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Thread: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

  1. #1

    Default A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Charles IV, The Gravedigger

    Charles Godefroi Sophie Jules Marie de Rohan never knew his father. But he never knew he had three more middle names or his true last name, either, and he was content regardless.

    Charles’ worries lay in the earth, like the corpses he was digging holes for would soon rest. He had to dig six feet deep, and dig fast. The more corpses you made homes for, the more you’d be paid at the end of the day, which was still next to nothing. Charles did not mind, though. Not because he was a hard worker, nor for any love for the Polish army that ensured a steady supply of dead to bury, but because it was the best he had ever had in his young, brutal life. He hated getting dirty, but he had been far dirtier.

    He focused on the scoopful of dirt in his knotted old spade’s mouth, and then put it out of his mind just as quickly, just as carefully, he flung it over his shoulder onto the mound waiting to undo, or, as he chose to perceive it when he was feeling optimistic, complete, his work. The crunch of brittle metal stabbing through the dirt established the second point of the set of repetitions that comprised his labor.

    The rusty head gulped its fill and spewed it gracefully onto the pile once again, completing the process of making downward progress — a repetition of up, and down. Full, and empty. Foot, by foot.

    He finished the hole and mopped his forehead with the long past stained rag he kept tucked in his waistband. He hoisted himself out of the grave and looked over at the crude row of graves already completed. He had done half, his colleague, Alojzy, the other. Though Charles had dug his faster, he would always maintain between the two.

    “Lovely day, eh, Aloj?” he said, peering down into the grunting man’s hole.

    “Your jokes,” the bald man groaned under his shovelful of earth, “are never any good, Charles. Much like this lousy heat.” He swiped the perspiration from his brow and thrust the same hand up to Charles for a lift out of the hole.

    Charles saw the sweat coating his plump friend’s hand but hoisted him up anyway. Alojzy made more of a huff than Charles, despite his aid, and stood squinting, his mouth ajar like a dog. This made Charles forgive his friend’s lack of discretion, for the one thing that Charles was rich in —despite others’ claims otherwise— was humor.

    “Today I believe I was born somewhere hot like Spain. It doesn’t bother me a bit!” he proclaimed.

    Alojzy frowned and leaned onto his shovel. He was a good enough friend, and had been Charles’ since they were both urchins. Preposterously, he was even poorer than Charles, due to some reigning habits, and was often wracked with worry and despair over his financial situation. Charles would listen to him gripe about this cheater at a card game, or this soldier he owed money, and he would make jokes so that Alojzy could direct his irritation at Charles and forget about the harsh world.

    Nothing was harsher than death, so why add things to contribute to the death of you, was how he saw it, especially as a gravedigger.

    “That was your theory last summer. If these were Spanish corpses filling these holes, maybe we’d be able to determine that.”

    Charles framed a smile and hefted his shovel onto his shoulder. “That was the end of my side, Aloj. Find me when you’re finished, we’ll go to the tavern.”

    Charles started toward the quartermaster, the official delegated supervision of the gravediggers that were in the Polish military’s employ. Alojzy called out something after him about not having any money but he knew he’d see him there anyway.

    “That’s five today, sir,” Charles informed the skeletal bean-counter.

    “Eh?” the man croaked from under his pile of paperwork. “Ah, Charles Godefroi. My best man. Here’s your pay, son. There will be plenty more waiting for you come winter.”

    Charles raised an eyebrow at the cryptic old fellow and asked him what he meant.

    “You haven’t heard. As of this morning, we are at war with Prussia!”

    “Prussia? What’s happened? More nonsense about Gdańsk?”

    The Quartermaster shook his head with such enthusiasm Charles could hear the bones in his neck creak. “Saxony, my boy! The Prussians marched into the little state last night and seized the whole place for themselves. As Saxony’s master, we are obligated to fight to liberate them.”

    “Saxony…” Charles whispered more to himself than to the death's head smiling up at him.

    “Yes, sir. We set out to rendezvous with the Austrians once the army is mustered. They will guide us through their territory and accompany us on our mission of rescue.” He slammed his ledger shut and blew out the candle illuminating his tiny office. “Get your things together, and tell that good-for-nothing Alojzy not to get thrown in jail again. I’ll stay behind myself just to whip him, if he does!” he griped in the darkness.

    “I will, sir. God be with you,” Charles said uneasily, making his exit.

    “God be with you, Charles Godefroi,” the Quartermaster’s voice trailed after him.


  2. #2
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    I like the idea of showing us the campaign's events from an unusual perspective, and the viewpoint of a gravedigger is certainly unusual for an AAR! Good update.

  3. #3

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn View Post
    I like the idea of showing us the campaign's events from an unusual perspective, and the viewpoint of a gravedigger is certainly unusual for an AAR! Good update.
    Thank you for being the first, again, Alwyn! Yes, this story is a little like your Haiti story. I take track of the country, the armies, the battles, but we only really see what affects Charles.

  4. #4
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    An excellent start! Charles' profession as a gravedigger will be very interesting as a viewpoint to the campaign. You set a nice premise to Charles' character and I'm intrigued to see how he will develop in this character-driven AAR. I'm certainly hooked!

  5. #5

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Quote Originally Posted by Turkafinwë View Post
    An excellent start! Charles' profession as a gravedigger will be very interesting as a viewpoint to the campaign. You set a nice premise to Charles' character and I'm intrigued to see how he will develop in this character-driven AAR. I'm certainly hooked!
    I'm happy to see you're on board, Turk! I like the viewpoint as well and I've plenty to do with it, so I'm excited for this story.

  6. #6

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    The Last Drink

    “Prussia? Saxony? Austria? Are you serious?” Alojzy asked, hefting the tankard of beer he could not responsibly afford.

    Charles shrugged and took a pull from his more modest glass. “That’s what the master said. He expressed the usual concern with your commitment to grave digging for the Polish Army, so I don’t think he was joking.”

    Alojzy frowned and wiped the foam from his lip. “What do I care about Saxony? I can’t afford to go to Saxony.”

    Charles chuckled. He was glad to have his friend along for the long march west, if there was a silver lining to war. “The army pays you to come along and dig their graves, Aloj. It won’t cost you anything but your socks.”

    “Can’t afford socks either!” the distressed man complained. “It’ll be months before everything is ready and organized for battle, and by then, it’ll be freezing, sopping winter!” He threw up his hands and the barmaid mistook the motion for an order and asked him what he’d like.

    Charles sipped his drink and looked away to refrain from laughing at the spectacle that was Alojzy explaining to the maiden that he could not afford another drink, and that if he could, he would not be in the grimy employ of the Polish-Lithuanian army.

    The girl only needed to hear an apology, but instead was confused by the blithering man, and walked away by the end of the ramble knowing more than what she preferred to. Alojzy turned back to his companion and set his elbows upon the table, holding his face in his hands with a bleak look.

    “Drink the rest of your beer, friend. Don’t want to let a drop go to waste,” Charles teased with dancing eyebrows.

    “Drop yourself, Charlie.”

    He drank the rest of his tankard and they thought no more of Prussia, or Saxony, nor Austria.


  7. #7

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Life has definitely gotten in the way, but I've finished the game this story will take guidance from. I've just got to arrange my notes and decide how I want to compress the span of the game and choose how long it is. It took me 47 turns to get what i wanted but I don't think I want to follow Charles into his 60's in what likely could have transpired in maybe 10 years. There's also a bit of manipulation going on because the game takes place from 1700-1799 (Or 1747 in this case) but the Bonnie Prince's defeat was in 1745 and I need him as an old man for this tale... its a little complex but I feel excited to figure it out!

  8. #8
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    A lovely pair Charles and Alojzy are. In better times they could be a wonderful comedic duo.

    It's always exiciting to start with something new and try to figure out how you're going to do things (working around game-mechanics and such). I for one am very interested to see what you'll do with this AAR.

  9. #9

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Shouts in the Night

    A shot broke the peace. Shouts rang out in the night.

    It wasn’t any of Charles’ business. Not the dying. Only the dead.

    Charles regarded that as the business of the soldiers that his kind, the camp follower, followed. They created and suffered death in an instant, but provided Charles and Alojzy and the other gravediggers work to last them an eternity longer than whatever awaited the corpses once they were buried.

    What weighed more than Charles’ sense of business was his priority to preserve his life. He had joked with Alojzy that the rear of an army must certainly be the safest place in the world; you would be the first to know of an impending invasion. If he had known that it was the general who had lost his life that night, and would subsequently need to be buried by him, Charles would have been more concerned with the shouts in the night.

    No one saw it happen, but sentries nearby heard the shot, and saw a figure slip away from the general’s tent and dart into the shadows. They gave chase and despite their cries of alarm, lost their perpetrator in the darkness. The first responders to the cry had already determined there was no life left in the general. He had died within moments, leaving no clue to the identity of his killer, if he had even seen him.

    Dobromil Zagrobelny, the lieutenant general, was roused and informed he was now commander of Poland-Lithuania’s western army. He gathered up the bedclothes about him and as his first order as general, asked for privacy till morning. The officers retreated from his quarters and shared a puzzled look before shaking their heads and returning to their posts. The Quartermaster was found, wide awake, and presented the body of the late General Kazimierez Potocki for a swift, careful burial as they awaited word on his intended final resting place. The Quartermaster then delegated the task to Charles Godefroi, who was ready to take care of the business. Charles in turn shook Alojzy awake to split the task and the pay for burying a general but found he was following the example of the new general and turned over in his sleep.

    Charles dressed and found the late general waiting for him draped in bindling sheet in a barrow. Charles was taken aback a moment by how alike the gentleman’s corpse was to any other he had buried. Wrapped in white, round, vague, the general’s body was as anonymous as the living man had been to Charles, having only ever heard of the man.

    He wheeled the body out to the graveyard and stopped beside a half-dug grave Alojzy had begun but did not finish. Charles noticed the silence fill the graveyard once the rattling wheels had come to a stop. He looked around, partly for a shovel, and partly out of some dark instinct. There was nothing. Only the shovel and crude crosses. Nobody else. Just Charles and the late general.

    Charles withdrew the shovel from its resting place and began work on beautifying the grave to correspond with its temporary resident’s rank. He carved what Alojzy had hacked, smoothed what was left rough in a job half done. Charles didn't labor making the grave any deeper, he knew the general’s family wouldn’t want him to stay there.

    He did his work quickly, and disregarded the cold sweat that soaked his shirt under his arms. He laid the General in his grave gently, and although he was not religious, nor a soldier, he did his best to bury the man with a sense of respectful ceremony. The shovel carried out its salute with a scoopful of dirt laid gently down upon the dead man’s chest before the rest piled on without pomp. When the grave was filled, Charles picked out the neatest looking cross from the pile and placed it above the general’s head.

    Only then did Charles feel himself again, alone in the world though surrounded by quiet, polite dead. He looked around, and found a smile waiting to be reclaimed. He took it and wore it, among the ditches and crosses, grateful to still draw breath, appreciative of how lost Alojzy would be if he died. Not out of a loss of professional responsibility, like the general had been to the majority of the army, who had never known the man, but solely because Alojzy had known him. Although he fretted mostly about himself, Charles knew Alojzy cared deep down. He had seen it on the street, when Alojzy really did have nothing, and shared it with Charles freely.

    Charles planted the shovel where he had found it, and ambled back to the Quartermaster’s office to delegate half of the job’s pay to Alojzy.

    The army marched out of Warsaw and made its way west in the morning. The soldiers marched without urgency, shaken by shouts in the night.



  10. #10
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    The general assassinated before the army even left the capital; an unfortunate encounter. That does not inspire confidence for the war I'm sure.

    I really liked this part:
    Quote Originally Posted by DreamKing
    Charles was taken aback a moment by how alike the gentleman’s corpse was to any other he had buried. Wrapped in white, round, vague, the general’s body was as anonymous as the living man had been to Charles, having only ever heard of the man.
    It sounds very true and genuine. A dead body is a dead body no matter who or what you were.

  11. #11

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Quote Originally Posted by Turkafinwë View Post
    The general assassinated before the army even left the capital; an unfortunate encounter. That does not inspire confidence for the war I'm sure.

    I really liked this part:


    It sounds very true and genuine. A dead body is a dead body no matter who or what you were.
    I appreciate your frequency in reading, Turk! In the game, it was a weird, not very consequential thing but it would be a very big, very suspicious deal for an army on the verge of deployment.

  12. #12
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    I agree with Turk's comment, and I like the way that you started with sparse but important information and then gradually told us more. Charles sounds like a decent guy, someone who will do the right thing even if no-one would see or know.

  13. #13

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Hey, guys. I bear bad news you likely already know. This story is shelved for now. I've lost heart for it and have not done anything with it since I can even remember. I hope to come back to it one day, as I have all the info and plans in place, I just have to do it. I can't presently, though. I apologize. I disappoint myself most of all. But, I will post a battle I got down, its a jump forward from where this left off, as the in between is where I lost interest. I think its pretty good, and I hope its an adequate goodbye.

  14. #14

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    The men broke from the sparse cover of the snow blanketed trees and ran as fast as they could in columns to the unguarded, southeastern section of the fortress. The Austrians advancing from the west captured the Prussian defenders’ attention, and received most of the cannon fire and pot shots as their intimidating line of battalions marched defiantly toward the wall.

    The first of the Polish foot infantry fished their grappling hooks from their packs and flung them over the fortress wall, pulling on them to secure them against the sturdy stone fortifications. The Prussians finally noticed them below, and the cry of alarm rang out, followed by the battle cry from the invaders as they recognized the time to fight had come.

    The first row of men gripped the ropes dangling over the side of the wall and began pulling themselves up as furiously as they could. The last row of men laid down a blanket of covering fire over the climbing men’s heads, forcing the Prussians who rushed to bolster the defense of the corner of the fortress to duck and fire their muskets blindly. Men still found the wind knocked out of them, musket ball propelling them from the rope almost at the edge of the wall and sending them plummeting headlong and lifeless onto the men below.

    The pikemen rushed to the gate, bracing themselves against it to conceal themselves from the searching barrels of the soldiers above. They watched the infantry die on the snow or fall off the wall with nary a thing they could do to defend themselves. They cursed the Prussians and then they remembered, amidst the loud frenzy of battle, the Austrians, and they cursed them too.

    Men did make it over the wall, and they took cover in the round corner turret of the fortress, sending balls toward the Prussians split between focus on the Austrians and the Poles. The garrison were merely peasants; men rounded up and forced to wield an old gun that was expendable and dependable as they were, in the eyes of the military. They screamed and flinched as the rounds struck them or the narrow walls that formed a funnel for death to travel from the mouths of the Poles’ muskets.

    The first regiment made it onto the ramparts, and drew their swords, charging forth to smash their wide eyed enemy between their comrades rushing to reinforce them. The second regiment made it up and took positions to unload volleys across the fortress at the backs of the Prussians’ heads raining death upon the Austrians. The third foot regiment hoisted themselves up, the most unscathed by bullets, and used the space bought by the first regiment’s push to seize the gate’s controls.

    The gate grumbled and the pikemen let out their own cry, yanking the mighty doors open together and rushing behind the armory, dodging gunfire from the guard of the fortress inner sanctum. They remained there, securing the back entrance for the third infantry regiment to climb down the stairs and occupy. They knocked out the windows and thrust their muskets out, bursting what remained of the window panes like another falling of snow in their concussive blast toward the unprotected reserve guard of cavalry. The horses were spooked and ran rampant through the rest of the guard, trampling men indiscriminately. The pikemen took advantage of this opportunity and charged into the fray, running men through and slaying terrified horses if they had to.

    The first regiment had cut their way through to the southwest corner of the walls and made themselves targets for the vestige of Prussian forces remaining over the main entrance. A Polish soldier, catching his breath and keeping his head behind a turret, glanced over the wall and noticed that the field was empty. Of living, that is. Crops of corpses lay fresh and vibrantly red meters from the wall, grappling hooks flung across the snow, the furthest thing of any Austrian to make it so far. The Pole’s jaw dropped and his brow crumpled. He shouted what he saw to his sergeant, and everyone else heard it, over the gunfire, over the shouts of pain and moans of death.

    “The Austrians are dead!”

    The troops grumbled and took the man’s word. They couldn’t worry about it, they had to live long enough for it to matter, in the end. The second regiment of line infantry had lined up against the southern wall, and were firing indiscriminately toward the mass of Prussians packed between the little teeth of the wall. They began to throw themselves over the edge, onto the roof of the stable, some of them falling through the thin wood and crashing into the hay below. It didn’t matter if their fall was cushioned, or if they had abandoned the wall, the pikemen came for them, and they were killed before they could rise.

    The men on the wall gathered and took headcounts. The sergeants reported the numbers up and the officers congratulated each other. Their casualties were less than one hundred; acceptable losses against a fortified force of roughly the same number of troops,
    without the Austrians’ aid amounting to anything.

    They remembered the Austrians, and peered over the fields, distantly making out tiny figures disappearing into the forest. A cry was let out. The officers looked over to the southern section of the wall and they saw dark masses marching toward the fort, without fear, and covering every inch of white snow with iron gray.

    “Reinforcing Prussians!” the colonel cried out, indicating their direction to the men in the armory. They switched sides, aiming their rifles through the windows at the southern gate.

    The gates were closed by the pikemen, who took positions on either side, ready to thrust their pikes at whoever came through. The two regiments took cover behind the battlements of the southern half of the wall, readying their muskets until the Prussians were in range. The Colonel had a guidon posted at the southwestern end, signaling its capture to the cavalry that could serve no purpose in a siege. The enemy would perceive it as a show of defiance, however.

    The Prussians’ own cavalry waited on the flanks of the ten regiments of infantry, soon left behind as the soldiers marched forth. A musket sneezed, somewhere down the line, and a Prussian fell. The officers looked over the wall and screamed for discipline. The numbers were getting to them. Their brief victory was only exercise that exhausted the soldiers for another death struggle.

    The Prussians showed no care for the man who collapsed onto the snow. They stepped on him, change-stepping over his back to get back on cadence. They halted, perfectly as one body. The first two rows raised their muskets like headsmans’ axes, and let the balls fly. A horizontal hail cracked and exploded against the facade of the fortress, sending shrapnel and bits of stone flying. Taller men and those who couldn’t help but stick their heads up were knocked back like dolls, limp and still.

    The soldiers with spent muskets in their hands sprinted for the wall while the men in the back raised their weapons and fired. The Poles kept their heads down and could not lay down any resistance upon the Prussians’ vulnerable heads. Regiments crashed against the walls and took to the ropes. They began to climb, finally open to peril of the original besiegers’ resistance. Men dropped from the ropes soaked with blood of two different peoples but the men hoisting themselves up beneath them were undeterred.

    Half the regiments stayed on the Earth, working on breaching the doors with tools and strength of arm and will. The men massed against the door, protected from gunfire above by the arch of the entryway.

    The cavalry, led by the replacement general, sprang into action, thundering over the field, tearing up the footprints left by the two different armies. They knew they were tremendously outnumbered, but if the flow of Prussian soldiers could be stemmed, the men atop the wall may be able to hold their own. The riders spurred their horses rapidly, driving them faster and faster in a row spanning the gate to the backs of the men laying down cover fire for the climbing soldiers.

    The huffing horses alerted the rear guard, who turned, ready to defend their brothers, but it was too late, for all. The Polish cavalrymen let out their battle cry and raised their swords. The impact of horse on man was earth shattering. The rear guard of the regiments of invaders was propelled into the core, toppling row upon row of man caught unaware. The men piling against the gate managed to burst through, but not in time to escape the power of the charge. Like a man caught in a raging rapid, the soldiers were flushed against the great door, bursting it open with the combined weight of the bowled mass of the soldiers.

    Infantrymen were crushed to death, impaled on the man behind him’s bayonet, slashed by saber, shot from above. The men at the gate scrambled to their feet, only to be skewered through by the pikemen lying in wait inside the fort. The momentum of the Prussians seemed washed away, but men reached the wall, and the defenders could not divide their attention. The horses were trapped in their own carnage, mobbed by rising soldiers, their riders ripped from their saddles and beaten to death on the ground. The pikemen could not swing their pikes in the tunnel, and were overpowered.

    What remained of the cavalry retreated, and the pikemen fell back to the armory, where the infantry waiting inside could cover them through the windows. The defenders on the wall were overwhelmed by their fresh enemy, and could not summon additional strength to restrict them to the southeastern tower of the fort. The line of control moved closer and closer. Prussian gray pushed Polish maroon back, over the yards of white snow between the gate and the armory, and by inches on the wall.

    The pikemen were pushed against the wall of the building and killed, their comrades above unable to load their muskets fast enough to save them. Even ready to fire, their weapons could not save themselves from the surge of relentless Prussian soldiers through the backdoor and up the stairs, purging the Poles floor by floor until none remained.

    A handful of foot soldiers stood on the wall, pushed all the way to the southwestern tower. The entirety of the path they had been pushed was crammed with Prussian soldier, living and dead, Polish corpses underfoot. The last line of the regiment these last Polish had defeated were now the front line, the tide of the Prussian hurricane. They said something to the Poles, in a tongue foreign, but exhausted just like them. The Poles refused to answer, looking forward to rest perpetually in death.

    The last of the Polish besiegers leapt against their adversaries, and died fighting.

    The Austrian general, x, was waiting for the decimated Polish cavalry over the hill. He and his company appeared untouched, but wore faces of shock and bewilderment.

    “We have failed, then?” the general asked the blood soaked riders.

    They didn’t answer him, not yet. They rode on, back to the Polish camp and led the camp followers and the artillery and the ill back to Austria, the general and his men following silently behind them as an impotent guard.


  15. #15
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Your writing conveys the tension and drama of the battle, with some good phrasing such as the "searching barrels" and nicely done images such as the "little teeth of the wall." (I think you meant to add the name of the Austrian general, towards the end. I know how easy it is to miss small details like that, when you're focusing on other aspects of a chapter).

    I'm sorry to hear that you've decided to shelve this story. I hope you'll find another story which you'd like to tell instead, in future.

  16. #16
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    I have to agree with Alwyn, a superb recounting of the battle. It is indeed a shame to hear you're shelving A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel and I too hope to see you again with more stories to tell.

  17. #17

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    Thank you, fellas. It will be finished one day. Its a good idea, it would be a terrible waste to leave it in a grave forever. You guys are great. I appreciate your nice words as ever. That x was a placeholder for the Austrian name from the log I have of the game's events.

  18. #18

    Default Re: A Polish Coward and a Scoundrel

    I haven't finished all of the updates here yet, but that is only because your writing is so sharp, and I want to read when I really have the time to concentrate on it well. But I can say right now that this is an excellent story DreamKing, and I would love to see it continue! You have a real gift with words, and the set up you have given yourself here works well!

    More concrete comments will follow when I have had the time to read closely.

    Also, just so you know, I have nominated this AAR for the Writers' Study Yearly Awards, because I think it is that good! I just wanted you to know
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