*screams like the crazy fangirl I am* Oh my gosh! Your support is overwhelming. It's official! This is my most popular story on the site, more so than some that have been on this site for almost two years now. 67 followers and 25 favorites?! I just want to say thank you. Without you guys, this story would not have been possible.
Okay, chapter three. The beginning of the torture. I'm warning you, it's cringe-worthy. It might be because terrible writing, or it might be because of what goes down. Your pick. It's not M-rated graphic, but it's not sunshine and lollipops.
I used my brother as a torture dummy for some scenes. He inadvertently chose the method and the details that follow up. He might have some regrets, but I don't. It's all our secret pleasures to read Merlin!Whump.
My Camelot map mousepad finally came in! I have a "mild" obsession with maps. After looking at it, I decided on a location. The primary setting (for now at least) takes place close to the border between Mercia and Camelot (Essetir is a little overdone in my opinion).
-"Morgana Poisoned" by Rob Lane
-"Morgana's Hatred of Uther" by Rob Lane
-"Glamdring" by Howard Shore (Lord of the Rings)
-"Ron Leaves" by Alexandre Desplat (Harry Potter)
-"The Exodus" by Alexandre Desplat (Harry Potter)
The overly long chapters never bothered me anyway.
Let's Go On An Adventure
Method One
Merlin grimaced. The lighting was awful, by the way. He had no way to remove his clothing, but surely by now his frail skin was already being mottled by yellowish purple bruises curtesy of Sir Big and Sir Ugly. He was itching for the moment to call them that to their face, but that would have to be when they remove him from Arthur's presence. Whatever punishment they give will really piss off the Prince.
It had been hard enough to convince Arthur to follow along with his plan. To claim that the prat was unhappy was an understatement. Merlin would not put it past him to reveal his scheme before it began. That is why Merlin put a subtle enchantment on Arthur that took the temptation of saying the truth away. It only worked while Merlin was away, but the warlock felt confident that he could sway the prince while in the same room as he.
He just wished that he could do more. There was no way the scoundrels could have known about him. However, the chains they used was lined in iron. Most likely, the metal was there to keep from snapping at a random point. None of them seemed smart enough to realize what they also did.
Uther used iron in his dungeons to suppress sorcerers' powers. Strictly speaking, Merlin shouldn't have been able to cast spells at all. His head still hurt from the first time he tried to break the chains. However, Merlin discovered that his immense power allowed room for him to use simpler spells. Like making Arthur forget to mention how Merlin was the servant and he he prince.
Said clotpole was currently asleep. Again. Merlin had nothing to do with it; apparently knocking people out was too much for him under the iron's influence. No, he was just resting. After all, there wasn't much that he could do other than talk, and he was too frustrated with Merlin to do it. All the better, as Sir Big and Sir Ugly were entering the tent, cracking their knuckles sinisterly.
"'Bout time you fools showed up. Your food service here is flat out terrible. I want to issue a complaint to the management."
That was a little much. Merlin knew it, and they did too. The brutish bandit took the opportunity to punch Merlin in the gut. The warlock grunted, getting the idea that things were only going to go downhill from there.
"Okay, so no breakfast then. Probably for the best, as I'm sure that it would taste revolting anyway."
Sir Ugly hissed, "I don't know how it is at the palace, but you ain't there, chap, so can it. You don't make the orders around here; we do. So stop your chattering, pretty boy."
Merlin almost laughed at that one. They really have no clue, do they? Contrary to what everyone else seemed to think, Merlin was actually very good at lying and keeping secrets. If they knew just who he really was, they would never call him that. They would be too scared to. Even if they only knew of his identity as Arthur's manservant and not of his magic, they would not call him "pretty boy." Merlin loved the irony.
"You don't get to tell me what to do, sir." This was not even a part of his act. Half the time, he did not even listen to Arthur. Nor did he listen to the king (technically speaking, as he broke he law every day just by existing), Gaius, or the Great Dragon. It drove them all crazy. The only person he obeyed most of the time was his mother, but she's his mother.
They said nothing. One of them retrieved a set of iron handcuffs and linked them around his bony wrists. His hands were forced behind him, but he could not have done anything with his bonds. Once they were satisfied that Merlin could not possibly get away, they unchained him from the pole.
"Take one last look, boy. This is the last time you'll see this tent. You're getting a new home." They pulled the warlock to his feet. One of them took him roughly by the shoulder, grinning in malice. "Don't worry, we'll bring your servant by later." This was probably the first time Merlin has heard a bandit refer to Arthur in a tone other than contempt.
Merlin looked at Arthur helplessly. He thanked the gods for the foresight that made him enchant Arthur. Undoubtedly, Arthur would have probably lost reason if he saw that Merlin was nowhere to be found.
Merlin grimaced. He wasn't going to regret his decision to play the prince. It did not matter what they did to him just as long as Arthur stayed alive. They will see to it that his shoulder wound was treated. Even if they did not have Gaius, these bandits were unfazed by Arthur. It was almost funny.
Oh, if they only knew the truth. There was no recognizing Arthur. His once-state-of-the-art clothes was in ruins, making him look like a peasant. Merlin took care of his teeth, so there was no differentiating between the two in that regard. All Merlin had to say was that he took after his "father," and the idiots would swallow it whole.
Merlin nodded at Arthur even though the prince could not see him. The bandits took no notice of what Merlin mumbled. "Cheers."
He was blindfolded and gagged. Constantly, they purposely made him stagger. The cloth was only removed when he was forced into the dingy room. The walls were a slate-grey, marred by shadows and cracks. If he looked more closely, Merlin might find bloodstains. Along the wall was a stone table laden with tools. Merlin stared at the instruments of torture.
He was thrown to the ground in a heap. Sir Big kicked him against the brick. Then he wrenched a loaf of stale bread from his pocket and tossed it at the manservant-in-disguise, and it landed just within reach of his teeth. "Eat before we get started."
Merlin took a bite. It wasn't that different than from what he was used to, as the only time he got something edible was when he nicked from Arthur or Gaius brought him something from a feast. He obviously could not admit that, so, feigning disgust, he complained, "Ugh! What is this rubbish?! It's not fit to serve to anyone."***
Merlin hoped that they wouldn't take that as an excuse to rob him of his food. As much as he needed to play the part of the royal clotpole of Camelot, he still needed to eat.
"If you don't want it, then I suppose we could let you starve, you ungrateful pig."
Merlin shook his head and took another bite out of the dry bread. The loaf tasted like sawdust, and quite possibly, it was made from the stuff. Was that mold he tasted? "No, I'll eat this sludge... Unless if you want to bring something more edible over."
They shook their heads in disgust. "You nobles are never happy with what you get. We could bring out a fancy four-course feast, and you would still find something to gripe about."
Trust me, I live with that each day. "Anything would be better than this filth. Do you peasants eat like this every waking day?"
Thus Merlin lost his eating privileges of the morning. Sir Ugly ripped the bread from Merlin's mouth and tossed it away, covering the bread in dust as it bounced against the ground. Now only the rats would be allowed to feast on the roll. Merlin would come to regret opening his mouth later, but since he had nothing more to lose that they knew of, he decided to let another insult fly out of his mouth.
"I have names for you both. Would you like to here them? I give all my servants names of the same caliber." Before they could object, Merlin continued straight-faced even though he was secretly enjoying this, "You, the large one, are Sir Big-a-lot, Sir Big for short, and your pal is Sir Ugly. You know, because his nose is a little off-center." Consider this payback for taking my food from me before I was done eating.
"Why don't we just start the process now, then, Your Highness?" Sir Ugly sneered, flushing a little regardless of his tough shell. After all, pride was almost every man's weakness. He turned to the table of contraptions thoughtfully. Sir Ugly picked up a wicked little knife that was rusting along the sharp edge and stroked it tantalizingly.
Sir Big shook his head. "No, Grima. Not the knife yet. I kind of want to use this." He, too, went up to the table and picked up a length of worn rope.
Merlin, who did not fancy neither being strangled nor being sliced to slivers, rose his voice. "What do you want, anyway? This whole thing seems rather pointless. What would torturing me do?"
They shared a look and laughed, bursting Merlin's eardrums. Sir Big, who all but ignored Merlin's choice of nicknames, answered with a leer, "It's one of the only things you royal folk seem to comprehend: control. You're ours now until the king decides to send someone after you...if he does. Some of you are never claimed, so we dispose of you accordingly. While we wait, we choose to mark you as we see fit. When the time comes, and Lord Brucen claims Camelot and all the other pitiful kingdoms, you royal heirs will not be able to," he poked Merlin's nose, "do anything about it."
"You'll be too psychologically scarred," Sir Ugly elaborated. "Maybe, if He's merciful enough, he'd let you scum live. He plans to start with Camelot because you Pendragons. If he can take down the mighty Camelot, the other, weaker kingdoms will realize how little chance they stand, and they'll fall apart without interference from us."
Merlin doubted that the bandits could possibly succeed. The guards, while idiots and half the time incompetent, still had might. The knights were strong and could surely handle a few bandits. "I wish you luck, then. You're clearly underestimating us. Even without me, Camelot could hold her own."
They smirked. "We'll see if you'll change your tune once we extract all her secrets from yer big mouth." Merlin's smile faded. "As prince, you surely hold all the secrets to Camelot in those precious lips of yours. We just need to find your secret."***
My secret. Undoubtedly, they were speaking of his weakness. Right now, they thought that it would be arrogance and pride. Once they find his greatest fear and exploit it, however, it would be harder to withstand what they threw at him. Merlin's greatest weakness, known by all those who really knew him, was Arthur and all his other loved ones. Since the bandits were under the impression that he despised Arthur, or at least felt nothing towards him, they will probably stand a bigger chance at finding his second largest weakness. This one was less obvious. Not even Gaius knew what it was. Merlin never told anyone.
Merlin knew something of the inner-workings of Camelot. He did not doubt his ability to keep his mouth shut, but that was only for as long as they don't discover his magic. There were plenty of ways to torture sorcerers that did not normally harm non-magic people. The only other way he would betray Camelot was if they tried to use Arthur against him.
He face-planted into the floor. Sir Ugly rolled him onto his right side roughly. Merlin's legs were crookedly bent. The bruises over his body began to sting again. Merlin felt someone pull his bound arms away from his back so that his right arm was against the cold floor of the cell.
"A little birdy told me that you're better with your right arm, as are all nobles whether they want it or not, yes?"
Technically speaking, I am ambidextrous. It was no secret that all noble children were trained to use their right arm for things. Merlin also wanted to have the advantage of having at least one properly functioning limb. "Duh. Why would I ever use my left arm for anything other than pairing it with my right?"
Sir Big stomped over while holding something behind his back. "Better get used to being a lefty, then, Sire." He revealed the object. It was a hammer like what Gwen's father used to use before he died to shape metal. However, Merlin did not think that they were going to be forging swords or armor.
Sir Ugly took Merlin's right arm and raised it slightly off the floor, examining it. "Perfectly healthy condition. Shame you don't have any real injuries to speak of. We always like to start with those. However, we still make suitable progress with the writing hand."
Merlin winced as Sir Big crouched down beside him, hammer raised. "Your arm ain't very muscley for a prince. Oh well, that means more bone to break. Let's start with the pinky."
He swung the tool. In a whip of motion, the head collided with Merlin's little finger, crushing the fragile bone. Merlin gasped out as he heard the pitiful bones crunch. The pain from the beatings he received last night was nothing compared to this. The jolt of agonizing pain was simultaneous with the sound that bust his eardrums and resounded through the room.
His finger went stiff as Merlin started to cope with it. It's just a broken finger. These happen all the time to people. It can heal after a few short weeks. That is, it takes four to six weeks with the proper treatment. That was a luxury that Merlin had to live with once before when he lived in Ealdor, and now he had to live with it until he and Arthur could escape.
There was another swing of the hammer. The tool acted like an axe ready to carry out an execution. It landed on Merlin's right ring finger. He moaned softly, slowly realizing that they intended to break all his fingers. Now both of his fractured fingers were throbbing, the pumping of the blood flow distracting Merlin from his surroundings.
There was another snap as his middle finger fell victim to the merciless villain. It was near impossible for Merlin to handle anything with his right hand should he get it free. He could deal with one broken finger, he could deal with two. Merlin could not deal with three.
And he certainly could not deal with four. The hammer fell down skillfully onto his index finger, shattering the bone underneath the cartilage and skin. Sir Big was careful to hit the middle phalanges of each finger to cause the most effect.
Merlin tried to ignore the torment in his hand. It was not working. Four fingers were fractured, swelling up and touching all the other tender appendages. The mere contact would send Merlin into more fits of pain. But none of this could brace him for what was to come next.
"We'll leave your thumb be for now," Sir Big teased with an ill-intended smile. "We are going to move on to something a little more fun."
He displayed the hammer. The steel hammerhead was soaked in crimson, probably due to the relentless breaking of Merlin's fingers. Merlin wanted to look away, but his neck would not crane properly. He squeezed his eyes shut so that he did not have to see the torture device.
Someone slid up his sleeve. Merlin registered a faint coolness. Then that momentary feeling was replaced with agonizing distress. It felt as though his entire right arm was on fire. This crack was deafening, and the pain was blinding. The fire that had already crawled from his fingertips increased tenfold.
Merlin moaned. His gut wrenched. One would think that after two-and-a-half years of serving Prince Arthur, Merlin would be used to pain. However, he never much liked broken bones. They made him feel helpless. Whether it be he could not walk or could not write, Merlin relied on these everyday actions to get by. When he was younger, he subconsciously forced his bones to heal faster than normal. Although, when he thought about it, it was usually only a finger. The worst broken bone was his ankle, which he broke from falling out of a tree when he was seven. Even that healed after a month.
This was far worse. His arm was unbearably screaming in protest at the torture, asking for some mercy.
Mercy was not a gift to be given.
Sir Big stamped down on the ruined arm. Merlin cried out in agony, his lips forming screams only able to be heard by the three in the room. "AGH GAH!"
Sir Ugly cooed in fake-sympathy, "Is the little princeling having fun yet?" He forcibly dropped the broken limb. It succumbed to gravity, and Merlin groaned.
"Agh!" Merlin's eyes started to water from the pain. Tears streamed down his colorless cheeks, but he hoped that no one would notice. The hurt had started to lessen like with any other broken bone, but dropping the arm and its slamming into the floor awoke the ache.
If Arthur were to see him, he would probably call Merlin a girl. After the interaction with the Questing Beast, his arm was in a sling for almost two months, yet he still insisted on being treated like all the rest of the knights and trained with them just the same. And here was Merlin, sobbing like a little girl over his broken arm.
Yet it was so excruciating. Merlin found it hard to focus on anything else other than the curse befallen of his arm. He gritted his teeth tightly until they became numb. If he could just apply pressure to the arm, things might look up. However, just as long as he was in the bandits' presence, he was at their mercy.
At least there was one comfort in all of this. Arthur wasn't the one being tortured; he was. Even though it was the Great Dragon hundreds of feet below the castle only cared for himself and the supposed destiny Arthur and Merlin shared who told Merlin to protect the prince, Merlin still did it. The Druids too believed in his destiny, as did his mother and mentor. Even Nimueh seemed to acknowledge it. Merlin would have been a fool to ignore the destiny.
Besides, he reminded himself, I would do this for any of my friends. The reason he gave Arthur for not running away was so far from truth. Yes, Uther would have probably had Merlin executed out of blind rage, but Merlin was not afraid of death. Even if the two never admitted it, Merlin considered the prat his friend. That was the reason Merlin stayed. It was not out of destiny. It was not out of fear of death. It was because Arthur was his friend, and that was worth any risk. That was even the reason why Merlin was staying quiet about his magic.
Merlin took a deep breath, his throat locking up. Just be brave. You're doing this for Arthur. "I could do this all day."
Sir Ugly regarded him strangely. "As much as we would like to continue..."
"We have orders to only keep the inflections to a minimum," Sir Big finished glumly.
Sir Big pulled Merlin to his feet. Merlin cried out as his arm was almost yanked out of its socket, adding to the harrowing strain it was already suffering. It pumped on and on, the inflicted torture intensifying. Merlin was close to screaming, but the cry died in his parched throat. With breakfast, they did not serve water. The last time he had a drink was before the kidnapping over twelve hours ago.
"Water?" Merlin found himself croaking. Great, now you've done it. The faces of the villains said it all.
"Feeling free to ask more of us, are ye?" Sir Big crooned.
"But of course," Sir Big droned sinisterly. "What would we not do for our prince?"
Arthur awoke with a start to sunshine. Please tell me it was all a dream, and that Merlin is fine, and that I am fine, and that I never went on that hunting trip in the first place. He opened his ocean blue eyes to find the insides of the tent he was being held captive in. Nope, definitely not a dream.
Something was not right in the air. The way how Arthur woke up was almost unnatural. There was a weird sense in his gut, yet he could not determine the cause. Merlin.***
Arthur found himself looking at the wooden post by the door. The iron chains were lying empty on the floor. Merlin was nowhere in sight. The prince's heart skipped a beat. His eyes darted to each of the corners of the tent, but there was no sign of the bubbly manservant.
There was, however, someone sitting on a stool by the wide-open doorway. A girl around Arthur's age. She sat with her ankles crossed and her hands folded, almost with a ladylike posture. However, she was no lady. She, too, was a bandit, and in a way, she was responsible for whatever harm has befallen Merlin.
"Where is he?" Arthur interrogated.
Startled, she looked at him with vibrant green eyes that he could have sworn he has seen before. Then she relaxed. "Oh, you're awake." She exhaled with an impatient flair. "Finally."
Arthur, whether it be from how it wasn't his manservant waking up this morning or the lack all together of said manservant, was feeling very irritated. It did not take a genius to figure out that it was near impossible to deal with an upset prince of Camelot. "Where is he?" Arthur repeated, his voice raising like in the tone he used to reprimand his knights: firm but patient.
"Nowhere of consequence." The woman shifted her red cloak. "Of no consequence to you, anyway. Bread?"
She slid up the scarlet cloth. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd say that the cape had once belonged to a knight. However, the stitching of the Pendragon crest was missing, and there was a hood. In actuality, it was more like one of the cloaks Morgana wore, only it went down to just the knees.
Underneath the cape was a loaf of bread, the warmth preserved by her body heat. She tossed it at the bound prince. Thankfully for him, his hands were in front of him, not chained behind him like Merlin's hands were. He caught it despite the disadvantage, wincing as his shoulder tingled. Whatever Merlin did prior to their capture helped, but it still hurt at excursion. The blonde caught notice of this and reached for the belt tightening her tunic.
"I figured that your injury would still be painful. Here." She pulled out a bottle of an herbal concoction. "It's made from rosemary and saffron. And water." She helped pour the medicinal concoction down his throat.
The herb names meant nothing to Arthur. More unsettling was the fact that she was helping him even though she did not even know him. She did not even know his name. Besides, she was part of the reason why Merlin was not in here.
Arthur stuttered, "I want to see M-my fr-companion." The words felt weird rolling off his tongue, almost as weird as if he chose to call Merlin a friend. His brain could not make up its mind on what to say. There was a temptation to say the truth right now, but something otherworldly was stopping the prince from blabbing and ruining Merlin's whole operation.
"Later," she said. "My name is... Evony. What is yours?" Arthur chose not to reply. Slightly disappointed, Evony continued, "It's all right to be nervous. Just relax, you're among friends now."
Arthur felt sick to his stomach. She was only pretending to be nice, then. Last night, the brutish vandal and his mousier accomplice talked of "healing" him from whatever disease Merlin so-called "had him under." This was probably their method of turning servants against their masters. It would work on the weak-minded servants, but probably not on the stronger-willed ones like Merlin.
And it certainly would not work on him, for Arthur was no servant. He was the prince, and his will was far stronger than almost anyone else's. Besides, what kind of ungrateful bastard would he be if he were to turn on Merlin, a man who has saved his life or dignity more times than most of the knights could claim?
"Eat your bread, please," came the smooth-talking voice of the woman Arthur was training himself to hate. She wouldn't be this nice if she knew who he was. In their eyes, he was a monster.
He stared at the bread, disgusted. The outside, while warm, was hard. Arthur ripped a chunk off to find the inside to be a light brownish color, speckled in darker shades of the color. He sniffed it. There was no clear aroma.
"Say, you wouldn't happen to have any butter by any chance?" Arthur asked.
Evony cocked her thick eyebrows. "Butter? Why, can your family afford it?"
Arthur realized his mistake. He was so used to the delicacy of butter that he did not consider how many other families were just as fortunate as his was, and how many were not. He spun a lie. "I grew up as a farmer. Sometimes, when the season's good, we would have enough milk and cream to make our own butter."***
Evony accepted the answer. Thank the gods that she is not the suspicious type. "Sorry, we don't have any. Just pinch your nose and eat it. I forgot that most of the bread Camelot's servants eat are made of white grains."
Arthur had no choice but to agree with her. He was going to have to watch his mouth...
Except maybe it would be better for him to tell her the truth. Her hesitance to tell him where Merlin was made him all the more determined to find and protect him. That was what a good king was supposed to do, protect their subjects. Yes, Merlin was technically born and raised in a small farming village on the border between Essetir and Camelot, but he was still a future subject. And Arthur was fond of the serving boy, no matter how big of an idiot he might be.
He opened his mouth, but again, something seemed to block the words from coming out. Evony saw his odd behavior. "Is there something wrong?"
"No, no, it's all right." Arthur lifted the bread to his mouth. It was a strange sight, as both of his hands were tied together, making it very hard to do anything. To the best of his ability, he pinched his nostrils shut and forced to shove the stale bread down his throat. Of course, what happened was that Arthur ended up making more of a show of rubbing his chewed up bread back in his face. He was glad that he was protecting his nose, though it might have not been as big of a problem if he used both hands for eating.
The result was a mess of bread crumbs all over his, or rather, Merlin's jacket. He had no recollection of Merlin fitting the jacket on him. It must have happened while he was out cold. It might have even happened when Merlin first decided to switch roles with the prince.
"Next time," Arthur announced, revolted at what he had to do, "can I just eat with both my hands free?" He asked it merely to spite the overly kind she-bandit. He did not consider that she would answer him.
"Yes. Actually, we are making some changes in accommodations." Evony stood up, her cloak billowing in the direction of the open tent flap. "We're going to get you some water, and then we're moving you and the...err, prince someplace closer to where he's...been taken. Mere protocol, nothing more. Once there, I think that we can afford for you to have more freedoms...unless if you want to stay somewhere away from him. That would be completely acceptable. No one would-"
"No!" Arthur said firmly and with a twinge of surprise. "I'm fine with staying with him." Someone will have to attempt to talk some sense into the fool before he tries anything else stupid.
Arthur might have been imagining it, but he thought that he saw the hints of a smile on her squarish face.
There you have it. Almost 5,000 words of awesomeness *squeals* Well, awesomeness to us. Probably not to Arthur and Merlin.
I'm going to limit myself to three OCs who actually serve real purpose, as I don't normally like to use them. Sometimes, however, they are necessary. And Sir Big and Sir Ugly have real names, though Merlin won't be learning them anytime soon. As for Evony, I think I stole her name from this online game my mom used to play. Fun fact, her character was originally just a nurse, then my brain gave her a name, and all hell broke loose.
AND WHO ELSE WILL BE STALKING BOOKSTORES ON THE 31ST?!
Next chapter will almost purely be bromance. I don't want to throw all the torture in the same set of chapters. Rather, I want to spread it out.
What do you think Merlin's biggest fear is in this story? I personally think that it is obvious, and you should too. Unless if I'm just overthinking things. As usual.
How do you like my take on their take of food. They both got a similar loaf of bread (though Merlin's is older).
Thank you 01beirke, 7happybears, AnimeLover2117, Bats4Books, Bluebox345, Candle-lit Dreams, Chatterbox818, CoolBeans100, Fletty, Gabriel's Wings - Love Squares, HonourProject, IndigoAndTheFandoms, Kaseyboy, Ladyliz2, Linorien, Lycropanthy, MandaScooby, Meganekko83, Megwar, MetaBlade, Origami Pen, Percy James Frost, Pheobe Arocis, Pielover515, Pilyarquitect, Professor Cuddles, QwertyBobberson, RangerHorseTug, RarissimaAvis, Red Moon Lollipop, Renchikara, Sakura022496, ScruffydaDruid, ShadowDragon1553, Skyleighdragon, Skypeoplephoenix732, Snoopy8907, SoaringEagle01, StephanieStephanie, SummerElfOwl, Thats lemos, TheChosenJedi142, TheDarkestDreams, The anomalous, Tony WildRiver, Wallaruby, XphiaDP, abyssofshame, catie . rasmussen, dandelionseeds, estallias, iceprincess2020, justalittleawesome, kaytriactr, kittycat1810, mersan123, morbidbookworm, moroflake, oliviilskov, sarajm, skydoe16, sparrowsmelody, staymagical, steellord, suprNEONligt, xXLadyLaufeyXx, and zendog for following.
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Woo, typing workout. Next time I'm copy-and-pasting the original file and update. I hope I did not miss anybody.
Thanks again!
~Lya200~
