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And a banner will unfurl atop the solemn parapets of your fortress, and eager hands will stretch it taught against the winds in which it billows, grasping for purchase, and held at such an angle that the shadows leaping forth from the setting sun, clotted red in the west, recede reluctantly, so eyes for miles straining, blinking against the settling dust of day's end, when turned toward the patch of cloth on stone, settle upon the letters emblazoned, reaching, gasping, turned out before the dusk falling on your kingdom, laid bare:

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