Review of: Queen Lissandra

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Rating:
5
On 06.03.2020
Last modified:06.03.2020

Summary:

Heie Erotik Dates sind ein ganz besonderes Erlebnis, dass es nicht ganz so gut ist.

Queen Lissandra

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Queen Lissandra Navigation menu Video

Lissandra Montage - Combo Queen 2020

Lissandra Build Guide for League of Legends. Champion guides for the League of Legends champion paintingwaukegan.com the best Lissandra build guides for S11 Patch Our authors will teach you which items to build, runes to select, tips and tricks for how to how to play Lissandra. 12/23/ · Blade Queen Lissandra View in 3D. / May Program Lissandra View in 3D. / Apr Coven Lissandra View in 3D. / Nov Dark Cosmic Lissandra View in 3D. / Nov Coven Lissandra Chromas. Aquamarine. Meteorite. Obsidian. Rose Quartz. Ruby. Sandstone. Tanzanite. Dark Cosmic Lissandra Chromas Video Duration: 4 min. Lissandra hurls a dagger toward the enemy with the highest Attack Damage, dealing // magic damage to the first target it hits. After hitting its initial target or at its final destination, the dagger explodes dealing // magic damage to nearby targets. Lissandra's magic twists the pure power of ice into something dark and terrible. With the force of her black ice, she does more than freeze—she impales and crushes those who oppose her. To the terrified denizens of the north, she is known only as ''The. League of Legends Coven Lissandra Skin paintingwaukegan.comse RP here (Amazon Affiliate - NA): paintingwaukegan.com off Animations and Ability Effects of. I've started playing Lissandra again in this preseason and she is so much fun! I usually play top lane fighters (Irelia, Yorick, Renekton) so Lissandra and the mage playstyle is pretty new to me. One of the things I love about Lissandra is her ability to engage in team fights and deal a ton a damage and just self ult to throw the enemy team off. Lissandra, the leader of the Frostguard, is a well-spoken and elegant woman who carries herself with the poise and presence of a queen. She reminds me more of the nobility of Demacia than the barbarians of Freljord - maybe that's why Val doesn't like her. Lissandra build guides - paintingwaukegan.com provides builds, counters, guides, masteries, runes, skill orders, combos, pro builds and statistics by top, jungle, mid, adc, support.

We have to go. He began to pick his way around the edge of the circle, but Halla stopped him. Sigvar froze, unwilling to step onto the open ice, but as Halla sprinted out before him, he took a reluctant first step.

Forcing his gaze to remain raised, he followed her, gingerly at first, then moving faster. At any moment he expected to feel movement below him as the immense, horrific creature trapped in the ice awoke from its endless slumber.

He could feel its malign force working on him, straining at his consciousness, like clutching tendrils. It was watching him—that giant, lidless, unblinking eye boring into him from below.

The urge to look down was overpowering. Sigvar tightened his grip on Thunderchild , gritting his teeth against the pain of its cold.

He kept his gaze locked onto Halla as he breathed the Litanies. Savor its caress. Welcome it. Every step was an effort, like he was running through a snow drift.

He could feel the eye boring into him, whispering to him, calling to him. He croaked the blessings louder to drown it out. Then he was across, and he gasped for air as the pressure upon him lessened.

Halla was there, urging him on. She shoved him ahead, towards the narrow defile marking their exit. Did he see that purple light within the frozen corpse of Olar?

He had no time to check, as Halla pushed him urgently through. There was no time for a careful, steady passage. Sigvar pressed forward, grinding against the ice, uncaring of the pain.

On the other side, the two of them sprinted through the ravine, racing back to where they had descended the ice wall.

The chains… that hold back… What-Dwells-Below… have been weakened. All the other sites… must be checked! The ice must be… reformed! At least one of us has to make it back.

With some reluctance, Sigvar swung his shield off his shoulders and propped it against the ice wall. His scabbarded sword joined it, and Halla helped him strap Thunderchild across his back.

They roped themselves together, secured their icepicks, and began the long climb back to the top. The shell that had been Olar Stonefist cracked open with a wet tear, and a pale thing spilled forth in a tumble of hissing ichor and segmented limbs.

It righted itself unsteadily, clawing at the ice with talons the length of daggers. A slashing tail unfurled behind it, and it lifted its head, all bony tusks and jutting spines, revealing a burning, purple-tinged light at its heart.

Sections of its spongy, flexible exoskeleton closed protectively around that heart and began to harden. It was a sickly white colour, devoid of hue, but its hide quickly darkened, as if in reaction to the air.

Halla and Sigvar were halfway to the Bridge of the Lost when the inhuman cry reached them. It echoed through the fog all around them.

It was impossible to tell the direction it came from, or how close it was. Their picks hacked into the ice in a wild flurry, and they drove themselves upward with powerful kicks, toe-spikes biting deep.

Sigvar kept glancing down, expecting some nameless horror to emerge from the depths at any moment…. They climbed frantically. Sigvar glanced back once more, to see the creature racing up on them.

It ascended with vile, sinuous movement, multiple bladed limbs stabbing into the ice with frenzied speed. Glowing eye clusters blazed, and it screeched, the sound like steel grinding on steel, mandibles clacking.

Halla made it to the bridge first. Turning, she reached down to Sigvar with her iron grip, and hauled him over the edge. By the time he regained his feet, she had untied her ropes, and had Bloodfang at the ready.

In her other hand, Halla held one of her icepicks. It was a poor substitute for Bloodclaw ,but would have to suffice. Sigvar dropped his picks and made to unsling Thunderchild from his back, but Halla stopped him.

With great reluctance, he scooped up his picks, and began climbing, as Halla dropped to her knees in prayer, eyes closed. He was some thirty feet up the wall when the creature scuttled over the edge of the bridge.

It looked up, its eyes locking onto Sigvar, and started to move in pursuit. Sigvar looked on, powerless. The creature below swung its attention from him to Halla, and leapt toward her with seemingly impossible speed.

She rolled under its scything strike, talons sweeping through the air just inches above her. She hacked Bloodfang deep into its side as she came up, sending forth a burst of steaming entrails and eliciting a horrible screech.

Her arm was still impaled. With a roar, Sigvar ripped his picks from the ice, and pushed himself off. Thirty feet he fell before landing, knees bent and hands outspread for balance, right beside Halla.

The frozen flagstones cracked under the impact, and he rolled hard, the wind driven from his lungs.

He already had Thunderchild in his hands as the creature turned its attention toward him. It tried to tug its clawed limb from Halla, but she clutched onto it, keeping it trapped, even as it struggled.

Its maw opened impossibly wide, exposing rows of serrated fangs and tusks, and screamed in defiance as Sigvar brought Thunderchild around in a lethal blow.

The immense hammer took the creature squarely in its head, half-pulping it and sending it flying, with a burst of cold and crack like thunder.

The hateful beast struck the balustrade of the bridge and tried to scramble to its feet, but staggered drunkenly, the purple light at its heart faltering.

Bellowing, Sigvar charged the monster as it tried to recover. It hissed but could do nothing to avoid his next attack.

This time Thunderchild smashed it squarely in the chest, crushing its exoskeleton and sundering the protective cage around its glowing heart.

As the beast sailed over the edge of the bridge, flailing wildly, that heart darkened and died. She was slumped on the ground, her wounded arm hanging loose at her side.

Her skin was pale—paler than usual—and her eyes were sunken and dark. The flesh around the wound was dark and steaming. Blackness was already spreading into her veins.

Both of them knew what could happen, if that darkness were to spread any further. There was no hint of fear in her voice. Sigvar took up Bloodfang , gauging its weight.

Ice radiated from its haft over his hands, but he barely registered. He felt the ravenous hunger in that gaze, gnawing at him, eating away at his resolve, but he continued on.

While the hunger of that ancient being was palpable, Sigvar realized there was no real emotion in it. It did not feel anger, or hatred, or resentment at its fate.

It was dispassionate, uncaring, unknowable… and patient. In a sense, that made it even more horrific. Nor was it alone. Sigvar had no idea how many other Watchers were trapped down at the bottom of the Howling Abyss, but as he climbed, he felt other gazes turning toward him, following his progress.

Finally, he pulled himself onto the Bridge of Sorrows. Only now, as he climbed from the great chasm, did he finally move beyond their gaze.

Halla Ice-in-her-Soul was roped to his back. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing shallow, but she lived. Bearing her had been exhausting, making the difficult climb that much harder, but such was his duty, and he had done it without complaint.

Pausing only a few seconds to catch his breath, Sigvar stomped heavily across the bridge, towards the citadel. It felt like he had been gone for years.

As the walls loomed out of the storm before him, he saw a shadowy figure awaiting him. Ralakka Split-Tongue, Frost-Father of the Keepers, leaned heavily upon his staff of office.

Sigvar nodded, accepting this. He was too exhausted to say more. The immense gates of the citadel ground open, the shadows within beckoning.

We must prepare for what is to come. The Ice Witch does not sleep in her citadel. She sleeps anywhere, and everywhere, and nowhere.

Sometimes all at once. The cavernous place where she now chooses to lay her body down for a few hours could hold a thousand fortresses.

A veritable sea of True Ice stretches from underground horizon to underground horizon. They are not the horizons of the tumultuous world above, but closer—much closer—to an entirely different kind of madness.

Some called them monsters. Some called them gods. Regardless, the vast shadows that slumber beneath the icy blanket can only dream.

Lissandra checks in dutifully. Makes sure their bedding is comfortable. She lost her eyes long ago, so it is her mind that traces their sleeping forms.

What she sees has always chilled her beyond the concerns of flesh and bone, so that she no longer shivers at the touch of ice against her skin.

When she is down here, her blindness is a blessing. It is horror enough to feel their presence. To walk in their dreams.

To know what it is they desire for this world. One of them has begun to stir. Lissandra sensed it with the last new moon, hoping against hope that it would settle itself once more—but now its abyssal intelligence squirms against the others, growing ever more restless.

She removes her helm. Her ceremonial robes fall around her ankles, and she pads out across the frozen emptiness beyond. Lissandra splays her fingers across the ice.

Her hair hangs over her face, hiding the lines of age, and the scarred ruin of her empty eyes. She learned long ago the secret ways to walk in dreams, to traverse the impossible distances of this harsh land in moments, back and forth a hundred times before each new dawn.

Sometimes, she forgets where her physical body is. Her mind drifts down, now, through the barrier. She muses briefly at the thickness of the True Ice.

To place the entire burden of faith upon glass is pure folly, and yet there is no other choice. On the other side, the Watcher is all teeth and darkness and chittering, frustrated anticipation.

It is bigger than a mountain. Is it one of the small ones? Lissandra hopes so. She has never dared probe the defenses of the largest—the ones that seem able to devour gravity and time itself, eaters of not only worlds, but entire planes of reality.

They make her feel very small and insignificant, like a single mote of frost in a blizzard. Another Lissandra waits for her there, in the dreamscape.

She is beautiful. She is a goddess. She is struggling to press the sun down below the horizon. She sees long un-shadows falling over mountains blanketed with frozen ashes.

This land is a mockery of the Freljord, devoid of all life and magic…. Life is the key. The living souls of the Freljord, this icy land that Lissandra once offered in sacrifice to the beasts below.

She leads the stirring Watcher away from its own dark thoughts, as gently as she can, and tries to soothe it with the dreams of others.

The tribe is split across three camps. It is this way because the Iceborn warmother decrees it so. Glacier underfoot, stars overhead, the priest marks his observations on a fold of cured elnĂĽk skin by candlelight, upon an icy outcropping.

His hand is steady and bold. He must send his notes each night to the Frostguard Citadel. He sees his breath, and knows that he is not alone. Shame constricts his throat.

Dutifully, he reaches for a strip of cloth to honor Lissandra, greatest of the Three. After all the oaths he spoke, only her gaze could ever bring such a chill to his heart.

Her voice is steady and cold. The priest awakens. He ruminates on the dream. He pledged to serve, freeze, and bleed blindly.

He reaches for the strip of cloth, and binds his eyes. Seven ice-hawks take flight across a blue sky, scattering the frost from their feathers.

The dismal fang of a mountain looms over a beach of rounded gray stones, descending into the shallows of the sea. She picks up a crab.

She holds it carefully, its legs tickling the palm of her hand. She looks up to see a chunk of ice floating in the dark water, carried to land on near-frozen tides.

It bumps onto the rocky shore and begins to melt. Inch by inch, it shrinks away to reveal the form of a woman curled in a cradle of ice, a thing born of winter.

She wakes with a start beside a dying fire, surrounded by other sleeping children. A stern-looking woman watches over them, an axe strapped to her back.

They all know she would die for them. Already walking into another dream, Lissandra knows to watch this child. She is Iceborn. Perhaps a new weapon for the war to come.

He hunches in a shallow cave. He hums because he can no longer sing the songs of his youth to comfort himself. He cannot bear to inhale the icy air.

His beard, white with frost and frozen snot, makes it painful to open his lips, now blue and cracked.

He cannot feel his legs, nor his hands. He no longer shivers. He is too far gone. To the sunshine! Instead of snow and ice, he sees green pastures.

He can feel the summer breeze in his hair. Lissandra approaches the man from the back of the shallow cave. She can see the death in his fingers and toes, spreading slowly.

He will not awaken again. This will be his final dream. I will watch over you while you rest. War cries and death screams drag Lissandra south.

She can smell blood and fire on the wind, and the sharp tang of angry steel. Grass grows here, where the thaw happens. It is not a sunny pasture, but it is the closest thing that most tribes of the Freljord will ever know.

The dream spins, and distorts. Her knees feel like they will buckle, if that would have any meaning. She steadies herself against the upright timbers of a burning hut.

Surprisingly, it is one of the Avarosans—a great red-haired brute, his neck bulging with strained arteries. He hefts a notched sword over his head.

The bloodlust is plain in his eyes, as he imagines victories he will never see in his lifetime. Each time, a piece of her drifts away, never to return.

Great claws of ice close around her to form a shield, entombing her. He staggers back, roaring defiantly as he—. Let him awaken, and believe himself the hero who drove off the Ice Witch.

It was only a dream. The Avarosan tribes will fall… just like the treacherous harridan from whom they took their name. Lissandra finds the spirit walker channeling this elemental fury.

His trance is much like a dream—a bridge between worlds. Lissandra would spit. That hateful creature is one of the few memories she could not purge from the Freljord, no matter how hard she tried.

Lightning strikes the shaman multiple times. A toothy maw stretches his jawline. Fingernails blacken into claws.

It is neither man nor bear, but something else entirely. All its life will be much like a dream. No sleep. No joy. Only the storm. Lissandra edges closer, looking for anything she can use in the roiling madness.

Without thought, Lissandra lashes out with cleaving spikes of True Ice pulled from the earth around them. Dark blood stains the snow.

Thunder rolls around the distant peaks. The twisted shaman falls to his knees, his body torn between the shape of what he was, and what he might have become.

It is a kindness, really, for his mind is still mostly his own. Other eyes shine out from the storm. These shapechangers are not the threat they once were.

They are a battle for another time. Lissandra warily circles the Watcher beneath the ice. She can see her own tiny body on the surface above them—her pale, corpse-like flesh is almost as white as freshly driven snow.

And more nothing. A horizon of nothing, framed by mountains of nothing. Above all that nothing? A sky of nothing, with dense clouds of nothing.

The abyss yawns around her. She watches the black sun devour her avatar, but no matter how much it pulls into its maw, there is always more for it to eat.

She screams, and explodes into dark fractals that divide into billions of Lissandras—every one of them screaming.

Against all the nothing, the sound is barely even a whisper, and yet even that is enough to rattle the dream to its very foundations….

Her barely conscious body traces glyphs on the surface of the True Ice barrier. It is an old spell, born of a fire now long extinguished.

She scrawls in spasms and convulsions. Her movements are desperate, jerking, clumsy. And then, in a rush, most of her returns.

She vomits watery bile onto the ice, and curls up as it freezes around her. Below, the writhing shadow sleeps again.

It dreams of eating her for a little while longer, and that dream buys it the only measure of peace its kind ever seem to desire. She dresses herself, and returns to ascend the worn steps.

The Frostguard await her leadership and guidance. She will find no peace in this life. Her nose went numb an hour ago—or was it two?

Nothing matters, because whenever she closes her eyes, she sees the witch. Silhouetted against the never-setting sun, the woman rides a beast of ice, bone, and dark magic, and dazzles in a gown of freshly-fallen snow.

The horned helm that covers her eyes gives the impression of her head rising out into the stars. I implore my hand to curl into a fist!

To pluck out the ever-watchful eye! To impale it upon a spike of ice! Now, it hurts to tear them apart. But she must. She cries out, and feels hot blood trickle down her cheek.

She fogs a piece of ice with her breath, and rubs it until she can see her reflection. The split in the corner of her eyelid is not too bad.

An emaciated man shivers at the entrance, with early morning light casting its blue tint over his face. Then Reathe realizes this is no fanciful illusion.

Reathe skitters backward on her palms and heels, away from him. There is nothing for you to take from me. No shelter shields me. I saw this cave, and you… as her frost clouded my eyes.

Our paths are like rivers meeting. I knew this as I lay dying. But I hear the witch in my veins… in every moment, with every beat of my once-still heart.

Others we must meet. I am but a passenger in my own body. My name is frozen over. But you may call me… Shamble, and I shall call you…? The spires of the Frostguard Citadel rise from the frozen landscape.

Waves of magical aurorae—greens, and pinks, and blues—dance in a sky that is almost always night. The stars twinkle eternally here, in the coldest and cleanest air.

Few know how to find this hidden fortress. There are many in this world who would raise an army, and raze it to the ground.

Those who do find the citadel rarely leave on their own terms. Even so, five weary figures trudge down from the rocky mountain pass, through the hidden wound in the very fabric of the Freljord.

They seek the Ice Witch. Like so many others through the centuries, they each met Lissandra in their dreams… but now they each feel something else, deep inside.

This means everything to Lissandra, who rarely rests, especially not on nights like tonight, when stars align in strange ways.

The round apex of her private sanctum features many rune-inscribed windows to harness the powers from various celestial syzygies. Thousands of dark, coffin-like ice formations protrude from the snow-carpeted ground.

They rise like great black teeth, jutting up from the depths below, poised to devour the sky. She knows exactly how far down these boulders descend, where their roots terminate, and their purpose.

Lissandra strolls through this unique structure. Under this alignment of the Frost Moon and the Cold Star, she sees more without eyes than anyone who has ever dared set foot in this sacred space.

Although it is quiet as a tomb, she hears what no one else can—the voices of the half-dreaming and half-dead trapped within each crystalline monolith.

An ancient troll-king says nothing. Its deep-set eyes scream with malice as it tracks her path. Lissandra counts thirteen steps from the troll-king to her knight in rusty armor.

Tonight, he speaks first. His eyes half-lidded, his grim face stoic. His teeth are broken from decades of gnashing. As for the Ice Witch herself, she finds it beautiful when such a diverse crowd rallies behind a single course of action.

Their tortured nightmares lull others to sleep. Tonight, though, one voice is peculiarly silent. Lissandra weaves her way through the crevasses between crystals, toward one of the most exotic heroes in her collection.

Silence breeds mysteries, and she loves coaxing secrets from unspeaking lips She feels a shift in temperature, an aura of warmth.

She is not alone. Someone uninvited walks her menagerie. Her footfalls are whispers on the snow as she follows the trail of warmth. Lissandra turns toward this unseen threat.

Then the soft thud of the fall. She dreamt of eight hundred years of ice unless she slew the Prophetess of Frost.

Marjen brandishes a blade that warms the bitter cold. It reeks of familiar and particularly hard-headed magic. I shall relieve you of that warm dagger, and in return, reunite you with your dear sister Hara.

The alignment of the Frost Moon with the Cold Star completes itself. Lissandra cannot see the shimmering pale blue light descending on the grotto.

She wonders how it looks to this woman, born in the Great Sai. And her arm follows through. The blade arcs through the cold air. Marjen turns to Hara, encased in cracked ice.

Its surface runs slick with brackish meltwater. Dark water pools on the white snow. Whatever magic that held her ebbs.

Follow the heat with the soles of your feet. Jeweled Gauntlet. Chalice of Power. When combat begins, the wearer and all allies within 1 hex in the same row gain 35 Spell Power for the rest of combat.

Zz'Rot Portal. At the start of combat, the wearer taunts enemies within 2 hexes for 1 second. Zeke's Herald. Hextech Gunblade. Excess healing fuels a shield that protects the holder against up to damage.

Best Lissandra Team Comps 1. The Emperor deploys with two Sand Guards who can be placed anywhere on the battlefield. They do not move or attack, and die when their Emperor does.

Every few seconds, all Hunters will attack the lowest percent Health enemy, dealing bonus damage. Prioritizes the lowest star-level champions. If tied, champions with the most items are chosen.

Dazzlers' spells reduce the Attack Damage of enemies hit for 8 seconds. The first time a Spirit casts their spell, all allies gain Attack Speed based on the spell's mana cost.

Ninjas gain bonus Attack Damage and Spell Power. This trait is only active when you have exactly 1 or 4 unique Ninjas. All allies gain Magic Resistance.

Tier: God Avg Place: S Top 4 Rate: S Win Rate: S Popularity: F. If he reaches full Health he returns to combat Pumped Up: all of his attacks and spells deal true damage.

If all of his allies die, he will immediately return to combat. Brawlers gain bonus Health. Tier: Strong Avg Place: A Top 4 Rate: A Win Rate: A Popularity: C.

Tier: Above Average Avg Place: B Top 4 Rate: B Win Rate: B Popularity: A. Tier: Above Average Avg Place: B Top 4 Rate: B Win Rate: B Popularity: B.

Tier: Below Average Avg Place: C Top 4 Rate: C Win Rate: C Popularity: B. Tier: Weak Avg Place: F Top 4 Rate: F Win Rate: D Popularity: A.

Innate: At the start of combat, Assassins leap to the enemy backline. Assassins gain bonus Critical Strike Damage and Chance, and their spells can critically strike.

Galio's strength increases based on the total star level of all active Cultists. Innate: Duelists gain bonus Movement Speed.

Duelists' attacks grant Attack Speed, up to 8 stacks. Dusk champions increase all allies' Spell Power. Every two seconds all Elderwood champions grow, gaining bonus stats.

This effect stacks up to five times. Please let us know what you think and how we can improve by clicking here. Aatrox Ahri Akali Alistar Amumu Anivia Annie Ashe Aurelion Sol Azir Bard Blitzcrank Brand Braum Caitlyn Camille Cassiopeia Cho'Gath Corki Darius Diana Dr.

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General Counter Tips Try not to stay behind minions to avoid taking splash damage from her Ice Shard harassments.

Her Ring of Frost cooldown is fairly long, so try to play aggressive when you know it is on cooldown. A good Lissandra will try to q you whenever you go in to last hit in lane.

Be aware of this because some times you can use this to your advantage to poke her. View more Counter Tips Submit a Counter Tip.

League of Legends Skin Preview | Blade Queen Lissandra [GER][HD]. 2, viewsK views. • Apr 24, 55 1. Share Save. 55 / 1. neuen Skin für Lissandra an, der Blade Queen oder Klingenkönigin Skin an! Blade Queen Lissandra Skin. Klingenkönigin Lissandra Skin. Queen Lissandra - free porn site. [1 videos]. SxyPrn ARMATA GROUP. (latest). Blade Queen Lissandra.

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Queen Lissandra Credits Web Design Tech Blog. Info German Mistresses German Female Domination World 18 U. Kira Queen - Kira Queen of Sexy Intentions porn. A toothy maw stretches his jawline. Navigation menu Oma Heimlich Page Discussion. But in that reflection, she sees she is not alone in her sheltered cave. HERO OF THE FROST Lebian sex tube A hero is anyone who answers the call to do what must be done. No one should have to be alone in their final moments. Not again. Twisted Fate. Down and down and down they climbed, moving steadily. Sigvar Schenkelfick Queen Lissandra, gingerly offering her some meat, still hot with shame at having fallen. He felt it burning still into the skin of his forehead. Lissandra and the first among her Frostguard did everything in their power to rewrite history, seizing all records of what had truly happened… and yet, rumors and prophecies persisted in myth and song. But I hear the witch in my veins… in every moment, with every beat of my once-still heart. Edit Frozen Tomb TARGET RANGE: Moonlight Assassin. Tier: Weak Avg Place: F Top 4 Rate: F Win Rate: D Braunhaarige Frauen Nackt A. Best Lissandra Team Comps 1. I realized then that the people of the second Avarosan village hadn't fled, but had instead joined the Winter's Claw willingly.

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