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... esented the release of unbearable anger.
In the gnoll camp almost a mountain away from Blood Flag Heights, the Whip-tail Clan’s Grand Marshal Hurley, who had rushed over, had already drawn the gnoll serrated saber from his waist, roaring to behead the fool before him whom he had slapped onto the ground.
Around him, not a single Military Governor from the various small clans stepped forward to stop him; the gnolls looked on with disdain and satisfaction in their eyes.
Only ...
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