͕̜̳̳͑̈͒͐͗̓̉͠ ̶̛̬̂́̑̈́̅̒͊̎͠͝t̷͎̜͚͇̮̭̕ḩ̸̹̩̺̬̤̹̖͉̗͓̾̆͜e̸̢̠̤̱̋̉͋̊ ̴̖͖̠̾͗͊̑̔̒́̅̕͝͠C̷͈̗̲̫̖̝̻̝͑̐̓͋͑͛́̌͑̀̏͜͠o̴̢̡̜̳̫̗͒̃̀̂̾͊̆́͠r̴̝̺̼̼̩̠̰̙̀ͅc̴̰̟̤̗̯̞̝̣͒̓̅ǐ̶̡̨͕͇̭̳͉̦̋͆̈́̚͠t̴̹̹̣͈͔͖̮̒̃̈́͌̓͊̆͑̃ö̶̲̬̲̳̥̫̰͑̾̽̌͒̅̔̾ͅr̷̢̰̤̦͙̲͉̲̟̻̮̜̉̑͑̽i̸̩͂͐̚ ̷̨̼̞̭̱͙̗̯̑̈͊̽̽̋̈́́̐̍̇͜͜͜͝ͅe̸̖̅̐̾̎̑͐͋̈́͠p̵̧̨͙̬̫̦̫͂ȋ̴͍̗̺̟͎̳̦̲͕̩̀̐̈́̎̕͜͝d̸̡̙͂̽̓́̓̃̅̀̒͋̚ë̸̮m̴̢̗̥̜̖͎̭̤̫͓̀̾ȉ̷̎͊́̓̒͘ͅc̵̢̢̧̧͙͚̈́̆̀.̷̡̬͉͕͓͉͍͗̃̏͑̒͘ ̵͔̞̠̄̋̒͑͆͝D̴̦͍͍͚̠͈͖̭̺̎̒͌̆̋̌̐̀̇̍͜͜ë̶͍̹̗̞͈̦̪́̅̎̇̓̆͊͂̕͜͠l̶̡̥̲̼̩͕̥̝̫͕̠͆̒͜ũ̸̡͇͉̮̒s̴̛͎̄̅̈͛̆̊̌͒̔͝ỉ̴̖̻̻̥̺̞̹̈́͆̿̕̚ͅo̸̧̨̝͙͇̻̥̖̲̪͖̘͋̀̄̄̓̈́͂͆̎ṉ̴̭̇̑͌͋̀͌̆̈̓e̷̩̩͙̲̟͓̮͖͑̾͂̔͜͝͠d̶̨̨̜͉̗̬̯̣͇̖̙̠̏͂̿̿̔ ̸̧̨̧̝͖̣̲͖͉͋͊̐̓̄̓͘ȧ̸̡̨̲̘͉̜̹̮͖̮̓͜͜͝n̶̯̞̝͎͒̐̑̅̂͒̉̆̑ḍ̴͍̇ͅ ̴̛̟͍͓̒͗͂̂̑́̎̄͐̕̚v̶̛͉͗̌̽͛͊̀̊e̵̫͗̃́n̶̨͚͈͓͓̅̑͊̔̕͠ǧ̶̗̯̹̥̜̦̻̎̄̾̆̓̈́̒́̈́͜͠ĕ̵̛̜͇̠͔̃̏̏͝f̸̯̾̓̀̕ứ̵͇̈́̈́̍͝l̸̢̬̯̦͈͓͕̳̂͑̃̽͂͒͗͆̅͒̓͜͜͜͝ͅ,̶̨͓͚̰͑̄̀̅̓̅̊̽̀̚͝ ̷̛͍̣͉̘͖̯̆̔̽̇̓͒̚̚S̷̨̧̞̹͕͖̭̝̻͗̋̀́ͅc̷̙̠̞̫̬̓̎r̸̨̢͎͙̜̫͖͊̀̽̈́͛͝ầ̴̙̓ņ̶̡̗̠͚̱͓̖̫̤͓̫̍̊̿̄̐̅̃̑̉͝͝͝ġ̸̛͈͖͕̞͕̱̈́̉͘͘ă̴̡̡̯̥͎̠̞͇̦̤̻̄̓ ̴̮̟̼̟͖̖͉̐̽f̶̡͓̫͘l̴̪̠͘ẻ̵̡̲͇͐d̸̛̹͚͎̻̼͗͝͝ ̴̻̦̦̥̟̏̃͛̾̕͠ȉ̶̛̥̭̮̠̺͉̹̈́͑̾͂̀̇̚̚͝n̴̘̈̀̽̊̓͝t̷̛̛̰̱͙̣̠̟̾̈́̃̀̐́͛͜͝ͅo̴͖͕̒̋̉͆̄̎͋̒̑͝ ̶̢̩̔̀̎͋̃̍̈́͝t̷̺̅͑́͛̇̾̿̔̓̕͘h̸̡͉̤͙̜̟͚̅̐̊͆͑̌̇̎͂͝͝ĕ̵̡̡̩͔̝͖͎̈̈́̇̔̅̑́͘ͅ ̷͍̗͔̥̐̊s̶̡̞̖̬̪̑͋̀̐h̷̬̖̦͖̆̌̌̿̉͆̋̄̕a̷̢͔̟͖̺̥͔̳̹̽̕ḑ̷̳̩̬͈̲̭͙̜̝͓̋̎̄́̔o̶̠̲̫͙̪͑̔͊̏̽͂̂͘w̷̨͕̦͕̙̱̼͍͉͍͕̓̅̈́͆͛̈͆̌̄ṡ̷̭͕̳̫̯͖̄̏́̊͒͘ ̷̡͙̩͕̬̤̘̝͍̳̀̆̊̇͗͛̒̄̊̚a̷̪̗̣̮̥̪̦͖̮̮̔͗̅͆s̷̤̯͊̈́̿̂͛̍͝ ̷̡̫̄̉̿̍͌̓̾̓̔̚̚h̸̯̼̓͂̍̋̔͂̆̋̈̀̕͠ͅȩ̶̗̰̬̳̣͕̻͔͙̓̐̍̃̏̇͠ͅ ̵͙̭̦̯͍̰̯̙̯̱̱̫͒̄̀͆̈́s̵͖̳͖͈̻̘̔̀̅̐̄̐͝c̷̩̗̽̄̋͆̀̈̒̑ͅh̶̨̳͑͌̿̓͋ę̵̗̺͇̘̮͓̳̉̇͋̀͆̔̋̚͝͝m̷̤͕̼̳̣̥̮͈̐͋͜ě̴̜̭̼̘̭̤̝̻͓̗̯̂̏͋̀̀̍͜d̷̡͉̩͈̻̟̳͙͓̘̭̊̌̄̚͠͠ ̵̢͍̅̇͐̑́͝t̶̲̜̟̙̠̦̦̺̰̱͑̎̄̿͂̅̚ͅo̸͇͍̬̣̽͝͠ͅ ̵̺̘̻̥͆͒̀͐͂s̶̨̠̲͚͇̿̈́̈́͝͝t̷̻͔̣̳͒̍̌́̃̈͋͐̌͝e̸̡͍̠̻̥̾ͅä̶̠͈̱͍̺̖͈͕͈́͋̂̈́̋͌̅̿̍͐͜ļ̷̢̦͚̩̠̲͑͜ ̷̧̰́͌̑̋̈́͒̊͌̈́͠͝ţ̸̘̲̠̲̘̤̄h̶̡͆̾͜e̷̮̦͕̪̺̥͍̫͒̆̌̔͒͐͛̈́̾͂̕͘ ̶̨̛͕͙̱͇̹̌̀́̈́͑̆̇̀̌̓p̷̺̜̠̳̹̺̗͌̀̅o̵̧̧̜͕̞̩̳̗̱̎̊͑̐͌̐̓ͅw̵̘͋̍͆̓͐ȩ̴͍̟̩͙̪͒r̸̩̀͋ ̸̘̲͔̤̜͙͍͓̫̺̌͜ọ̶̧̙̥̤͈̮͙͜͠f̴̡̨͈̝̱͎̳̳̼͙̆ͅ ̶̞̜͕̮͚̼̙̦̭̠̰͂̎̈́̑͘̕t̸͎̭̻̙͚͕̟̰̓̆͛̏ẖ̶̫͉̊̄̉ę̷̫̝͕̼̔͆̓̚͜ ̷̣̗̣̰͊͑͌̌͒̀̋̍̍͒͠A̵̢̟̣̖̭̦̫̝̖̫̣̐̑̃̀͆̽͑̉̆̚͜͝r̴̛͙̟̓̈͌́̾̽͌͝c̶̺̲̟͔̦̠͑̊̎͗͋͘͜͜͝h̷̤͊̇̋̒̎̏̚̕͜ǫ̶̡͙͇͇͐̎̆͆̋̉̏̅͝ṋ̴̤̲̺̘̔͊́̐͝s̴͎͌.̶̗̳͔̘̭̼̖̭͒̿̓̓͆͌͠ ̵̯͕̲̝̤͍̒͛͐̓͛̿̾̀̀̒Ä̶̢͎̬̫͓̲̮̣̅͛̒̓̔̇̕r̶̡̛͚̳͔̮̯̗̒̕r̶̝̙̪̼̒̽͑̋̾̈͗͛͌͘͘i̶̤̥͎̜̯̲̥̺͙̇̊v̶͉̽̈į̴̼͉̹̖̯̭̫̲͇̱͊̆͌̎̈́̾̇̇͆̚ͅņ̵̧̙͓͕̗͚̺̿͋́̓͘̚̚ǧ̸̖͎͕̝̖̰̰̌͜ͅ ̵̧͓̣̫̼̯̭̙̬̈͗̿̍̐̂͒͝ͅŏ̷̺̀̐̓͌̔̀̈̑̂̓n̸̨̡͍͍̼͚͕͙̒͝ ̴̧̧̛̘̩̬̹̼[̴̥̠̳̌̑͆̆͋̃̆͋̈̌͠Ǎ̵̛̬̳̻̼̮̠͉̤͖͔̇̀̓͒͋̑̓̒͜͝͝-̷̡̥̹͎̘͇̣͖͎̹́̓̈̉͐͐̚Ṉ̷̢̛̹͓͙͔̞̖̞̥̼͆̾̔̀̇̉̀͌͐͠ȁ̸̢̛̭̺̪̦̜̌͑̽̅̈́̃́͘͠m̴̨̻͓̙̝̠̮͂̎͌̈ẽ̴̘̪̻̿͛̄̌̿͛̈́̑͋͝]̸͔̓͗,̸̞̰̂̽͆̾͘͠ͅ ̵̩͕̻̣̱̝̘͕̬̤̟̉͒̉̎́͗͌̂̇̕͘͝S̵̡̢̝̞̱͍͋̀́̀̄͗̂͑ͅç̴̥͎̹̜̠͕̗̻͔͕͊̀̑̆͑ŗ̴̡̳̪͎̞͍̞̠̥̀̀̾͂͆̽͜͜͝â̸̼̪̹̯̘̦͚̭͒̓̒̑͒̈́̊͗͜ͅn̸̦̠̽ģ̵̥̣̩́̓͋ẵ̵̙͕̤̬͚̜͕̻̗̺͔̆̒̔̄̑̈́͋͗̐̕͝ ̵̛̜̞̜͑̉̈m̸̡̨̳̝̖̹͇̬̖̑̑ͅa̴͈͂͛̐̍̓͌d̷̨̗̲̝̺͚̈̅͊͋̐̓̈̃͠ẹ̵̹̖̼̝̖̝͍̰͔́͊̔́͆ͅ ̷̳̖̘̰͈̺̮̣̬̮͐̂͗͊̽̎́͊ͅͅa̵͚̗̯͚͓̥̗̬̓͜ͅ ̸͉͎̯̲͊c̸̯͛̎͑̈́̇̀̅̓̓ờ̴̫͓̭̱̝̦̰̀̆̃̈͐̀͆̄̈̚r̸̛͈̭̺͚̹̈́̚n̵̢̨̫̦̲̻͚̦͚̝̠͌͒̿̍̒̔̚͜ę̷̛̛̹̼̣̪̯̮̞̝̲̠̔̓̐͗͆̀͂r̸̡͙͔̀̆͗͒̕͜ ̵͎̪̺̦̦̙̾͛̔̎̓̋̋̔̌̄̀͝o̵̹̤̥̯͎͗̍͊͂̃̎̆͛͝f̴̡̨͙͖͚̱̝̻͔̳̮͊̍͌͑̕ ̶̡̱͉̭͇͈̤̗̭͈̓̋͋̐́t̵̢̢̝̖̻̙̠̯͚͖̖͒͐͘h̸͇̕e̴̢͍̰̘̣̜̟̤̝̰̙͗̈̒ ̵̢̢̢͓̘̝̜̣̼̜̫͌́͑͑̾͗̕͜ç̸̯̤̼̣͉̋̿̅̔́̒̅̊o̷̢̤̪͔̻̻̘̟̞̍̎̂͐͛̏̓̇̚̚͜n̵̘͖͉̥̗̻̙̣͚͆̇̓̉̇̽͠t̵̺͈̥͓̝̻̱̖͋̈̈́́̀͛̕̕͠͝į̷̝͚͍̔̃̋̆̌̐̿n̴̦̼̩̿͊̓̂͒̋͊e̵̙͈͕̫̲͐̇̇̽͊̋͂̓͑̀̚n̸̜̐͠ẗ̶̩́̽̾̽̃̆̈́̾́̈́̂̓ ̵̨̢͓͇̪̮̳͈͕̲͚́̿͛́̅̑̑͊͛̚͜h̸̡͍̻̩̪̻͚̗̳̹̓̃͑̌͒̄̈́̎̏̾i̷͉̰͓̣͌̾͊͛s̷̢͍̩͙͓̮̯͈̪̟͔̄̃̀͘͜ ̵̰͇̹̹̺̑͗̈̒̍͊̍̈́̇ő̵̝͙̼̮͈̩̹̪͖̭w̸͚̦̠̰̐̑̏̈́̓̆͗̌̓̐n̴̬̋̾ ̴̧̨̻̱̳̞̱̯͎̹̍̽̆͋͋͆̚͜ͅá̷̛̰͋̓́̽ͅs̶̡̭̠͇̭̲̝̙̥̼̳̄̒͊̇͋͗͝ ̸̢͈̘̤͍͔̫͖̆̿̉̆̿̎̇̓͂̈́̍͜h̴̨̺͙͈̝̗̲͎́̏̾̓̒̓̈́̑͑̎͘͝e̵̝̪̹̦̋ ̴̰̠̙͎̭͓̺͙͙̥͌͌̔̓̄͆͌͋i̴̧̜̙̱̱̘̙͕̦̱̓͂̾̐͑͜ñ̷̮͌̈̈́͊̏̄̈̈́̋̕̕ṿ̸̇̆̆̀͒̎̃į̶̛͓͉̣̫̪͔̯̘̉͜ţ̶̬̤͈̻̻͓̜̠̓͊́̌̀̏͛̏̋̚͜͠ͅê̷͇̅̾̂d̴̗̝̳̰̫̮͗̌̌̓͜͝͝ ̸̤̻̿͐̑͛͂̂̋̊p̵̢̛̱̩̙̮̱̟̬̪̪̝̄̌̿͠u̸̢̢̼̣͖͚̠̬̩͛̀͌͗̈́̍̈́̎r̵̨̬̙̖̈́̀s̶̛̳͐̓̾̒̋͊̊̀̃ǘ̴̡͔̯̩̑e̵̢̢̛͙̙͌̓̔̇̎̕͝r̶̖̗͙͉͎̫̉͛̋̐̅̀̎̈́̚s̸̼̺̘͇̲͔̻̮̤̈́͗̆̉͆̊̑͝͠ ̷̠͆̋́̔͒̀͋̓̚t̷͓͕͙̟͋̿̽̀͂́̀͜ō̵̢͚̲͙̞̗̞̟͇ͅ ̴̡͙̟͍̣̰̙̪̳̠̅m̶̨̛͇̗̤̹̘͍̲̜̫̱̾̐e̷̡͉̙̤̘̹̘͈̹̅͗̌͊͗̒̕ḙ̵͓̘͎̰̾̆̾̍̍t̷̮͗̓̈̚ ̸̛̛̳̺̖̰̫̜̠͉̖̺͉̒̄̑̈̆͛̄͋̚h̸̡̭̄͆͝i̴̢̲̖̣̰̻̯̳̖̓̓̌̈́̈͜͜ͅm̴̙͚̲͎̯͙̲̤̽͛̿̉͋̀̾ ̸̡͎̲͉͍̼͇͊́͛̾͛͝ͅì̸̡̢̡̢̨̛̯̞̘͉͍̩̎̇̋̄̾͑̚͜n̸͖͎̖͇͍̭͍̉̃̾̀̎̆̏̆̓̍̚͝ͅ ̴̢͐b̷̪͈̝̀̋̅̊̅͂͂̚̚͝ļ̴̛̲͕̺̗̦̾̓̃̅̓̍ơ̷̡̛͚̖͔̝͖̾͑͒̈̏̅́̆̈́̚ͅo̵͔̦̖̱̱̗̺͍̾̔̏͂́̆̓́́̔͘d̵͇̖̐̉͗̌͗͑̈́͌͛̚͘ͅy̴̼̹̼̤̣͖̩̌̆̈͜ͅ ̸̗̕c̸̢̜̘͕͍̳͉̦̑͐̈́̒̓̄͜ö̵̳͍͚̣̪̝̱͓̻͉́̀̐͘̚ṁ̶̨̝͖́͆̋͊͑̓̉̕͘b̷͔̜̔̏̀́̇͗̔̀̚ą̶̬̪͎̹͖̥̮̘͇͌̈́̍̍̐͊̒́̑̒̉t̴̡͓͙͎̒̽͛̾̌̅̓̈̑͠.̷̢̭̣̤̖̱̲̹̯̈́ ̶̤͇̽͒͛͝D̷̡̙̜̠̳̣̭̲̀ͅȩ̵̩̝̩͓͚̯͖̈̎c̶̛̜̫͖̼͇̙̝͌̈́̈̾̊͗̚̚̚͝a̵̛͚̳̜̱̰̹͂̽̽̾̉͝d̵̞͎̖͖͇̦̲̋͒̓̅̓̔e̸̮͚̱̗̼̻̗̠̞̤̠̐̿̅̾̑̀̓͐̃̈́̚ͅ ̷̧̬͈̘̝̥̮̹͙͗͋̓̊̒̇̓͠a̶̛̙̟͉̭͙̫̫̲̳̳̾͜f̶̜̣̫̰͉͚̽̐̆͂t̷̛͇̹̦͇͑̈́͝e̷̙̙͍̹̺̗̬̲͒̈́͝r̴̟̍̏̈́̈́̇̚ ̸͈́̀̓̏̐͂͑̉̉͒d̷͔̊̌͒̒͑̀͘̕ę̶̧̢̤̳̝̤̜̘̟͙̌̓͗̌͗͠c̶̞̬͖̝̟̋̊͋̂̂̃̆͗̾̕a̷̧̨͙̗͈̭̠̰͎̱̟̼̍̍͒̓̈d̸͕̜̣͎͕̙̦͇̫̻̿̀ę̴̧̥̗̣̍͂̉͆͒̚ ̶̜̫̯̇p̶͈̰̣̠͌̃̿̿͌́̇ą̵̨̪̙̟͍͉̘̉̈́̏̊ș̷̨̨̳̅͗͐̓͌̕͠ş̴̧̗̺͖̤͙͕̹̦́̑͛͑͛̽͛͂ͅͅẹ̵͇̈́́̑̈̃̾̊d̵̡̜̮͓̦̩̘͖̓̓̐̈́͒̆͛̀̈́̑̚ͅ ̸̨̂͆̏̕͝à̴̝̝̪̥̺͒̀n̸̼̬̦͕̭͈̹̩̜̠̠̹̾̅̃͒͐̿̎̈͆͂d̸͕̩̼̎͐̌̾͑̂́͆͘͝ ̵̲̼̠̞̩̔̿̿͂̎͊̕͝͠t̵͇̯̰͋̀͑̅̾͒͘ͅh̴̨̙͋ĕ̸̩̫̹͉̝̘͍͗̓̾̿̔͂̕ ̷̳̳̜̞͔̳̦̝̝̗̐̍͑̒͊͌̊̆̄́̈̚ͅͅS̴̢͓̥͈̮̱͈͗̈́̔̀̕̕i̵͈̲̗̙͈͇̽̈́̆̐̈́̀l̷͖̮̰̘͈̭͚͎͐̓ḯ̷̢̨͉͕͓̜̳̇t̶̺̗̹͋i̴̛͔̘̟̓̓̂̊̋̌̈́́͝ͅ ̶̲͐̍̀̈͂̈́̚ͅw̷̩̻̭͍̠̱̎h̷͍̺͖͙͍̱̝̼̤͓̟̔̂̀̎̃̚̕ḯ̷͖̝͕͎̫͓̊̆̐͝c̷̨̺͂͌̓́̿̒̌̑̋͠ḧ̴̡̛̘̙̀͆̽͂̈́͊̈́͝ ̸̧̡̥̫̣͉̖̳̆͊ś̴̡̧̢̛̼̙̥̫͓͎͒̾̿̈͗̉̉̕͝o̴͇̹̦̮̾͒̂͊͆̂͘̕̕͠u̸̬͔̝̦̳͈͓͛͜ͅg̴̯̳̬̩̟̯̪̭͉̘͠ͅh̴̨̡̨̬̲̺̟̩̖̮̪̽̅͆̕ṫ̶̢̛͈̫̻̞̯̼̄̀̉̑͋̈̌͝ ̵̼̜̞̠̀̓̈́ţ̴̨̢̝̬̺̹̱̘̝̤̳͊̌̆͗ŏ̴̧̠͎͍̫̲̗̹̆̽̽̒̉̉̆̔̌̚͠ ̸̧̝͇̖̏ͅe̷̛̦̋̓̂͋͒̍͂̀x̵̨͕̥̤̘̼͔̉̏̽̂̑̊̐̀̆̉̚ͅt̵͙͕̣̜̳̬͔͖͔͙͍̺͌͛́̔̔͘͝é̸͖̤͔̼̺̞͋̉̒̄̔̒͋͝r̷̨̢̗̱͈̠̀͆̆̿͜ḿ̴͈̰̿̿̾̚ͅȉ̶̧̛̝̻̉͐̏͗̉̿̓́͝ͅņ̷͖͐́̉̈͑͝ą̷͙̙̻͔̫̇͋̑t̸̛͎̝̠̙͌̋͋̚ͅe̴̢̨͍͔̭̜͉̙͑́̿̀͗̇ ̵̨͈͈̰̋͑̌͂̔̔͒̋̍͘͜h̴̛̰͍͖̲̙̟͈̾̄̑͋̈́̈́̒̀̉͌į̶̧͚̪̤̗͓̘͆̃̈͒m̶͙̼̬͆̾̆̾̒͊̆͠͠ ̵̳͙̤̪̻̣̣̼͍͓̳̟̊̽͊̚f̵̢̭̯͎̣̹̿̿̈́͝ͅo̶̱̻̙͋̄̆u̸̧̨̖͓̜̳͓͋̆̃́̏͆̇͋͂̎̚n̶̜̮̪̟͔̖̿͛͛͑̾͐̈́͜d̷̫̓̉ ̴̩̗͍̞̦̘͈̄̎͌̌͛t̴̨̟̣̩̫͇̜̲̩̂͛̿̿̈́̽͠h̵̯̳̝͉͍̣̰̼̩͖̙̑̽̂ȩ̸̧̢̹̫͇͕̘̅͊̽̆͊̆̎͝m̷̧̫̹͉͇̰̩̈́̍̈͐̒͝s̸̫̥̦̞͎̐̀̈́̀̋̒̆̀̿̏͜e̵̠̿ḽ̵̨̩͉̖̔ṿ̵̥̪̤̒e̷̢͙͈͕͔͉̭̫̠̳͇̾̍́́̈́̒͋͗̽̽̕s̷̢̟̩͚̞͕̹̮͉̞̱͇̈́̚̚͘͝ ̵̖̮͈̹̗͎̯͚̖͒̈̈̂̓̾̚͜c̷̡̢̹͖̪̜̠͍̑͒̒̋̀̀̔̐͋ó̶͖͚̲̬̻̳̳͋̈́͗ņ̶̧̨̯̠̖̺͚̃͗́̓͆̏͠ś̷̙̽̓̓̂̀̈́͝ų̵̼̭̦͙̟̼̞̤͕͂̂̑̂̾̒̋͗̃̍̔͘ͅm̷̞̪̤̰̪̼̦̙̹͙̘͆̾̈́̀̀̏́ě̶̠̼̘̘̟̯̞̈́̈́̈ͅd̴̢͕͍͕̯͔̰͈̫̰̭̿́̀ ̸̥̻̰̞͚̗̌̂̀̃̍̉ͅą̴̝̫͇̯͚̺̇̇̈́̾͋̇͝ń̸̜̽̋̔̄̀̐͒̿̊d̶̡̨̢̘̝̪͔̯̟̑ ̷͉̺̖͋́̄́̿̑̎̌͘p̶͍̥̦͉̂̒ḻ̷̛̰͖̮̹̱̲̻͚͎̅̅͒̊͘ͅa̵͙̼̻̼͒͊̿̈͋̈́n̵̮̜̰̼̲͖͈̯̦̩͂͂̌̂̈́̎͛̇͜ť̶̼̠̂̿͐̉͂͘̕̕͠͠͝e̸̝͖̘̙̯̓̋̎̈͆̔͠͠͝ḓ̶̡̨̜͉͎̱̩̈ ̶̧̩̯̗̞͔̬͈̣̹͉͌̏̌̕ì̴̙̭͉͔̦̹̪͚̿̊̋̈̈́͆̉̀̕n̷͓̥̻̍̀͌̒͂̍͐̈́͆t̶̡̡̧̜̗̟̝͛̾̉̈̉̈́́̽͘͜͝͝͝o̴̞͖̼͚̱̬̟̖͓̓̓͆́͋͝͝ ̴͔͙̹͊͂̀̀͂͗̓̑̀͜ṯ̸̯͚͉̈́̀͋͛̓͑̕͠h̴̨̫̹̫͕̰̝̹͚̓̏̈́͛͠ͅe̴̗͉̳̿̃́͂͋͐͆̈́̾͛̕ ̷̨̨̢̫͍͓̯͔̜͂̽ȩ̷̧̥̬̻̰̘̹͔͇̞̰͒͛͆̆̾a̶̡̟̘̟͍̲̻̜͑͐̏̀͊͆̐̕͝͝r̸̺̺͍̂̓̇̊͝t̷̨͉͕̹̓͜h̴̩̋͊̋̊͛͑͝ ̵̿̍̿̋͆ͅa̵̤̳̻̮͙̣̍s̴̢̧̧͚͎̲͕̆͑͐̑̄̋̏ ̷̟̰̝͎͖̭̖̺̔̈́͘b̵̢̡̢͉͖͓̘̫͇̋̈̒̈́͌̈́̋̕u̶͙̠̳̞͈̬͓͍͉̦͆͐̄̚͜d̵̠̪̫̤̝̗̟̳̼̾̑̄̑́̿̽͘͜͝͝ͅd̴̤̩̱͎̖̯̬̦͍̜͐̒̽̎͑́͜i̷̛̠̹͆͌̍̓͒n̸͕̦̺͛́̋͋̓ģ̷̡̱̟̗͚̤͉͋̐̇̄̉̇́̈́̅́͜͜ͅ ̶̜̝͔͑̒ș̸̢̨̨̫͉̯̪̩͚̲̂͂͐̄͝a̵̧̟͎̞̲̓͜p̴̨̖̏́̽͑͑̈́̽̓͝l̴̨̹̘͕͔͋́̂ĭ̶̧͍̜̻̦̤̹͍͚̍͑͆̒ņ̶̨̲̯̥̺̲̩̭͌̈́̒̓͋̏̚̕͝ͅg̴͕͓͉̩̦͖̺̑̊̂͐̔̈̀͊͌̒͋̿s̶̛̞̜̓̈́͑̇̍͂̒̚̚̚͝.̴̫̙́́͐̑̐͛̒ ̴̹͚̬̭̹̝̝̻̯̮͖́͌Ŵ̴̯̘̀̐̿̐̕ĭ̴̛̛͎͚̭̎̏̓͊̎̾͌̎͝t̶̛̫͚͈̘͙̟̙͎͚̖̋̒̏͋̌̚̚͝͝h̸͇̱̱̲͖̗̙͔̟̪̓͋͗̇̓͑̃͜͜ ̵̡̳̦̫̥͚͉̽͐̇̌͒̈́̓̀͌̄͝h̷̨̫̤̠̰͈̘̿̆̀̽̿̋̄͑̅ơ̶̧̧̯̬͚͖̗̆͛̏̏̇͆͆̿͂r̸̡̛̺͉̘͕͈͓̲͔͗͋ṙ̶̞͕̀o̴̲͎̜̲͎̔͋̀͆̽̽͒͋͆̐̚͝ŗ̸̯̇̌͐͐̈͆̀͋̑ ̸̛̲̞͕͉̤̪͍̘̘͒͆̓̋̍͛̔̈́̄͜͠d̸̛͎̫̲̫̮̭͚̅̓͒̌͐́̋̓i̵͔̠͔͕͌̾͊̾́̿͆d̴̳̗̥̩͔̠̙̩̾ ̵̡̻̝̝̜͖̤̩̰̭̽͑t̴̫̙͇̥̹̩̝̗̪͈̗̔̅͌́̓͐̔̕h̷̜̹̺̗̜̯͕͑̒e̴̠̓̀͛̆̕͘s̷̛̳̻̻̻͉͍͍̗͉͐̍̾́̈́̇́͝ȇ̵̢͎͕̱̥̼̻͉͉͂̀́͝ ̴̬͉̗͉͉͉͖̠̙͂ͅS̴̢̜̦͓̖͚̝͈̿̍͘͜͜ī̶̤͕̏̎͒̎̿̑ḻ̵̘̪̥̩̘̖͎͊̄i̶̩̫̩̬̻͘t̷̜͚̎́i̷̠̾͘ ̶͕̼͍͍̩̙̕ẅ̵̤̣̣̪̠̯̰̪̦̩̳́͊̔̉͛̆͘à̴̳͓̞̥͖̬̃̅̉̔̀r̸̛̥̥̘͍͉̪̫͙̮̪̫͑̈́́́͋̅͌̽͐ͅp̴̨̡̨̭̱̟͓̝̜͑̕ ̸̤̤͔͖͌̍́͛̓͋̏̀̈́͝͠i̵̖̼̯̲̫͓̦̓̏̽̑̄̈́̎̕ṉ̵̨͕̩̲̙̥̒̄̇͛͌̀͋ţ̵̢̨̙̹͓̠͙̪͉̒͋͒̇̌̌͜͠ͅô̷̩̥̺̻̮̈́̇͑̓͗̉̈́͛̕ ̷̙̦̩̍͝ĥ̷̨̙̄̔͂̉̐ó̷̡̠̲͔̩͔̘͉͖̜͔͐r̶̻̾̉͌r̷͉̙̼̹̩̋̓̌̌͊̀͑͛͆͐ȉ̸̡͈͍̦͕͝ͅb̷̢̬̬̣̈́̂͐͒̉̓̑l̶̨̫̭͎̩̗̱̭̤͐͂̐̎̈́̂͝e̵͖̼̳̿ ̴̢̛̱̭̠̠̲́̅̏͌B̶͕̺͙̯̹̮̽̇̒͝l̸̛̞͊͋͐͂̽͊̆ḯ̵̗̏́s̸̻͗̓t̴̗̫̹̽̔ē̷̢̛̹̱̹̯͓͓̪̲̝̫̽͋̏̄̒̈́̂̉̚ͅȓ̸̞̻͖̬͎̖̫̋́͆̕b̸͓̝͕̦̻̜̟̖̲͎̰̪́͘ą̶͚͕̂̿̂́̉͘r̴̛͚͂̓͗͠k̸̟̾͒s̷̙͒̔̈͆̿̓͂̉͌͐͠,̴̟͙̯̖͓̈ ̷̭̙̺͕͖̘͋͒̏̊t̸̢̠̰̞̭̼̟̠̗̍͒͛̓̄͂̓͂̎̈̿̕h̸͔̾̌̐͋̈ę̷̻̍̾̊͑͛̚͠͠ ̵̢͉̫̪͍̯̀͗̅̈́̊̓̕f̶̼̠͚̆̈́͂͊̉͂̑͊r̷̡͎͓̻̖̠͖̣̜̆̑̎̌͒̑͐ṳ̵̬͖̹̺͙̲̭̹͔̘̓̆͗̂̌̿̈̌̕͝͠ͅi̷̲̯̩̊̾͐͛͑̎̎̋̂̿̀ṱ̷̛̓̈́̅ ̷̢͈͓̀̀ō̸͕͍̝̯̇͛͆͘͝͠͝f̵̨̢̈́̔͝ͅ ̸̡͎̣̘̤̝͇̘̳̫̀̉͋̀̎͛̓̌́e̵͙̺̪̳̱͊̍͘͜x̷̝͎͎̬̂̀̈̾̀̆͌̊͝p̷͍̜̜̹̦̲̭̞͓̘͚͋̌̉̇̀e̸̖̖͈̦͂͋̆̂̒͑ṙ̸̲͓͙͓͔͗̓͜i̵̢̪̣̟̾͗̑̒̏̒̓̓̕m̶̤̺̈́̔̈́̚ḛ̶͕̥͚̝̌̉ṅ̵̡̧̡̙̬̳͉̦͙̣̣́̎̿͒̋͋̃̂͘͘͜͝t̷̼̤͎̝̙̺̹͇̺̮̮̟̊̊͊̇͒̉͂̕͝ȁ̵̧̞̝͔̤̦͂̌̌͑̃͜t̷̢̖̰̪̲̻̏́͂͗̆̇͘ͅͅi̷̢̛̥̖̞̪͔͆̎͊͒͛̀̈́̔̚͘̕ͅo̸̖͖͗͝ṇ̸̨͉͉̥͙̜̮͑́͆́͘.̸̭̠̟̙̰̘͕͉̮̼͆̈́ ̵̲̪͚͙̺̿Ē̸̼̘͚̈́͊̔̐ą̷̥̭̣̤̫̪̖̩͓͖̿̋͋̾͋̄̈͌̑̽̚͠c̶̗̣̻̼̑̑̐̀̅̾̿̿͊͠͠ͅh̸̦̘͔̤̓͗̍́͆͊̅͜ ̷̡͔͓̗̥͔͚͚̰͛͋͠B̵͎̜̮͉̭̻̻̄͊̿̉̈́̈̈̚l̴̻̺̯̀͠ḯ̸̳̪̩̼̪̙̹̖̹̱̟͊͜s̶̖̦̬͔̦̦̞̫̑̅̽̊͜ẗ̸̲̭̹́͌͐͑́̇e̸̡̢̛̲̤̯̘̲̯̞̗̭͊̍̃̀̏̊̀͋̕r̴̨̯̗̼͍̺͊̏͗̌̂̅͒̃̓̅͝͝ͅb̵̮̰̼͠ȃ̵̖̰͊̓̋̀̈́̒̓̊͘͝r̷̟͚͍͓̙̻̝̗͑̃͐͊̇͑̕͠k̷̢̛̛̬̦̟̞̼͑̔͐͐̄͂̏̌͊̍ ̶̦͎̣͎̘̭͕͎͙͇̮͒̑̂͊͐w̷̨͔̳̖̟̺̻͍͖͈͉͋̏̊̐̍̅̇͘͜a̷̟͇̥̦̟̯͂́͝ś̸̬̻̲̐͘͠ ̴͓́̓ã̵̡̧̰͉̪͚͔͈̭͉̜̆͂̿͝ ̶͍͎̼͚̭̌͌͛̄̒t̷̻̙͙̹̥̲͖̟͓̫̞̎̍̈́̕r̴̩͉̘͙̊͆̏̌̐̽́͌̚ơ̸̦̟̙̌̑̽̌͌͂͂͘͠p̸̰͎͍̩̰̙̖͊̇͋͜ḥ̴̡̥̉̾͌̍̔̃̄̿̍̈́͆̓y̴̧̙̲̩͖̹̤̋͂̍̒̈̉̀͆̀̕͝,̵̧̨̡͈̯͈̘̱̟̜͑̌̄̂̿̽̆̆̈́̒́͘ ̵̬͉̤̎͆̇̏̉͆̊̈́̔͌̊͝a̴̡̨͍͕̖̫͋̇̋́̍̂͜ņ̸͉̪̗̀̍̾̎̿͛̅̓͘͘d̶̪̫̩̐̊̏̀̀ ̴̛̛̪́̏͌̓̌̅͒͘͜͝͠ṫ̶̲͔̪̊̅͌̀̿͆̽̅̕͠h̶̨͖̘͊͆͗̆́é̵̛̮̘͉̖̬̭̝̬͉̠̫͉̽́̐̏̅̅̄̾͝ ̸̝͎̺̲͗̈́͐̏͛B̸͓̥͕̌̑̀͐̊̅̎̉́͑̋̃l̶̞̞̮͙̟͋͒͂́͑͜ḯ̵̧̩͕̥̩̱̲͆̓͑͆͌̽͆͋ş̴̡̺͉̠͓̠͕̺̹̻͌̅̑̂̿̃̿̾͌̎̊t̵̼̥̩͈̪̩͚̝̺̱̫̋̔͂̇̇͛͑̑͘e̴̝̖͂͋̈́͑̂̕r̸͕̘̭͋͂̈́̚ǵ̷̩͔͑͌͆̄͐̀̄́̿̊ṟ̸̨̘͇͔̬̼̱̈́̂̿͜ò̸̜͇͔͉̟̰̜͓̮͛̓͊͋̌͋̈́̅͜ͅv̶̥̤̤̲͖̱̯̠͆͘͝ȩ̷̯̲͇͓͖̺̱͍̘̄̀͗̿̈̾̎̈́̚͝ ̷̨̯̼̺͚̯͈̤̐̐̃͛ẃ̸̡̪̻̟̣̘̪͓̳͖̲͖̅̍̔ã̸͖̤s̴̲̭̋̋͌̉̐̀̏̚ ̶͉̘̣͐͆S̸̡̝̰͍͕̥͓̤̱͂̿̆̀̉c̶͙̠̤͓͒̈́̀̑̽̅͂̓̌̿̕͝ͅŗ̶͈̭̎̈́̏̄͒̂͆͘͜͝â̵̧̜̼͈̱̓̓̀͐̑́̀͠͠ṉ̴̨̱͔̞̲̰͙͇͂͊̅̈́̆͂͘̕ģ̶̨̨̢̳̦̭̝͉̳̮̳̋͐͌͛̅͠͝ă̷̢̟̘͎̗͕̈́͒̋͌̍̈͆͝’̸̯̲̙̫̦̣̥͚̔̔ş̵̧͉̖̟̬̄͛̓͊̏̚ ̶̧̙̻̦̟̫͉̤͓̂̈̾͑͌̒͒̈́̿m̵̨̩̠͚̫̯̩̽ư̵͔̳̄͗̅̈́̔̿ş̷̛̗̙͉̤̗͉̦̩̞̠͑̏͛̌͆̊͝͝ͅė̷͍̦̓̓̂̈́́̓̐̕ū̶̡̘͍̰̞̟͓̺̀̀̈́̌̐̈́̓͂̕͝m̸̱̗̺͈̪͇̠̩͉̼̖̅̈́̌̐̕.̸̨̦̙̔́̀̅́̾̚ ̴̧̜͉̜͓͍̃̂̾̚Ş̵̛̖̰̱̭̳̠͚̝̼̄͆̈́͆͑̌̽̌͜ć̵̨̰̪̭̻͇̈́̑̈̊̆̓̔̊͗̆ŕ̴̨͖̝͉̳̈́̂̀̃̈́̇̌̀̾ấ̸̖̰̖n̷̩̞̈̈̍g̸̛̜̲̪̪̯̱̈́́̈́͐̽͝͠ắ̶̢̡̡̰͇͔̠͙͇͔̄̓̕͝ ̶̧̦̪̻̰̠̞̮̼̱̪͂̈́̑̈́́͑̐̐̋́͛̋͜h̷̢̯̹̬͚̭̼̝̳̭̀̓͋͘̚͝͠a̴͓̲͙̖̞͕̪͕͗̇̑́̈́̚s̵̡̧͍͕͍͖̤̙͇̤̲͌̏̈́͆͆͠ ̷̙̋̃̔̊̓͐͋̃̇̕͘͠e̶͉̞̫̪̪̝͂̈͗̇̊͗̆͋̚͠v̴͇̱̰̲̍͐͝ę̴̖͚̙͒̀̓̓̈́̅͐͘n̷̡̡̛̰̙̤̗͔̪̂̉̓́͗̑̒̎̕ ̸̡͙͈̬̿͛̕c̶̟̹̯̹̪͚̖̗͙͊͆̑͠ä̵͈͙̪́̇̉̉̐̊̓̅̈́̉̃̕ŗ̷̥͉̭͈̬̯̩̫̲͎̌́̑̓̄̉̇̚͝v̸̜͎͔̱̙͙̝̹͂͐̂͊̈́̎̔͂̃͝ę̸̲̜͖͎̺̭̿d̷͖̺͚͙̳͍͉̩͉̙̋̾ ̵̼̼͓̾̾̍̊̑i̷͚̪̒̈́͐̇̌̚̚n̵̛̯͈̬̙̟̤̭̬͔̣̻̮̓̅͂͐͘̚̚t̷̹̯͙̩̤̭̹̃̾̿̔̊̀̓̒͂̈́̚o̴̢̨̼͇̖͚̭̤̬͙͍̱̾̇ ̵̢͈̤͉̬͔̭͈̔͊̈̎̀̍ţ̴̢̩̺̥̦̪̲̳́͆̓͝h̶̗̜̦̲̱̞̗͕͌̅̔̅̊͛͐̑͘e̶̻̥̮͑̓̊̓͗̂̓̅ ̸̪͉̦̻̦̭̇͋̓͘̕̕͝r̷̰͈̙͉͉̻͇̖̦̓̓̀̽̐̀̏͋ọ̷̢̟̟̞̠͇͉̜̣̄̃̐͂̈́̉̚̚̕ͅc̸̡̧̰̹̗̟͉̠͓̖͕̊͆̀̾̂̎k̶͚̮̑͗̓̄̕͝f̷̡̧̧͇̣͉̦̒͆͒̾͆͝a̵̛̳͇̞̭̫͖̦̹͓̯͚̅̈́̽̍̌c̶̲̳̀̚e̸̛̩̤̖̩̿̈́̌́̓͂̅̏̉́͝s̴̩͚̠͑ ̴̢͚͉͇̱̲̹̠̮̔͋͛̓͛̑͂͊͋͘ͅh̸͖̻̙̤̦́̀̈́͌̆̐͆̕̚o̷̪̳̺̳͎̍̅͌͑̽́̚͜͝͝r̷̨̤͂̌̓̀̀̇͘͜r̴͚̭̗͚͍̥̺̚i̴̩̱͕̯̙̣͈̹̲̩̓̃̇̄̈́́͐̇̿͜b̸͕͔͉̱͓̲͚̝̳͔̫̞̽̾̃͂̎͘l̷̡͚̝̱̱̹̪͍͍͙̠̈́͒e̶̬̫͕̻̯̺̟̩͎̦̒̿̓̉͊̍͘͝ ̴̢̞̲̫̾͑̄͂́͒̂͝“̶̨̫̳̠̳̖̹̀̿̔͊̄́̽̕͝ḏ̵͖̱̯̺̤͍͍̣̊̅̾̿̓̃͒̑̈́͐̕͝ḛ̸͖̩̝͙̼̰̺̟̤̘͌̏̌a̵̢̩͍͚͇͍̒̃͠ț̴͍͙̜͕̥͙̥͚̊̈́̂̇̃͜h̶̺̯͕̪̻̜̳́̎̓̂̔͗̇̍̃̉͜-̵̗̲̯͔̜̩̿̒͂̅͒̆̍̓̂̈́̕ͅͅm̸̢̰͈̗͚̜͎̳̱̪̠̙̂̓̑͐̏͑͒̚͝a̷̡̝̳͙̳̘͚͛̿̔͗̓͂̑͘s̵̨̤͓̭̖̥͚͖͆̒̂̈͑͑̔̓̑͐͜k̸̬̩̲̀͊̀͂̋̄̕š̸̗̿̃̃̈́̇”̴̤͚̖̝̼̥͖̦̀̌͒̈̐͂̌̅̂̕ ̷̲̊o̴̢̤̯̙̻̮͓̳̲̬̝̿f̵̞̺͖̯̍̐͑͛́̎͌̕͠ ̵̡̰̣̠̦̫̟̿͂͒̆̋̿̊̈͝t̶͉̜͖͇̬̗̻̆͊̓̈̉̓h̶̼̳̰͎̯̆͗̓̔̓̽͗̇͘͝ͅo̴̢͈̩̘͇͂̓͐͌̓̽̆̀́͐͝ş̸̘͎͖͔͂͠ͅè̴̙͌͛͌̋͛̅̚͝͝͝ ̶̫͕̽͗͗̕h̸̢̥͇̗̼͙̬̜̩͂̔̉̋͛̕͠͠ẹ̷̡͕̳͔̘̤̱͚̫͋̀̈́̈̂̏̑̀̎͜ ̶̲͓̦͎̜̣̪̳̍̒̏̔̽͗̐̆̃d̵̖̦͔̰̫̤͊́͛͗͌ȅ̵̢̢̞͙͍̲̞̝͔̦̏͋̅̍̐̌̈́̆͘e̸̦̟̞̥̳̰̤͓̘̥̖̖͛m̷̨̢̰̥̬͙̻̪̓̋̃̿̑̕̕͜͠͝ȩ̴̬͕͔͖͕̞̟́̉́̈́ḍ̸͓̲̭͇͇͕̝͉̕ ̷̧̖̪͓̮̯̰̩̻̤̻̗̿̆͆̀̋̾́̀̾͘͝w̵̧̹͚̓ő̶̧̥͎̼̥̽̈̊̽̕r̸̻̳̲͚͉͛̌͊̑̅̈́̄̈́̕͝t̸̡̧͍͙̤̪̖̞̳̆̀͊͗̒͠ͅḫ̷̨̢̢̻͎͎̫̘̙̔̈́̈͆̍̅͗̉͗̋̀̕ͅỷ̴̺̲͕̤̲͈ͅ ̷̹̮̔͒͋̈́f̴͙͈̝̻͖̻̳̣̓ò̷̮̼̃͒̕̚e̶͍͓̤̝͈̐̒͗̔͋̿͆͊̓̉̕̚s̷̨̢̨͈͍̲̟̭̾͂͛̀͆̓̈̊̐.̶̭̯̤̫̥̄̋͊̕
̷͈̠̳̟̩͙͖̲̘̉͑͛̅

IRONHOWL RANGE

The Land of The Banished Flametide

The Range

Ironhowl Range sprawls a vast and untamed country of rolling hills and valleys between, a landscape of stone with veins of rivers between. Jutting stone outcrops overlooked the sheer cliffs as they saw the greenery of the temperate landscape below. To the west lay The Skull Sea, the not-so-far Isle of Storms blowing cold and brackish winds eastward. Too bringing frigid winds was from The Rimeglen in the north which brought a creeping pale when wintertime blew southward. To the south, the passes of Goldleaf Gap, and the east, the darkwoods of Ilharcress. Encompassing the wide east of Azuras, Ironhowl Range was a bountiful scape of fertile soil and mild weather. A land ripe for descendants to claim their own.

The hills of weathered wildgrass yellowed by the sun rolled down to various trees such as aspens, cottonwoods, and even maples in the autumn. Wildflowers and herbs such as blissfoil, tippen's root, kindlefen, and King's Ivy grew in droves as hardy but plentiful plants. Elk, bison, wolves and longhorn stag claimed the landscape for themselves as they stood nobly along the unconquered lands.

Despite it's bounty, the land was broken often by reminders of the atrocities of the past. Crumbled stone foundations hid beneath prarie grass, thorns and nettles swallowing whole the ruins of what was once hope and prosperity of the many who tried to claim this land for their own at once. The skeletal remains of civilization and colony that lay gnawed at by nature and time haunted the range. Effigies of respite dotted the land, a haunting tale of The Ram which once plagued the lands like a sweeping death. Even through time had blackened patches of earth where The Flametide had once stood still bore their curse - a place nature refused to reclaim, the sun refused to touch, the waters refused to extinguish the hatred of blood and fury.

Despite the land brimming with abundance, it was haunted by silence. The scars of it's past etched into every hollow. As quickly as civilizations had risen here, all had been broken in The Ram and his Flametide's shadow. Now only the wild roamed unchallenged - sovereign over the ruins whilst the mourning hills howled winds of his legend.

The Legend of The Ram and The Flametide

The Ram of Gwynon was an honorific now near fabled in tale. Near the mountains of Old Marna was there born a man unlike the rest. He who craved a fight in times of peace, struggle in prosperity, adversity in agreement. An uncompromising yet talented fighter, the deeprooted gentry which lead the both numerous and talented levies of Gwynon. 

Though The Ram would lead many a battle quashing rebellious vassals and squabbling villagers, longer had he been used as a tool to brutalize the untrained than truly tested. A task which long disturbed him, seeking meaning beyond petty duties lords dismissed him to.

Like any upjump with a sword, The Ram desired more than anything land - a kingdom. He wished to be no good king, he wished for no isolated kingdom of prosperity nor fertility. He wished solely to answer to none - a pride which swelled in him each time the knighted noble sons sneered at him in passing. With burning envy and ever scarred pride, the tensions grew - until a convenient situation arose.

The Lord of Rhysten had gotten word of other aeldinic duchies and marches in whisper - a land off the coast unexplored, unexploited. A place to establish wealth and fortune without the high lords and courts of Nova Horos inspecting untapped earth. Hearing mixed rumor of the island’s both abandoned nature, and yet colonial powers already established, The Ram was sent with a thousand men across four carracks to establish a foothold upon the foreign land.

Arriving to Azuras, The Ram found a land untapped - and with countless colonial powers bickering for their own place upon the land. For many, a deathsentence of foreign disease and blade to die by, if not the starvation. For The Ram, a paradise where he found himself solely responsible for an army in his command.

Yet, the winter was exceptionally ruthless that year. With the solstice within Skjolvindr at it’s apex, all throughout ironhowl range did winter reign as The Gwynon foothold was established. Quickly did The Ram find himself in conflict with the settlers of Berillia, Ramasar, and other secretive Aeldinic colonies - and quickly did he find his skill in stirring the hearts of men an invaluable talent. 

Despite the victories, despite the iron and steel which howled across the ensnowed land, The Ram’s ruthless and unending campaign of conquest burned away at his supplies. Cursed with the task of feeding and warming those he commanded, the patience of begging quartermasters who beckoned for the fated winter campaign to end and return in spring frustrated him in constant. And eventually, it caught up to the general who was never satisfied with victory. 

Entrenched in a siege of a walled settlement, even if wooden palisades, the ice and man-deep snows made any assault too costly to be worth it. With supplies and logistics barely in profit with each subsequent conquest of small colonial camps, it seemed fated that The Ram and his ever dwindling army of Gwynon would dissolve to desertion, starvation, and disease. 

In his wartent for days, frustrated by the limitations that he considered lesser responsibilities toward his talent, a voice called out to him as one of his soldiers entered within. Introducing himself as Giles, he offered a solution to The Ram. To be forgotten and die in snows, or to conquer forever - though never satisfied, it was never within his intent to find satisfaction in victory. Only purpose.

The Ram was promised that his soldiers would be fed, but forever hungry. That he would fight and conquer, but would never be finished in his campaign. That his trophies would be endless, and he would always crave for more. 

He laughed off Giles and his honeyed words - yet days continued to pass as his number dwindled further and further. Giles never seemed to tire, his ego unbroken as he mocked The Ram with his eyes that when seen beneath helm, never looked quite human.

The Ram approached Giles and took his offer - and suddenly did his army vanish within the next blizzard gale that howled. When the harsh winter of The Skjolvindr Solstice end, the remaining colonies and powers all shared tell some way or another of a winter scourge, a flaming tide which had come to terrorize the land. Some traumatized survivors and brutalized colonists would go so far as to incorporate in their prayers that he never return. Even further would some build shrines in remembrance of those they lost, a damnation to the flametide which would swallow colonists who only sought a new life with war and terror of the homelands for no other purpose but bloodshed. 

These shrines still stand to this day - and though they bear only a small aura of magic and faith, an amalgam of stones and hope of old, one could only hope that if they did hold something back from return, that it stayed in abeyance. 

The Ironhowl Range stands today as a collection of fertile grasslands and plateau-hills, a land ripe for civilization. Animals and critters alike now call the land which was once a desolate hellscape their home. Tall spruces and pines dot the hillsides to the northern region of Rimeglen and eastern region of Ilharcress. With flowing rivers, Ironhowl Range was now a nest-egg for civilization.

Upon the wind did the howl of battle and clashing of steel still haunt the earth, even centuries later. Despite the peaceful land where many descendants would now call home, there lay a darker stain even beyond the monuments to The Ram’s banishment left behind.

The Teufelswald

In the northeast where the range is bittered by the cold winds of The Rimeglen blowing down south, the hillside forests still bear the scars of The Ram’s great encampment which once called it home. Foul magick and sorcery had twisted the land so, defiling it with demonic spells and rituals that did not disappear with The Ram. Upon occasion would these spells find manifest - rites of the unholy as woodland creatures would be twisted and tainted, forming a befouled amalgamation of demon and beast. All these creatures unique in biology, their twisted and mutated forms often were wrought for one thing only - destruction. To eat, to raze, to conquer, anything they set sight upon. Wrought of pure foulry and evil, these spawn of The Ram would wreak havoc across the forests of the range until their inevitable exhaustion. 

The corpses of these creatures would despoil and corrupt the land surrounding their departure - seeding the basis for the next creatures to corrupt and destroy. 

Although The Ram had seemingly disappeared millenia ago, the stains of his defilement upon Ironhowl Range still show today. Even though nature and descendant alike have reclaimed it as a birthplace for civilization and society, at it’s frayed edges does his sorcery still creep.

Material Name and Description (Raw form)

From around Azuras can be found a fiery gold-red herb named Kindlefen. An invasive, resource-exhaustive plant, Kindlefen would bear deep green stems and leaves, with gold-red flowers that burned to the touch, passively giving off a subtle smoke. Kindlefen has a roughly year-long lifecycle, where in Autumn it’s leaves will burn away as seed pods pop away from the flowers with the flame. These seeds will last throughout winter, and lead to explosive growth in the early spring where they would fully flower, and remain flowered, throughout the year until autumn once more. 

Kindlefen is considered naturally toxic (due to it’s pyretic properties), and thusly is not consumed by any known woodland animal. Drawing intense nutrition from the earth with leeching nutrition from the soil and nearby plants, Kindlefen would grow quickly and be difficult to unroot. 

Signs/Symbols:

Fire | Death (x3)
Fire | Blindness (x2)
Fire | Heat (x2)
Fire | Burning (x2)

Applications (Raw Form)

Kindlefen, when harvested properly, may have it’s leaves crushed into a powder and either ingested outright, mixed into something, or dissolved in a liquid. Kindlefen is naturally toxic, acting as a pyretic where one may both raise internal body temperature and spike a fever to 103F (39.4C). One would be accompanied by symptoms of a fever such as chills, fatigue, sweating, flushed skin, generalized pain, tunnelvision, and scarcely confusion. During this time, the body would be in an exceptionally metabolic state, increasing water and hunger needs while weakening strength of the ingester. This state would last roughly [2] hours IRP, or [2] hours OOC, whichever comes later. 

Kindlefen would bear an intense flavour that would distinct it when placed into a solution or food, akin to an intense cinnamon-like flavour that was accompanied by a chili-pepper like heat. 

When made into a poultice, Kindlefen can be used as a topical agent that could provide a gentle warming sensation to aid in remedying areas afflicted by frostbite.

Red Lines (Raw Form)

-Kindlefen would be able to mix into any soluble liquid or food, though would be immediately distinguishable as having it’s presence in the food or drink no matter the concentration.
-Kindlefen would not require ST signature when placed into something, but requires the herb to be disposed of with /use when making. The proportion of items made to kindlefen used would always be 1:1.
-Fever caused by Kindlefen would be curable by exclusively magical means and Fervour Concentrate.
-Kindlefen (ST Signed) is represented by a Torchflower, and is harvestable via the botany plugin.
 

Harvesting Method

When harvesting a Kindlefen plant, one must be exceptionally cautious about the leaves. If touched, they would combust into flame - likely burning whoever had touched it, and ruining the plant as it would rapidly go into seeding as the rest of the plant would combust to burning as it germinated the land nearby. 

To harvest the plant properly, one must snip the base of the Kindlefen plant, and pick the plant up by it’s stem. After roughly a minute without nutrition form the earth, the plant would cool down and enter a hibernation-like state, andwould cool to ambient temperature. 

Item representation: Torchflower

Item Description: A gold-red herb bearing thick green stems that burned to the touch. Naturally toxic, its raw or powderized state may be consumed as a pyretic to induce a fever and tunnel-vision for 2 narrative hours. When fashioned into a poultice, its topical form may be used to alleviate frostbite by levying a gentle warming sensation. If woven into a fibrous cloth, its strands may even provide a smoky, naturally heated garment.

Harvesting Red Lines

-This item is represented by the Botany Plugin in roleplay.
-Kindlefen may not exit it’s hibernative state unless replanted where it was picked up from.

Material Name and Description (Refined Form)

Kindlefen, when stripped and woven to strands, can be used to make a fibrous cloth akin to canvas or untreated natural rope. A scratchy and almost irritating quality to it, Kindlefen would bear a naturally black colour upon it’s surface, which would strip to a deep orange-red upon scratching or damage. No matter if washed or perfumed, Kindlefen always gave off the scent of campfire smoke, and occasionally would wisp off small clouds of smoke if exposed to air.

Kindlefen would bear naturally warming properties, where it may insulate something to an ambient temperature of 85F/29C, so long as the outside temperature is not cold via magical means.

Red Lines (Refined Form)

-Kindlefen does not bear any flame-retardant properties
-Kindlefen would only apply heat to appropriate areas; one may not bear a single article of Kindlefen clothing and count it as keeping their entirety warmed.
-The smoke which comes from Kindlefen does not give any combative advantage.

Tranquil lands of the west.

The River's Expanse

The River's Expanse is a vast region on the western side of Azuras, featuring a diverse range of temperatures and landscapes. From snowy mountain peaks to a debris-filled marsh, each traveler passing through can remember their favorite spot where the sun warmed their caravan or where they struggled to navigate the rugged mountains and loose rocky ground.

The wetland covers the easternmost part of the area, where the powerful waves of the inland sea are softened by intertwined roots of willow trees and muddy riverbanks. Here, within the bayou, leaves decay and fall into stagnant waters, transforming the land into a sludge and mud-filled barrier that challenges inexperienced travelers. Small fish swim among lily pads, while frogs jump on the surface, catching bugs and other small creatures. Floodplains border the north and south of the bayou, where semi-amphibious animals patrol the rising waters in search of prey.

To the west of the wetlands, the damp grasslands give way to drier terrain. This area features lightly forested plains and dry grasses, making it a popular travel route, and so it was settled long ago. A wide river flows from the southwest to the northeast, shaded by pink and green azalea trees that tower above. Scattered patches of forest contain small clearings from earlier times, allowing both big and small creatures to freely move and hunt.

A long mountain range runs through the center of the land, separating the forested east from the more open western region. Crossing the snow-capped peaks is dangerous, so most travelers detour around them from the north or south. However, it is within these mountains that an ancient civilization once made its home, feeding on the more timid wildlife of the west.

The War between Calvessan and Druvasar

A depiction of Calvessan

The First Kingdom

Fleeing from Ramasar, a group of dark elves reached Azuras and established the Kingdom of Druvasar within a western mountain in the River’s Expanse. Utilizing a natural cave system within the mountain, the group was quickly able to establish an affluent and thriving community with little threat of danger. Here, they studied the regions around themselves with great intent, learning all they could about the creatures and whatever else lurked about. 
 
For some time, the Kingdom of Druvasar flourished while hidden in the mountains. The group was able to specialize, and so many of them began to devote large amounts of time to magical abilities instead of hand-to-hand combat. However, the period of peace and learning eventually ended when the Kingdom of Calvessan arrived on the continent, bringing conflict and ambition. As Calvessan established itself across the continent, Druvasar began to focus on improving and strengthening its defenses.
 

The Second Kingdom

The Kingdom of Calvessan’s expansion happened quickly after they arrived on Azuras from Berillia. Settling in the lower tranquil plains, near the floodplains, they utilized the large river and swiftly began building substantial infrastructure. Trees were cut down by soldiers and farmers alike, mines were established, and resources were quickly converted into tangible goods. The main kingdom grew rapidly, fortified with large stone walls, supported by the quarries and mines, guarded by watchtowers, and supplied by surrounding homes. With this infrastructure in place, their desire to expand grew, leading Calvessan to scout nearby lands.
 
Initially, their scouts looked eastward, where they encountered Ram and his battles, as well as the bayou. Exploring the bayou, they found only a few beings brave enough to endure the flooded lands and its scarce resources. To the east, they saw the destruction Ram wrought upon those lands and decided to shift their expansion westward, toward the nearby mountains and their resources.
 

The Dueling Kingdoms

As Calvessan’s scouts moved west, they encountered not only the Kingdom of Druvasar but also their hostility. The scouts were mercilessly hunted and slaughtered, never returning home. Despite this setback, Calvessan persisted. They continued their westward push, now deploying their entire army. However, even with abundant resources, they were ill-prepared. The magical expertise of Druvasar allowed them to win the initial battles.
 
Realizing that their vast supplies of ferrum and weapons weren’t enough, Calvessan sought other solutions. During their eastward scouting, they had learned of the bayou dwellers and their reputation for debauchery. Though hesitant at first, mounting losses forced Calvessan to consider turning to these swamp inhabitants for help.

 They eventually negotiated a deal in which Druvasar's people were cursed and their lands poisoned. Though costly, the deal proved effective, and Druvasar’s kingdom began to fall under Calvessan’s influence. Yet, it seemed there was more to the deal, as even after victory, Calvessan’s lands quickly began to fall into ruin.

Wretched Creatures

A hag lurks.

Due to the unpleasant appearance of the Delta Bayou, it's no surprise that many descendants avoided its low-lying branches, muddy waters, and creature-infested lands. Despite this, a handful of descendants once fled into the swamp to avoid patrols of their once-kingdoms. This group lived here for many generations, often looting and killing unfortunate caravans that got stuck in the nearby floodplain mud.
 
This lawlessness was how the group sustained itself, but it did not go unnoticed. Mischievous fae who previously called the swamp home quickly grew interested in the group’s self-centered nature and began to observe them. After a while, the fae crept into the descendants’ camp and easily convinced them to sell parts of their souls to gain wicked powers. These new powers allowed the group to rule with an iron fist within the swamp, easily frightening those who ventured too close and cursing anyone who decided to stay too long.
 
The swamp inhabitants - now popularly called Hags - were skilled at offering ‘assistance’ to those unfortunate descendants, often taking a snip of hair or a few drops of blood from a fresh wound during their work. They would then take these ingredients back to their home, where they could use them to cast curses on their victims from afar.
 
Over time, these Hags became part of local legend, and the swamp was utterly avoided by those who could afford to do so on their journeys. However, there are instances in history when one or two powerful nations came to rely on their help, offering mountains of resources to the Hags in exchange for curses on their enemies. It should be known that these fae-tainted beings could never be fully trusted, and often both the ones providing the resources and the ones being cursed suffered in the process.
 
Today, only ruins of the Hags' homes remain, but the legends are still told around campfires late at night, and those especially superstitious continue to avoid the Bayou.

BACKGROUND

Ever resolute and looming in the South-West of Azuras, a vast stretch of mesa stretches as far as they can see. Plateaus of rose, amber, and gold reach out for the sky as lush tops of green reward any being tenacious enough to make this dustbowl their home. A deep wound cleaves straight down its center, effectively bisecting the expanse into two rival halves. Sunk deep at the floor of the tear flows an entrenched river dubbed the “Saint’s Ribbon”, whose water is clear as crystal and smooth as silk. Protruding from the very crust, vast veins of aurum glisten amidst the warm rays of light. Amidst the breadth of the Mesa, too, might one stumble upon a mysterious Golden Gate that obscures a path to the unknown.

Resting at the maw of the Ribbon and half-buried by sediment, there rests a hexahedron - a cube, composed entirely of bedrock. Etched into its perfectly flat surface is the scrawling of a pilgrim, the self-proclaimed “Saint-King”, who first stumbled upon this Holy Land. Divinely inspired by the indulgence of local ponderlot, the colors of the Canyon fragmented before the pilgrim as if it were a great kaleidoscope. The Saint-King, in his moment of piety, dubbed the land “Godsrend” to honor the great divide in which he took refuge. Upon that glyph, the Saint-King foretold of a treasure beyond one’s wildest comprehension that lay just beyond the gilded gate. A city of Gold, one free of sin and in which the Creator himself would dub the Eighth Sky.

THE CURRENT ERA

In the contemporary age, Godsrend remains shrouded in mystery. Spindly and colorful murals dot the expanse, betraying the existence of an intelligent culture that has since vanished.  Too have prospectors found what appears to be wing-like shadows imprinted into the Earth, as if scarred by an insurmountable heat. To have treasure-hunters take note of the exuberant amount of reptiles that lurk in the region, be they iguanas, geckos, snakes, or any other cold-blooded fiend. So prevalent are the reptiles that one such man, "Chunk-of-Coal Norm", swears on his mother that he's seen a snake person lurking in the shadows. Reasonably, that bag of wind has mostly been written off as a loon, given he says the same of royal officials. Independent of intrigue, Godsrend remains ever inviting to those who would seek its plunder. Gold flows as the Saint's Ribbon, and those daring dream of venturing beyond that golden door.

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M̶̼͉̼̩͌͑̊̈́̈́̓̾͝i̷̢̡̹̱͓̪̍̽͑l̵͖̜̹͉̳̤͚̦͈̩̃̊͜ͅĺ̷̹̠̼̲̟̂̐̒ȩ̵̡̤͖̦̣̞̻̟̺̐͆̈̾͝n̴̨̛̛̦͚͚̼̞̺͛̂̓̈͝͝n̵͍̰̰̗̿̏̽̌͋̑̊̐ͅi̴̧̨̛͉̟̜̩̩̼̻͍̖͒͒́̈́́̆ą̴̛͈̠̟̥͂͛͌̇̆̉́͂̀̊̇ ̴̧̧͍͓͎̣͕͎̞̯̘̀̎p̸̨̼͖͍̖̘̗͕̼̟̟̋̃̈́̂̽͊̆̄͘r̵͓̜̙͑̋̑̽i̵̛̟̱̬̽o̶̡̠̳͓̯̻̘̭͙͑̏̐͛̇̔́ŗ̸͙͖̜͈͕̝̞̞̑̊͌̏,̶̩͋ ̴̺̥̫̣̉̅̈̑͂̋̌͋͆̚a̵̢͕̞̣͖̘̻̫͚͇̱̭̋̕ ̶̡͉͍̱̃̒s̴̢̞͎̣͈̗̃̎h̵̢̝̲͍̲̼̙͇̯̭̳̏a̷̢̨̱͓͓͎̺̰̹̓̊͜͠r̶̡̢̪͖͕̳͙̹̱̠̘̐̈̅̓̋̃͋̾̄ͅd̸͓̰̋̑ ̷̰̪̼̤͙̤̹͆̊́̎͋̓͒͛͋͘͘̕ͅo̵̢̬̽̄f̵̮̼̼̹̭̦̯̭͕͗ ̸͇̯̲͉͖̬͙̗̑̀̾̇͌̚͜ͅM̴̛̭̝͈͎̪̯͙̫̪̽̔̆͐̈́̾̈́͒̕ẹ̶̡̡̧̡̛̛͓̯̓͑͗͘̕̕͝t̷̡̘̫̠̱͇̙͇͙͈̯̍͊͌̾͘͝z̵̢̛͈̟̞̜͔̝͎͌͛͐̊̈́t̴̨̫̙̮̅̌͋͌́̎̑͛̔̑l̸̨̟̱̣͉̗͚̳̎̓͊͒i̴̧͓̖̺̖̦̜̖͓͐̈́͒̐͑̆̚ ̶̨͚̮̘̊͛̃͂̏̄̀͗̉̀͌̚ẃ̸̥͕̳̘̑̌̃́́̒̅̃̔͌̚a̵͇͕͇͎̱̯̽̃̃͑̑̌́̐̕̕ṛ̵̡̧̢̺͇̮͕̲̰̠̜̀͗̈́̀̈́̽̎̈͠p̷̧͚͂̃ẽ̴̢̝̘͕̳̱͔̈́͐͛̄̑̍͜͝ͅd̶̡̨̠̈́̒̿̄ ̵̨͚̝͎̝̪͍̏t̴̞̠͓̮̚h̵̢̧̧̟̯͎͖̓̆́̽̊̿̌͂̍͗ͅŗ̶̭̙̜̮̳̟̞̠͔̪͚̇̿̅̆͋̒͂̓͝ǫ̵̭̫̣̦͔̳̻̬̥̙͔͠u̴̱̞̟̠͙̦͒͗͜͝g̶̢̓̒̋̉̓̃́͗̈́͝ĥ̷̭͈̯̥̪͗̍̈́̔̀̈́̉̔̑ͅ ̴̨́̏́̚͝t̶̺͚̮̲̋͌́̆̿̽̀ĩ̵̤̞͓̻̆̿̓͗͑͠͝m̴̛̤̼̪̪̳͚̈́̐͋̐̉̑̚͘͝ͅë̶̬̞̩̝̘̩͇̪͙̒͑̈́͌ ̷̥̯͇̊̀͂͝ą̶̨͖̻̜͔̳̾͑̆̒̃̓͆͋n̶̨͖̼̊͆͋͆́̄̇̿̉̚d̶͕̻̖̂̆͋̑̐̆̍͐̔̎̕ ̷̡̨̩̪̥̠͕͇̺̲̲̥̈́̈́̃͂͐̈̆͋̋͘ḟ̶̛̞̘̦̥̞̱̏̓́̎̀̿͛̆̕͝ờ̸̯̫͉̫̭̞͙̝̈́͝ư̴̬͚̙̒̑̀̾̋͊̂́͒̀͝ņ̵̨̘͉̫̠͛́͛̆́̚͝d̷̛̪̹̠̭̻̹͉̮̎̓̈͋͝͝͝ ̷̦̺̫̩̜͕̟̀̑͛̍̏̈͜ḯ̶͇̖͚͉̮̺͈͇͖͇͇̍̌̎̎͆́̓͜͝t̷̡̖̝̀̉͒͛̂̂͆̀͝ş̷̡͖̮̦͚̲̩̪̤̗̀͆̍͜͝e̷̡̪̠̱̹̘̳̜̓̎̇͌̋̾́̉͊ļ̶͎͙̞̲̮̩̻̇̇̓̾̑̍͊͛̓͒̐f̴̧͓͉̯͚͈͓͊̍͐͑͠͝ ̸̻̜̘̜̦̹̤̤̪͎͂̒͗͝͠ͅb̴̧̭̩͚͖̤̘̮̫̻̬̀̌̀̂͒̾̅̈́͋̀̎́͜ǔ̶͓́̊̐̿̕̕͠ͅͅŕ̸̡͎̼̺ì̶̤̘̯̩̥̓͗̄̒̌͛͝͠ȇ̴̡̧̼͔̞̲͉͇̫̈́̈́̀̒̿̉̆̂d̸̢̼̙͖̺͖͈̾͑́͆̈́̃̈̈́̋͐̚͠ ̸̬̞͙̤͉̺̺̈́̈́͛̀̂̅͝͠i̴̧͇͓͒̎n̷̩͍̥̗̓ ̴͓̖́̉̈̒̾̈́͊̈́̀̚͝t̷͍͈͓͕͓̺̗̠͒̀̿̏̽̐̑̈́͘h̷̢͇̻̫͚͍̠̗̭̹̯͇́́̋͂̈́̏̀̒e̸̜͉̹͈͍̬̓̃͆̿̎̾̀̽͆̋͘͜͝ ̴̧̡̪͉̱͉͍̮̳̠̄̌̍͂̀̍̈́̚̚M̸̢̨̯͇̗̼̯̋̉́́̔̈́̿̀̕͜e̵̠̙̺͐̈̆͛̓̽͋̄͑͋̕͝s̵̫̺̝̣̲͚̞̈́͊̈́̀̌̉̄̚͝ä̷̧̤̩̹̗̝͓̰̤͓́̊͛͑̓͊͂͐̅̎͠.̴̨̛̛͍̰̗̼̖̓̑͐͛̉̆͌̾͆͑ ̷͚̓̆͛̀̈́͆́́͝Ą̷͎͚̖̳̩͛̍ş̶̡̲͈͝ ̸̬̄t̷̛͓͈̜͙̙̟̼͖̣͚̗͉́͛̾̚̕͠h̸̠͗̍͋̍̓̅̾̿͊͋͠ę̵̨̘̥͈̩̩͉̤͙͇͐̋͊̑͗̽ ̴̙͍͙̰͐͑̈ṛ̵̨͓͉̹̗͚̈́̍̓̈̈́̀͛̕̚̕ẽ̷̺̝̾̈́͋̒͊̎̽͊̒͝m̵̨̛̫̆̑̌́̽̓̎̂̌͠n̷̥͉̥̍͂͆̂̎̏̈́̀̽a̸̧̛͍̖̱͓̋̀̈́̈́́̃͒̕n̴̛̩͋́͐̾̆̇̎̿̅̔t̷͈̘̭̳̯̯̲̒̽̾̎̎̚͝ ̸͖̹͇͈̙̘̟̯̳̜͎̓̏̀̄̊̎́̀͐̓̊ė̸̢̜͎̪͇͖̳̦̺̹̼̻̍n̷͔̻̮̝̬̝͚̮͈̣̓̆͑̄ͅͅé̸̝̱̳͖͕̩̭̖̽̀́́͘͘ͅr̷̡͎̞͕̻̦̖͓̈́̑̀g̸̛̻͎̦̣̭̼̫̩̫͓̹͙̾͂̌̆͋̀ÿ̵̝̱̯͍̹͑ ̶̡̯͈̟̞̀̓͋̇̋͂͛̀̑͝o̶̢̨̖͈̘̮̤̲̠̅̅͜͝ͅf̶̡̢͓͓̰̝̘͚̙̖̄̂̽͊̓͆̒̄ͅͅ ̵̧̋̆͑̍̅̽͝t̵̲͍́̉̒̔͂̒̽̓̃̉̕̕h̵̨̡̝͓͈̯̤̼͆̈͂̚e̵̝̦̤̥̓̎̿̚͜ ̵̛̖͙̦̥͈͉͎̘̯̙̱͋̏̑̔̊̆̎̅̇̕͝d̶̖̭̺̑̎̍̾̂̈̄͋͐̇͝ĭ̸͕̯͋̀̈̆̂̒̂̚v̶̡̛͔̮͔̮̤̞̭̖̤̊̉̔̽̕i̴̹͐ņ̴̞̝̬̯̺̐̈́͂͋̄͛͗̂̌͐͠e̷̢̧̨̢̥̺̯̩̗̐̌̏ͅ ̷͍̱̱̩̖̱̮͖̝́̌̍̅̉̌͜ŗ̷̫̯͉̝͗͒͒̆̀̋͑̇͒̍a̶͖̥̐̊́͒̏͆̕d̶̡͕͋́͒̇̿̃͗͘͝ỉ̸̧̡͖̖̝͖̯̪͉̘͍͙̽̆͗̓́͂̕å̸̢̩̠̼͖͜ț̷̨̢̧͓̱̬͗̎̀̒̾̈́́̉̔ͅe̴̢̤͔̠̤͚̥̭͖̰̜͗d̴̳̺͇̞͗͋̒͘͝͠ ̵̜͎͖̦͚̘͇͖̮̳̉̆͑͒̓̏͒̈́̈̿͝ȉ̴̻̿͐n̵̢̬͔̘̻̙̭̜̲͌̈̽͊̀͐̆͑͌͒͠͝ẗ̵̩̫̥̣͈̪̘͉̺͖́̄̃̈́̌̅̔͑͘͘ǫ̷̖̫̪̗͔͖͔̩͑̌̓̍̎̍͗̈́̚͜͝͠͝ ̸̨̬̼̱͍͙̟̅͗͐͝͠t̴͇̺̯̣͙͊̅̅̀̕̚͠ͅh̸̖͇͈͍̽́͝ͅë̷̙́̎̐̈́̈́̋̈́̕͠ ̴̢̢̢̬̺͕͍̗̲̑̓͜͝͠ͅę̴̛̹̝͉̝̬̫̰̈͌̓͒̈́̍̄̓̚͠͝ͅͅn̸̡͙͕̈́̐̀v̴̝͇͎͍̓̏i̸̘̐͆̂̒r̵̞̺͎̀̎͋̕o̷̫̙͌̀̿̋̆͒̀͒ņ̶̧̮͉̹̜́͊̐̂́̍̈́̾͋͠m̵̨̢̛͕̦̦̞̘̹̍͑̓̏͛̀̄͠͝e̶͙͖͍̫̮̬̥̣̗̜͕̩̒̄̀̕n̵̺̹̓̌͗͜ẗ̸̖͚̘̼̻̺́̌,̷̗̣͍̰̞̠͔̥͚̜͒͒͋͊́̈́͛͌̀͆̏̕ ̸̭̌̽͋ţ̴̡̞̝͓̓̀͜w̸͉̓̈̒́͜õ̸͚̅͗́̇̈́̆̕̕ ̷̥̗͇͛ṟ̶̨̞̮̞̜̖̹̰̲̥̙̐̕ą̵̺̫̱͖̦͐̊͑̐ç̴̡͉̩̞̹̰͙̠̹̞͑e̴͈͎̥̯̹̮̖̹̙̲̞̍̀ş̶͕̳̘͖͖̹̼̱̮͖̦̌̆͌̐͆̂̋͌̄ ̵͇͔̪̣͐̉̏̂̅̿́̀͊̆̏͝ô̵̮͈͎̙͗̏͊̿̋̈́̎̕͘f̶̢̨̨͉̭̩͇̼̰̦̘̮̊̉̉̈́̋͒̈́̀̕ ̸̥̫̟̗͎̼̈́̋̑̀̐͛̓̏͘͘͝ͅb̷̧̧̢̛̖̬͇̪̘̜͔̺̹̉͛͊͘e̴̮̭̣̍́́̊̏̆͒͠a̶̡̛̖͔̝͊͆̉͗̋̈̅͜ͅͅs̵̗̥̐̈́́͛̋̋́͜͝t̶͉̲̭̽͠ś̷͎̠̭̽͌̔̾̀̒̏̔͌̈́̚ ̶̫̞̽͛̃́̉̈́ẅ̴̢̨̝̜͎̮̜͇̭̳́̕ë̷̢̧̛̛̪̬̱͈͙͉́̎̆͌̎̕r̸̫͌͗̿̈́̊̆͗͐̽ě̵̠̮͓̠̰͔͘ ̸̢̥̩͖̫̙͒̄͆e̸̞̖͈̼̙͙̲̹͉̘̩̊̈̈̈̏̌̆́͗͋̕̕l̶̞͕̥͇̩̣̃e̶̱̓͑͛̌̂̂̈́͠v̴͈͖̀̀̅͂̆̄͆̑̒̕͘͠a̷͍̯̙͙͌̅̋̈́̾̽ṯ̶͙̙̹͕͈̺̩͈̽̏̾͋͋̅̆͌͘ͅę̴̡͙̱̼̥̳̗͙̱͕͌̓̎̅̓̇̐d̵̩̗̝̘̬̖̖̘̭̣̉̏̄ ̸̜͓̗̙̬͓̦̒̔́̓̎͋͘t̸̢͓̜͕̝͉͋̒o̸̢̲̬̘͇͕̳̱͑̈́̓̐͛͜ ̵̨͕̠̤͎͔̙̺̻͉̏͜s̵͇̃̃̅̃̍e̶͍̝̱̹͍͆̂͆̐̚ǹ̷̩̹̠̗̹͉̩̘̳̆̀̊̃̎̆͌͘̕͝ţ̸̭̦̯̥̦͕̤̪̉͆̄̍̏͊̆͂͊̿̚í̵̭̱̥̹̗̬̳̂e̵̡̢̮̩͇̭͍͇̱͇͆̀̾͛̋͊͝n̴͕̞͌̈́͘̕͝c̵̘̱̠̱̺̆͐͗̀̒̄́͋͆͠e̶̛͎͔̺̩͓̰̲͐̄͋͑̈́̐ ̸̢͎̼͓̟͎̿̀̿̈́̕i̸̞̹̝̪̤͇̯̞̱̺͚̍͠ņ̶̢̣͉͈̞̞͕̩̲̯̖͋̑ ̸̧͍̦̜̫͍̝͖̗̣̇̈̒͊ī̷̲̤̹͍͕͓̗̺̱́s̶̨̨̫͚̥̻̻͙͇͕̹͘ͅơ̵͖̼̲̺͛̽̽̎̈́͠l̸̤̼͂͂̽͋̀̓̌͋̆͘á̴̞͔͈̹̰̈́̋̿͛̂͌̂͘͠t̵͉̝̫̥̗͖͉̏í̵̢̘͈̠̘̜̞̬͖͔͙̃͊́̎͆̊̐̀̍̕o̶͎̫̲̫̍̇̽̈́̉̌̀͘̕͝n̴̜̝͒̅̎̄͝ ̷̛̩̮̈̿̀͑̑̉͊̈́̔̈́͝ͅf̷̲̙̫̱̯̣̠͋͂̓ŗ̶̛̜̟̲̜̲͓̥̖͉̦̀̓̅͑̊͠͝ơ̸̡̖̜̼̗̼̪̬̙͒̈͒͒̀͛̽̅m̵̦̖̭͖̺̅̀̊͋̚ ̴͇̋́̃͛̈̏̈̆̎̆̂̕ẗ̵̡̟͙͙̪̰̞̣͎̺̥̬́̆ḧ̶̡͔͕̜̠̥̭̝͈͙́͋͆̈͗͝ͅȩ̴̉̓̈́̉̄̉͘̕ ̷̻̜̻̲̼̽̅͂̍̔͊͌̌̕r̸̨̮̜̭̬̞̈̏̄̄̅̽̆͠ę̶̪͕̲͔̘͔͍̖͈̗͇̄̎̂̏͛͝s̵̡̯̝̜̗̖̹̙̐̄͒̊͌̆͂̓͊̉͗̾t̷̨͚̥̺͚̩̗͙̪͛̏̇́͋̇̽̅̚̕͜ ̷̖̹̣̾̉̀͂̍̕̚͝ǫ̴̢̦̬͙͙̲͈͋̋̅f̵̗̼̬̝̭̆͆͊̾̈̽̐̐̐ͅ ̷̧̨̗̫̗̫̝̻͙̲̻̹̓̅̓̓͂̿̅̀̃͊t̵͔̅̀̄̍̀̐͋͝h̸̝͎̜̲͔̙̼̻͚̒̆̓͜e̷̦̝͕͍͚͈͎̳͙͋̾̓̐̍̌͐̄͝ ̸̭̰̻̯̊̔̔̈̾̎̍͆̄̋̑W̶̤̟͈͓̹̦͕̠͈͂̓͋̑̈̐͐͘̕͝͝ͅo̷̥͍͉͍̽ŗ̸͙̝̠̬̙̺͚̑̓̊̋̈́͋͂̄̆l̶̛̛̠̺̲̉̈́̈́̒̀͛̏̋͝d̷̢̮̺̫͂̌.̸͇͋ ̴̧̖̱͇̞͈͍̝͈̅̋͌̾͒͛ͅṮ̵̼̹̣̱̮̰̥̼͇͎̳̾̽̓̔̄̕h̷͎̪̜͎͍̓ę̶͔̹͉͛ͅͅ ̷̖͈̈́̈̎͋̾͛́̉̈́͠f̸̛͙̓̋̿̀i̷̢̯̟̳͈̮̝͈̤͓̓͐̾̌̋̈̌͝r̶̛̥͙͕̓͑͌͐̀͆̂̽̕s̴̪͒̈́̀͋͒͊̀͘̕t̸̼̠̼̟̙͂̏̇͝ ̴̢̜̼̭̆̀͆ǫ̶͔̲̉̍͋͌̃̈́͂͠f̴̧̯̟̑ ̴̡͙͊̅͊̈́̿̌t̴̬͈̰̫̗̯̾̇͠͠ͅḩ̵̛̳̥̤̳̮̘̮̖̜̦̔̍̆͂͛͌̆͑̏̅̏e̷͚͊͆̈́̃̆̄̄͊s̵̨̛̼͂̅̊̊̋̾͒͝e̶̖̭͋̄͊͒̇̀͗͝ ̴̡̘̼̗͖͓͊͐͒̌͐̿̇͐b̴̰̳̖̂̒̃̀̏̑͆̈́̅̒ë̷͖̖̋͗͠ȃ̸̜̭̀̎̌͂̅͠s̵̨̛͚̝̾̎̈́̂͠t̵̢͖͎͓̣̤̲̲̭́m̸̢̛̤̯̦͈͎̯̦̦̀͋̉̑̓͗̂̃̽͝ͅe̵̹͓̱͇̠̎̈̓n̶̹͖͌̑̄̄̑́̅ ̶͕̥̄̃́͗̏̊̅͊̕w̶͈͛̊̑̋̉̀̽ė̴͙̠̬̺͒̚r̸̢͖̾̔͛̾͊̒̈́̋ȇ̴͖͕͙̹̮̭͎̭̦̮̖̫̑̒̿̿̇̊́͝͠ ̴̨̧͖͇͉̼̻̻͔̠͎͓̽́͋ẗ̸͎́̑̊̉̈̃̒͗̕̚ḩ̴̛̝̣̙͚̝̯̻̮͚̫̌̾̓̍̀ë̷̢̦̟̜̳̜̟̯́̿̃͑̀̈ͅͅ ̷̙̜̘͙̜̗͔̈́̅͘͠A̷̪̣̱̮̖̭̜̳̜̲̓̀̊̎̈́̓͘͜͝v̶͙̖̠̜͛̀̆̀͐́̑͂͊̄͛i̶̢̛̠̞̯͋̋͂̾͊̾̕a̶̡̨̛͖̞̻̣̳̤̯͍̮ņ̶͔̮̹̝̥̠̞̉̚͝ ̸̪͚̠̰͓̪͌̽̏̓͋̅̌̄Ā̷̡̧͕̥̖͔̔͆̄̌̾́̾͜͝v̶̡͔͓̩̯̰͂̃͆́͂́̉̈́̏̅͠í̸̧̟̤̺̰͗̔i̵̡̯̼̤̱̬͕̫̥̖̯̰͐̿͒̀͘r̷̮̦̣̀̅̏͗͌͐̚̚͝͝ì̶̧̨̙̱͔͕͈̀̀̌̂,̸̨̯̬̖̬͕͒̔̀̃͒̽́̀̂͋ ̷͔͇̠͋̂̌̌̕̚͠w̸̢̡̱͖̟̱̘͙̘̄̇̊̀͆̓̈̔̉̃͜h̶̗͙͇͕̃͗́̆̇̊̓̈́̕͝ò̷͍̗̥͙̳͚̪͍͖̦̈́̍͑̇̒͆ ̷̭̋̽̈́́̄͗̍̈́͝͝͝ẗ̸͕̰̹́͆̀͘ó̴̧̗͎̣̼̺̭̭̼̟̙̾̇̑͐̈́͠ò̸̢̘͈̰̲̖͙̽́͛̆̂̉͊͆͌̚͜k̸̡̛͓͔̱̀͋̒̓̂̏͂̓̈́͘ ̵̡̪̦̹͍̱̰̺̜̘͚̎̈́͂̀̈̆̿̓͂̆͠ͅt̶̡̧̡̖̪͕͓̳̗̤̺͒̎̉̎́͜͠ô̴̡̘̮̙̬̥͎̬̮̜̤̻̏̉͊̅̿̕͝ ̴̛̖̊͒̒̆͋̇̈́͑̅͠t̴̢̧̨̡̲̠̼̦̳̼̪̃͂h̷͇͔̘̘͈͈͚̖̐͑͗̓̌e̵̳͛̕̚͜ ̶̨̨̙̹͉̯͈͉̝̩̳̏̀͂̇͋̈̏̔́ş̸̟͕̥̩̺̻̣͚̭̖͎̈ķ̷̡̢̣̺͍̞͕͍̖̻́̌i̶̢̗̭͓̦̝̮̟̭͔̲͕̊̆̋̊͗͂͒̋͝͝ȇ̶̢͔̫͈̩̦̻̟̉̌̂͆͝ͅs̷̨̲̰̣̖͙̊̾͒̚ ̶̤̭̏̈́̋̄̐͒̈́̂͜͝á̴͔͉̯͆̎̆n̶̢̥̺̟̗̽̀̒͑̓͂̈́̑͆̈́͝ḓ̸͔͙̙̝͖͍̐̽ ̸̢̢̨̙͚̹̬̖̹̰͇̰̀͌̃ş̷̧̧͙̞̲̺̜̩̂̾͂̇̿̈́̏͜͠e̷̢̜̅̆̽̈̈́̇̅͝ṭ̷̢̨̢̛̟̩̪͈̱̪̎̄̏͗̔́͛͘̕͝͝ͅt̷̗̯̐̒̇̉̒̓͜l̴̡̨̼͓͖͕͕̠͙͋̕͜͝ͅê̵̙̘͈̈́̐̓̅́̈́̒͂͐̚ͅḑ̶̛̩̰̦̖͈̺͈̖̣̼̋̈̃̃̆̈́͋̚͠ͅ ̸̡̘̬͈͖͉̒̀͌͊͌̽̿̐̃͒͠a̶̢̠̥͇̘͂͒̆́̉͜͝͝ͅ ̴̧̳̙̬̳̤̖͉͚̎ͅv̵̡̢̟̬̖̭͎̹̠̹̽̂̃̀a̵̻̪͇̒̀̓̆̇̎̈́͠͝s̴̼̤̓̊́͑́̓͘t̸̩̩̬̞͕̖̋̓̌̿͜͝ ̸̨̡̡̡̺̻̭̘͕̹͓̏̿̔ͅs̸̢͖̗̰̹̠͈̜͖̍̀e̶̥̱̜̥̳̥̘̖̹͔̻͌́̓̿͌̀͛r̸̗̪͓̃̃̐̑̍̂̑̓̍͘͝i̵͇̞̗͇͕̞̫̣̥̥͘ë̶̛͍͍̩̝̣̭̳͙͓͈́̎̐͌̓̿̅́̀̕̚s̸̨̛̛̗͖̣̺͕͙͚̼̠̣̆͆͆̋̋̃ ̸̧̲͛̏̃͐̕o̴̢̖̖͕̮͊̓͐͛̇͗f̵̡̡̧̼̤̟͔̼͍̞̗̈̏̉͐̀͊͂͘ ̵̹̬̳̠̦͇͚̀͗̑̔͌̀̈́͘̕ņ̴͚̜̣̤̜͉͋e̴̜̝̩̤̪̐́́̋͐̎͠s̶͇̿͂͗́͗̊̌̉͆̕̚ṱ̴̦̰̞̘̦̦̀s̷͕̣̥̒ ̵̨͈͓͚̝̱̮̜̟̫͙̓͂͆̒̀ḁ̵̙̄t̷̰̓̈ö̶̢̤̙͇̰͉̟͎̲́͒̓͌ͅp̴̢̫͕̻͇̦̝̫̟͈͛̈́͛̈́̾́̈̍̈́̚̚͠ ̸̨̛̣͔̙̯̘̱͚͍̖̿̋̐̚t̴̨̠͎̝̯͕̟̱͖̬͉͗̃͝h̶̰̠̣̹͍̤͍̖̜͋͑̊̾̽̉͝è̶̦͎̥̫̼͈͙̼̮̬̫̓̈̽͛̿́̄͂̚͝ ̶̡̨̧̰̮̳̜̟̤̤̹͙̈͊̓̓̒̄́̚͝ś̸̡̨̡̮̖̰̣̣͕͔̹͈͌͗t̵̨͙͈̘͍͚͈̜̺̾̇̈́̂̃͌͐̌̇̕ͅĕ̸̼̰̩̎̏̅͐͒̅̈́̈̂͘e̵̫̯͚͈̟̮͈̒͂͆͜p̸̗͇̬͇̺̪͉̼͚̍̑͒͜è̷̤̞̰̜̼͉̘͈͑̔s̴̻̲̳̖̑͗ẗ̵͈̖̪͉̟́͒̑́̂̈́̐͒͒̕͠ ̸̧̓̇̓̀͗̒́͘͝p̴̡̨̛̥̟̩͓̼̼̱̽̋̆̐̇͌͐̽̍́̈́͜l̷̖̗͖̭̬̲͉̣̳̯͇̈́͂ą̷̜̼͖̖̘͓͕̠̰͊͒̀͗̕͜t̵̢̬̠̳̞̫͚̓͜ẻ̸̛̯̊̌̇̋͂͌̂̄ą̵̢̻̘͓̰̩̰̀̈́͆̋͐͝ų̴̥̗̣̦̻̳̩̄̇͂͜͠s̶̲͇͓̤̬̝̆͊͂͜͠ͅ.̴̞̩̠̈́̐͗̇͝ ̴̡̨̭̪̟̦̫̯͔̖̳̄̆̄̓̐́T̶̨̳͚̤̙͖̦̒̈́̈̈́̅̑̎́̚ͅh̵͍̟̭̱̼͚͈́̈̌̆͊͋̋͆̇̃̕e̸̢̖͔͙̗̲̲̦̳͆̊̈͆̅̽́͂́̀͜͝ͅ ̸͚͚̥̚s̸̡̛̫̼͋̈̒̅̏̓͊̇e̴̢̲͙̹̭̍͐ͅc̴̛̫͛ơ̶̛͍̭̘͊̍̀̓̈́͒̎̒͠ͅn̷͕̥̟̲̑̾̅̋͆̇̐̚͘͘͝͝d̸̰̎̃̉͛̄ ̶̪̃̉́͑̚͠ẇ̵̧͙̞͔͎̞̓̈́̓͊́̐ȩ̶̛̞͑̇̀͋̊͗̈́̀̀̔r̵̦̖̰̺͕͎̭͈̋̌̌̿͛̃͛̉̈̂́̌e̸̪̲͈̮̩͓͉̿̈́̐̄͗́̍͝ ̸̬͓͈̳͍͕̩̞͗͜͜t̶̞́͆̍̿͊̚h̸̢̢̝̞̙̖̟͚͖̹͔̏͜é̵͚͖̳͍̭̈́̈́̊͒̂͘͝ ̸̧̬̰̞͚̿Ṙ̵̠̙̝̖̲̦̽̍ë̶̘̚p̵̖̍̇́̽̀t̷̢͖̫̗͑͋̒̽͋i̵͍͖̅͛̐͋͐̃͝ͅl̶̨̫͙̝̭͎̈́̿̂̈́̈́̔̈̐̈́̒͜͠͝i̸̲͈͎͈̘͎̳̅̑̉͐̀̎͘̚͝ḁ̶̖͈͓̱̭̥͔̙͆̂͋̇͜͠ṋ̵̬̙͎̞͖̬͇̏̒̎̋͊̽͝ ̵̠̯͔̀̿͛̏̃̌̕S̸̫̖̙͕̰̑̒͗̃͘s̶̭̭͉̜̫̖̪͙̍͌̓̃̊̑͗͛̌͋͘y̶͙͔͚̗̘͔̣̻̩͙̗̓͐̑̎ţ̷̙̩̘̣̥͙͉̱̘̭̍̒̎͆͜͠ḧ̶̝̰̙̳̹̳͎̘̥͋̊͋̑̆͗͒̿ͅr̸̡̠̳̺̭̜̮̜͕͑̇̓̑͝ȃ̸̧̬̗̭̎̔n̵̡̰͎̄̓́i̷̡̗̒̌́̌̇̆̑̚,̴̜̱̦̝͎̃́͌̋̊̽̕͝͠͠ͅ ̶̡̢̛̬͚̘͖̮͎̠͕͇̩̒̾̑ẇ̸̧̳͖͓̑͑͗̅͂̀͒́̈́͑̐h̶̢̠͓͙̗̤̥̟̞̮͍͐̂͒̿̑́̉ǒ̶̻̥̤̤͍͈̹͍̼͇̺̖̒̽͒̌́͋̔̍̽̕͝ ̶̲̖̂̔̾̌̀͛̆̍͋̊̌̈́p̵̡̧̦͎̣̺̗̪̠̬͇͔̌â̵̢̛̺̮̮̣̖̞͈̦̭̳̈́̈́̎̅̿͜t̸̛̖͓̫̠͇̰̮̘͍̳̩͔̐̎̽̽̌̒͠͝͝r̸̢̹̙̼̲̺͙͓̞͎̙͊o̶̡̡̦̲̲̰̱̫̮̊͜l̷̥̏̽͌̎͐̄͗͊̽l̴͍̯̣̬̲̥̉̿͜͜ͅȩ̸͖͓̝̪͙̘̰̍̄̕d̵̖̓̋̄̒̾̀̂̓̑͑ ̶̨̞͈̬̬̙̹̟̗̔̇̓̿̽͝t̵̹͉̘̞̞͎͕̳͎̏͗̔͋̾̀̍͊͋̈̈ĥ̷̛̟̫̳̬̠̟͌̈͋͒̓̀̏̄ȩ̷̢̠͚̥̼̬̻̳̣̜͕́̑ ̵̣̺̐͂̀̌̏̀̈́͝l̶̡̨̫̺̝̼͈̯̰̥͙̻̉̀̉̑͊̍̆͘͝͠͠ò̵̧̮̪͕͖͍̟̞̣͈̔̓͑͋͋̈́̽͠ẅ̴̧͈͕̖̝̤̺͎̊̅l̵̛̛̬͕͗̈̅̏̇̓́͛̚ǻ̴̧̮͓̱̒͛̂̂̂̏̇́͠n̴̢̬͈̰̞̱̞̤̩̣̋̄d̸̫͎̈́̆̅̚s̴̡͈̦̰̗̘͇͖͕̀͌͂̉̍ ̸͍͚̪̗̓͠à̷̧̦̘̗̣͕̯̲̘̩̭̎̌n̷̡̟͂̉̽ḑ̷̲̮͉̾̆́̀̉̀̆ ̷̘͈͇̑͆̾́͝s̶̢̛͕̓̍̈͒̈́̂͊̐̚t̸̲̙̯̦̓̂̋̊̍̓a̸̛͚̯͍͖͈̎̿̀̀͛͘ļ̴̥͇̩͎̪̣̪̹͙̑ḳ̵̛̛̔̈̂̈́͐̐͗̀̌͘e̷̢̲͙͔̠͓̦̤̮̪̜̒̉̀͒̀̈́̒͝͠͠͠͝d̴̤̯͇̯͕̹͈͖̃̇̈̉ͅ ̵̢̢̨̧̡̘̞͎̭̟̬̙̀p̸̭̟͈͙̅͊̓͋́̉̀̚͝͝r̴̲͇͖̐̈́͝ë̵̩͔̹́͐́͂̉͗̀̽͠ỳ̷̧͓̖̹̠͍̟̰̆͋ ̷́͆̇̈́͋͝͠ͅȧ̴̢̫͎͙̥̘̩̤̻̦͍̃͌͛̑͠s̴͔̝͔̖̤̜͖̎̃̆̅̒̉͜ ̶̢̹̫̗̬͙̬͈̯̰̞̒̓̄͜v̵̛̝̺̱͖̯͔͉̭̳͖̍̐̒̀į̸̖̫͇̘̖̦̼̫͍͗̅͂̍̉̔͂͊͐͠c̵̢̼͚̲͓̭̯̜͉̟̀̊̍̃͌͑̂͂̿͝ͅì̵̫̣o̷̝̳͖̣̽͜u̸͍̳̙̭͖̰̇̾̂̅̈́̋̅͘͝͝s̷͇̻͈̦̆͊̔͐̀̐͂̌̈́̓͝ ̴̢̣͎̬̰̯̟̞͚͌͋̐̌̕̚h̵̰̘̹̳̻̱̫͑̎ͅú̵͔͐͒̓̌͌͠n̸̘̘̪̙͓͔̝̦̯͊̎̾̅͌̋̊̂͗̀̓t̴̠͗̊̀̎e̸̯͔̰͙̳̼̩̗̹͈͉̓͒̓́̎̐ŗ̸̮̞͇̹͂́̿̀̔̃͊ş̵̦̠̆̕͝͝.̴̨̙̠̻͕̼̞̈́̽́̚ ̴̳̥̪̍̈́͘̚T̵̟̰̠̯͖͈̜͕̱̈́́̚͝h̶̡̛̉̊̍͒e̷̫͔͕̪̽̔̎͑̈́̽̍̀͛̔̑͠ͅ ̶̨̢̛̰͈͎̠̾̒̽̊̅̉̀͜B̷̡̛̥̹͙̠̏͛̉ͅe̶̟̺̥̬̮̾̿̈́̏̑͊̄̀̕͜͝a̷͚͋s̸͕̻̞̘̄̋́̃͑͝t̴̟̣͕̗͋́́̐m̶̯̍ë̶̢̞͇́́̈̄͂̎̽͑͛̓n̴̲̈͊̚,̷̡̘̗̲͓̳̜̝͈̺̓̆͐̈̀̀̐͛̕͘͜ ̷̛̺̞̦͓̳̰̱͚̣̫͂̇̀̃̽̂̓͊ų̷̛̻͖̤̲̻͑́̾͋̍̃̎̓͆̓ͅs̴̜͕̹̻̻͇͋͋͝ḭ̷̃̾͌̂̕ṉ̴̢̹̗̜͙̘͚͓̘̳̞̔̽̓͊̾͂͆͗̌̆͝g̷̢̧̞͓̗͕̯̻̥͚͓̽ ̴͕̳̗͑́͌ͅt̵͚̞̬͒̆̿̉̊̊͆̔ḩ̴̨̨̛̪͖̳͕͈̜̲̟̊̀̎͊͌͠e̶̻̲̪͖̪̩̭͂̂̂͒̒͒̕͠ ̶̣̥̜̭̙͔͙̯̰͘a̵̢͕̯͙̟̼͎̹̟̜͆͛̚͜͜b̷͈̻̞͎̻̻͚̘̺̿̈́́́͜͝ú̶̠͎́̓͐̿̑̐̇̕n̴̘͓̏̿̈́̌͆̅̃d̶̨͔͉̜͂̀̑̎̆͐̄͘ả̷̳͎̙͖̮̜̎̉̈́̕͜ń̶̛̰̖̯̄̓̄̈́̔͋t̷̛͈̽̎̎̑̈́̋͑ ̴̨̧̣̩̩̥̫̄̄̏̓̚͝a̴̭̯̩͌̚̕n̶̮̱̖̟͎̺͎̞̣̋̇̌͜d̴̨̨̧͓͉̗͇̠̀̎̏̑͛̅̕ ̷̨̣̟͇͉̺͊̓͌̐͘s̸̠͕͕̟͎̻̻̜͓̀̊̇̊͂̍̒̀̾ͅe̷̢̡͓̲͎͔̻̰͉͊̈e̵̢̤̹̦̞̥͔͚͙̒̅̌͌͋͛̃̀̈̍̕ͅm̵̞̬͉̪̖̄͐͆͊̈́̍̃̔͗̑̔͝ͅí̶̳͒ñ̶̠̠̜̋̔͆̎́͝͠͝͠ģ̷̢͍̠̜̟̪̙̤̈́̍̌̓͜͜l̵̥̫͖̦̼̱̯̝̚ỳ̷̨̡̛͔͓̘̼̣̙̦̦̂̽̈́̓ ̷̯̤͍̞̠̬̥̺̥̳̺̽̂̈́̀͛̈̔͋̎͠m̶̨̗͇̤̦̫͖̼̯̈͂͛ệ̵̡̨̥̫̦͇̞̖̩̐͛̈́̉̿͆̀͂̕͝ā̴̡̧̖̭͍̳̦̣̯̆͆̓̽̔̂̿̅̚n̴̡̛͓̥͎̫͖̗͚̗̖͑̓͋͌̈́͑́̈̓̋͐ḭ̶̧̟͖͎̖̮͛̕n̶̮̞̠̺̮̉ĝ̶̢̰͕͇̺͈̻͚̤̺̟̒͂̋̍̔ͅl̵̢̤͙̪͈̜̗͔͎̹̝̔͐́̾̓͋͝͝e̸̺̜͙̊̃̋̔̈́͊̍͝s̴̡̱̞͕͓̳͚͉̺̰̤̅̒̈́̀̅͋͝s̵͓̹̤̳̥͈͖̱̥͕̞̽̐̈́͐͒̽͗̄͗͒̚͘ ̷̬̦͈͔͓̥̭̀́q̴͇̆̉͝ͅư̵̭̟͎̦͈̑̉͂̑̄̓̀́̕͠ḁ̷̧̯̬͔̺̓̉̈́͂̽̄̊͜͠͝n̴̢͇̊͑̄͛̽̈́̏͋͘͝͠t̴͚͓̀̈̓̐͌͆̚i̵̛͎̹̎͗̌t̴̼̟̔į̸̢̨̙͕̺͉̖̹̩̈́̔͛͑͂ḙ̴̡̩̺̜͕̄̅́̊̈́̾͝s̵̢͙͂̎́́̈̚͠͠ͅ ̴͍͍͓̖̤̖̮̞̙̬͐̈́͂́͒͗͘͜͜o̴̡̼̘͔̼̓̍̕̕f̸̜̦̩͈̯̞͖̙̩͕̿̆̋͒̔̉̃̏ ̷̭̜̞͗̅̈͌̚͠g̷͔͍̩̮͙͉̅͆̓̓̓o̴̢̢͕̥̣̩̤͊̅̋͊̏l̷̯̣̹̖̟͓̤̱̅́̃̏͆̕͘͜͠d̶̥̠͕̺̈́̀̀̈̿̑́̊,̴̡̢̛͈͔̫͚̗͙̦͍͂́̑̏͋̈́͗̆̋̓̂ ̷̨͇̅͒͊̍̚͝c̶̢̖͍̼̱͓͔͓̽̈͊͗̽̃̐̏́̕o̴̧̢͎̝̻͎͈̠̩̱̣͌̔̇̐̽̿̾͆͆̒͑͝n̶̛͚̤̩͛̆͂͆̈͆̇̆̾̌͘͜s̴̩͔̫̘̀̿́́͝t̷̡̲̲̗̣̋͆̓͌ͅr̴̯̫͕̰̩̮̥͕͂͗͆̇̉̇́͠ṵ̸̠̞̮̟͓̫͖̓̈́̇̋̂̇̉̍͜͠c̷̡͓͔̘͍̭̫̥̮͎̉̐͊̓̏͊̎̓̚͠͝t̴̨͙̹͇̥͓̱̲̹̰̀̉͗̀é̸̢̙͔͚̖̻̻̺̼̼̎̓͘ḑ̴͎͖̱̩̜̻̺̠̲̯̃̋̊̂̕ ̵̺̱̓̾̉̇ȓ̵̨̪͎̪͉̼̮̫̮̠͈̣̃̉̆̃͛̇̀̍͒͝ī̴̧̦̟̎̓̓͗̌͋v̵͕͙̓̈́͒a̴͚̭̠͋̀̿̓̈́̄͠͠l̷̡͐̅͆̄͐͘ ̷̧̪̠̙̭͍͚͉̺͍̞̍̈́͑͋̍̅́͛́͠ͅc̴̡̨̛̛̱̝̤̘̥̙̻͋̍̈́͝ả̵̛͈͊̋͠͝p̸̝̯͕̯͔͋̅̓̿̍̏̋i̷̢̳̻̦͖̊̈́̆̄̅͛̓͛͆̌ṫ̶̖̼̪̟̪̾́̒̓̅͛̋̀̕ả̸̢̙̬͍̣̤̘͐̒͐͒̿̾͐̚̕l̴̺̱͙͓͚̳͆̇̐͌s̶̢̡̘̱̲̱̮̮̜̞͔̉̊ͅ ̶̻̜͔̘͗̄̿̅̀e̸̖̼̦̓́n̶͖̳̬̋̐̉̆̓̓̄̑̑͘͝͝t̷̨̹̹̲̫͚͎̀͜i̶͈̋͒̈́̿̎͑ͅr̷͇̳̼̣̙̜͙̔̏̃͋̂͑̀̅̑̓̚͜e̴̘͍̓̊̄͂͛̐̐͘̕͝l̶̞̯͐̋̀y̷̢̨̜̦̳͚̞̮̻̮̿̎̅͜ ̴̨͈̻͙͉͙͍̫̒̑̑̃̓ͅǫ̴̤̺̞͙̥̳̼̦͇̏͛͋̕͜f̵̘̤̒́͑́̍̾̓̏̆̎̽ ̵͚͕̌͗̀̊͆͊̚̕͝͠t̶͇̮̻̜͇̋͐̐͒̅̋̋̑̈́ͅĥ̸̢̢̛̭̰͔̥͓͈͚̱̎͜e̷̝̞͙̥͉̱͚̟͍̦̥̒͐͛̄ͅ ̷̢͎̳̑̈̂̈́̏̏̿̋̕͝ͅm̷̼̰̟̜̤̹̘̀̅͊͐͌̈̍̀͋͂å̶̛̛̜͚̱͔̼̼̟̭͉̓̒͐̋͒̚l̶̡̦̝͙̩͔̇̃͝ͅļ̴̢̨̭̩̥̌̐̿͜͝e̴͎͎͎̔a̸̙͙͎̲̮̔̀̇̋̀̈b̴̪̼̙̞̄̔̇̉̋̉͐͝l̴̺̟̳̣̈͌͊͒͊́̅̀͑̈́̔e̷̝͈̦̍̾̆͂̉̈͋̈̽͗̌̃ ̸̨̢̹͖̝͎̖͠s̶̱͂̍̀͌̕͝ṳ̷̡̡̡͎̺̹̺̝͍͖͇͌̍̎̿͋̃̐͆̚̚͝b̷̖̬́̈́̂̓̏̑̕s̴̛̛͕̤̻̉̐́̃̈́̽̌̌̍ṯ̸̰̗̜̑̏̌͗̒̀͊͗̚ȧ̵͕͌̌͊̀̚n̶̡̥͍͚͕̦͇͕̜̓̂̉̈́͋̽̿̓̅̐͌͠c̶̢͙̭͊̒̓̓͆̿̔͑̈͘è̷̛͔̳̞̪͇̞̣̈́͒͛̌̋̾̿̀̃.̵̋̉ͅ ̸͇̟̩̘̬͎͋̆̋́̓̀̕T̸̡̥̠̮̦̥̥̈́̈́̓̊̓̊̋͠h̸̡̠͎̰̳̜̀̐̇̌̿̂̏̈͝͠ͅe̸̯͂̏̇̃͠ ̸̹͕̹̥̼̠̯̲̫̫̞̗̐͐̈́̿̂̓͛Ą̶̧͖̣͇͖͕̖̮͎͂̐͛́̏̿ṽ̷̜̭͍̦̳̪̳̻̕i̸͙̤͍̓͑̇͗͒̋̊͂̽͂͛̕i̶̧̦͉̼̙͉̹̝̲͖̞̮̍̉̓̓͠r̸̥͓̫̥̗̳̬̯͇̺̼̆̉̎͋͜i̵̡͍̲̲̯̣͎̻͖̺͗͌́͑̚ ̶̢̧͚͍̟̖͇̼̯́̽͗̄̔̃͐͘͝͝͝ẉ̸͙͕̼̹̜̰͚̘͎̰͉̈́̊̀͐e̶̯̟͔̳̩̼͖̹͕̠̎̑͌͆̊̚͝r̸͚̊́̂ͅe̵͖͙̳̬͓̩̝̠̋̉̀͂͘̕͝ ̴̲̻͉͙̜́́͌b̸̢̛͖͖̹̣̩͈͎̲͉̹̍̾͆͗͜y̴̨̪̥͈͚̩͙͎͙͗̽̓͆̚͘ͅ ̵̨̜̬͓͇̆͗͝ę̸̛̟̼͎͚̫̑͒͛̏͆v̶̢̞̞͚͖̪͔̹̬̜̼͗̈́͑́̓͑̐ͅe̵̳̫͈͍̙͔͓͕͍̼̐̒͗̉͒̈́͂͒̑̿̕͘r̷̤̆ẏ̶̧̟͓̱̥̳̥̦̬͈ ̶̢͎̯̤̯̙͌ͅm̶̧̙̣̎͗̈͂̎̎̅͐͠ẹ̴̻̹̥͑̓̓̾̃́̅̏̓t̸̡͓̣͙̰̫̗͇̝́ŗ̵̧̱́̽́͋̇̽̊̎͛͝ỉ̵̞̲͉̤̟̱̭̳̭͙̽̌͆͊ͅc̸͉͍͘ ̴͓̼̮͓͖̰̘̘̓̓̂̒̒̈́́̾m̴̳̍́͛̂̓͒̋͛̔̓͠o̴̲̼͑̒̏́̓̊̀̕ŗ̶͉̥̭̹͓͈̯̳͉̈́̀̒̌e̶̥͉̼̘̫̒ ̴͔͖̜̪̻̹̣̯̖͔̒̑̏͐͋̉̿͌͘ͅi̵̛͎̩̥̺̬̝͇͔̓̈́́̍̏̎̓̄̽n̷̙̪̘͛͐̈́͋͊̎̅̎̍̉͝ͅt̶̜͐̈́̇͊̀̚ȩ̸̛̹̖̖̤̳̝͂͑̀̽̎͒͛̈́̈́̕͜͜ļ̷̻̦̤̳͍̙̤̆͒̈̔́͜͠ḻ̷̛͕͔̟̘̬̤͋̒͒̍̓̒̇̋̏͘i̸̦̤̿̑̅̾̾́́̔̃̕̕͝g̸̝̠̻̀͋ë̵̝͍̺͍́͜n̸̢̪̙͎͕̯̼̪͔͖̥͇̉̇͊́̈́̿͘ţ̴̎̽͌͂͗͗ͅ ̴̛̠̮̣̣͉̭͂̈͒̑̑͘t̵̞̘̻̭̼̓ȟ̸̢͖̫̞̞̝͈̙͇͔͜ã̴̛͕͙̯̻̘̫̖̭͛̀͊̈́̈́̀̽̍͝ṇ̶̲̞͈̙͕͕̺̌͗̈́̌̓̂͝ ̵̢̝̠̯̻̱̭͕̀̈́̓̀̍͛̓͝t̶͕̬̽̃͋̔̾̏́̅̐̑̔ḣ̶̝͚͈̯̯̬͎̲̼̓͑͛͂̓̀̏͌͋̀̕ë̴̩̯̅͠i̷͖̱͓͂r̷̭̥̞̼̰̪͖͕̲̈́̄̇̈̒͝ ̵̺̯̲̰̮͕͔̉͘ć̸̲̎̍̀̂̎̈́o̴̹͛̓̈́̃̏̔̅͑̎̂̒̕ư̶̟̏́̂̍̅͐͋͂̂͝s̵̫̟͚̅̊͘͝į̴̭̺̜̩̬̺̝̎̅̿n̸͙̍̑̂̒́͝s̶̤̲̽̈́̒́͠,̶̧̢̧͚̼̭͉̮̩̼̜̤̇̔͆̑ ̸̹̬̪̬̮͉̈̔̓̈́͊̆̌͌̀͝à̶͖̜͈̹̠̠̬n̵̪̦͔̈͛̈̾͜ͅḑ̶̥͓̥̳̤͓̼̀̒̍̽͘ ̶̻̋̾͆̓̿̾̆́̑̊͘s̸̟̭̝̙̝͑͌̑̎̉̊͋̀̉̚ó̵̻̖͕̫̲͉̬̰̪̊͛̾̂̍̃̀ ̶̧͕̦̯͍̮͖͛͋̈́̀͒̌̔̇̅͠͠͠ú̸̢̗̭̗̯̖̰͜s̴̡̥̮̜̺̜̞̘͋͆̏͊ē̴̥̗͖͕̝̪͍͚̟͖̹̕d̷̮̳̮͖̹̪̎͜͝ ̵̨̧̧̢̥̲̮̟̲̼̃t̵̨̥̪̪̞̲̳̱̯̣̮͑̋̽̌̊͑͘ḩ̵͎̗̘̮̻̱͓̀e̷̮̐͒ȉ̷̯̱̞̣̬̺͖̒̽̂̀̈́̈́̍͗̇̕͝r̸̲̩̄͛̀͑̉ ̸̨̥͎̬̋̑́a̴̧͈̟̭̯̮͉̖̻̟̐̉̍̈́̓̈́͊̓̄b̷̨̛̛̝̖̞͓͚̯̝͊͂̆ī̵̧̛͚̬̰̱͍̈́̚l̵͖͈̞͛̂́̄̒͋̕̕͘͝i̸̯̔̉͐͋͌͘t̸̺̖́̃̔͆̾̐͗̀̑̍̿͝ẏ̵̛͔͒͑̽͛̈̐̅͑̈́̚ ̸̨̥̟͇̫̞̦̐̓̐́̌̄͝͠ő̷̧͎͇̬͇͍̈́̑̏͋͂f̵̺̲̮̰̫̗̖͖̭̹̹̃̑͑͂̍̈̄͜ ̶̛̼̮̤͍̗͔̥͖̖̈́͝f̶̣̖̙̼͙̈́̀͌̍̀̊̋̄̆̕̕͜ͅl̵̨̠̪̱͉͎͓̰̟̜̪̈́̔̓͆̑̃͘͘͝͝͝i̴̳͓̜̝͔͎̗̻̦̭̮͋̈́̓̔̉̓̏̀̎͐g̵̨̢̟̞̺̹͊̅͆̀̕͠ẖ̷͙͈́̌́͛͂̿̂͐́̑̍͜ṯ̸̠͔͚̝̹͈̙͚̘̺̽̿̾̃ ̸̧̺͖̰̤̩͎͕͈̗̣̔̿̂͝͝t̸̯͕͙̣̼͎͒̀̈́͋ọ̵̈̀̀̑̈́́̍͝ ̴̮̐́̔̿̈́̈́̚͠t̸̩̬̭̯̺̩̪͕̖͉̀̃͆ặ̵̡̧͇͈͓̇̒̔̀́͠u̸̦̩̞̟͈̥͆̅͛̆n̸̨̼̘̗̙̬̜̗̥͍͑̀͒̓͜͠͠͠ͅt̵̡͈̒͊͐̂ͅ ̵̹͙͙͙̹̪̠͋a̴̢̝̓̄̐̂̉̈̊̈́͝n̶̤̝̋ḑ̵͎̫̞͎̗̺̰̯̞͉̲͐͑̄̈́̋̈́ ̴̹̠̮̮̑̌͂ë̸̥̹̱͓̩̙̦͙̩̲̮͚́̅͊͐̚v̶̥̘̰̭̽̈́̿̽͌̽̂̑̂̆̀̏ą̸͎̖̗̼͉̻̽d̶̜̟̺̏̆̒̓̕e̷̠̟̥̪̣̘͎̳͠ ̴̡̺̱͓̬̙̪̳̲͇͐͑̂͑̎̈́̑̃̚͠t̵̪̣͔̭̰̮̬̮̑͐ḧ̴̨̨̛̠̰͈̘̥͍͚͝ȇ̸͈̦̤̗̪͙͖̳͓̩͎͊͌̏̏̽͌̂̉i̵̧̛͎͉̮͆̈̓͌̃̓̋̄͊̈͝r̴̨̗̝̖̞̺̙̗̀͊͜͠ ̷̡͉̟̼͔͚̭̹͗̽̑ͅv̷̧͙̞͔̗͖̠͚̫̭̺̐͛͊̐̅̽̂̈̓̐͊͐i̵̧̛̗̜̹̘̞̮̪̮̞̔̓͌̐́̄̐͑͑̕͜c̵̨̘̯̱̒̊̍i̸̗͕̱̣̭͈̠̫̬̿̃̋͂ơ̷̦̟̰̭̪̙͖̤̘͒͑́͌̒̓̏̅̋̀͝ṷ̶̢̟͎̝̹͖͈͋͒̓͂͐̊̈́̔͘͝s̷̫͍̓̈̓̄͌̋͊̌̌͑͝ͅ ̴̡͇̭͖̈́̈́̎͠ņ̸̡̠͓̘̤̟͈̟̆̊́̇͒̐̆̂͘e̸̢͔̲̺̜͈̘̫̔́̄̐͘͘͝i̷͇̗̍g̵̘̓̀h̷̡̛̞̘̲̭̮̩̣̩̳̭͆̈͒̎̅͐́͗̏͋̈b̴̢̠̩̝̠̲̆̊̑̓̉̅͒̐̀͘ȯ̴̡̘̠̻̗̬̬̰̻̊̊͆̓̈́̌͐̅͌̚ͅr̷̢̫͉̦̼̥̺̺͒̔͒̈́̊̃́͗͆̕͠͠ŝ̶̨̨̫̺̯̟͈͈̭ͅ.̸̞̳̝͒̏́̈́͝ ̵̨͍̟͇̭̩̞͆͐͌̎̓̕͠F̵͓̝̜̪̣̲͖̬͓̔ͅͅờ̴̺͗͒̌̆̚͘̕͝r̸̡̹̹̣̝͇͋̂́̀͂̅̃̓̐̍̓̈́͜ ̵̡̛̟̩͉͚͇̖͕̄̇͆̆͝c̸̳͖̩̮̹͒͜͜è̶̻̹̙̞͍̰̗͙̑͒͜͜͝ņ̶͈̼̞̖̞̗̠̽̅͛̉͑͘͜͜͝t̶͕̚ǘ̸̢̧̖̺͒͊͊͒̆̀̀͛̓ͅr̵̺̠̟͒͒̈́̾̉̒̿̇̕͝͠í̷̹̦͍̙͇͕̏̈́̃e̸̛̠͔͉̗̗͗͂̓̋̓̕s̵͈̰̤͙̮͇͙̋̀̽̏̾̌,̸̧̳͔̺̭͎͈͚̮͕̓̌̈́̃̊ ̷͎͓͓̻̏̒̒̈́̀̈́̈́t̶̢̲̊̈͒̆͆̓ḧ̸̨̞̣́̐̏͊̾͘̚̕̕͝͝e̶͈͉̹͗͊̉͝ ̴̡̛̞̘͚̦͎̪̜̺̃̉͗̅͋͐̎̾̚͜͝t̷͈̼̱͌̈́͆͋̍̃̉̀̄̍͠w̷̢̛͇̙̪͓̙̣̦͍͓o̸̧̜̮̲̗͉͓̤̟̝͆͑ͅ ̸̙̼̠̤̻̈́̽̓̿̄̏f̵̻͕̲͛̋̔̚͝a̶̡̧̝͈͛ͅc̴͚͆́̊̾͆̇̈͝t̵̨̛͕̀̔̎̌̅̈́͂̽̌͌ȋ̶̡̭͇̜o̵͕̹̩̥̞̜̲̝̍̃̓̃̐͒͐̓̕͝͠ņ̶̢͎̰̜̘̀̈́͒͛͒͑̃̒̀̕͠͝ͅş̶̦̜̲͉͇̻̙͚̰̣̾͊̾̓́̓ ̶͈͔̥̰̤̦̟̮̅̓̎̀͆̏̆͝f̸̡̙̀͑̿̀̇́͛̍̚͝ó̶̻͕̪̃͊͂͑̃̃̐̅̚̕͠ų̵̛̞̜̝͉̜̺̻͎͙̔̈̋͝g̴̪̭͚͕̖͔͖̊h̵̡̧̧̡̻͖͆̾͜ţ̸̺͖̘̮̙̫̖̠̖̯̂̓͋͋̈͜ ̸͈̋̎ǒ̶̢̪̩̩̮͇͙̄͒̚͜n̶̪̜̳̻̳̭̖̐̈́̈́ę̷̛̳̳͔̰͓̦̟̼̜͔̇̂͐̾̍̏̕͘ͅ ̸̻͇̫̒̾͒͋́͑͒͊͠á̸̪͖͔̹̲̋̿̇͌͂̔̍̊͒͂͜͜͝n̶̨̢̢̦͇̪̟̊̓̀̽̋̇̓͑ỏ̸̳͕̙̬̝̳̀̑̽̀̾̃͆̏̉̕͝t̷̖̮̫̱͍̯͇̘̟̠̍͆̋͗̀h̵̳͉̠̩̠̾̽̐̑͂͜͝è̷͓̝̞̖ͅr̸̡̡̨̙̻̪̲̗̤̍̅̅̋͊̄͂́͋̾̕͘ͅ,̵̠̀̅͐͌̂͛̔̎͑͝ ̸̠̮͈̈́̍͂̕͠w̷̡̮͙̮̭͔̙̺̞̫̤̩̄̓̂ȋ̷̧̨̝̥̖̩̰͕͕̜̓̂̈́͐̽͑̚͝t̸̡̛͕͇͙͚̣͙̮̼̜͇̎̐̓͜h̸̨̩͍̜̥̟̗̠́̌̇̅̄͗͑͂́̐͝ͅ ̴̞̳̳̱͗̊̑͘ͅţ̶̲̩̺͔̜͙͎̱̪̙̫̾̀͒̓h̶̨̢͎̱̫̺͌͒͗͐̋e̶̘̳͇͚̒͂̈̊́̏̈̓͗̎͒͝ ̸̨̨̨̗̬̱̣̘͈͖̬̍͘Ą̷̢̻̱̱̪̩̦̘͊̊ͅv̸̢̨̮̘̣̤̙͉̹͉̯̹͗̽í̶̳̞̰̫͇̝̦̉͑i̴̛̪̞̦̼͓̐̄́͆͑͑̕r̷̰̺͇̟̀̂̊̇̈́̓͂̓͋ï̵̤̲̏̓̓͗̊̿͑̚͘͝ ̵̡̜͖̑̊̔͛̊̿͘͝e̴͉̬̙͌̐͝n̸̨̢͎̘͙̖̤̾̒̒̅̐͌̆͂g̴͔̘͇̳̬͒̿̑̄͝à̶̲̞͓̭͍̝̭͕̼͐͘g̸̨̛̘͇̹̪̖͑ì̶̖̇̄͌̈̈́͑͗̍̚ň̴͚̠̫̙̫̹̖̇͒̾̐̃́̋̄̈́ͅg̶͕̩̻̥͋ ̶̠͇̣̻̐̃̿̽͛̎̆͑̚i̸̛̠̰̊̎̓͛̌̑͂n̸̢̢̩̜̤͎̹̭͈͉̿̿͋̐̈́ ̵̢̟͎͉͉͕̙͎̠͈̅̃̂̈́̏̀͂͌͘͜h̷̢̢̗̙̳̘̬̗̼̻̪͊͛͜͝i̶͇̜̫͕̣͔͓͚͇͆̔́͋̃̔͌̀̈́͠ͅt̷̛̟̜̹̯̮̣̔̍̎͗̍̓̏̅̕͝͝-̵̡͓͚͐̋͐̂͂̈́ą̵̼͊̿̀͗̄̓͛̔̏̑̇̕ͅn̷̛̛̫͖͉̳̣̱͑̈́d̷̨̧̰̲͓̩͓̼̜̙́͐-̷̺̼̽̊̄͒̒ŗ̸͇̭͙͉̼̬͔̲̜̖̿̅̆̏̉̉̾̽̒u̷̢͇̥̫͙̮̥̭̦͖̤͛͛̾̈́̎̌͆̔̅̚ͅn̸̜̤̲̊̽̊̏̇͘̚͝ͅ ̷̠̫͇̻̻̘͉̮̠̈̆̀d̸̡̰̮̘̗͈̬̺͙̅̑í̶̖̐̉ṿ̷̔̇̽́̄̅͊́͘͠ȩ̵̐ ̶͍̹͚͚̞̜̊̃̈́̋͘ą̵̮̠̪͇̭̲̣̝̱̇͂̓̓͒͐͗̽̿͘t̶̛̟̹͙̟̝̝̊̓̎̇͂͂͝ͅt̶̤̥̳͆̇̀̓͝á̷̡̛̙͍̪̝̞̃̈́̇̉̉͌c̴̨̛͙̜̯̟̙͇̳̬̀̓́͊͊̂͌̾̚ḱ̷̛̬̘̝̜̘̩̜͛͗s̴̥͙̐̍̈́̑̈̈́̀̕͠ ̶̟̻̠̎͐͋̕͝à̵͕͚͚̹s̷̻̋̀͋̇ ̵̛͎̯͋̊̍̿͌̐̎̏̊͠t̵̙͕̭̩̤̅̒h̸̯̝̳̕ễ̸͓̐̓͝ ̷̧̢̡̠̰̙̅̀̎̓́̄͗Ṙ̸͕ȩ̸̳̜̟̠̩̖͓̞̂̋͜ͅͅp̴̰͈͍̝̳͍̤̻̝̩̔̈́̽͛͗̿͌̄̃̇͝ţ̵͇̲̅̉̍͑͋́̚͝i̶͎̯̹͙͓͈͚̒̉̍̐͋̍l̷͍̖̰̫͈̥̼̒̉̉̌̔̐̄e̴͓͊̎̈́̈́̉̎̋ş̷̻̪̮̘̲̘̽̌ ̶̲̹̬̘͋̒̍̓͂͝ş̸̓̏̃́͠t̴̨͍̘͔̪̘̞͛̀̇͑̎̓ẻ̴̻͔̦̤̱͉͇̞̒́̓̋̐̊̿̔͒a̴̛̰̞͚͔̜͖͍͇͆̌́̃̇̈̔̓́͝l̷̨̆̐͂̄̔̓̎͗̚͘͠͠t̶̢͖͙͍̝̫̞̭̝́̂̏̔͝ĥ̶̺̲̖̺̬͎̲͓͉̪̙͊̒͑ͅȋ̶̧͍̹̲̣͖̘̥̪͆̑͆͐̇̂̉̆͜͜ͅl̶̦͔̩̣͇̭̔̽̇͂̕ÿ̸̱͇̭̠̟́̈̽̀̒̅̿̽͝͝ ̸̡͖͙̩́̕č̵̨͉͉͖̞̮͚͈̖̰ȑ̸̡̦̖͈̥͍̩͖̞͚͈̏̈̈́̊̔͌̏̽͝ë̵̬̰͓̠͇̪̟̼́͒́̈̀͗͗͜͜s̷̛̗̀̂͋̉̌̀͐̍͝t̵̪̫̩͇́̎̅̾́̇͑͛̎ḛ̴̲̖̗̱̝̎̉͛̂̋̇̇ͅd̸̥͔̹̜͉͉͉̤̀͌̓̽̌̑̈͂̋ ̴̢̹͖̯͖͚͔͍̍͆̄̽̈́̿͂͑t̵͍̤̘̩̊̃̈ḥ̸̗̯̟̝̓̈̊̓̂̇̆̀̓̇͂e̵͇͉͋ ̵̝̿̆̆̽̎p̷̻̲̩̤̿̾̿͑͛̀͋l̶̟͎͎̭͍̓͐̉̔͌͂͋̊̚͝͝͝ą̵͎͎̲̬͙͔̬̽̇t̵͙͇̙̦̊͑ͅȩ̵̢̜̼̦̗͑̐́ą̴̱͓̪̜͎͔͎̦͙̓͑̽͆̐̍͛̈́̈́ͅų̴̗̱͈͙͆͐̓̐̃̄͛͛͝͝ş̶̢̹̯̥͇̞͉͓̞̑̋͐̔͊̎͠͝ ̸̻̺̦͍̝̼͛t̵̥̝̤̀̊̈́͑͐o̶̢̡̺̗̩̟̱̭̪͎̎̄̓̓̋͆̚ͅ ̷̩̘̟̿̍̐̑͐̂d̸̡̧̛͚̙͖̫̳̑́̈́̔̍͗̏̒͗͂̚ê̶̬̣͔̞͎͍͒̑ͅͅͅͅv̵̧̰̳̠̰̫̣̯͙̠͂̾͠ȏ̸̩̭̦͔̠̊ṷ̶͈̖̥̖̖̩͕̠͙̄̅̔̀́̒͝r̸̨̨̹̩̍͝ ̴̲̜̱̦͉̼̂͝͠͠t̵̢̝̹̺͚̞̋͆̒͆̊͌́͝ḩ̶̨̭͔̣͕͔͒͊̽̚ě̵̫̈́͋̍̈̿̂̕͝ ̵̪̬̀̆̎́͐͊͑͘e̶͖͋̍͜g̷̨̰̮͇̃g̶̛̺̖͊̌̈́̀̓̍̃̚͜͝s̶̡̳͓̟̠͙̮̽̏͛̊͗̂͊͗ ̵̖͇̹͍͓̭̩̲͖̭̲̾͊o̴̝͔͔͍̹̝̘̞̳̥̣̹͋̿̂̅͑͗̔͑f̴̤͇͈̙̪̠̬̟̞̺͐̈͐̇͊͜͝͝ ̵̪̰̪̭͖̰̟͚͕̑t̵̨̯̤͖̖͍͑h̵̪̞̹̩̦̺̱̖͆̍͛̐͋̂͌̌͆͘e̸̖̔̓̄̉̒͋̀͝͠i̵͓̟̹̳͎̘̦͙̪̎͐́͂̀̽̽̎͜ř̶̢̰͉͈͓̰͕͙̼̪̄̏̌̋̍̀̓̉̔ ̶̘̝̼̖̹̹̹͑̓̕e̷̥̪̰̜̦̙͙͔̥͎͐͒̉̋̒ͅṉ̴͚͑̾̈̋͒̈́̌͝ḛ̴̼͎̳͍̜̩̦͈̃̈́̂̽̐͊͐͜ͅm̶̳̫̼̪̞̗̬̟̭͙̖̳̋̏̓́̅́̉͝ÿ̷̢͍̠̠͚̗͎́̿̓̂̆̋̏̎̉́͑.̷̧̯͉̜̥̱̖̩̹̺̑ ̵̨̢̺̤̬̟͖̙͈̀͜ͅB̸̨̛̯͆o̵̢͎̟̮̺͚͕̥͙̩͐͘ṯ̷̢̟͕̤̦̬̌̊͊̏h̷̩̹̺̯̻̹̹͙̀̐̀̈́̈͐̅͛͐̚ ̵̡̡̛̛̳͙͇̰̮̦͉͌̍̎̀́̌̓͝p̶̺͕͍͛̂̓̄̑̓̇͠ŗ̶̥̺̹̈́́̔̓͗͆́̓̽͗͠a̴̧̨̟̮̪͚̤̪̣͋́̐́́͜ͅy̸̘̤̠̿̈͗͛͝ë̷̡̟̤̭͙̝̳̤̳̲̹͚́̆̿̑̃͋̿̄d̶̢̤̦͕͓̙̄̾̈́̄̀̓́̈͆͑̓ ̷̡̻̺̪͖̑̌̇̊̔̉́̊͛̕f̷̨̛̞̣͉̫͉͕͋̇̊̆̂̀͌̽̅o̵̞̗̞̒̅̃̀̈́͊͒̄̅̍̚͠ṛ̷͓̥̝̇͋̋̌͌̌̽̽̊ ̷̨̪͖̗̜̝̖̳̤̺̈́̀t̶̰̮̺̯͇͔̖̣͛́͛͒̑̍̉͐̉̕h̸̢̟͓̘͙̩̼͒̀͋͆̈́̈͌̍̾̚ȩ̵̛̦̮̣̠̘̠̝͗́͒̏̔́̊̄͋̿̾ ̸̣̣͔̺̳̗̒̉̆͑͑́̓͂̚͠͠a̷̧͓̞̜̺̹̪̼̘͉͂̒̍̑͘̕ͅp̸͉̥̐̐͊̋̄̓̌̄ͅȩ̴̜̺͓͓̥͔̪͔̭̎̒x̵̬͈͉̹͛̈̃̌̇͑̈́̋ ̶̡̛͙̭̟̗͔̥̳͍̬̠̐̍̃̄̇̽̒͘͝͝o̸̝͍̱̠̗̝̤̬͈̻̲͂͗̐̉͒ḟ̵̧̧̡̳̯͙̝̖̭̈͋̓ ̸̥͉͍͍̮̺̪̱̘͍̆͂̈́̆͝͝ṯ̴̍̓̔͜ḥ̴̝̘̹̔͗̃͆ȩ̸͚͇̲̬̞̲̯͋̀́̈́̍́̂̚͝i̶̢̛̗̭̲̬͚͑̍͘͝ŗ̸̝͈̼̙̼͈̝̣͉̠̈́͐͗͊̉̿̀̒̍͜͠ ̸͖͚̗͖̞̠̀̈s̶͖̼̟̣͙͈̦̈́̋͗͊̌̕p̵̧̬͎̱̹͈̤̦͍̖͎̄̿̒̉͂͗̈̕͜e̶̡̨̱͓͙̅͂̈́̂̒ͅḉ̸̨̞̙͈̞͔̞͒̽̅͋͒͋̚ỉ̸̡̢̘̲̬̞̬̪̟́͝e̶̱̣͉̬͕̙̽́̋s̵̢͔̲͓̣̹̭͓͒͌ ̵̯̤̙̌̋̉̈́̈̽͒͂̓͗̚ţ̸̛̪̣̥͓̬̮̗͚̠̺̍̀̃̔ǫ̵̜͍͕̗̟͋̏͠ͅ ̷̡̮̖̪͉̗͚͙̈́́̒͂͠͠ḿ̴͇̙̟͕̳̪̻͈̬̜̘̜̇͑̏͛͑̈̏̕͝ȧ̶̡̫̺̜̻̺̻̻͊n̸̢̛̛̰͈̺̹͈̦̮͚̮̬̏̅̑̇̒̓̕͝i̶̹̼̣̦̙̟̬̞̜͈̯̾͂̎̄̈́̎̏̇͂̒͠f̸̢̹͗ë̵̛̛̻̘́́̒̈́̓̄͑͌̐s̸̥̗̥̯͍̠͙̝̖̞͕̥̾͛͋̔̀͗̒͑̂̋͊̾t̷̘̻̖̮͉͎̯̬͙̬̪̃̇̽̏̒͒́͑͐͝ ̴̻̘̝̣̣̼͋a̵̛̯͒̅̾͂͝n̶̨̗̱̹̠̥͇̟̦̱̺̎͐̈́͘d̵̡̛͉̯͙̆̔͝ ̶͍̳̱̠͇̘͕̜̋͐̂̏̑͝ş̸̺͚̘͍͉̙̺̄è̴̺̦̥͝i̸̥̬̮̯̜̲̳͍͇̜͈͑̌͛͑̑̋̚̚͜z̶̡͇̟̲̾̽ě̸̹͚̦͂͒̄͐͊̏͝ ̵̧̼͉̤̳͐́̇͊̋̽̇v̵̹̬͇͈͕̤̈́̒̅̃̓̄͂͋͌͐͛͜ị̸̧̛̹͖̫͍̌̾̆̉́̐̿̓c̷̡̻̤̭̞͙͇͍̜̟͈͍̒̊ţ̴̥̘͚̫̝̘̀͑̋̐̈́̋͊͑͋̓ͅò̷͉̰̣̫̙̺̳̝͂̇̂̅̈́̌̈́̽r̶̡̧͇͔͎͓͂̽͘ͅͅy̸̪̞͛̀͝͝ ̵̨̩͖͚͚̪̤̓̍͒̂̾́̅͊̐o̶̰̘͘͘͝v̴̛̺̲̯̙̩̲͍̈́͗̀̆́̽̈́͘͘̚͜͠e̷̥̮̪̩̰̘͌̈́ŗ̵̛̞̩̱͕͌́͜͝ ̷̢̢̹̺̲̪͚͈̮̅̋̂͂̈́ͅt̴̡̡̟̺͍͈̲̫͉̤͒͐̿̉͛̊̀̋̍͘͜ẖ̷̡̔̈́͂e̴̬̬̯̲͎̞̗̦̓ͅ ̶̧̟̼̠̪̬͎̘̳͇̥͑͑͜͝ơ̴͖̥͔̤̝̟̕ṭ̸̺͙̫̭̩͙̿͋͑̃̆͋̅͘ͅh̴̢͍͕͇̙̓̃̄͑͠ĕ̴͉̹̏r̵̜̠̹̞̣̂̅̽̔͐̍͌́͜͝ͅ.̵̧̻̹̳̰̘̺̥̜̊͋͋̇̇̈́̾͊̓
̶̻̝̯͋̊
̸̧̛̗̣̐̓̔̿̅͐̍̊̔̕A̸̧̱͍̲̹̮̝̾̈́̾̌̎͘t̸͇͕͙̙̙͎͍̋̈̃̊̌͋͂̇͘͝ͅ ̶̯̯̲͌̂́͛͆̚ṭ̵͖̣̼͛̓̋̂̍̇̈̊̕h̴̻̓͘͠ͅể̷̢̧̫͙̩͖̝̆ ̸̨̫͍̯̭̝̟̲͓͚̂c̸̙̔̾͜͠͝ͅľ̷̨͈̬̥̼̠̝̫̫̳̰̼i̷̧̨̧͇͚̝̦̜̖̬̓m̵̨͔̹̲̘̯̔ͅą̷̻͓͇͙̠̩̞͎͛͜ͅͅx̷̧̬̰͇͓̯̻͖̀́̅̉͊͐̓̎͐̒̚ ̴͙͍̱̱̮̄̈̿o̵̡̧̡̲̠̯̥̻̽̉̀̔̄̀͌̄͜f̸̛͉̟̪̘͙̱͈̾̉̑͒̇́̂̓̚͜ ̸̭̋̇͒̈́̎̈́̽̎̈́͛̍͛t̶̡̼̤̞̻̫̜̜͙͉̀̊̈̽ḥ̶̻̻̱̳͙͉̞͖̎͊̓̇͌͛͊̑̈́̕͝͠ę̶͈̻͉̰͈͐̈́́͛̍̽ ̵̧̛̯̦͙͈̙̫̩̉̾̇̑́̕̕͜B̷̧͚̩̟͗̆̐̀̔̓͂͘͜ę̶̳̝̥̓̆̓̈́̅̀ä̷̧̞͉͕͔̙̤̬͓̯̟͎́̌̃͛͗̐̍͛͒͂̒s̷̢̻͙͇̤̭͓͉͊͋͜ẗ̷̲̞͈͚̘̯̟̄́͗͛͗̋̍͜͠-̵̧̘͚̳̖̬̯͕͚͚͇̍̔W̷̦̱̲̼̥̘͉̼̥̽̈̓͂̅̎͘͝ä̵̧̙̰́̐̆̓̍͑̓̌r̵̞̙̫̎̅̿̇͌͝,̵̢͚̣͚̙̰̰̦͔͖͙͒ͅ ̸͖̝͕̮͖̹͕͑ͅå̴̹̀͛̂̽̈́̈͛́͘͠ ̵̲̘̜̪͎̄̏̈̈́͝ģ̷̡̭͕̯̣̩̝̒̿̑̌͋̀͝i̸̧̘͙͉̞͕̚ǧ̷̙͍͒̓́͆̿͗̈́͘͘͠a̴̹̫̯̺̻̬̯̮̰̪̐̀̌͂́͐̕͝ͅǹ̶̢̧̛̜̤̤̩̲̃͋͂̔͑̏̚t̵̡͚̠̗̮̰̒̔̏̚ȉ̶̡̬͇̮͙̞̘̲̫̠̤̈͐̉̏̓́͋͊͂̽̚͜c̷͓̗̥̪̠͖̝̹̐̈ͅ ̵̪̲̥̉̅̀͆̈̊̅͊̓́͌̏ë̶͚́̿͌̇̏̑͑͒͝á̴̡̻̗͎͍̙̗̘̱͌̄͂͌͒͘͝g̵̬̯̰̻͙͈͙̣̪̉̐l̶̮͌̽̀̈́̋e̴̯͓̠͖̲̞͓̹͊͌̅̆̑̔͝ͅ-̵̡̪͚͎̟̟̹̞̮̪̻̃̈́̔́̔͛̎̓̀̕l̴̩̫̫̹̯̦͆i̴̧̤͋̊̏̈́ḳ̴̛̪̩̼̯̲̊̑̿͐̍͌̚͘ë̶̡̡͖̖͖̼̠́ ̶̨̨̼̗͙̬̟̬̒̊̿͑̂̉̍̀͐́̊ͅę̸̹̩͎̗̠̳̞͑̈́̋͐̍͑̒͗͘ͅn̷̘̤͈̺̳͈̜̔̿̒̍͛͆̇̈́͘t̷̻̻̪̳̭̙͈͐̏̃͋̚̕͝ȋ̷̙̘̽̂̍̓̒̆͋͜t̵̙̻̀̀̆̏̃̃͗̐͆y̵̨̢͓̯̜̺͕͔̱̣̞̬͆ ̵̺̝̞̼̪̫͓͓̳̀̏́͒͛̚͝m̵̛̱̤̰͕̳͐̃̊͑͒̄͂a̶̳̳͓̱̣̝̔͊̉͋̓̓͝n̶̯̣̽̾͛̓͋̔̎̅̐͑͘͝ḭ̷͇̝̉͑f̸͈͇̯̟͎̼̗̜̗̲̍́̌͊͜͝ȩ̶͉́͆̽͝s̶̨̲͕͖̞͎̹̩̘̦̜̈́̇̾̌̒̂̂́̅͛͜t̵̮̪̙̩̹͛͊̃͋ě̷̛͉̦̗͚̱̳̣̺̮̥͍̞́͐ḑ̸̲̖̪͙̜̥̫̖̾̽̔̒͛ ̷̮̤̝͓͚̠̐̈́͗̽̉̾̕̚͜͠͝b̷̘̜̫͙͕̙̠͎̘̐͒̈́̽̎̓̓̌̄̍̍e̸̙̰̞͆̅͠f̶̨̳̹͓̞͍̓̊͆o̶̢͇̱̜̺̫͙̭̫͎͎̝̐̅̅̓͆͛̋̒̂̚͝r̸̪̲̻̎͋̈̉̂̾̈́̎͛̍̑͝é̶̡̛̖͓̼̮͎̯͓̮̳̹͖̋ ̵͙̼̲͔͊̉͜S̸̢̯̱̰̼̦̉͂̾͛̃͆͊͒̇͝ẗ̴͍̟̔̐͗̑̓̉͐̔͝o̶͈̬͎̣̟͑̈́̆͝r̸̩͚̠̝̲̱͔͈̙̊͌̎͂̾̌͂̀͐͑͊m̶̗̻͖̏̐ ̸̖͍̫͕̪̗͚̹̣̈́͆̑̈́̈́̚͝I̸̯͕̗̟̪̮̘̍͒͝s̴̨̝̠͔̥͈̗̻̜̮̭̪̈͐͐͒l̷̛̠̭͖̗͚̗̬͙̓̎͂̉͛̋͘͘a̴͚͍̾̑͝n̴̛̟̣̺̹̆̔͗d̸͇͇̯̭̀͗̈́͑͌.̵̛͓̬̝̣̲̤͓͋̿̀̑̉͂̋͘ ̸̨̤̰̼̞̯̘̻̘̓̍͗͝T̴̜̣̩͚̦͔̏͒̍h̷̡̛̭̘̹̯̓̄̏͋̅̏͌̆͝ě̸̢̱̭̯͎̺͎̺̙̥̬͈̏́͋͆̎̒͝͝ ̵̠̘̜͖͙̉̏̏Ȃ̵͒͘͜͠v̸̻͍̞̥̹̿̐̔͂͜i̵̤͙̻̊͂̒͌͐͑͝͝ȋ̵̘̹̥̟͕̥̪̼̮͚͒r̵̢͓̯͙̠̊͊̃̒i̶̞̘̿̽̄ͅ ̸̥̬̲̲̺́̄̀b̴͔̲̳̖̰͋̈̑͂̍e̶̢̢̛͓̣͇͔͖͎̼͍̒́̌͒̕l̶͕̺̩͎̯̞̩̤̘̜̏i̷͕̒̿̽̇̎͝͝e̵̢̲̼͇̯͍̱̓͐͆̀̀̚v̴̨̛͈̼̆̔́̓͒̊̉͋̚ę̸̜̟͕̩̩̦̮̞̰͓͐̋̿́̉̀͌̿͋̾͝ͅd̷̡̖͚̬̹͙̫̳̭͗̓̉̾̈́͂͆͐̒́͜͠͝ ̴̢̟̣̹̲́̋̑͛͛̈́t̷̡͚̽h̵͐͛̔͜͝͝ë̶̛͎̜́̔̇̿͛̃̕ ̶̣͎̓̈͋̃̂͌ẁ̸͕̫̂͛͋̔̎́͗̍a̴̲̖̠̩̖͈̞̞̜̿̈́̅̽͂͜r̴̖̭̓ ̵̩͆͐͒͐͛̿̔̂͊͘̕w̸̳̟̞̼̤͕͙͙͐̇͒̉̎̈́̅͌̕͝ô̶̬̺̲͖̥̆͝u̶̲̳̼̥͙͊̏̓̍́̈̚͝͝ͅļ̸͍̞̹̬͎̣̠̠̭͆̾̋͑̔̅̈͘d̵̛̦̲̦͚̟̑̀̋͐́͜ ̸̛̝̥͇̈́͆̍̉͛̀͒͐̀̕a̶̡̨͕̱̬͕̬̘̮̥̝̓͛͌̎̄̂̑̑̔t̶̡̻̗̪͉̾̋̒̃̌̇͘ ̷̧̡̤͈̙̔͝͝l̵̦̏̾͛͐̄̅͐͝a̴͖̝̗̩͎̪̤̯͈̣͂̿͊͂̈̊̌̉͘s̸͔̮̭͎͉͉̙̅͛̀̏̔͆͝ͅt̶̡̧̫̗̼̟̜̻̽̈ ̶̧̜̙͔̺̼̾͛͐̓̅̈́̅͘͠͠b̵̖̙̫̉́́́̽̋͜͝e̷̛̼̩̪͖͑̄̾̄̇̒͛̐̈̔̍ ̵͉̪̩͑̒̃̀͠i̸̛̹̖̻̣̣͓̗͕̔͆̆ͅņ̴̮͇̘̼̟͈͍̙̝̈́ ̷̲́͒̇́̎͛t̶̡͎̹̹̥͕̦̄h̴̫̗̫̗̙̭͇͖͎̥́͛̌̈́͝e̸̢̛͈̖̙̗̻̗̔̅̋͆͂̌͠ͅì̷̡̨̛̳̮̫̔͆̀̕ͅr̶̺̖͝ ̶̗̰͕̳̇͆̐̽̏͘f̴̗̳̺̬̐̍̀̃͆́̿̕͠ä̷̛̬͇̩̫͈̻̭̭̝́͂̕ͅv̸̨̢̡̠͈͇̥̻͎͇̹̺͆̄̒̏͑͝͠ǫ̶̩̖̫̹̤͓̝͚̔̀̂̒̒̒̚̚͝͝r̵͙͛̊̓̇̉,̴̩̺͚̻̞͊́̉̆̔̄̔̆͒̈́̾͜ ̸͔̫̘̞̫̮̤̘̮̮́͜a̴̺̭̩̫̬̣̕̚͝n̵̢̡̺͕̞̞̋ͅͅd̶̢̢͎̤̜͎̱̠̒͐ ̷͚̣͑̈͐͑͛è̷̤͇̩͇̫̤̲͙̺͇̮ͅv̶̧̡̨̩̹̻̫̬͙͍̳̑́̈́̈́̀̎̊̂̏̽̉͠e̴̡̥͇͚̳͚̜͊͂̈̉̇͗͗̌r̵͙͔͗͋̄̆̉̓̆̅̔̕͜͠͝y̵̨͙̼͖͍̣̆́͑͋͗͐ ̷͕͆̓b̵͊͜ȇ̶͉̣̌̂͠i̷̮͖̦̱̟͈͌̅͒̌̒̀́̆͠͝n̶̢̼̤̳̹̙̊͊̄͊̈́̾̚ǵ̴̮̜̰͈̯͌̍̓ ̶̞̟̙͒o̷͔̍̎́̈́̋̆̒́̀̍͂̚f̴̺̘͎̺͊̉̋͘ ̷̛̣̯͖̬͎͎̈̒̐̑̓̓͒t̷̨̪̰͎̽̇̇̾̏̕̕ͅh̸̨̗̯̯̝̩̼̙̥̯͇̏̑̓̈̏̿͌͘͜͝͠ȇ̶͙̀͗̏̏i̸̗͚̝̱͎̳̅̑̉̕r̷̨̫̳͚̺͇͖̍̀̓̐̓̉̊̒̐̎͘͜ ̵͙̜̬͍̆͐̄̒̚r̸̡̛̟̣̙͔̬̱̃͂̑̀̒͘ͅà̵̧̛͇̝̣̣̩̞̖̗̖̓͊̿̾̓͛͌͘͜c̶͚͈̼̬̝̔ę̸̢̥̻̖̱̰̣̪̜̩̇̃̔̒̍̐͆̉͜͝ ̸̛̥̥̻̞͈̩̤͉̣̈̽̽̽̋̈́̔t̶̢̳̩̥̗̠̺́̓̍̅̄̆͘̚͠ͅõ̴̢̨̟͈̲̯̩͙̣̇̀̂̂o̸̯͔͉̔̒͋̎k̸̡̯̥͖̳̞̗̹̈́͝ ̵̻̟̬̻̙͍͖̉͌͐̐̈̎̇̋́ẗ̷̢͙̟͙̪͖̣̺̯̬͇́́ò̶̡̭̘̩͎̮̰̲̝͓̏̌̑͜͝ ̵̛̳̱̙̠̠͍̙̖̓̃́̀͑̑̓̈͌̒t̶̮̙́̔h̸͖̣̮͎̦̭̬̺̞̝̔͆̋̊̐̈́̀̆ë̴̝̥̯̣̘̲̖͙̞̰̖ ̵̢̛̛̟̝͉͕̹̹̪̱͆͒́͒s̷̛͓͎̆̓ͅk̵͙̬̖͇̩̓̂̓̾̏̚ì̶̗̟͎͖̲̙̂̎̑̐̕͠ḙ̷̘̾͗̕͝͝s̶̠̙̠͑ ̶̨̮̬͕̯̥̺̟̺͊̂̽́̋̌̄̕t̵̛̩̣͉̟̋̾̍̚ö̴̬̮͔͕́̓̑͘͝ͅ ̵̬̬̮̬̺̻́̐̚͘͜w̴͍͐̍̔̇͆́̃͛̔͘̚͜ẹ̶̛̼̼̙͖̹̮̙̌͛́͗́̔͂̚l̴̻̇͆̀̈́̈́͂̈̕͝ç̸̛̦͖̩̥͙͖̐͌̔̈́͂̿̂͠͝ò̵͍̅̾͂̐́̽̇͘͝m̷̝̉̈́͂̓̔͐͑̄͝͝ë̸̱͆̈̂̈́͐͠ ̴̥̳̻͈͓̻̬̼̦͖͉̄̅̿͒͋͌̇̈̆̑̚ͅt̴̺͖̙͇͈͉̥̾͛̋͋h̶̫̉̓̾̆͌͋̊ͅė̶̹͆̏͊̆́̓̉͠͝ì̵̛̞̣̒͛̋͑r̴̨͍͔̭̞͕͉͈͇̖̆̂̾͐̑̀͂̿͋̅̌͝ ̷̼̲̪̰̞͙͓̓̉̓̈́̀̂̀̓͜͠Ğ̶̡̨̢͍̙͇̯̤̭̦͇͋̔̂̂͐́̚r̸̥̭̲͛ȇ̷̛̛͚͉͈̪̫̙̮̟̺̗́́́̈́̍̊̕̚͜ͅá̸̡̛̭̘̺̼̯̉̊͑͑̃̚͜ͅṭ̵̣̏̈́̔͆́̓̉͘͝ ̶̢͉̪͔͓͙̮̿̅̈̎̊̉͛̚ͅË̵͇͗̅̈́ā̸̛͉̼͕̞̰̘̪̚͜͠g̶͍̮̜͆̐̂͊̽̕͠l̷̡̨̺̠͓̞̒̏ĕ̵̡̜͇͖͓̮͈̱̑͐ ̴̛̹͖̽̂̒͐͗͒́̐͒͘G̵̨̩̙̭̦͔̺̠͛͂͌͋̆͂͐̌͝ơ̸̠͚̓̆͒̌̆̉͘d̵̙̤͎̼̬͔͓̟̈́̓̀͊̔̒̈́̒̕̚͜͝͝.̵̠͋͗̎̉̽̈̆͠ ̴̧͍̖̣̩̲́̀͑ͅṬ̵̡̨̯̋̍̅̈́̆̽̋͑́̀̕ḩ̴̻̝͕̭̆͗͐̾̔̇͛͊e̷̙͚͎̺̟̩̼͊̈́̅̌͆͊̉ ̷̜̐̈́͑̇̔Ş̶̨̧̢͚̲̣̼̰̆̅ş̴̙̱̥̮̰̜̪̈́͒̿́́̐̏̿͋̾̇̕͜ỵ̵̠̬̰̲́̄ţ̸̺̫̳̝̗͍̰͖͑́̾́̽́̊̂͛ḫ̵͚̤͇̼̯͙̦̭̂̔͗̋̌ͅr̸͚̹̪̠̗͍̲̥̥͌̄̊̊̑͒͊̓̍͜ä̶̩́͋͂̉̈́͆́́̐͘͜͠ṋ̸̢̲̟̠͇̘͙͎̯͑͑͐̉̾ḯ̴̢̠̩͛̅͝,̴̟̫̉͛̕͜͝ ̸̺̪͗̄̃f̶̟͔̊e̸̡̢̖͈̙͖̙̱̯̬̙̿̃̊͝ả̶̯̯͇͖͉͐ř̵̨̎̅̑͌̍̐̎́̕͠i̵͎̰̍̉̀n̵̦̽͝g̷̛̗̝̤͉̩̻̥̝̟̼̑̾̇̄̈́̈́̐̑̚͘ͅ ̴̣̺̎́̒̈́̉̊̔̎̎͑͠i̵̺̫͛m̸͕̜̫̹͕̫̩̗̠̮̤̂̊͗͆͌͠m̴̤̗̃̄̃̈́͜i̷̛̱̞̫̙͇̥̱̊́̅̂̀̒̓͘n̵̹͈̉̿́͋̑̃̈́̿̉͘ẻ̶̺̖̖̪̥́̾͑̽̉̋͒͒͝n̸̟̗̻͊̈́͛ţ̶̳̰̘̘̙̬͉͖̠̾͆̑̏̈́͘ͅ ̵͉̖͖̯̐͒͑̀̏̀͝͝d̷̰͖̩̺̑o̷̡͇͎͖̥͍̱͗͌͠͝ơ̶̳̦̰͉͚̪̼̊̿̑͑m̵̢̳̖̯̲̘̑́̊̎̎͜͝,̵̩̆̏̄͆͐̚ ̷̛̥̗̮̳͕̹̱͕͊̂̌̀̏͠f̷͎͕͚̤͖̤̖̫̱͆͆ͅͅl̵̡̡͇̱̣̬̬̞̞͕͍̍̾̄̓͝ͅȩ̵̧̮͚̝̗̱͍̯͕͔̽̉͑͋̎͌́̎̆ͅd̶̡̛̟̭̬̮̙̖͎̫͚̣̈́̆͗͊́̏̐̑̚̕ ̷̧͕͚̥̻̯̭̽͑̅̏̈̂̈́̎͋̚̕͜͝i̴̖͍͎̒ń̵̲͉͇̈́̊̈̂͛t̷̮̅͗̆̕̕ǫ̴̧̡̢̦̗͖̣̪̦̿͋͛͑̑́̋͊̕͜͝ ̸̰̟̖̊́̊̋̓̾́̍͝t̶̛̩̼̗̹̱̻̦͈̑̈́̓̔̒͒͌͝h̴̥̓͗̓̇͋́̿̎̅̕͝ȩ̷̧̧̝͎̟̜̤̗̹͛̌̆̆̅̀̄͘ ̴̧̲͆̀̂͗͗̚͘͜ĕ̶̬̹̮̓̾͌͗a̷̠̯̯̦̬̟͓̖̱͓̔̆͑̚͝͠ͅr̵̝̭̘̝̱͆͋̆͌̎͠t̷͔̳͉̓̿̽͒̃͊͠h̴̢͔̹̪͇̙̳̔͐͊ ̵̞̥̣̱̠̮̍̾̿͘a̷̯̓̓͌̀̾́͐̈̄̒͛͝ņ̵̯̬͇̖̥͔̭̎͛͛̈́̋͝d̴̡̛̳̥͈̲͚͔̞͍̙̈̒͛̇̄̆̓̾̾ ̷͈̻̯̀w̷̳̹̮͐̀̈͂̾͋̍̓́̈́̕͝ḗ̵͇̀̊̍̋͑͐͠r̴̛̬̥̘̻̼̮̀̈́̏ĕ̸͎͙͉͕̗̥̖̝͙͎̳̃̀̕͜͠ ̴̟͐̂̍̒͛̍̀͠d̵͍̝̪̻̹̬̪̪̙͆̂͋̾̉͆̍͒͑̊̄͝ŗ̷͙̮͚̳̬̈́͗̃̅͋̅̈̚͠ͅa̶̛̤͐̂͆͌̍̆̿̌̕͝͝w̷̨̢̡̫̺̮̠͓̤̥̠͓͛̀́͗͋̈́͆̇̆̀n̵̪̖͈̬̬͐͒̌͋͆̾̚͠ͅ ̵̛͇̭̘̘̹̼̃̾̊͗́͜t̴͉̰͎̜̪̟̍͋̎̓̔̈̊͘̚͝͝ǫ̴̯̥̯͓̈̉̇̿̈́̌̿̎̂̂̒͒ ̶̥͎͊͂̒̃̒t̴̡̟̻̮̀̂́̽̾h̶̹̹̺̎̿͗̆ê̶̥͉̅̾́̑̐͊̋̀́͘͠ ̶̧̥̯͋̋̆͒͌̅͂͜͝͠ͅs̸̜̥͕̘͖̼̞̽͂̏̒̃̏͂̾̕͠ǫ̴̰̬̩̫̥̟͕͇̩͚̖̏̓͐̚ư̸̡̨̰͕̜̰̖͇͈̭̓̃̿̅͘̕͝r̷̺̩̩̫̟͝c̶̛̝͈̹̗̲͕̘̫̹͇̣̫͛̈́͛̈́̉̓̾̍̓͠͠ē̸̺̭̦̩͈̠͔̘̫̒̄ͅ ̸̞̗̖̤̦̱̘̏̄̎̔͛̊͝ǒ̸͔̘̥̱͇̰f̵̩̰̝̟̘̳̥̣̝̘̈́͂̀̍͘̚ ̸̧͚̖͇͈̲̖̈́̉t̸̢̤͚̭̦̖̱̬̃̏́̆͋̐͂̐͆ḧ̶̡̫̣̮̮̮̤́̂̾̐̎̈͆̓͂̑̈ḙ̶͇̳͖̰̯͍̮̻̀̀́̓i̶̢̛̝̜̗̤̠̐͛̀͛̃̕͜r̷̢͎̯̣̬̱̙̹̣̄̓̾̋̕͝ ̴̖̮̿̾̾̋̃͗̄̀̍̂͌́s̵̛͙̫͈͈͓͔̰̠̉͐̈̉͠ȩ̸̨͖̬̭̫͓̟̼̰̥̐̏́̈́̀͗n̵̪̦̥̳̩̖̤̗̤̜͛͗̀̉̓͆͗̔͝t̵̨͕͚̘̂͆̈̀̊̒̓̌̋̎̂͑i̷̛̗̫͍e̶̱͖͇̊͐̐͋͌̒̑͝ň̵̲̲̗̣͊͌́̓̇ĉ̷̢̞̤͇̳̗͔̣̂̆̌̌̚e̴̛̲͙͓̝͑͛͒̌́̏̏̓̃̓,̶̛̘̻̜̳͖͎̥͓̈́̒̉̃͂͂̃͝ ̷̡̨̺̤̯̬̻̯̫̝̘͚́̓̈͂̇̍̄t̵̨̫̟̣̣͙͓̄̅̓̃̐̓͒̕͜͝h̷̖͇̫̩͔͖͙̲̽͑͋ḙ̴̡͚̼̀̅̑̅͒̓͋͛̓̀̚͝ ̶͈̣͓̭̻̫͓̹̈́̾̀̋̓̕M̵̫̹̫̫͕̖͇͚͑̅͒̐͋̚͜͝é̴̗̯̆̀̊͆̈́̅ť̵̛̗͉͙͔̰͋̋̐͌͆͗͠͠ẓ̴̧̧̧̳͙̰̝͓̎͑̅̽́t̵̪͆͒͗ĺ̶̨̟̤̣͚͙̩̯̫̻̘̟̃̇̊̀̋̃͊̽̓̓̐i̶̠̱̣̹͖̽͐͑̓̄̓̿̚͝ͅ ̸̛̩͖͎̞̞̠̱͈͕͖̠̍͊́̆̄ͅS̴̰̝͈̻̋̕ḩ̵̣͕̼̮̬̭͕̆͊ͅà̵̬͓̰̤͓̌̏͗̋̔̓̒̏̀͘̕ŗ̶̡̗͓͎̞̥̈̆̑́̈ͅḏ̴̭̜̫̌̆̅̊̐̆͆́͗͘͝,̶͔̼̆̆͂͌͌͛͆̅͘ ̶̧̨̺̰̗̦̣͔͍͇̤̱̂͊̂̒̈̑̀͐̕͝͝ą̴̢͔̻͓̘̠͈̝̪̜̎̍̈̓̍̈̐s̸̡̨̳̭̠̗͛͂̓́̓̊͑͠͝ ̶̟̲̫̋͆ḯ̸̟̝̬͎̿̀̀͒̃̂͝f̸̜̭̩͎͙͍͎̐́͂̅̌͊̉̓̕ ̵̨̢̡͖̦̭̩̩̯̟̾̿q̷̢̨̛̙̩͔̙̠̣̠̙̭̈̐̈̆̐̅̈́̊̚͝u̶̳̖̿̄̍͋̋̕͘͘͠i̶̮͛͘v̷̝̻̫͉̋̈́̍̎́̇̀́e̴͕͔̰̬͓̫͉͍̟̤̞̾̓ͅr̷͙͕̦̙̻͖̪̪̞̥͔̋͜i̷̖̙̿́̎̚ņ̵̳̳̯̣̥͍̠͚̓̕͝g̸̯̲͕͚͚͎̫̿̐̄̀͗͊̔̽͠ͅ ̵̨̣̹͍̜͉̑̈́̚b̴̨̨̠̻̞͙̲͋͒̓͐̚̚̕͝ė̵̗̻̞̥̗̺̏̓ͅş̷͚͚̘̟̟̺̜͖͈̤͙̈́̿͠i̸͔̭̅̓̑͌̑͛͋̌d̴̖̦͓̟͓̜̄̎̿̀̈́̿̓̏̍͘͜ę̵̲͓̬͔͇̙̿̈́̅̅ ̷͈̺̒̾̊́̋ẗ̸̗͚̘̗́̉͗̿̓͌̈́̍̕h̴̛̜̞͎̃̾̈́͂̚͠e̷͇͗͋̽͊̐̈́̓̓͆̓̚͝i̶͈̫̬͍͂̂͝ř̶̙̋̎̂̀͋͐̚ ̷̘͈̱͕̺͕͍̯̥͛́̋́͜͝m̴̢̞̻̙̥̜̯̣͖̰͇̃̈́̒̉̆͆̚̚͜o̷̪͂ͅt̴̛̞̥̺̗̳̯̔̓͗̀͛̈́̿̿̾̕͜͠ĥ̵̨̢͖̘̰̜͔̇͑̈́̕ȅ̵̙̣̗̝̩͙̦͋̿̕ȓ̸̡̹̼̜̰̹͉̞̦͈̀̃̂̉͆͠.̸̮͔̬̆̈̏̒̓̃͌͆̊̎͘ ̸̧̡̺̥̻̙͍̣͆͂̊͒̅̽͑̉̌̕͜͝B̸̥̼͉̣͆̽̔́̈́̔̌͜͠ê̴̛͎̝̭͇̥̝̯̼̣̲̾̂͊́̉̚h̶̨̢̙̪̼̩̖͂͐̋͒́̒͘͝ĩ̵̱̘̦̜͍̏̍̒̅̈́̏̆̓̈́n̵̡͍͉̪̤̝͓̯̟̑̅̊͂̈́̚͝d̶̨̩̾̃̓͐͋̽̂̐̋̋ ̶̡̛̭̼͓̦̆́͊͌̿́̆̆͑̀̔ẗ̵̙̫̺̫̹́ȟ̵̞͎̖̐̐͆̂̋̽́̂é̸͔̖̘͈̯̻̬̑̿͜m̸̧̹͖͈̪̓̾̓͜,̶̮͉̝̜̊́͐̿̉̾͒̏̓͘͝ ̸̛̺̱̱̘͆̂̑̿̈͐͒̀͂ţ̵̭͗̔̀͑̓̈́͗̇͘h̵̢̛͇̞̱̽̌̋̊̉͋͆͐̚ͅę̸̛̣̭̟͙̞̺̈́͐̽̀̊̈ý̶̙̙̪̞̯͐̓̇̽͠ ̶̧̩͉̱̥̣͚̹̖͓̙͊͜ś̸̛͓̘͓͓̙̪͈͈́́̆̿̚͘͜͝ͅe̶̡͖̗͍͎̝̟̦̪͚͑͗́͝͠ą̴̧͖̳̘̳̣̹͇̳̅ĺ̷̳̞̭͇͚͙̭̝̤͒͂͗̇͑̏͐͒͜ȅ̶̛͇͖̖͖̌̑̆̓̿̇̈́̆̕d̴̙̫̼͐̓̈̈͑͗͆̈́̐́͜͝ ̶͙͍̠̯͗̆̎͌̀̃́̈͋͝͝a̶̘͇͉̹̱̭̳̘͚̳͉͗͒̉͂̈́͗͐͜͝n̴̦̬̳͖̾͂̈͊̿͋͋̾͌̆̋̂͜ḏ̵̐͂̀̉̓̍̾͛̏̚͠ ̶̨̡̡̢͖̗̜̠͉̰͒͌͗̍͒̐͠s̴̢̥̯̰͕̼͇͗̍̃̀͌͒̐̚ḩ̴̢̺̱̫̪̬̏̎̽ú̶̦̖͙͔̺̳ț̴̛͇̲̳̩͖͋̇̽̓ ̸̺̰̜̮̭̐͜a̷̭̗͓͍̲̱̟̅̃͐́͐͊̀̀̕ͅ ̴̧̢̨̤̲̭̺͓̞̱͍͆̎͑̽̎͆̿̆̚͠ͅẗ̷͓̜͚͓̦͎̜̟̯̦̓̐̾͂̽̅͆̈́͒̃͝h̴̨̛̘͙̝̖̩̍̐͆͌͋̈́͋͛͋į̷̢̩͍̩̻͕̞̹͔̉̌̃̐͊͘ç̷̪̪̫͔̥̇ķ̵̧̢̛̰͖̲͓̣̦̠̊͊̇͐͌ ̵̹̮̗̣̮̠̊̀̓͜͝d̶̰̰̺̟̤̭̝̬̜͑o̵͓͈͈̗̘̥̬̠͎͌̂͂̓̔͂̂̓̏͠ͅo̵̧̡̟͉͇̬̙͙̫̥͇̊r̴͕͍̥̜̜͍̥̥̺̗̣̖̈́́̌͊̀̎̀ ̷͔͈̆o̴̧̝̎̈́̕f̵̟͈̝̠̬̓͌͐̊͑̂̓̌͂̄̔͘ ̷̢̯̣̠̣̮̭͊̀̍͆͐͊͌̈͘̚͝g̷̨̧̛̮̮̦͔̜̤͙̥͎̉̀ͅo̷̢̗͖̳̭̮̳̊́̏̊̌͋͝l̷̨͙͇͈̬̤̣̖̺̼̜̈́̄̾̄͠d̶̢̝͎̹̩̞̘̻̯̽̈́̕,̵̛̠͔͉̉͒̓̌̓̀͘͠ͅ ̵̡̗̣̱͓͓̫̦́w̵̱͛̾͋̂̚ȃ̴̢̼͓̰̿̔̾̎́r̵͚͙͕̫̘͙̖̼̮̟͌̏̀̉͛̉͌̊̎̒d̵͙̻̭̬̰̱̭͈͙̯̝̑̇e̸̪̗̫̜̖̺̖̖͊͋̍d̶̞̫̜͈̰̀͂̅̏͑͒̐̀̌͋́͘ ̴̹̗̤̺͚̘͝w̶̨̫̞̩̭͔̟͇̬͐̒̈̀̐̐̈́̕͜͝į̴̛͈͍̣̭̝͌̈͌̂t̶̡̠̦̯̖͉̯̓͒͒̅̆̓͜h̵͓̻͙̩͓̹͍̜̽ͅͅ ̴̹̫͚̹͚͋̍̆̅͠M̸̡̛̪̭̪͓̤̮̙̊̈́̆͌͘ě̸͚̣͎͇̗̎͝͠ț̷̕ž̸͍̯̖̫͕͍̼̝t̷̥̔͆̽̇̏̚l̷̢̞͓̭̜̞͖̮͔̼̯̙̆i̷̼̯̗̹̖̘̔̋͋̾’̴̳̈́́̆̽̎͂̎̆̓̄̾͝ś̶̛̤̼̻̹̘͂̔̇̇̋̏̏̓̕͝ ̷̡̞̜̺̦̻͔̣̥̰̾̓̊̂̀́̅͆ṕ̷̪̯̊̆͛̓̒̍̄̍̈̂o̴̢͔̭͚͔̬̞̤̤̺̤̎̉̏̆̇̂̏ͅw̴͓̭̘̗̪͔̥̰̹̙̣͗͛̓͝e̸̤͌̑̅̃̂̂̎́̍͘͠ṙ̴̨̛̥̬̹̗̇̏͌̆̽͒̍.̶̮̻̤͈̾̐͗̅̕̕͜͝͝ͅ ̵̭̗͊͆A̴̢̧̦͔̯̘̩̙͂̊̈́̓̽̒̀͒̕͘͠l̵̗̼̱̯͍̖̟̀͋̾́͆̉͛̑̊͘͜ͅͅå̵̲̹͕͗̀̽͜͝ṡ̵̤̜͙̮̬̣̥͔̑̾́͐̿̆̎͒͠,̸̪͚͚͍̀̒͜ ̸̦̳̱̩͖̖̹̰͌̈́́͆a̶͕̙̫̼͛̈́̋̃͘͜ ̵̨̠͙͉̱̦̾̈̃́̊̋͘͘ṡ̵̤̪̠͍̗̺̗͎͔͔̣͇̀͆͑͒̌̅̐͛̇ư̴̡̧͉̭̮̪̘̞̼͈͕̜d̷̨̪͉̘͍͎̩͓̫̑́̃͋̔̈́̕͝͝ͅḍ̴̰͇̦͖̝̩͉̬͌́́̒̊̔͆̔͝ͅͅè̶̘̭̟̫͍̫̜̂͐͐̎̎̽̏͠n̶̨̨̛͎̜͍͉̦͈̝̯̽̌͋̉̈́̋͆͘͠ ̴̡̢̩͉̬̝̫̣̳̫̮͇̒͘̚b̸͍̺̳͉̪͆̋̾̎̈́͂̽̌̾̕͝ͅl̶̳̦̳͎̩̔̈́͛̓̕à̵̛̺̈́̿̆͆̑̉̕͝͠s̸̠͙͉̥͙͉̫̘͊͐͐͒̐̀̀̿̕t̷̝́͒̋̋̐̒̉͑̏̕ ̷̩̽̇̀͊̊̕͠s̷̗̙̎̍̕͝h̶̢̧̩̤̭̺̬͙̜̮̀̊̐̔͋̉́̇̔̚͝͝o̵͔̥̯̠̳̝̮̙̒͜o̴̮̗̫͚͕̻̥̬̕͠ͅk̸̨̢̰̩͎̘͎͕̪̠̂̒̀͘ͅ ̶̛̥̜̿͛̆̀͝G̷̨͈̩̭̟̗͉̼̭͋͘͜ȏ̸̡̳̩̤̥̻̜̹̦̬͍̦̓̑̅̌͋͒̄͘̕̚d̶̨̫͙̖͎͎̫͓̬̓̔̂͊̈́͌̌̔̂͘̚͜s̴̮͐́ȓ̸̹̺̂̉̆̎̈̋͘͠ẹ̶̺͈̯̩͙̦̉́̂͒͗ņ̶͎͙̯͔̹̪̗̻͆͋̚͝d̴̢̠̝̘̣̫̘̯̹̓̍̂͆̆̉.̶̧̩͔̱̜̖̜̹̐͑̒̈́͛̆̎̈ ̷̢̢̣̤̟̯̝̺͉̥̫̣̓̔̀̒́̋̌́̚͝Ȩ̵̨̛͙̟̠͈̲͍̠͗̒̊͐̑̈́̈̒̂͘͠v̵͖̌͗̍̽͐̊̂͒ę̷͓̭͉̞̯̤̑͌r̵̡̛͕̗̙̘̰̲̩͐̂̿́͋́͊͜͜͝y̴̡̛̥͈̟̤͎̠̥̼͌̌͊͌̃͝ͅ ̴̫͇̞̮͕͆̕A̷͇͙̻̲̰͆̓̽̔́̃̈́͝v̴̰͕̝̭̻̣̞͕̤͇̍̅i̷̛̯̯̫͇͕͛̈́i̵̦̹̖͓̻̣͕̦̭͌̋́͑̈͋̈́̚͜r̷̛͎̎͑̿͐̈̿̐̔́̿̚ỉ̶̛͎̘̗͒̊͛̆̍̓̒͠ ̶̢̙͈͖̦͉̞͓͓̙̭͋͑͂̀̇͑i̴̞̅̏̇̔̀̏͘̕̕͘͠n̸͈͚͖̞̣͉̟͚̪͎̒͆͛̏͘ ̴̢͕̼̞̤͕͉̙̞̪̹̐̍̊͜͝ę̷̱̳̜̗̻̑͌̈́̈͆̆́̾͋̃͜͠͠x̸̺̝͖͎̬̩̞̤̒́͑i̵̧͍͕͙̘͖̞͇͈̞̽̊̀͗̄̅͊̕̚͠͝ͅś̷̨̰̲͑̒t̴̛̛̫̪̼̘̂͐̆̌̉͑̆̍̿̏͜ͅe̸̢̳̺̫̗̟̞̝̒̀̓̿͝ͅn̶̢͕̮̎́̆̂̂͗͠ç̸̨̨̬͇̤̗̬͋́͆͑͊̓̔̀̽͘͜͜͝è̷͇̥̼͇̯̳͕̈̓͐́̚͜͜͜,̶͉̲͓̻̣̋͌̌ ̵̡̛̞̪̞̫̰͉̜̔̏̑̑̄̏̀̇͋̅ȩ̵̪̄į̶̯̝̳̞̹̇̑̍̓̑̈̚͝t̴̢̽̾̂̒̋͋h̸̡̺͕͙̣͎̼̄̃͑͒͋͌̃͛̚͝͠e̴̫̘͕͌̋̒͐̽̌̈̒͑̀̂͘͜͜ŗ̷̢̦̫̙̣̪̬͂̓̌̑̂̀̿́̽̔͝͝ ̷̜̯̖̬̠̩̳̻̉̂͒͜i̵̧͈̩̝̖̦̮̼̮̔͘͠n̴͓̭̻̱̖̭͕̫̽̈́̍̿͊̂̊ ̷̭͕̃̒̈́̓̽̇̂͂̌͘͝t̷̫͈͐̇̊̊̽̓̆̋̎̐̽̚ẖ̵̛̠̠͖͊͌͑͒̈́́̈́̀̚̕e̶̢̡̧̫͙̫̙̙͕͒͌̓̃̇͆͆́ ̵̙͍̱̪̣̱̈̽͜S̷̨̺͈̼̬̳͂͐̓̇̆̿̇́k̷̼̦̜̍͑̈́͐̏̔͠y̸̨̛͔̫͇̱̬̩͈͛̿̌͌͗͂͐͠͝ͅ ̴͙͈͍͚͍̎̽̀͑͜o̴̧̙̟͔̖͊̅̀̅r̴͙̻̠̝̜̤̺̎̓̽̓̓͑̾̈́̃ͅ ̶̳̣̳̩̺̮̿́̅̔̃̈́̓̒̐̅̕͝į̶̛͕̮͙͖͇̂̄͋͐̈́̀̇͂̔̌n̵̢̬͔̜̹̣͚̝̈́̔́̐͋̆̒̈́ ̵͖͓̣̭͉͔̥͔̭̋͜͜͠t̷̡͎̮̠̖̝̓̀͘h̶̦̲̹̒̌̎̈̚͝ȩ̷͓͆̋͗ ̸̧͈̥̖̯͉̙͍̙́͗͒͆̈́͒͂̌̍N̸͔̯̙̗͇͔͓̆͛ę̷̡̲̠̪̞̥͙͇̗͒͛͜ͅś̷̡̢̛͎̼̽̔̈́͋͗͘̕̚͝͝t̷̘͓͇̹̜̉̀̚,̶̧̨̨̘̭̲̼͎͚̰̭͍̆̍̿̓͝ ̷̛̲̠̝͚̻͊̈̂̃͊̕͠w̴̫̹̠̬̝̔̈̄̏̊̄̊̆̔̀ǟ̸̢̧͚̬̻̖̪̺̞͖̩̻͐͗̏̄̕s̸̃̿́̓̾͊̆̽͜ͅ ̷͖̦̭̘̬͔̱͖͓̳̟̗̏i̵̢̡̖̬̥̖͋̓͋́̏̊̊͗͂̓m̸̢̹̘͎͓̖̱͖͌͜͜ṁ̶̨̡̛̖̜̞͎̭͚̳̟̫̱͌̓̿̀̀̀͋͝e̸̹̖̥̪̮̤̾̿̋͜d̸̖̼̣̖̗͙͖̒̑͆́͆̐̈͂͋͌i̵̧̺̪̱̟̥̰̠͜͝a̷̹̼̲̗̙̳͗͛̐́̚t̴͈͇̬̿̒͐͑͗̾͐e̴̲̠̹̹̣̬̯͉̎̒̐̃̉̾̚͜l̷͓͇̝̬̜̐́͐̇̕͠ͅy̵̧̫̜̰͍̪̦͈̹̥͈̾̒̀͑̓̓̿͠ ̶͉̅v̸̟̭͕͙͈̰̥̣̂͒̔͂͒͜͝ȃ̸͍̮̯͓̪̰̞͎͖̅p̴̧̧̲͈̻̖̤̗̺̔͝͝ơ̸͖̙̖̻̯̪̲̫͔̤̂͐̽͆̄̂͋͒́͘r̴̨̺̹͉͎̻̿̀̑͌̑̑͋͗̒͆͘͘͜ï̴̛̯̭̳̫̙̀̊͂̀z̸̡̢͔̯͇̥͒̚e̷̛̪̝͇̫̤̫̻̯͍̊̒͐ḏ̴͈̃͐ ̴͖̣̱̏͐͑͛͂̇̾̔̚̕̚͝b̷̡͉̤͈̝͎͙͇̌͊͗̃̀͂̚͠͠ỳ̶͇̮͙̦̫͈̗̹̰̘̩̿̊͑̑̿̈́ ̸̝̦̣͚̤̏̽́͐̓̒͂̂͌̔͘ä̸̢̹̣̞̱͉̪̳͍́̊̋͑ ̸̤̦̈́͜f̴̡̣̝̞̞͔͔̟̭̆͐̄͆͊͒͜͠ĺ̵͙͓̲̄͆̉̍̉̚a̷͓͎̪̓̑̄͂̚͘s̵̥̯̎̈́͊͊̏̇̚̚ẖ̸̛͓͎̗͈̤̳̥̰̅͗͑͆̑̄́͒͜͠ ̷͚̙͔̹͔͕̱̩̗̔̂̇̊͗̀̽͛̈̂̕ǫ̷̟̭̭͌̀̒̃̿͊͗f̵̧̮̗͈͍̝͕̪͑ ̷̤̥̇̽̓͌̀̄̽̅̌̆̆ī̴̳̾́͂̏̎͠m̷̡̨̧͔̰̣͕̬̣̬̦͗͐̄̓̉m̸̢̢̘̘̩͉̙̦̗̦̼͛̌͗̌̇́̅̃͌̀̍͗ȩ̸̛͖̹̰͖̳̘̺̦̯͙̐͑͋̋̂̈̌̋̄a̵̧̘̮̬̝͚̻͉͍͚̹̎̊̇̑̓̀̑̍͊̓͠ś̴͚͇͙͓̙̲̖͖͜͝͝ͅǘ̸̢̧̢̹̹̲͖͆͋̏̒̾̓͜ř̴͍̺̘̒̓͛̀͝͠à̵̫͉͕͖̜̈́͗b̶̖͙̼͎͕͖̬͎̏̊ͅͅḻ̶̻̘́͜ͅe̷̢̦͓̥̗̤̺̿͑ͅ ̶̢̡͈̠͎̦̮̝̼̺͕̓̓̉̕̚̕͝ͅę̴̧̨͎̹̜̠̫̊̿̆̓̐̒̌̓̊͘͜͜͠n̴̹̟͖̩̟̩̠̭̓͆͊̀͑͆̍͑͝ͅͅe̷͔͈͊͜͝ȓ̶̙̼̗̹̟͈̽̈́͐̅͒̔̕͝g̵̼̏ỉ̸̧̠̪͓̲͎͖͕̟̼̽̈̐̅̏́͂̂̉̕͝ͅe̵̱̓̽̀̒̐͝s̷̪͈̻̬͚̱͈͉̜̺̯͂̉́̏̓͋͜͝.̴͎̯̟̦͘ͅͅ ̷̣̪́̂̄͌͋̐̽͌̅̚Ţ̷̡͈̩͙̥̻̖̪̺̣͓̑̽̈͒̆̍͒̾́͝͝ȏ̸͓̑͠o̴̧͚̰̎ ̷͎̲̦̦̄̎͆̋ẁ̶͖̤̥͈̼̔à̸̢̻͎͈̉͂͌̉̍̆͋̎̕͠͠s̷̢̨̤̤̱͇͋̐̋̇̕͜͝ ̸̨̩͚͎̠̖̬̟̞̼̆̋̐̎̍́͛̑͆̇̀ṭ̶̛͒̾́͑͑͝͠h̷̗͎̻̹̳́̀͋̽̇̀̂̔e̵̦̹̯̪͇̖͓̾͋̿̊͌̂̓̃́́͆͝i̶̛̫̬̋̿̎͐̽͛͘r̴̮̹̝̎ͅ ̴͓̤̾́̇̉̕ģ̸̥̘̣̹̘̳͖̖͍̀̎̚͝ͅį̸̠̖͒͂l̴̛̻͎̺͖̘̬̞̀̍̿̀͘̚̕͝d̶̨͙̖͈͈͕̈̀̆̿̕͝ẽ̴͕̞̥͉̦͖̤̍ͅd̶̢͕̤̮̜̟̣̳͇͙̖̈́͂̅̇̀̇͠ ̵̧͇̻̞̟̲̗̟͇̜͖̊͊̅̆̔͊̍̆̚̕ͅc̷̢̢͔̫̬͓͘a̷͈͖̭̖̺̙͗p̵̱̤̝̭̉̈ͅi̷̛̤͔̝̰̦͉̥͖̓̅́̅̏́͗̎̆͝ţ̵̛̛̤̳̥̼̳̤͙̙̱̦̄͋͗̒̕ä̵̜͕́͜ͅl̸̡͉̝͕̙̺̱̫̝̓̎̅̊̓̀͂ ̴̨̢̡̛̪̘̹͍̞̫̖̮̐̈́̋̓̚͘͝ͅr̶̛̭̹̤̬̭̲̠͐͋͗̎͗̇̉̚͠e̶̢̬̣͇͓̺͇͚̱͇͍̝̎̽͑n̷̪̊͜d̷͇̝̀̉̓́͑̊ĕ̵̱̙̦͓͇͖̺̩̓͐r̸̩͎̻͂͊̆̑ę̷̢͕̼̙͔͈̼̘̖̉͐̕ͅd̴̛̼̱̺̎́͐̄͛̓͒͛̈́̕͠ ̵̢̭̰̰̯͠ͅt̷̛̗̯̱̼o̶̡͈͍̯͌̔̔̕ ̶̧͉̤̞̱͎͚̳̺̮̀̏͋̚ͅl̶̹̯̜̝̗̘̘̠͚͛̋́̎̎̈ī̶̲̹̼̆͑̆̇̀̐̌́̔̕͜ṯ̷̣̈́̌̂͌ͅt̵̻͉̺̪̪̜͙̭͈͉͛̓̉̋́̀̔̓̐l̶̨̺̟͍̠̲̻̦͇̩̩̆́͋̇̉̿̅́͘̚͠͝e̸̘̤͐̔̀̃͂ ̶̧̨̨̻͚̤͖̮̉̐͛͑̈̆̈́̽̊̇͐m̶̱͇̦͕̤͚͌o̵͈̩̜̖̯̹͉̝̗̺̊́̕̚͠r̸̢̛̪̘̣̜̰͇̣̀̎͊̏́̆͌̂̌̍͝ḙ̷̻̞̺̥̲͙̳͌̾̅͒̽̎̔́͜ ̷̛̹͆̈̈́̆͊̿ț̶̳̭̞̠͈̦̣̝̮̄̊̊̔ḧ̵̛̖͔̼̫̼̼́̂̃̀̏͗̚ͅą̴̣͇̄̓͑̀̈́́́͘ͅn̷̻͓͍͕̣͓̠̏͊͆ͅ ̸̠̣̜̹̙̮̌̂͛̽̈̇̒̈́͆͝a̶̩̽̑̂͆͗͌̔̃͝ ̸̧̯̪̗̞͎̫͇̬̲͉̀͐͛̄s̷̨̖̼̬̥͉̮̮̤̟͛͜ţ̸̮̻̲̺̯̍̿͜͜͠ĕ̵̙̐̒͐́̕̕w̸̧̭͎̫̼͑̃ ̵̡̢̦͖̜̲̟̭̍̾̽͐̌ŏ̸̰͎͍̞̳̰̯́͆̈͊̎̈́͒̂̆̿̚͜f̸̛̞̀̍̆̄̂̊̑̈ ̸̤̹̱̦̭̫̳͙̺̲̖̀͑̾w̸̨̞̫͍̩̮͇͔̯̺̰̃̍̋̃̕a̷̤̰̜̰̬̘̩̮̜̟̐̀̀̾̏̌̇͂͜͜͝r̵̡͍̼̩͎̦͓͍̮͈͎̯̅͆̑͗̈́̎̈́̕͝p̷͔̜͙̒̓̂̒̊ȩ̶̗͖͇̝̖̫̉̑̀̓d̸̡̲̘̔̽̌̒̀̾̐̉̒͝ ̷̝͉͎͐̔͌͂̈́̕̕͝͝s̴̡̮̩̙͉̓̑̄̒̽̉t̴̩̹̣̮̀͂o̴̥̓͠n̸̜̤̯͕͎̂̓̍̒̈e̶̠͚̤̾̒̒̏̈́͂͜͜.̶̧̬̻͇͕̻̩͚͙̫͂͌̈̄ ̵̢͕͔̮͓̫̣̳̹͍͛̐̑̔̍͋̕̚͜͜͝͝T̵̹̖̖̾̈́͊̈̎h̵̻̳̻̟̼̹͑̃̾͐̑̂̚̚ě̵̛͇̊̌͛̊̐ ̶̩͔̣̳͒͐͆̚͘͝S̷̢̗̻̘̯͈̅͑ş̴̧̘̤͍̦̮̹͕̪͖̍̾̍̎̚ͅy̶̩̳̟͔͓̬̗͂͗́̾̈͒̕ţ̶̥͉͇̜̦̽̆̎̾̍̋̊̍́̕ḫ̶͉̼̯͗̀̎͑̀͋̈́̍̓̇͜r̶̥̅́͌̃̂̈́́̒̒̒͋̽a̷̢̘͕̱̻͈̜͇̝̋͌͂̃̈́̾͛̀̅̾̀̑͜n̵̲̳̭̗̈́́̉̃͘͝i̸̧͎̝̗̗̻̗̿̇̓̿̄̐̒̇̓̎̕,̴̙̋͌̓ ̶̛̬̮͖͈͇͉̎̂͛̇̈́͊̓͘w̶̡̲̙͈̮̞̬͈͉͎̣͕̑̒̂̑͊̿̑̂͐͝h̶̛̛̜̟̭̑̅͒̔͝ơ̴̺͔̣̬̈́̽̈́̉̑͋ ̷̧̢̛̤̻̠̎͗̀̿́̒h̸̢̫̻͍̙̱̟̜̲̤̜̠̉͆̐̽̿̀̅̄̓͝͠ĭ̶̡̧̛̩̳̮̤̮̲̭̱͈͛̇͑́͑̉̋ḑ̵̛̗̭̼̔ ̶̛͍̺̮̼̪̈́̇͘͘s̷̛̛͍̹̯͂̆̈́͌͑͗̕ŏ̴͚̔̂́̍͒̔̕̚ͅ ̷͙͈̼̲̻̰̋̌̄͊͘ͅċ̶̛̛̬͕̎͆͊̽̌͆̉̂̌r̶̨̘̮̮̞̻̩̮͇̎͗̓̈̏̀ä̸͖̘̼̖̥̞̩̊͆̐̐͗̀͂͆v̶̡̱̖̞̮̦͆̾̀̅͐̾̕è̸̥͔͖͉̻͕̮̻͈͗͜͜͜͠n̷̨̯̲̒̊͜l̶͓̯̩͓̮͐͗̂̎̃̒͋̓y̸̰̤̓̽͑̒̎͋̏̾̕,̵̧̧̦̰͉̫̹͇̌̌̈́̿̿́͒ͅ ̶̺͕̘̻̰̰̳̰̟̰̭͑̑̈́͠s̵͇̥͚̜̟̙͍̗͠ú̴̖̲̘̬̫͎̖̖̖͂͋̕̕ŗ̶̙̠̖̝̯̖̜͚̟̻̤̌͊͌v̸̭̳͉͎̙̼̐́̓̄̈́̅́͝ï̸̱̅̔͐̌̂͊̕͘͠v̵̬͓̗̯̯̠̅̈́̿̌̎͗ę̴̪̥̔̈́̿d̴̨̛̫̪͍͎̥̫̀̒͌͗̽̾͋̔̈́͝ ̵̡͎̮͇̐̊͋̆̿̓͋̆͜ͅe̵͙̳͉̲̩͈̓̍̇̓̊͋̈͝x̶͉̤̻͈̬͈̼̜͙̙̃̇̿́̕͘t̵̙̞̩̳̮̩̮̩͖̠́̿͋͒̒̅i̶͉͂ṉ̷͑͆͒͆̉̇͊̑̏̃͠͝c̷̡̛̛̤̟͉̊͊̓́̇͑͑̐͝ț̸͙̳̏̑̿̔̐̀͌͗i̷̟̩͘ǫ̷͂̋̑̀n̸̦̩̯̠̠̤̲͗̂̓ͅ.̷̭̙͓̲͙͒̾̃

Skjolvindr

The Resting Place of Skjoldier’s Last Sojourners,  The Pilgrimage of The Sick and Wary

The Frontier

Carved by glaciers, the jagged mountains and sheer valleys of Azuras would form the northernmost region of Skjolvindr. A land of towering cliffs and windswept peaks, brutal hills punched upward from the earth as they formed their own seat among the evergreens and pines that covered the emerald green landscape. A land of long winters nearly year-round, they curiously were not nearly as harsh as one might expect of the furthest north of Azuras - even granted it’s proximity to the frigid wasteland of The Rimeglen. Fog was a constant in the land, a place damp with heavy rains and light snows as mists enshrouded the valleys with each morning. Among the night skies would magnificent colours dance and weaves as if the heavens themselves were a fabric being woven and unwoven, stars dancing and glittering as shooting stars shot along the night like dancers in performance. 

The air smelled of earth and salt, the frozen winds of The Sapphire Sea which blew downward from it’s azure waters. Despite the chill that always lingered within, life flourished among the rocks, mountains, and snowcaps along the land. Hardy herbs like Frostvine, Gelunite, and Barrier Brush caught along the cracks and crevasses whilst moss rolled over and consumed hillsides like crashing waves. The shores of Skjolvindr are jagged and cracked, rocks along landfall that proved hazard to any ship near or far. The surf crashes against the cold region, telling tales of a rugged land sought after by the wary and sick - A place where the followers of Skjoldier’s final true King, Bryndr, found final rest. 

The Last Sojourners and The Crowhealer

Far from the quiet shores of Skjolvindr, Skjoldier’s people had organized a last great fleet - called The Last Sojourners, those which would find a new home for King Bryndr’s tired people. As the night-haunters decimated their people from all the island until The Witchless City, Skjoldier’s leader had made his choice. Amassing the great armada of a hundred ships, the people of Skjoldier left behind their once flourishing and prosperous kingdom - leaving behind only the dregs, the hardy people which would come to inhabit The Witchless City forevermore. A number which grew fewer and fewer by the year, the stubborn and hardy left behind. 

Proud, brave, and hopeful, King Bryndr sought refuge and safety from many lands across the seas - each place more unforgiving than the last. Berillia kept only their greatest minds, in Fjordem did their greatest warriors decide to leave. Across Aeldin did hostile fleet meet the people of Skjoldier, upon a foreign land of Almaris did the nighttime bring with it nightmares that they had sought to escape from to begin with. Years of sailing, the once thousands strong fleet of people from all trades leave behind only the sick, broken, and infirm. Storms battered their ships as they crewed less than a dozen to remain, sails torn and hulls battered by the relentless and fretless ocean. The King holding still a hope he himself no longer believed in. A failed and faithless man who had doomed his people to be forgotten to the sea, for the culture, the life, the very being of Skjoldier’s people consumed by attrition. 

As another storm consumed them, King Bryndr surrendered - not to any foe or nation, but the frank hostility of an uncaring world. As The Last Sojourners broke upon the rocks of where Skjolvindr and The Sapphire Sea meet, his people washed upon the rocky northern shores of the cold land. Even those that still clung to the fringes of delusion understood the little chance they stood - cold rocky soil and a land devoid of any other descendant, they established what little they could. It was than, despite that, they’d met the only native of the land.

From the mountains however, did descend a woman who seemed much alike them. Clad in furs, she seemed familiar with the culture of Skjoldier - speaking in a tongue that they knew, that was familiar to them. One who would become known as The Crowhealer. One who when she would descend from the mountains and out the forests would bring gifts of healing, food, and wisdom to the wary peoples. Although she was as generous as she was wise, she was firm - Bryndr and his people would have to tame this land and make it their own, should they wish to survive. As months and years came to pass, the fragmented few that remained cherished The Crowhealer, one who became a part of their community - knowing each by name, cherishing their stories and tales. Skjolvindr, an indifferent land, had become warm with their presence. Though rumours only a good ending to their tale, they are not found upon Azuras as of the current day.

Over centuries has tale spread, and a rite formed that exists in myth along the frayed edges of society’s most feeble and frail. The Pilgrimage of The Sick and Wary is one undertaken by those who have lost all else - chasing legend that somewhere upon the seas, lay a land named Skjolvindr, which bares a healer able to cure any ailment. Scarcely do any truly follow such a childish tale - yet to any who undertake the journey, they would find themselves infallibly upon Skjolvindr’s rocky shores.

It was only their hope, their determination, their inner strength they would need to bring themselves before her.

Material Name and Description

Coming from only three locations upon all of Azuras, The Tears of Svandara are a colloquial name for the waters which come from three particular falls within Skjolvindr and Rimeglen.

The waters themselves seemed somewhat ordinary, if less viscous than normal water - more akin to pure alcohol. The waters as well would give off a mild sheen-like-gleam that made it easily distinguishable from ordinary liquid. Bearing an almost deep aqua blue colour, the liquid was easily stored and bottled, always keeping an icy-cool temperature that was sensed, but never offensive or unwelcome. On its own, the liquid was tasteless and odorless. 

Applications

When ingested, The Tears of Svandara would produce a strong morphine-like effect, slowing down bodily processes and functions in exchange for the nullification of pain and discomfort. With other additive effects, such as being a natural anti-emetic and anxiolytic, the waters would be a welcome medicine to someone in significant pain or discomfort. 

The Tears of Svandara required to be ingested as a straight liquid in order for it’s effects to be realized, with roughly [25]mL constituting [1] serving. The effects go as follows.

[1] Serving - Dulling of pain, discomfort, anxiety, and nausea. The mind would be dulled and reaction times/general speed would be significantly slowed. These effects would last [12 OOC] hours. Movement speed and carry weight would be halved in total, unable to perform any physical exertion during this time.

[2] Servings - Complete nullification of pain, discomfort, anxiety, and nausea. The mind would be further dulled as one would be unable to perform any physical movement other than positional changes, walking, talking, and heavily slowed manipulation with extremities. One would find themselves in total bliss and comfort, sedated and tired as they were in total peace. These effects would last [12 OOC] hours from the second ingestion.

[3] Servings - Bodily processes would continue to slow as one would peacefully enter a comatose state, sedated heavily as they lost all voluntary bodily movements, thoughts slow and fogged. Fond memories and dreams would flood the mind as a warmth would overcome the slumberer, muscle rigidity fading. Shortly after ingestion, one would pass away within [5 IRP] minutes of ingestion. 

Harvesting Method

Tears of Svandara may be gathered by any traditional means of liquid storage, or supped outright with or without one’s hands.

Redlines

-Tears of Svandara may not be masked, and is easily distinguished from other liquids.
-Tears of Svandara may only be drank willingly, even while unconscious.
-Tears of Svandara may not be mixed with other liquids without losing its effects.
-Drinking Tears of Svandara, being a willing choice, would lead to a PK of a character who takes [3] servings.
-With one serving willingly ingested, one would have the strength of a voidal magi, unable to focus or cast, and with [2] blocks maximum movespeed for any combative purpose.
-With two sevings willingly ingested, one would be totally defenseless and incapable in combative scenario.
-No form of mundane or magical purging, save for Fervour Concentrate, would be effective in reversing the effects of Tears of Svandara. Would Fervour Concentrate be utilized, one would find themselves unable to be effected by Tears of Svandara ever again.
-Tears of Svandara would have a magical reading of mana, but extremely faint. Thanhium or antimagic of anykind would bear no particular effect on the liquid.
-Tears of Svandara may only be gathered from the three areas denoted by a region message on Azuras.
-Tears of Svandara is player-signed.
-One would not be able to form large gatherings or ‘pools’ of Tears of Svandara any larger than a single serving bowl without the liquid evaporating.
-Tears of Svandara would bear no effects in inhaled, injected, or otherwise ingested forms other than oral consumption.
-One sip would equate to 25mL. Would one willingly take multiple sips or chug the beverage, they would suffer the according effects of each serving.