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You swim for almost an hour, reaching the opposite side tired and out of breath. Your package of clothing sloshes on the ground as you toss it on shore. You're fairly certain there's no chance anything made it across dry.
“Hail!” A short, slim young man with yellow hair and blue eyes calls out to you from down shore. He speaks in an older dialect of Elvish, his accent completely unfamiliar. As he approaches, he waves. “At last! Ever is thy sight a joy. Do you speak Elvish?”
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