Tales of The Flying Bunyip (D&D 3.5)

Session 1-3: Wedding Crashers
The adventurer's are forced into a melee after their moment of freedom

“Been looking forward to running into you again, Viorian.” A vicious smile crossed Abaddon’s lips as he quickly unsheathed his trusted falchion. His muscles tensed and his blood began to pump, dark eyes fading as he slowly marched towards the three bandits who had thought they had caught him and Celean off guard. The barbarian grit his teeth as he took one step after another, his mind becoming more lost: Thoughts… Natural body functions… Society. It all became as passing thought to the man as the two bandits charged him. There was a twinge of pain as he took the first and second swing at the bandits who dodged his blows with ease. The long time in captivity didn’t help him at all, but it did not matter. He wanted Viorian.

Celean’s movements were graceful, her footsteps following after Abbadon as he made his approach towards the man they met before. As she watched the two men move past him and towards her – The woman’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes focused from one bandit and then the other. A dagger thrusted towards her chest, her left heel planting in place as she swiveled and let it past her. While the bandit’s momentum continued to carry him forward with arm outstretched – Celean’s right knee came up into the man’s arm, her left elbow coming down from above. The sound of bone snapping is heard, but before the man could let out a scream, Celean’s body flowed underneath him and he was then thrown into the air and hit the ground.

The other bandit saw the opening from Celean as she remained kneeled down in a low stance, arms outstretched but her attention at the man she incapacitated. Within moments he came after her with dagger aimed at her throat…


The cook brothers Buck and Chuck knelt down in the tent where they hoped no one would notice them as the fight sparked. “You think it’s all clear brother?” Chuck asked with a nervous tone. “Aye, I do.” Buck replied as he slowly stood up.

Something had torn a hole through the tent’s side as it landed at the cook’s table. It didn’t take much for Buck to start screaming as the object that landed in front him was the head of one of the bandits.

“Calm down! What’s going on?” Chuck implored to his brother from under the table. He wasn’t sure as to what Buck had seen, but he was watching the blonde woman move past the hole, her cheeks spattered with blood – a calm expression as always.


Silas knocked Ben aside, a look of determination aimed at the small manor that housed the bride. His right hand shook as he held firmly to the short sword at the ready.

“You stay away from her!” Peter cried out as he mustered some courage and leapt at the bandit. It did not take much, but Silas dodged the young man’s advances then made a clean cut at the youth’s left arm and watched him fall into the grass. The bandit smirked as he continued to walk forward, eyes shooting from one individual to another, causing the wedding patrons to turn and run away. “You two. Finish off the kid, I’m going after the bitch.” With a gesture with his left hand, the two bandits that had arrived with him nodded and pulled out their daggers… making their way towards Peter and the old man Ben as they laid in the grass weakened.


“It’s nothing personal.” Said one of the bandits as he brushed his thumb along the edge of the knife, pressed his foot down on Peter’s chest.

“It’s just business.” The other bandit said as he pressed his knife up against the throat of the downed Ben.

A flash of light struck the bandit threatening Ben, knocking him into the air and collapsing to the ground dead. Standing in the open, with some hay for Spider, was Otar, right hand out stretched and his eyes glowing. He simply shook his head at the bandit who was looking up at Peter. “You’re free to run.” The wizard said with a sigh, but the bandit thought otherwise. As the villain began to charge Otar in hopes to catch him before he could cast another spell, the wizard slipped his hand into his cloak and pulled out a crossbow and pulled the trigger.


Silas marched towards the manor as he heard cries behind him, knowing his partners were getting the job done. He quickly jerked his head back as a crossbow bolt flew past his eyes. He scanned the area for the attacker, the only one ahead of him was a halfling. The halfling didn’t seem too much of a threat, and for some reason he was pulling out an instrument in the middle of battle. Silas disregarded the odd actions of the little man and continued to scan the area to eye a wagon where another halfling with a crossbow ducked down for cover and began to reload. The cries of panic and battle continued to fill the open wedding grounds, but it was then interrupted by an enchanting voice. Silas didn’t care however, he eyed the halfling and began to charge him, short sword at the ready.

“There once was a maiden from Stonebury Hollow~....” Echoed in the background.


Viorian was humiliated at the road earlier in the day, and he took great pleasure at Abbadon’s approach. “Come on you son of a bitch…” He muttered under his breath, the bandit griping his short sword firmly.

There was a odd song in the air however, and Viorian’s attention then jerked towards his companions. They had avoided the barbarian with ease and made their way towards the blonde woman in red however – One of his companions was no longer in sight now, and the other… the other was without a head, body collapsing on its knees and then toppling forward into the ground.

Viorian’s eyes shot from his companion to Celean who was slowly making her way towards him. But, where was the barbarian? Viorian’s eyes shot to where the man was previously but he was in front of him instead – falchion coming down at his head.


Edgar watched Silas run towards him as he reloaded his crossbow. There wasn’t enough time for another shot as the rogue quickly ducked his head down and the bandit’s short sword missed him by just an inch.

The halfling’s weight carried him backwards and Edgar rolled away from Silas with a smile – dagger drawn out from the confines of his cloak, the halfling gave the man a disturbing grin. “You’ve gotta be faster than that.”

Silas’ attention was now spread out… the two he was with were on the ground dead. The wedding patrons who were once running away screaming in panic were now running towards him and his companions at the tent with a look of feral anger. Things were not going according to plan… but if he was going to die. He will take out as many people as he could.

Edgar’s feet were light as Silas charged him, slashing at the air and parrying each thrust by the human. It was a magnificent display of parrying and dodge, the halfling dancing on his tip-toes like he were dancing with the human. Silas’ frustration grew, the bandit’s steps becoming less predictable and a single swing came down towards Edgar’s chest… but then a THUNK was heard.

Silas’ head reared back as a crossbow bolt had hit him in the right eye. His mouth was left open as if trying to scream out in pain, but his left eye was still focused on Edgar. With what strength he could muster, the human’s shoulder rolled back and his blade came down with a… THUNK.


Slowly rising to his feat, the bandit looked at his right arm… it had been snapped in two, but the woman who had ruined it was walking towards Viorian with her companion. His eyes shot across the wedding grounds as he started to notice many of the patrons rushing up to him. Scrambling to his feet, the bandit began to slap away at the fists that were now pounding on him. The wedding patrons were not happy of his and his companion’s arrival and he needed to get away. As he turned and began to run, his movements were hampered by hands groping at his tunic… but as it tore away, he began to run towards the cover of the forest. As he looked over his shoulder to see how far away the mob was, the last thing he saw was Abbadon leaping into the air with his blade drawn and pointed towards him.


Silas fell to his knees, a crossbow bolt in each eye.

Edgar let out a sigh of relief as he tucked his crossbow back into the confines of his cloak and waved at Bartleby who stowed away his own crossbow.

“Sorry I was late on the shot. I really love that song.” The bard smiled mischievously as he tucked away his own crossbow.


The bodies were gathered away from the wedding grounds and Peter, his armed bandaged up, was standing by the door to the manor.

“It’s alright MJ. Everyone’s alright… the weddings still on and it looks amazing… Despite the fight, the halflings did an even better job than what the decorators we hired did!” “That sounds amazing… And I heard you fought bravely tiger. I’ll see you tomorrow… love you.”

Ben walked up to Abbadon who rubbed his stomach with a guilty look on his face. Apparently the turkey leg he had coaxed from the cooks had not sat well with him, and during the battle he had paid the price. Regardless, Ben smiled widely. “T-that was amazing… not only id you protect us, but you assured that no one else would be harassed by villains such as them!”

The party smiled with a bit of pride in their hearts. Ben offered the barn to them as promised, but made sure the cooks had delivered a great feast for them as well. Abbadon was given a bar of soap and some clean cloths and was instructed that there was a river not too far from the grounds. The decorations had been set, and all the wedding patrons had settled into their tends for the night.

As the moon stood in the sky in a magnificent crescent, the night echoed with the sounds of crickets and the snoring of the attendees. The barn door opened with barely a creek as a shadowy figure slipped out from it and made it’s way towards the manor.

Edgar knelt down by the manor’s lock and produced his tools and began to work… but without success. The lock did not budge, and whoever owned the manor before made sure to keep the place secure before renting it out for such occasions. Fortunately for the halfling, he spotted a potted plant not too far from the manor’s door. “Leave it to humans to be predictable…” Edgar mused to himself as he pulled a key from underneath the flower pot, inserted it to the door’s lock… unlocked it.

Then slipped inside.

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Session 1-2: I've Got a Trick for You
The encounter with Silas and Wedding Preperations
“Spider. The horse’s name is Spider.”

Otar raised a brow. “Wait, what?”

“Peter was very young when he named the horse… little boy you know, not too clear on animals at the time. But the name stuck, and the horse’s name became Spider. Since his Aunt May’s death, always thought it’d be good for little Peter Parker to surround himself with animals and the like. Certainly worked out!”

Otar sat beside Ben with a confused look on his face, trying to grasp the idea of naming a horse… Well, Spider. Bartleby and Edgar sat in the wagon, the two halflings relaxing and enjoying their new found freedom by watching the birds fly overhead as they launched from the forest trees. Abbadon and Celean walked along side the wagon, rather relaxed for the travel, but minutes turned to hours, and soon enough the barbarian and the monk were too tired to stay on foot.

As dusk krept closer, everyone eventually found themselves sitting in the wagon and enjoying the moment of respite. That moment of peace was short lived however as three men stood at the center of the road ahead. All clad in studded leather, two with daggers and the one in lead with a short sword. With heads turned forward, the party lowered their hands on their weapons just in case.

The man in lead seemed to give a wicked smile, long oily black hair resting on his shoulders, clad in earthen tones and brandishing his short sword like a flashy piece of jewelry. Ben had met the man before, and he muttered under his breath “Viorian…”

“What is this Parker? Why the rush? Silas’ been trying to reach ya fer awhile now. Wondering where’s his pay.” The man seemed to laugh lightly as he glanced back at his companions who were now unsheathing their daggers. In the typical, none threatening manner. “Ya told us you didn’t have money, and yet ya got a traveling circus with ya.”

Abbadon’s fingers wrapped around the handle of his blade as he unsheathed it in a none threatening manner, Varion raising a brow and making his way to the large man. “Ya a sword dancer? What’s yer trick? Big ole man inna dress like that? Fancy ya do a little jig?”

“Yeah I’ve got a trick. It’s usually ends with my sword going through a guy’s neck though.” There wasn’t a threatening tone in Abbadon’s voice, but the description seemed to linger in the air… and Varion was left taking steps back, trying to retort but at a lost for words. The other two bandits seemed to take a moment to look at each other then take a step forward… There, Varion raised his hand and sheathed his blade. Soon enough the three left the road and disappeared into the forest.

Ben’s eyes were wide with amazement, the old man practically speechless. “That… was amazing! I’ve never seen Varion so scared- I thought he’d be pissing his fucking pants! Please, you must stay with us for the wedding. We’ll provide room, board. I’m just asking that you all act as a guard until the ceremony is over. I will even give you this wagon… Spider even. Please, this is important.” “We don’t need the horse or the wagon… Just need to know where to go. That’s more than enough.” Abbadon nodded as he sheathed his blade. Bartleby seemed to raise a brow at the offer, as well as the others, but did not step in.

“No I insist. You are all amazing… we can discuss later, but come. We must reach the grounds! We’re not too far now.” With a renewed vigor, Ben whistled at Spider and the horse picked up the pace.

The land was open and not too impressive, but for farmers, this was quite a treat. A small mansion stood at the end of the wedding grounds, the open grass set with chairs and tables. Just across from the mansion stood a barn that was newly painted, several patrons were moving about trying to prepare for the festivities that were to come tomorrow. Cooks had set up a tent near the mansion itself, a minstrel setting the mood as everyone worked hard to make the special day just right.

“Uncle Ben!”

“Peter!”

A young man in his early 20s, short brown hair, and dressed in commoner’s clothing came rushing towards the wagon… a moment of hesitation at first as he saw the company his uncle had brought along, but Peter was quick to relax as soon as Ben smiled.

Words are exchanged between Ben and Peter as the party unpacked the wagon, Otar taking a moment to check on Spider and making sure the horse was well fed. Edgar had already began mingling with everyone, or at least getting a grasp of who had what precious gems. Soon enough Peter approached Bartleby with a relieved look on his face. “Thank you so much for your help, I do not know what we’d had done without the lot of you.” the halfling seemed to smile as he glanced at the patrons attending the wedding, it was composed of human farmers mostly, even the far back had a minstrel. But his attention was jerked back to Peter’s words as the young man clapped his hands. “Uncle Ben explained to me that you’ll be helping us a little in exchange for some goods… and that is just fantastic! As it turned out, our decorators had left and we need setting them up… I heard you are a bard to boot! I… well… my cousin will be playing for the wedding, and to be honest she’s only… “so” good. But ya know… family member… have to give them a part to make them special. I was wondering if… you could maybe show her the ropes.”

Bartleby smiled nervously as he took a step away from the human as he leaned forward as if expecting an immediate answer. “We… can do what we can.” The halfling replied with a tone of uncertainty. Looking towards Abbadon for some help, the human seemed to smirk a little. “Celean and I can patrol the grounds… in fact, the cooks look like they could use some guarding. Come on Red, lets check out the food ‘n’ make sure it’s well guarded!” There, Abbadon made his way towards the food tent, Celean, trying to hide a smile, soon followed.

“Listen… Myself and… my friend there will help us with the decorations, yes? Yes! Good!” And there, Bartleby rushed over to Edgar’s side and proceeded to help with the wedding preparations.

Otar patted Spider on the head, his eyes scanning the crowd for a moment. As soon as it seemed like no one was looking, he cracked his knuckles and began to mutter under his breath the words of the arcane. The air around him rushed briefly and his eyes closed, the wizard reaching out to the realm of the arcane, but there was nothing. There was not a hint of magic in the air, and finally he began to relax… as he slowly opened his eyes, he was surprised to find a young girl staring at him with a look of awe. “Do you…. do magic mister?” The young girl was Silvy, the wedding’s little flower girl it seemed. Otar seemed to blink for a few moments, unsure on how to react to the little girl before nervously replying with a simple “Yes.”

“Show me! I want to see magic!” Silvy stepped forward, taking ahold of Otar’s sleeves and giving it a hard tug. There is a moment of hesitation before Otar took a step back and sighed. There, the wizard muttered a few words and his hands gestured in a fluid motion. As the young girl stood with her jaw dropped, her body began to glow… and then – the glow vanished. There, Silvy, who was once a little girl of 3 feet, was now a 6 foot little girl. With excitement running through her veins, she squealed in excitement of her sudden growth and ran towards her mother. “Mommy look! Mommy look!”

A scream of terror was heard. A little girl got to know what it’s like to be as tall as an adult. A mother got to know the fears of having a giant grown child run after you.

Edgar looked up briefly as he groaned and set the next set of flowers on a pole. There he watched a giant young girl chase after a woman… snickered, then slid down the pole. “That should do it.” The halfling thief seemed satisfied with himself as Bartleby nodded in agreement. The moment of satisfaction was quickly washed away as Ben and Peter were talking out loud to a white haired man brandishing a short sword.

“I wasn’t invited… I’m hurt. Check m’eh name with the boy at d’eh front. Wasn’t on d’eh guest list! ‘n’ ‘ere I wanted t’eh see Pete git married to day pointy eared freak.” The white haired man suddenly cuts at the air at Peter, but Ben pushed him out of the way just in time. “Yer times up, but if ya want t’eh live. Pony up 50 gold. Now. Or me ‘n’ d’eh boys kin pay our respects to d’eh bitch. Don need a freak like that run’n around ‘n’ “poisoning the waters” as it were.”


Abbadon smiled at one of the midget cooks, arms crossed as he glanced past them. Apparently the wedding was composed of nothing but humans, and he had mistaken the two cooks for halflings at first… but what mattered at the moment was a good snack. Celean remained quiet, her eyes scanning the grounds and noticing the two halflings delving into the decorations. It was quite an interesting sight for the woman. The monstary tended to be boring, so acts of art was a practice that was quite fascinating.

“Come on, back when I worked on a ship, the cooks always kept a bit of the good stuff in the back. Maybe you can do me a favor?”

“Just… don’t tell anyone alright? My brother and I could get into trouble!” The cook, Buck, gestured to his brother Chuck, to reach into the store they were planning on keeping to themselves. There, a giant turkey leg was presented to Abbadon’s eager eyes. As the barbarian began to dig into the treat, his brow raised as some unusual sounds rustled in the bushes by the cook’s tent. “Uhm… Red?” Celean, whose attention had then been drawn to her companion’s words had just missed the white haired man’s approach to the Parkers.


Ben’s voice echoed on the wedding grounds as he helped his nephew up to his feet… “Damn you Silas! You go rot in the sun you worship!”

As Abbadon and Celean began to glance towards the commotion, Viorian and two bandits burst out of the bushes and charged them with blades drawn.

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Session 1-1: Strangers Lost
The Adventure Begins

The chirping of birds accompany the sound of an approaching horse. An old palomino pulls a wagon where an old man sits at the front. With his straw hat tilted forward, it seemed like he was trying to avoid attention and eye contact.

As Abbadon’s fingers dug into the ground, he slowly pushed himself up from the bush he had fallen asleep in. With a grunt he took a moment to check his equipment: Blade, his pack, any other equipment he was able to salvage from their escape. Things all seemed in place. As he glanced about, he then noticed Edgar, one of the halflings he was stuck with, eyeing the road suspiciously and quickly ducking into the bushes. Without hesitation, Abbadon was quick to follow suit.

As soon as Abbadon lept into the bushes, Bartleby the halfling bard adjusted his backpack as it hugged his shoulders tightly. The ground he fell unconscious on was nothing suitable to his taste, but when you’re tired, you can’t be picky. Glancing over to his other companions, it seems that everyone has woken and came to. The bard had to take note on his company, after all, a fun story is made of the characters he travels with.

A quite woman clad in red remained kneeling down, eyes narrowed as she scanned the area – Her name was Celean: Not much of a talker, but she had revealed she was one of the Sisters of Red. A mercenary group that helped protect the north, a strict order of monks with fists that were as deadly as blades.

Otar, a quiet and curious human. Not one to make himself known, was a skilled wizard. A skilled wizard who was on the run from the Golem making city, Glasscliff. Although the wizard’s skills were what you expected, it seemed that if he were given the right tools, the wizard could do wonders that’d leave others at Glasscliff in awe.

Then there was Edgar: a mischievous grin on his lips with teeth that’d make you wish he kept his lips sealed. The halfling’s fingers were always twitching as if by second nature, but eyes as observant as a hawk. The young halfling could move about without making a sound and was prone to blend in with the shadows like it was his second home. As Edgar watched the old man’s wagon and horse draw closer, he glanced over to Abbadon. “We could rob him.”

The imposing figure of muscle, Abbadon was a tall human man with a falchion close to his side. Long black hair and wearing a kilt, he seemed to give Edgar a slight nod. The gesture wasn’t agreement, nor was it denial, but it seemed like the man was still assessing the situation. “Maybe… we should let someone who’s good with words handle this.”

The old man sitting on the wagon squinted his eyes as his horse came to a sudden stop. Soon enough a halfling stepped out of the bushes. “Oh no…” The old man whispered.

Bartleby dusted his vest of any pine needles that stuck to the cloth and began walking up with a warm smile. “Greetings!” The old man pulled the pipe away from his lips, fear in his throat. “I-I don’t have the money, I’ve told Silas the payment will be late. Please. Just let me go.”

Bartleby tilted his head to the side in curiosity, his arms crossing before his chest. “That’s not what I…” Soon enough the bushes rustled as his companions began to reveal themselves. The old man bit his lower lip as he reeled back in his seat, but seemed to relax as soon as Abbadon began to speak of their situation.

“We’re not here to rob you old man. We’re just looking for information. Possibly a ride to the next town.”

“I… If it’s information you’re seeking, ask away. I can answer as much as I can. As for a ride, maybe I can ask a favor of you in turn.”

As the others stepped out onto the road, Abbadon seemed to nod in agreement. “A favor for a favor, fair enough. Where are we? Where is the closest town from here?” The old man brought his hand up to his chin where he stroked his beard in thought. “Well… as for where you are, I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for. But the closest town from here is up north, Sansport.” Bartleby’s eyes light up as he takes a step forward, a quick glance towards Otar’s direction. “That’s certainly good to know.”

Abbadon nodded to the halfling bard before bringing his attention back to the old man. “That’s good… then, the ride. What is your proposition?”

The old man was frank about his situation, he was off to celebrate his nephew’s wedding. Not only that, but he was now moving to stay with him and his new wife. Apparently the bandits in the area had kept a tight leash on the roads, a monthly pay of copper for “protection.” Unfortunately due to the wedding expenses, the old man had to skip on the payment.

“I… I just need protection sir… that is all. I ask that you protect me until we reach the wedding grounds. But… I’m willing to offer more if you are willing to do so.”

Extending his hand out to the old man, Abbadon nodded. “We’ll see. What is your name?”

Taking the human barbarian’s hand, the old man gave it a firm shake. “Ben. But my nephew calls me Uncle Ben. Peter, sweet boy. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

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Introduction: Knocking At Your Door
An introduction

It has been days… weeks… months…?

Maybe even years…

Your life has always been clear. That is, until a hood was put over your head and everything went black. As consciousness seized you once again, you were left with only rags and shackles as your new possessions. The wooden floor is made up of splintered logs, poorly sanded to be nothing more than a make shift jail cell. As your vision focuses on a few moving silhouettes, you find others in a similar state – some human, some not. By the look in their eyes, they were all taken without a choice. Eventually a screeching sound is heard and your attention is brought towards the large metal door behind you. A small opening at the base opens up and several trays of bread and bowls of water are shoved in. There isn’t enough for everyone though, and those who have the strength to stand/crawl make no hesitation to get what they can grab.

Time passes and the periodic sound of screaming and cheering is heard. It echoes through the hallways without any sense to it all. Occasionally the cell door would open and two large orcs step in, hooding one of the cellmates and dragging them out. An hour would pass, then another series of screaming and cheers are heard.

AdventureLog01.jpg

On other occasions, the orcs would enter and pull a hood over your head. By the time you came too, you were in a new wooden jail cell. Fortunately your cellmates were still there. Unfortunately, that jerk you’ve come to know as Bob, is still there. He does like taking more of his share of food.

Time passes and the same routine repeats over and over again. Bread and water is pushed into your cell. It looks like there’s enough for everyone. That’s good. At least no one will have to go through the night starving. Bob’s still a jerk though.

Like before a pair of orcs open the door and approach you. In moments a black hood is put over your head and then darkness.

You wake up to the sound of battle.

You are no longer in your cell, but instead in a wooden cage that was being pulled by horses. It’s night and there’s a mixture of curses and commands made by various individuals but it isn’t clear on who’s doing what. As silhouettes run back and forth, clashing by a campfire, tents suddenly burst aflame and people begin to scatter. You could swear you saw Bob run off from one of the cages and into the forest.

Suddenly, an old beaten up man in rags makes his way to your cell, bloodied and out of breath. He’s unable to speak clearly but one thing drew your attention. He has keys. It takes only a few moments for you to look over to your 4 cellmates and realize that freedom was at hand. As your cell door swings open, the man is shot by an arrow from behind. Without hesitation, you and your companions rush out of your cell and seek cover.

Everything else is a blur. The other prisoners have been set loose: some running for freedom, others fighting their captors. Did you hit someone? Did you do nothing but hide? You can’t remember. It was like your body was moving on instincts alone. The one thing for certain, lady luck was by your side. By the time you ran away from the camp with your companions, you had managed to take some items with you. (Yay gear and starting gold!) There was no time to rest however, and the 5 of you ran. Ran as fast as you could. Ran with the wind against your skin. You just ran.

The body can take only so much before it gives, and the 5 of you slow down… eventually collapsing. Tired, exhausted, but free.

Morning hits and the birds chirp overhead. You slowly lift your head and look around. There, you notice that your companions are waking up as well. It seems that in your haste you had managed to find a comfortable bush to serve as your temporary bed. Well, except for that one stick that’s just jabbing you in the side… But you and your companions were safe. Not more than 10 feet from where you are however is a road that looks frequently traveled. As you look one way, then the other, you find a horse with a wagon slowly approaching. Driving the horse is an elderly old man with a pipe puffing away. He looks like nothing more than a farmer with a pile of hay behind him. A completely innocent old man with a pipe. Huf-puf-puf. He’s old. (And so begins your adventure! BTW, the old man isn’t Bob.)

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