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Classic-Castle Roleplay: February 2005

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Classic-Castle Roleplay: February 2005

Postby Formendacil » Tue Feb 01, 2005 7:15 pm

Greetings Roleplayers!

Additions to the CCRP should be posted in this thread. Questions or commments regarding the continuing epic should be posted in this thread.

Let the adventure continue!
Last edited by Formendacil on Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Tue Feb 01, 2005 11:08 pm

Devari wrote:Under cover of night, Willem entered (Q-Eight) the lands of the Dark Forest. He prayed that he would be safe, and traveled a ways within the border before finding a comfortable cave and taking a well needed rest...

His last thought as he slipped into the inviting arms of sleep was whether Graygon had made it.

He did not have good dreams that night.


When Willem awoke, he could barely move. Not only had his wounds made his muscles rigid, but a foot of snow had blanketed him during the night. Sitting up and shivering, Willem cursed all the Wolfpack, plus a few other nations thrown in for good measure. He cursed himself, too, for being a fool. He should have know, ever since the Fell War, that the sentiments of the Wolfpack were changing.

For generations since the beginning, the Wolfpack had been nothing more than mercenaries, rogues and highwaymen, preying upon Crusader royals, Fright Knight peasants and even there cousin Forestmen and Dark Foresters. When Willem's father had become King of the Three Daggers, he had attempted to turn the Wolfpack to less despicable ways. He patched relations with Lord Isaac of the Forestmen, and to a lesser extent, the Fallmir Kath of the Dark Foresters. He also got the Classic Emperor to finally recognize the Wolfpack as a legitimate faction, and set of small trade routes with the Royal Knights.

But that was not to last. Even before Willem had romped with the Misfits, diplomacy between Wolfpack and it's lukewarm allies began to waver. When Willem did not return from a simple scouted and his most loyal lieutenant Graygon disappeared too, the Wolfpack soon devolved into their pre-'civilized' ways. Defoe Grimtongue rose to power, and the Wolfpack's fate was sealed. Even when Defoe had been slain by Radjar Kath, heir to the Dark Forest throne, the brooding among the Defoe loyal continued. Throughout the reign of terror BloodVaine unleashed upon Dametreos, Willem Blackcloak's follows dwindles, though conversion and betrayal or by execution by others. Slowly but sure, the leader of the Wolfpack was loosing support.

Then she came. Lady Ciroal Grimtongue, sister of Defoe Grimtongue. While the other factions of Dametreos were distracted with their own pressing problems, the overwhelming followers of the Fair Lady rose and ousted Willem, and executed any who dared stay loyal to the true Wolfpack King. All who vouched their loyalty to Lady Ciroal lived, the rest died. One by one, Willem lost friends and family, until only Graygon was left. Now he, too, was gone, either dead, lost, or going somewhere else.

Willem Blackcloak was alone....

...or was he?

Like a sleek fox, Willem threw himself quietly to the ground. In the distance, a twig snapped. Something was coming! Willem deduced that it was humanoid, and there was only one. Whoever it was, he or she wasn't a Forestdweller, or at least not a skilled one. But who else would be wandering about Fell Isle, a place home almost exclusively to members of the Wolfpack, League Of Forestmen and the Dark Foresters.

Now Willem could see the person. It was a female, tall, with blonde hair almost bleached to white, hacked off at the shoulders. She was wrapped in a cloak usually worn by Forestmen, and she had carried a hewn staff at least eight feet long. She appeared not to be armed. Willem was contemplating whether or not to reveal his presents when the figure called out.

"Come out, Willem Blackcloak. I know you are hiding. You have nothing to fear, I do not seek to harm you."

She stare directly at him and began walking in his direction. Having nothing to loose except his life, Willem stood.

She looked at him with eyes that seemed to permanently wrinkled in sadness and said, "A sad day, indeed, Blackcloak."

"Who are you?" snapped Willem, craning his neck upward.

"I am the sole living person of both the Gladwheel and Turnleaf families." she replied cryptically, "My name is Katherine."
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Wed Feb 02, 2005 12:54 am

The entire day Bjarn, Reno, Aros, Luxus, Shainya, Voolmark, Sir Dractor and Anardan continued south, not talking, simply walking onward. There would be plenty of time to talk when they reached the Yellow Castle. Little did they know what dangers will still ahead.


Five days after the sled incident, the Fellowship Of The Pendants at last crossed the border into Classic LEGOland. They were all in high spirits. Their packs were lighter, and so was their step. They had just reached the peak of a steep hill when all megabloks broke loose. Or, more precicely, a chunk of snow did.

It started as a small tumble, but suddenly it became much more. Suddenly, there was no hill, there was simply a boiling, roiling mass of snow cascading downward. Bjarn and Sir Dractor went down first, the snow swallowing them up and tumbling them down. Reno, Aros, Luxus, Shainya, and Anardan all followed. Only Voolmark, using the Earth Magic, was able to keep himself from being swallowed.

(awful post, I know...but what else is there to do?)
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Postby Commander Redbeard » Wed Feb 02, 2005 11:52 pm

Location: Hill in Classic LegoLand

The snow engulfed him. Anardan dropped his staff and struggled to keep his head above the snow, swimming with the flow as it thundered down the hill. The sled disappeared under a wall of snow, and the lead rope still attatched to Anardan's wrist pulled taught. Under the snow, the sled was hauled along by eddies and currents of boiling white snow, dragging Anardan and the others who had pulled the sled along, helpless to resist the pull. Anardan's head struck a piece of wood, and he passed out.
Sitting in a midnight glade
Firelight dancing off burnished blade
A Forestman sits
Wondering about the next day
But after three mugs of ale
Let it bring what it may.
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Postby Formendacil » Thu Feb 03, 2005 1:46 am

Grid: D-15
Location: At sea, between the mainland and the Dragon Master/Ninja colonies.

Formendacil wrote:"Aye," said the Dragon Master.

"I fear then, that he is in for a sore disappointment," said Kendo. "Few ladies in the care of Yuri Firetresses make it to Anka Dolour unharmed."

As they passed southwards, the snow began to disappear entirely, and the storm ended. It was still cold though, colder than it ought to have been at sea that far south.

"I don't like it," said Quorandis. "The weather is all funny. It shouldn't be this cold here."

"It isn't warm, I'll grant you that," said Elbadar. "But you needn't dress in fur, and it's too warm for snow. Surely that's normal around here?"

"No, it isn't," said Kendo, coming up behind them. "I've sailed these waters for twenty years. It has NEVER been this cold here. You've never been to sea before, have you Dragon Master."

"Yes... er.. um... No!" said Elbadar. "Well, I was once, just not, ah, around here."

"Indeed?" said Kendo unamused, raising the eyebrow above his patch. "You look somehow familiar...."

Quorandis cleared his throat, and changed the topic. "How soon until we reach Anka Dolour?"

"Perhaps a week. Maybe two," said Kendo. "Assuming we meet with no trouble, like that son of a shifty brick sorceror and his Dragon Masters! We're not far now from the spot where we met that accursed magic-wielder and his filthy Dragon tamers!" Kendo spat.

Then he looked at Elbadar. "Dragon Masters?" he murmured in a low voice. "I wonder..." And with an evil glance, he turned, and headed belowdecks, muttering to himself.

Elbadar turned to Quorandis.

"I didn't like the sound of that..." he said.

"There's nothing we can do," said Quorandis. "Leave it be."
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Postby Devari » Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:38 am

R-8, Daggerfall Spire

Ciroal Grimtongue simmered. Between incompetent guards and Blackcloak's ingenuity, her prize prisoner and his faithful lackey had escaped, causing a riot in the process. She knew she should have blinded them both... Why had she been so stupid?!

As "the Fair Lady" berated herself for her mistakes, a sorry looking lieutenant came into the throne room.

"What do you want?!" Ciroal snarled.

"Uh... M'Lady... Uh... We got Quickdagger and Innkeeper Wolfsbane... Uh... What are your orders?" stammered the poor intimidated soldier.

"Blind them, torture them, and then execute them. In no particular order. I just want their loyalist heads nicely fresh and bloody on a pike in Market Square. Understand?" Ciroal cooed in a sickly sweet tone of voice.

"Uh... Yes M'Lady." stammered the soldier as he speedily exited the throne room.

Already Ciroal's reign had become one of the bloodiest in Wolfpack history. She had executed close to 70% of the loyalist population in just one month. The smart ones had fled.

There wasn't just the Blackcloak loyalists to deal with. It was well know that George Houndstooth, leader of the Bloody Dagger faction was eying the throne. He was, unfortunately, not in Daggerfall and almost impossible to get at. The majority of his supporters in the spire had so far escaped torture and execution.

Ciroal made a promise to herself upon hearing of the death of her brother that she would slay every Dark Forester alive. She also swore she wouldn't make the same fatal mistakes as her late brother.

Ciroal's war would be carefully planned, unlike foolish Defoe's. No overextending, no trying to hold too much territory. Nice and slowly, a political war at first. She had no doubt allies could be found among discontented Dark Foresters.

Her thoughts turned back to Willem. The little physco wouldn't make it far... He'd taken too much physical damage in the prisons. Once she tracked him down, the broken former leader would be easy prey. It was a miracle he had escaped the first time... We would have no second chance.

She let herself have a childish giggle at the thought of the unshaven rebel's head mounted on a plaque in the banquet hall. Oh, he would be such a centerpiece for conversation...

As the day turned to night, she gazed out the window at the subdued street. She watched guards putting up heads of subdued loyalists and spreaders of discontent upon the pikes. She would not make the same mistakes as Defoe. She would not make the mistakes of Blackcloak.

She slept delightfully that night...

[edit] ((Dumb me forgot to spellcheck! :D))
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Postby Cyclonis » Thu Feb 03, 2005 6:50 am

Okay, I am only JUST getting into this. I still don't fully understand the story, even though I've read it all, but this is my contribution.

D-15 Location - in the top left corner of D-15, the sea between the Ninja colonys and the mainland.

"Well, this is great. multiple weeks into the frozen sea, and I still haven't got a tan", said Cyclonis as he was looking out through the foggy sky for another sight. Kayfir chuckeled that joke to himself, but Qual-Ren just stared, seeking his mother and father. "I am unsure of that building over there...follow the sighting, it may be land!". Cyclonis padelled the canoe further towards the un-known landmark. Kayfir had also forgotten his sword, he had left it home in the lion's kingdom (G8 ). He was kind of concerned about it, but he was more focused on searching for Qual-Ren's parents.
"He looks very worried and sad" Kayfir whispered to Cyclonis. "Knowing that your parents abandoned you would make you feel so in-superior and neglected!" he said.
Cyclonis replied to the whisper "Well, thats usually what happens when parents abandon you" he said.

"Just because your whispering doesnt mean that I can't hear you" Said Qual-Ren, in a rude, annoyed category of voice. The other two stood silent after, just looking at each other.
After minutes of silence between the three men, Cyclonis spotted the nearby tower. "Hey, that's not a tower, you two. Its another boat!"
He kept padelling towards the boat, fog getting less packed, and the view getting much clearer.
" you think that they see us?" said Qual-ren.
"Of course they can see us. Were only metres away, are we not?"
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Postby Devari » Thu Feb 03, 2005 2:49 pm

R-05 - Sharpfang Citadel ((New WP City))

George Houndstooth slowly examined the map of Fell Isle. Since the Bloody Dagger had declared itself to be independent from Ciroal's rule, the Citadel would soon be under attack. This was no problem for Houndstooth - he had supplies enough to last the city for upwards of 8 years. He had been stocking up constantly and slowly for the past 6 years, skimming small amounts from Wolfpack stockpiles every month or so. It all added up.

The armory had just been stocked up, the smiths and fletchers were working... Overall, he had a strong strategic position.

Of course, Ciroal would have spies everywhere. A small group of devoted Daggers naming themselves "The Inquisitors" were having great success hunting down and murdering suspected spies. If a few innocents died along the way... That was no problem to George.

The original architects of the Citadel had planned it so defense was possible by a force of roughly 1,000 soldiers - the Daggers had about 10,000 men in total, most of which were defending Sharpfang. Ciroal would have to either invest a large amount of time and troops into the defeat of Houndstooth, or live with a constant thorn in her side. George liked making his enemies uncomfortable.

The 2,000 or so troops the Daggers had outside the citadel were organized into small guerrilla forces of about 100 soldiers each. The plan was to have these troops intercept goods and messengers, while also tracking down Wolfpack stockpiles and pillaging them. Spies were constantly recruiting new Daggers all around Fell Isle.

The only thing that disturbed George was the total lack of support for the Daggers on the mainland, and small groups of Blackcloak loyalists all across the island. Already Willem's arena escape had been immortalized by loyalist-sympathizing bards. He had been turned to more of a legend than a person by these storytellers.

George was jealous.

[edit] ((Arg, spelling again...))
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Postby TheOrk » Thu Feb 03, 2005 4:42 pm

Grid J-10 Near Orion

The snow kept on coming, but Sir Weigraf didnt notice. He was by the far the most dangerous thing on the road that day.
He could not think straight, for years he had stayed hidden in his burrow. Somtimes in the darkest hours of the night he heared it calling him, until at last he was to tired to fight it. He knew he was on the road to Orion, it seemed like an eternity ago but he knew. He heard it calling him over the blowing snow, from the direction of Orion.
Weigraf forced his way through a snow drift, he would not be denied...
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Postby Formendacil » Thu Feb 03, 2005 4:55 pm

Grid: F-17
Location: At sea, between the mainland and the Dragon Master/Ninja colonies.

Formendacil wrote:Elbadar turned to Quorandis.

"I didn't like the sound of that..." he said.

"There's nothing we can do," said Quorandis. "Leave it be."

They passed farther southwards. The weather warmed. Somewhat.

But it was quite apparent that Kendo and his crew had cooled. Kendo obviously recognised Elbadar, and viewed Quorandis as an equally guilty party just for being his companion. Besides, the samurai pirate had never been well-disposed towards the Cavaliers, or any authority for that matter.

So far though, the ship did not deviate from its course. Nor did Kendo or any of his men do anything openly to threaten the passengers. But it was as apparent as the chill wind that SOMETHING was in planned.
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Postby TheOrk » Thu Feb 03, 2005 8:34 pm

Grid J-10 In Orion

Sir Weigraf made it to the city gates. For the first time in years he felt pain. Now whatever called him, there seemed to be many of inside the city. Groaning he almost fell to his knees. The snow blew everywhere and the city gates were closed. Using his powers he slipped inside the city without anyone noticing. The city was still recovering from the great battle before.
The pain in his head subsided. Keeping to the shadows he came to an area of buildings crowded with those who had lost their homes. He sensed pain and suffering, he was very close to his goal now, very close.
He stood at the back of a long twisting alley. It was getting closer. Laughing, a theif fingering a fine purse stepped in to get away from the snow. An intense fire burned in Sir Weigraf's eyes. With inhuman speed he lunged at the theif. No one heard his screams over the storm beyond the alley.
Weigraf had torn him limb from limb. Now he understood what called him. There would be many more victims before this night was over...
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Postby Robin Hood » Thu Feb 03, 2005 10:49 pm

Grid: G-8
Location: Kings Quarters (again I know)

Kjeld's head hurt. He sat in front of a small fire in his private quarters and rubbed his temples.

This was now the third day of a temporary lull in the storm. This let messengers, who had been trapped, to arrive (if with somewhat difficultly) at the castle and report to the king. And the reports weren't good.

"It could hardly get worse if a horde of dragons invaded, or if a volcano erupted in the middle of a city or if a thousand demons killed us all." thought the king. "well, maye the dragons would be ok, at least we would be warm."For that was what most of the reports were about. Though food was not too scarce, a good harvest had happened last fall, people were dying because of no fuel to burn.

The land of the Royal Knights had never had much forest, only the most Eastern end of it. Plus, it was near impossible to cut down what was there due to the storm.

Kjeld sighed, this was only part of the trouble. In Port Jozef, things were worse. Though it had nought but a light fall of snow, the people were living in terror. Not of the weather, but of the pirates, slavers, and thieves that had made Port Jozef their home. Already four messengers had come from the city.

"Something must be done." thought Kjeld. He called for a servant to bring General Kirk to him.

The general arivied shortly, "what can I do for you sire?" he asked.

"How many men do we have that aren't needed anywere?"

Kirk thought for a moment before answering, "about 3000 all told, scatered through out the main land."

"Good," said the King,"do you think you could get at least 2000 of them at Port Jozef within three days?"

"I might sire, with a bit of extra marching."

"Very well, I want you to go and clean the city of all thieves slavers and pirates. Put the lower criminals in prison, but bring me the higher ranking ones for trial here."

The general bowed, "very good sire. I will do it at once." He moved to leave.

"Stay a minute," cried the King. "I need your counsel on something else. Do you have any suggestions on what to do for our freezing people."

The general replied, "if this lull last long enough, and if we had hundreds of men to spare, I would suggest that wood be brought in from the east part of the country and given to the people, but we have no men for such a challenge."

"No we.." started Kjeld, but then stopped. He then asked in a slightly different voice, "General Kirk, how many falcon soldiers are currently imprisoned in our land."

Seeing were the king was going, Kirk replied, "around 1000 to 1500."

"Then I think that it is time that they repay us." said Kjeld.

"Very good sire."

"I get someone else to look after this, you better get ready to march general." said Kjeld.

"Yes your magesty." and Kirk left the room.
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Postby Lord_Of_The_LEGO » Fri Feb 04, 2005 4:54 am

Commander Redbeard wrote:The snow engulfed him. Anardan dropped his staff and struggled to keep his head above the snow, swimming with the flow as it thundered down the hill. The sled disappeared under a wall of snow, and the lead rope still attatched to Anardan's wrist pulled taught. Under the snow, the sled was hauled along by eddies and currents of boiling white snow, dragging Anardan and the others who had pulled the sled along, helpless to resist the pull. Anardan's head struck a piece of wood, and he passed out.



Bjarn's lungs were punched free of air as the snow swallowed him. The old Forestmen could do nothing as the snow dragged him along, simply wait until the ride was over or until he ran out of air. Stragely, Bjarn felt no fear. Perhaps it was because he was so helpless, at the mercy of Mother Nature herself. In other situations, Bjarn could have at least done something. While Bjarn battled in the courtyard of the Eastern Knight's Kingdomers fighting for his and his friends' lives, he had been afraid. When he and Dale rushed like mad to carry Shainya to medical aid, Bjarn had been afraid. When Bjarn charged the Gates Of Orion with his Forestmen and other allies, he had been afraid.

Not now. Now, clutched in the relentless grip of the avalanche, Bjarn could not be afraid. He could only pray. Bjarn had never been a very religious man, and the only time he mentioned the gods was in a oath. But now, Bjarn prayed. Prayed for the lives of his friends and companions. Prayed for the lives over everyone else affected if the Fellowship of the Pendants failed. Lastly, Bjarn prayed for himself. Then he ran out of air, and knew no more.


Something slapped across Bjarn's face. Hard. When Bjarn did not respond, the slap came again. The hand was about to slap a third time when Bjarn said loud and clear, "I prefer the splashing-water-on-face-to-wake-someone-else-technique."

Sir Dractor, who had been the person slapping Bjarn, laughed.

"Then it'd freeze on you face, and your chilled enough."

"Where are we?"

"If I am not mistaken, under what's left of Anardan's sled, which itself is under at least four feet of freashly-tumbled snow." replied Sir Dractor simply.

Bjarn sat up and promptly hit hit head hard on a slab of board.


He rubbed his head and looked at Dractor.

"Where are the others?"

Dractor shook his head sadly.

"I don't know."
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Postby The Green Knight » Fri Feb 04, 2005 6:25 am


Just then there was a noise of approaching footsteps. Brugs grabbed Dale's hand and plunged back into the sword, dragging Dale with him. The two spirits watched as a man rounded the corner. It was Logen. Dale wanted to hail his friend but Brugs was too fast Dale soon found the man's hand clamped tight over his mouth.

“Quiet now, mister. Let's just see how this plays out...”

“Dale. Dale, are you in there? Answer me Dale.”
“Are you sure this is the right sword Logen?”
“Yes I'm positive.”
“And he hasn't said anything?”
“Not a word since I found him.”

The conversation continued on above the cursed sword. They were all back at the inn now. The sword lay on a chair, as all around it Dale's friends tried to guess why the sword was silent and why Logen had found it beside the bodies of two dead Dragon Masters. Little did they know what was really going on inside.

“So, your name's Dale is it? Stupid name.”

Dale was still in the sword and still in Brug's vice like grip.

“I'll bet you're wondering how I can talk to you with out letting them hear. It's called a teleharm. Not that you'd know anything about that...”

“I might know a thing or two.” Dale responded.

“Well, not bad. Who taught you? Not talking huh? Not that it matters. I'm figuring things out you know. Working out the rules of this place. For instance, I know that we can leave the sword, but not leave it behind. I know we can talk to people outside, but we can't teleharm them. Yes, I've tried. I know we can control the sword from inside. That's how you killed me. And we can do just about anything we want to when we're outside. I also know that I'm dead and that you killed me!”

The Dragon Masters eyes burned as he tightened his grip on Dale's neck. “So... Who killed you?”

Dale winced. His position was uncomfortable but not life threatening. Dale no longer needed to breath.

“It was a wizard.” Dale shot back through his teleharm connection. “A Dragon Master, wizard. You know, you can keep me pinned here for all eternity but it still won't change anything. Honestly, what are you going to do now? You're cursed. And as much as I detest the thought, we're going to be stuck here together for a very long time. I'll bet I know what you'd go for right now. A flagon full of ale, a purse full of gold and a saucy wench to take up to your room when you've had your fill of the gin. But all those things are beyond your reach now. You cannot taste, you cannot touch, and gold is worth less then dirt. All the vices that once controlled you: greed, lust, vengeance, they're all gone now.”

“No!” Brugs screamed. “That's where you're wrong! I may not be able to make you pay, but I will still have my revenge. The payment will come in the blood of your friends!”

It was an evil and spiteful plan that had come into Brugs head. And Dale was horrified by the very thought. For a moment, Dale forgot that he couldn't break free, and wrenching himself from Brug's grip, shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Logen, Walf, look out!”
Let us stop for a moment and ponder the signiture...

Ok, enough of that!
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Postby Loneranger » Fri Feb 04, 2005 7:21 am

Grid K-22

The Lone ranger finally came upon a small trail, and after following it for awhile he came to a round clearing with a small hut and a man chopping wood beside it.

“Ello! Who be yee?” The man said putting his axe down.

“I have traveled over sea to come here, I am looking for some one.” Lone ranger replied.

“Ahh, well, who might this person be?”

“I do not know his name or what he looks like.”

“Well then, that doesn't make much sense, now does it?”

“No... But I need to find him.”

“How can you find something if you don't know what it is?”

The lone ranger started to turn around when he noticed a long scar on the old man's arm.

“This man I am looking for, they say he has lived for many years and should probably be dead.” Lone ranger spoke.

“Oh they say that do they?” The old man replied.

Silence followed until the old man broke it.

“Would you be so kind as to split the rest of this wood for me? In return I'll set you up for the night and give you supper.”

Lone ranger pondered about this for a few seconds and then looked around. The sun had already started to set, and it was getting dark.

“Thank you, I will accept.”

“Good! Supper will be done soon, come inside when your done.”

The Lone ranger started splitting wood and made a pile next to the hut.

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