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come right in time. As if on cue, a lesser sect from a place known as Leicester entered the temple one afternoon in September and caused many once more to doubt their faith. Keano just smiled and spoke of a reality check and not even when many of his disciples were smitten hip and thigh, forcing them to abandon the following of their leader for several weeks, did he sway from his purpose. A greater reverse was soon to come in the land where the locals had for years celebrated their mysteries with a potion known in their language as Tolly Cobbold. While there, a young new disciple by name of Wallace picked up a mysterious red card and wasn’t seen by the tribe for over a week. Keano knew these cards of old and warned his disciples to avoid them unless they too wished to disappear, though he continued to smile and speak simply to those around him of patience and teamwork. Verily, he was proved to be right and victory against an incursion by the stubborn Owls and their travelling band of minstrels soon restored those of little faith.
“Keano, we are sorry that we doubted thee! Forgive us!” they cried as they lay prostrate before him rending their sacred red and white shirts asunder. Holding up a pink tablet upon which a strange matrix of names and numbers was inscribed, Keano pointed out that three more points, whatever points may be, would put them all in a position from which they could move on to the promised land, known in ancient lore as the Premier.
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