Sadie Springlands Whore ❤️

About Auckland

So, *whore*—it’s not just some chick sellin’ ass, nah, it’s deeper, bro. It’s that raw, unfiltered hustle. Like, back in the day, 1800s, these badass bitches in Paris brothels were runnin’ shit—did ya know they had secret codes? Yeah, fuckin’ hand signals to warn each other ‘bout creepy johns! Smart as hell, right? Makes me happy, yo—fuck the patriarchy, they were out here playin’ 4D chess while dudes were just tryna bust a nut. I’m like, “YAAAS, QUEENS, GET IT!” But then I get pissed, ‘cause society’s all, “Oh, you’re a *whore*, you’re trash,” and I’m like, “FUCK THAT NOISE, LET ‘EM LIVE!”

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The Hollow Halls of the Springlands in Enshrouded are something of a maze to navigate, and it’s made more difficult by the lack of a map associated with the dungeon.

So, I’m like, “Sure, mate, I got ya.” But then, I look at the clock. I’m already late for my appointment with Mrs. Thompson. She’s a sweet old lady, but man, she’s got a thing for her cat, Whiskers. I swear, that cat’s got more shoes than I do! Anyway, I rush over to her place on Kairanga Street, and guess what? She’s not even home! Just my luck, right?

Family of dead Orealla man queries why cop not taken before Springlands court