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The Baron says "My western villagers blame the woods-folk. They swap children for sickly changelings, it's said, and boil up storms in a copper kettle when the moon is black. I'd call it peasant superstition, but last week a farmer brought a calf to my hall. The thing was born with two heads - one of them endlessly sleeping, the other mad as your great-grandfather, Maker spare his damned soul."
Untrained mages, the Chantry say, are a danger. A beacon for the demons that slink and hunger behind the Veil.
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