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Since then, the common worker-shrooms of the boletariat class have toiled in serfdom, yielding up the fruits of their labors to the traitorous overseers to be brewed into Truffle Liqueur for the Swinelords. The peaceful fungi of Mycopolis were no match for the Swinelords’ bristling fusils. The Swine rule as much through their network of silver-bought informants as through force; any dissent is rooted out and met with swift punishment.