A ghost is stalking Eveland — the ghost of folkwield. All the brawns of old Eveland have come into a holy bond to cleanse this ghost: Holy Father and Tsar, Metternich and Guizot, Frankish Diehards and Theedish Lawgard-Unseen Knowledgefinders. Where is the mootband in withering that has not been branded as folkwieldish by its witherlings in might? Where is the withering that has not hurled back the branding scold of folkwield, against the more forthgone witherling mootbands, as well as against its rightish foes? Two things come forth from this truth:
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