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!