Only War: The Forsaken

Game Master Eradico Pravus

Cast from a blighted homeworld, the Guardsmen of Company F fight for the Imperium of Man along the war-torn Spinward Front. Despised by enemies, disparaged by allies, they have no one to trust except themselves for they are... The Forsaken!


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Pen is irrelevant here since no armor bonus due to hit location. OK, here we go with the goofy crit rules again. 10 hits (with Street Fighter bonus rounded down per rule) - 10 soak ("double-soak" w/True Grit) = one wound minimum damage to -4 wounds for ork #8. I'm not sure I'm right but I'm ruling no Righteous Fury since technically a 10 was not literally rolled??

As Trooper Drususon readies himself to attack the ork again, there is a crash as Guardsman dol'Tregre leaps through a doorway and collides with the ork. Dol brings down his chit-sickle and succeeds in slicing into the brute's bulging left arm. An audible crack is heard as the blade rips flesh and crunches bone. With a roar the ork throws Dol aside and comes to its feet but the left arm now hangs limp and useless at its side.

Challenging Toughness Test 44, 1d100 ⇒ 28, succeeds. No loss to WS or BS.

Drususon and Lark are up.


Edwin attacks the ork again.

All-Out Attack on ork #8.

All-Out Attack = 29 + 30 + 5 = 64
Roll : 1d100 = 26

Damage: 1d5(1d10/2) + 3
Damage Roll: 1d10 = 2
Total damage is 2 / 2 = 1 replacing with 3 degrees of success, 3 + 3 = 6

Technically when you roll 1d5 you should roll 1d10 and divide by two so that you can roll 10 for Righteous Fury.


Edwin Drususon wrote:
Technically when you roll 1d5 you should roll 1d10 and divide by two so that you can roll 10 for Righteous Fury.

Thanks, Ellipsis. Dol, let's go ahead and assume that's what happened. Per Righteous Fury, go ahead and make a d5 crit roll (in this case d5 and not d10/2 is fine).


Male Heavy Gunner

1d5 ⇒ 3


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

Seeing that the only remaining ork is being violently dealt with, Lark's instincts take over and he turns to Book "Keep an eye out will you" and he moves over to the nearest bloodied ork corpse and starts picking through it's pockets for anything that could be salvaged for barter or re-purposing... it is a filthy xenos, but that's no reason to be squeamish.

Best looting from the battlefield is done while the rest of the boys are still fighting ;)


Male Human Sniper

"Lets move and set up a new perch."

Me and Dot move to the sturdiest building of the lot to set up on, and give us the best vision down range.

I avoid the bone picker. Don't want to get shot by association with someone picking up a Xeno souvenir. No telling how trigger happy Vex is.

Best to just focus on my job. Maybe if we are very lucky we will live long enough to be pardoned and allowed to settle a planet some day. Nice pipe dream, but I'll take it.


Dol wrote:
1d5

Dol, Righteous Fury does have an effect, see below.

The ork wounded by the heavy gunner snarls and lifts its bolt pistol with its remaining good arm. As it does so there is a snap and its left arm dangles even more limply. The xeno shudders drops to one knee, grimacing in obvious pain.

Ork #8 stunned for one round.

Storm Trooper Drususon seizes upon the ork's hesitation. The elite soldiers bounds forward and drives his knife into the greenskin's chest, pulverizing its innards. The goblinoid rasps, doubles over in pain, clutches itself and screams in agony.

Drususon's damage puts ork #8 at -5 wounds and is now stunned for two rounds. Toughness test 44, 1d100 ⇒ 44, succeeds and no fatigue is assigned.


Hathin De'Lark wrote:
...and he moves over to the nearest bloodied ork corpse and starts picking through it's pockets for anything that could be salvaged for barter or re-purposing... it is a filthy xenos, but that's no reason to be squeamish.

Rolling the beast over, the sporchi quickly pats down the slain greenskin. The stink of sweat, blood, viscera, and fecal matter is nearly overwhelming. It wears hodge-podge armor on its torso which is covered by a bandolier of misshapen bolt rounds. It is boggling to the weapons specialist that such poor ordnance could be fired with any sort of consistency. Around the ork's neck is a thin piece of rope with blackened ears, undoubtedly from human, goblin, and ork victims. In a belt pouch is several metal shards which are odd and misshapen. Most look like they were chipped or broken off of machinery or weapons. One piece might be currency but it is so mangled, scarred, and carbonized that it is beyond recognition. Searching inside the flak vest yields a leather bag closed with a tie-cord. Lark opens it and dumps the contents into his hand: four large yellowed ivory ork fangs.

"C'mon, Lark," says a nervous Book as he scans the buildings for enemy, "We are sitting ducks out here. Let's move!"


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

"Easy precious, cavalry's pushin the rest of the bastards back and the good sergeant'll have the last of em bleedin out soon enough." as he pockets the ork fangs, pausing a moment to contemplate the forcible extraction of the beast's own teeth before shaking his head and moving on to the next corpse.


Into the Fray--Round 21

Initiative Order
Anselm 13
Scope 12
Doc 10
Orks 8
Sarge 7
Dol, Vex 6
Drususon, Lark 4

Ork Status:
Ork #1: dead
Ork #2: dead
Ork #3: dead
Ork #4: dead
Ork #5: dead
Ork #6: dead
Ork #7: dead
Ork #8: -5 wounds, stunned for two rounds.

Squad Status:
Anselm 14/14 wounds
Scope 14/14 wounds
Doc 11/11 wounds, has received First Aid
Sarge 12/14 wounds, has received First Aid
Dol 7/12 wounds, has received First Aid
Vex 14/14 wounds
Drususon 17/17 wounds
Lark 3/13 wounds

With immediate threats neutralized, Scope and Dot leave the shelter of the furrow and move towards one of the larger, more sturdy structures. They sprint past the sporchi as he rifles through the pockets of a dead ork. Dot scowls at Book who shrugs his shoulders in response and gives the spotter a "what can I do?" look.

Doc is up.


Male Human Medic

"De'Lark get over here so I can treat you."


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

With a last filch into a pocket and leaving the xenos with a desultory kick to the nards Lark stands up proud as a peacock and disdainful of any chance of incoming fire. He saunters over to Doc with his trademark sneer in place "Yeah, yeah... keep me pretty Doc" chuckling at his own humor even as blood continues to slowly weep out of the wounds suffered at the Xeno's hands.


Male Human Medic

"You'll never be pretty, but I'll put you back together."

Medicae(70 - 10 heavily wounded) = 1d100 ⇒ 30
4 degrees of success + 5 = 9 wounds back.

"There you go, you might want to get to me sooner next time. Of course, next time they might hit your head and it will just bounce off."


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

12/13 Wounds

Chuckling Lark shakes his head "No point coming if theres still killing in the offing."


Once De'Lark slumps down next to the medic, Doc is astounded that the weapons specialist can stand, let alone move. Two vicious gun-club swipes from the ork have left massive bruising on Lark's left thigh and some fracturing along the right leg. The medic injects pain-killers and bandages both the thigh and leg to facilitate healing and lend support. The medic knows the wounds will hurt like hell later but the weapons specialist should be okay.

Doc, Lark:
Nice verbal banter. Keep up the good role-play!

Squad Status Edit:
Heal for Lark is noted. Lost in the shuffle around post #350 was a wound suffered by the Commissar. Vex's current status is 8/14 wounds remaining.

Sarge is up.


Male Sergeant

I'm pretty sure that even with a Charge I can't reach the final ork in the southern structure, so Sarge will take a Full Action move in that direction to help Dol and Drususson, aiming to at least grant them a 3-1 Ganging Up bonus.

His adrenaline pumping, and refusing to cede the momentum it has given him and his aching ribs, Sgt. Mire rushes across the broken ground between the two dilapidated structures, chainsword in hand, hearing Dol and Edwin's shouts as they corner the last ork in a vicious melee.


Male Heavy Gunner

I shake my head at the resilience of the orc but swing my Chit-Sickle at it again.

Weapon Skill: 37+30 All out attack +5 comrade = 72 1d100 ⇒ 2 Common Mono-edged Chit-Sickle: 5m Range, Dam 1d10 ⇒ 9divided by 2 + 4 = 9 R, Pen 1+2=3, Razor Sharp, Mono (+2 to Pen) I am not sure what the damage dice was doing but it should be fixed now. I also did not add any ganging up bonuses as I was not sure it wou;d be 2 or 3 to 1.


The commissar follows the sergeant's lead and makes for Dol and Drususon's position.

Inside the ran-down hut, Dol aims for the greenskin's head but at the last moment the xeno raises its right arm to take the blow instead.

OK, I feel like I'm on thin ice again but here goes. Chit-sickle is d5+2 + SB 4 + Street Fighting 1 (WS halved, rounded down). So damage is 5+2+4+1=12, subtract ork crit double-soak of 10, moving ork to -7 wounds.

The heavy gunner's chit-sickle easily rips through skin, muscle, bone, and sinew, turning the ork's arm into a dangling ruin. The monstrosity wheezes and drops to a knee. Its bolter clatters to the floor and blood pours profusely.

Ork #8 takes 1d10 ⇒ 3 Strength Damage and is now suffering from Blood Loss

Drususon and Lark are up.


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

Lark checks over his plasma, gives Doc a wink and calls out to the Sarge "Sarge you feckin offed that xenos yet? - or do ye need a real man on the job?" as he begins to strut towards where the last sounds of near battle are coming from.


Male Human Medic

"Go, but learn how to dodge better. I don't want to see my beautiful work made as ugly as your face."


Edwin attacks the ork again.

All-Out Attack on ork #8.

All-Out Attack = 29 + 30 + 5 = 64
Roll : 1d100=71


WS 29 + all-out 30 + custom grip 05 + ganging up (2:1) 10 = 74
Attack successful, please roll damage


Damage : 1d10 / 2 + 3
Roll :1d10 / 2 + 3 = 7 / 2 + 3 = 4 + 3 = 7


7 points damage soaked, one point minimum moves ork #8 from -7 to -8 wounds.

As the ork attempts to stave off Dol's chit-sickle, the storm trooper lunges in and buries his blade into the xenos' chest. The mono-edged weapon cuts through rough leather armor and dermis of the beast. With a vile sound the skin rips away, leaving behind a red ruin of muscle.

Toughness Test required, 1d100 ⇒ 87, failure

The ork falls to its knees and one remaining hand, pukes up foul, putrid-smelling bile, and then collapses, dead in a pool of its own blood, vomit, and urine.

Ork #8 is dead.

All:
The combat is now shifting from structured to narrative time. Feel free to post actions, dialogue, etc., as you see fit.


Scope wrote:
Me and Dot move to the sturdiest building of the lot to set up on, and give us the best vision down range.

The sniper and spotter move past the first few rows of wooden huts to larger rock-crete structures. Dot tugs at Scope's arm and points to an external ladder that leads to a roof.


"Sarge" wrote:
His adrenaline pumping, and refusing to cede the momentum it has given him and his aching ribs, Sgt. Mire rushes across the broken ground between the two dilapidated structures, chainsword in hand, hearing Dol and Edwin's shouts as they corner the last ork in a vicious melee.

The Sergeant uses his good leg to take the small steps leading into the building in a single hop. With panting breath he braces himself against the doorway, managing to see the grisly demise of the greenskin at the hands of the storm trooper.


Ignoring the medic's Parthian shot, the weapons specialist leisurely makes his way across the battlefield.

Hathin De'Lark wrote:
Lark checks over his plasma, gives Doc a wink and calls out to the Sarge "Sarge you feckin offed that xenos yet? - or do ye need a real man on the job?" as he begins to strut towards where the last sounds of near battle are coming from.

De'Lark sees that the sergeant apparently ignores him and instead peers into a now-quiet wooden structure.


Male Heavy Gunner

"Well that took longer then expected. Gerr, lets get back to the ship and see if they have any rounds we can scrounge up. This early and only having 1 full drum left is going to be bad."


Male Human Sniper

"Taking my perch."

I start climbing up the ladder to set up my kill zone on the roof.

Thinking about Dol's words it was an aweful coincidence that so many of our weapons jammed. If the enemy would have chosen to assault instead of giving us time to get our weapons clear a good number of us would be have our tags kicked between our teeth and left for orderlies to pick us up after.

"Hey Sarge, who issued us our equipment?"

Might have to pay a visit to that Shtako later.


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

Over his shoulder to Doc "Guess not eh?" Lark glances at Book, whose adrenaline is fading and looks to be turning back to scripture and the words of his Infantryman's Primer. Shaking his head Lark begins a jaunty whistle as he slowly strolls through the battlefield, following the shuttle rut to the North a while before double backing to come upon the house where the Sarge was looking into from the Northside.


Male Sergeant

Sgt. Mire watches the stormtrooper dispatch the final ork with a brutal, Schola-trained efficiency that leaves little question as to the effectiveness of his training.

Thumbing off the chainsword activation stud, he shakes gore and mud from the blade, wincing as he feels his ribs tensing with the motion. After making certain that both Dol and Drusussson are uninjured, he turns to look back, out of the crumbling structure.

Seeing Scope and Dot clambering like three-pawed Unduz tarsiers up the side of neighboring building to get in position, he responds to the sniper.

"No idea, Scope, but once I find out, all bets are off, and some Munitorum inspector is going to get six inches of Guard standard issue steel-toed boot up his arse."

Scratching at one of the sizable slug-round impact holes on the lintel of the door, he yells something else up to the sniper and his spotter.

"Get your magnocs out and get a lay of the land, see if you can find us a less obtrusive approach to where the Brontians are holed up---and keep your eyes out for more greenskins, it doesn't look like everyone went to the big party up north."

Muttering to Murjoff, he limps back out of the building.

"Let's get everyone assembled around the northernmost structure and get a temporary perimeter in place before we catch up with the rest of the company. Radio command and let them know, short of counter-orders, we plan to move up the eastern flank through the ruins to see if we can seize some kind of advantage that way."

He hears Lark, but chooses to ignore his braying.

Good way to get a gretchin sniper to single you out, Hathin...

Surveying the carnage, he realizes they were lucky.

If the orks hadn't decided to hunker down, and simply charged the squad, we'd all be dead. Good thing they misjudged our numbers---I'm sure the entire company moving north behind us probably helped some in that regard.

Reloading his carbine, Sgt. Mire moves north to where the sniper has holed up, glancing back now and again to the shuttle, wondering if Anselm managed to make it back for the walker and when they might be able to rely on its fire support.


Male Human Medic

De'Lark might have no respect for command, but at least he has a sense of humor.

"No, I guess not."

Warmaster:
Was that gregarious enough for his demeanor?


Dol wrote:
"Well that took longer then expected. Gerr, lets get back to the ship and see if they have any rounds we can scrounge up. This early and only having 1 full drum left is going to be bad."
Sarge wrote:
"Let's get everyone assembled around the northernmost structure and get a temporary perimeter in place before we catch up with the rest of the company. Radio command and let them know, short of counter-orders, we plan to move up the eastern flank through the ruins to see if we can seize some kind of advantage that way."

Gerr looks from Dol back to his NCO. "Uh, Sarge, is it OK if we make an ammo run?"


Scope wrote:

"Taking my perch."

I start climbing up the ladder to set up my kill zone on the roof.

The spotter waves at Sarge, acknowledging his orders. Scope and Dot scramble up the side of the building and find an ideal location. Although the roof is pitted and crumbling in spots, they carefully position along the northwest corner that commands a decent view of fighting to the north. The sniper lays prone and sets up his rifle and tripod. Next to him the spotter arranges wind gauges and magnoculours.

At a cursory glance Oremor armor and infantry seem to be pushing their way north towards the Brontian installation. There are no apparent greenskins in the immediate area.

Scope, using your advantage from the roof, please make an Awareness Test.


"Sarge" wrote:

Muttering to Murjoff, he limps back out of the building.

"Let's get everyone assembled around the northernmost structure and get a temporary perimeter in place before we catch up with the rest of the company. Radio command and let them know, short of counter-orders, we plan to move up the eastern flank through the ruins to see if we can seize some kind of advantage that way."

The sergeant and the remainder of the squad gingerly make their way north to the base of the building occupied by the sniper. An exception is Hathin De'Lark, who calmly strides as if there is no concern to be had. Book zig-zags behind the weapon specialist, sprinting from behind a bush to laying prone behind a small pile of rubble, then to the remainder of some long-neglected wooden shack. The guardsman calls out to his comrade, "For the Emperor's sake! Get your head down before it gets shot off!" He then mutters some oft-recited battlefield litany, probably for the benefit of the sporchi.

Sarge approaches the rendezvous point, his back pressed against a sun-baked rock wall. A few seconds later Murjoff follows suit, speaking contact protocols into the vox.

Also sporting an air of confidence is Commissar Vex. He walks past the slain orks, taking the time to behead each with his chainsword. At the top of his lungs he shouts, "You can never be too safe with these greenskin abominations, men!"

Doc:
Great job, Lorm. Doc let De'Lark's abrasive personality roll right off his back. Perfect!

Everyone arriving at the rendezvous point make a Hard (-20) Perception Test.


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

Awareness (TN=36-20=16): 1d100 ⇒ 36

"Shut-it Book, man could do his back in crouching and scurrying like a rat like you." coming up on the Sarge he raises his plasma in a mock salute "Bit o' fun there Sarge... when does the real fighting start?"


Male Human Sniper

Using the advantage of height, and my scope I scan down range.

Awareness Test (1d100=42)


Male Human Medic

Awareness(43-20) = 1d100 ⇒ 76 I knew my string of good rolls would fail. Maybe Zees will see it.


Male Sergeant

Perception: 38 - 20 = 18, 1d100 ⇒ 58.

Mire looks across the ruined expanse of buildings into the distance.

Hathin De'Lark wrote:
"Bit o' fun there Sarge... when does the real fighting start?"

Mire watches Lark approach, bombastic as usual. His reply is flat and emotionless.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself, Lark. Next time maybe we'll even have some fire support besides Dol. When Anselm's back get that plas checked."

He continues to search the horizon, having long ago gotten used to the sporchi's antisocial tendencies. Not an easily provoked man, Sgt. Mire maintains his grim placidity. With a severe stare that could just as easily be affixed upon the weapon's specialist, his terse reply conveys that he isn't in the mood for any nonsense.

Seeing the commissar approach, he sighs, sending another subtle cue to Hathin to move along, his worry returning that the sporchi and the new commissar will renew their tense interaction from the landing.


WS 40, BS 20, S 35, T 35, Ag 35, Int 30, Per 30, WP 40, Fel 43, Wounds 14/14, FP 1/1

Hathin gives the Sarge a nod at his suggestion of getting the plas checked out. "Roger Sarge, be easier to put the green feckers down if it didn't crack the sh1ts every time I pulled the trigger. They're ugly... but they're hard bastards to put in the mud."


Sarge:
Is Sarge giving Dol and Gerr the OK to make a shuttle-run or do you prefer they arrive with you at the rendezvous point?


Male Sergeant

Nodding at Hathin, Sarge turns to Dol.

"Dol, Gerr, hustle back to the shuttle and get those drums. I have a feeling we're going to need the extra ammo before all is said and done."


Combat complete, the stormtrooper unslings his rifle and breaks open the casing. He quickly finds the troublesome capacitor shrorting out the las system and wedges the plates back to their proper positions. Maintenence complete, he snaps the rifle's topcovet back into place and jogs back over to the Commissar. In the few moments before they are in earshot of the common soldiery, he chides the impetuous Commissar for his recklessness.

"You nearly got yourself killed there, these Xenos are dangerous, let the troopers do their jobs. A good leader leads without getting himself killed."


All:
Three encounters are happening essentially at the same time and will be handled separately (for the moment): 1. Scope atop the building. 2. Conversation between Drususon and Vex. 3. Remainder of squad moving at the rendezvous point beneath Scope's location.

Scope wrote:
Using the advantage of height and my scope, I scan down range.

Scope's Awareness Test successful by two degrees.

From his perch the sniper has a good vantage of the battle to the north. A cursory survey of the field reveals that Oremor 4th infantry and armor has reversed the tide of battle. Tracked Chimeras and Sentinel Walkers drive wedges into the orks and some enemy are being put to flight. Although the fighting is well beyond the range of his sniper rifle, Scope sees that some stragglers are moving his way as they make for the jungle forest to the east.

Scope, feel free to make three separate opportunity attack rolls at extreme range (-30). You may of course aim, use your spotter and any other advantages at your disposal.


The political officer gives a grime and blood-spattered smile to the storm trooper as Drususon exits the dilapidated building which was the scene of his melee.

Edwin Drususon wrote:
"You nearly got yourself killed there, these Xenos are dangerous, let the troopers do their jobs. A good leader leads without getting himself killed."

Vex's smile slowly disappears as he is upbraided by the elder soldier. His jaw becomes set and facial muscles tighten. "What? You dare to question my valor? What do you mean?" His expression softens somewhat. "I thought... Didn't you go after? The gretchin?" After a brief moment the commissar puts his chainsword back on his belt, buttons his loose jacket, and straightens his cap. "You are right of course."

Only then does Vex seem to notice the wound in his right leg. His pant leg is torn and dried blood is caked on his thigh.

"Let's catch up with the others."

As he hobbles north, the commissar asks Drususon, "What have we learned so far about these greenskins?"


"Sarge" wrote:

He continues to search the horizon, having long ago gotten used to the sporchi's antisocial tendencies. Not an easily provoked man, Sgt. Mire maintains his grim placidity. With a severe stare that could just as easily be affixed upon the weapon's specialist, his terse reply conveys that he isn't in the mood for any nonsense.

Seeing the commissar approach, he sighs, sending another subtle cue to Hathin to move along, his worry returning that the sporchi and the new commissar will renew their tense interaction from the landing.

Awareness Test for Sarge, Doc, and De'Lark fail.

Heavy Gunner Dol and his mate Gerr move off at a trot to the southwest to hopefully replenish their stubber. From his current position the Sergeant sees no immediate threat from either the north or east. Buildings block his view of the main battle, however. The medic and his orderly crouch in the scrub nearby. De'Lark and Book fan out to the north; Book cautiously, the weapons specialist nonchalant.

Adjacent to the sergeant, Murjoff gets off the phone. "Dammit, Chief. There's a lot of chatter on the horn right now. Good news though. Sounds like our boys are routing the greenskins."

Sarge, make a Tech-Use attempt for Murjoff to see if he can learn more/communicate on the vox. Not sure how to handle this but for now let's put Murjoff's Tech-Use at 35.

Sarge, Doc, De'Lark, feel free to post any additional actions or comments as you see fit.


Male Human Medic

Awareness(43) = 1d100 ⇒ 75
I don't see anything.


Male Human Sniper

Yes I will aim, and use Dot's wind adjustments.

"Give me mark's on the tree line."

Seeing survivors making there way toward the tree line. I snap off a few rounds. Better to kill a green skin today rather than it come back and kill ya tomorrow.

Ballistic Skill (1d100=24)

Ballistic Skill (1d100=64)

Ballistic Skill (1d100=31)

Tried posting these last night, but internet went down because of winds.


Male Sergeant

Tech-Use (35) test for Murjoff, 1d100 ⇒ 44.

After conferring with Murjoff regarding the course of the battle to the north Sgt. Mire allows himself a tight-lipped grin.

Good news for a change if our armor is getting the job done. These brutes are tough feckers to kill.

He leans toward Murjoff again as the sharp crack of Scope's weapon reports from above.

"Just keep trying, we need as much information on the tactical situation as we can. We're kind of on an island right now and I don't want us getting cut off by their retreat."

Mire considers their next step as the rest of the squad gathers around.

"While we're waiting on the sit-rep, does anyone have anything to add?"

Mire honestly values the opinions and advice of his men, but he eyes the commissar warily when he utters this request, knowing that his egalitarian ways are often more than frowned upon by the traditional military establishment of the Guard.

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