Laanders

Delinquent disco dancer duped dreadfully delirious doped drinker.

Ubiquitous undeads ultimately usurp useless urinating upstart.

Please people, plenty perform pitifully poorly, poo!

Lovely lager lets lucid lust linger long.

(And after such success, no doubt next time that...) ...he'll happily hover hungering hoping hotties harass!

Curious catwoman cheerfully coloured crappy canteens cyan.

Studly Swede shows supporters sexy stance. http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif

Part-time pennite produces perky proverbial posts .

...and another alphabet assumes ascension.

Uzbeks use ugly underpants.

In the outside yard, the ancient bluerober was picking cherries off a lively-growing tree. As he briefly enjoyed the shadow cast by a wall-scaling wyvern, he tasted a particularly nice-looking berry and a thought occurred to him. "Mmm... 'Tis a nice berry indeed. And such a nice day." The man burped and fondled his lone braid of whitening hair. "A special day, really. And such nice cherries. Sweet, really. Yes, quite sweet cherries indeed." The sound of a single coin falling from a metal slit to land among it's likes was heard. "Sweetcherrie's special day!" he exclaimed, coming about to face the mighty keep, his braid flapping a full lap around him to hit him in the face again. Grunting, the old mage fumbled keeping the fruit basket in his one hand, while trying to find his wand with the other. "A-HA!" Instantly envigorated by his success, the tall man started swirling his wand about his head in great circles, chanting words of ancient magic, reviving the once lost forces of true spellcraft... "Hup, hup, Holland, HUP!" The remains of the inner keep window smashed into shards as mage, robe, wand and fruit basket crashed into the room, landing cumberously on his side over at a distant corner. Sensing several pairs of eyes on him, the old man coughed and searched in vain for his dignity among the scattered cherries. "Uhm, heya." Met by silent disbelief and the occasional headshake, Laanders the Everblue eventually found his feat, huffing with the effort. "Yerrah, ye know, you wouldn't have an old man struggle with all those stairs, would ye... neah... alrighteh..." Turning to Sweetcherrie, the elderly man stroked his beard and smiled warmly. With a flicker of his wrist, he tossed a lone cherrie over at the celebrated pennite. Though tossed as a berry, the item landed as a soft dark purple velvet figurine, enveloped in a transparent yet sturdy bubble of unknown origin. As Sweetcherrie caught it, the figurine gently sang out a verse, while typing out the words across the thin air of the room in a reddish shade of gold, as required by the committy for the audibly impaired. In channels of pens and of scarlet scarce did I know who to meet. Mayhaps the next sprouting starlet or mayhaps a woman called Sweet. Though we only met this last summer and although we live far apart, for sure it would be a great bummer if I didn't see your good heart. A heart beating warmly and strongly as these verses draw to an end. My hope is that we'll go on longly and that you will still be my friend. Happy birthday, you dear girl you!

...a tall and aging yet unnervingly handsome man in long, dark blue robes. "Huff", said the man as he landed plumply on his arse, not neglecting to catch the little girl as she came crashing down on top of him. Holding her firmly in front of him, the greybearded man gazed into her eyes with a stern look on his face. "Where to, child, in such haste that you cannot look out for an old man? Mind, if you do not look, you do not see; if you do not shout, I cannot flee!", he puffed out over over his breath, before bursting out in a wide grin encompassing his every last wrinkle. "Well, not like as that I would want to flee a dear little Sweetling as yourself in any case, but perhaps you would grant me the courtesy of a less... thunderous... encounter, the next time, eh lass?" "Of course uncle Laanders, I mean, I'll try!", giggled the girl as the elderly character gave her a hug so warm and energetic that his lone lengthy braid nearly wrapped around both of them. Getting up, Sweet provided support for the worn blue-rober to regain his footing and through a cascade of crackling spine, the man once more towered over the room. "Alas now child, we must prepare the celebrations for our Appy. I... er, well, I wrote this little poem for her. It's about our time in the Age of Archmages, really long ago. And it's about the present too. Like, magic almost!" The man looked down at the young girl, meeting only her vigorous nodding and a beaming look of apprehensive curiousity. "Uh yeah, so it's been a while, but here goes", said the tall mage from the cold northlands, and went on in a deep booming voice... "To my dear Appy! There was this magette* from the lowlands, she won all our hearts, even snowman's. Determined and happy she's well loved as Appy and I surely hope we'll stay good friends." (*feminine form of mage, what else?) --- Happy birthday Appy, and have a good one .