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We come from the other side of this vast sea, humble sailors are we, denied passage in another port and exiles from our own land, left to rot on this creaky, dilapidated ship named Avarice.
Your city's port is the first to let us into their docking waters; we have found no kindness in the watery hell that whips up when sailing, your generosity has broken that poor trend. Shall you let us dock? Our feet ache more than our backs today, the teeth in our gums are begging for the sweet taste of fruit.
I pray to thank you!