[Today, in camp proper, there is a man -- nay, a legend -- sitting at a simple, wooden table. Just sitting, serene and patient as insert metaphor of your choice here. Perhaps he looks familiar. Where he got the table, how he grew such a fine and mighty beard, why you feel so compelled to touch it -- such questions matter not
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The making of this story is centuries old. One soul, born again, and again...
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Wang... Fire...?
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Ahh, Prince Zuko. Just the man I wanted to see.
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. . . Do I know you?
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Alright Pops, lay it on me!
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