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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

The sweetly singing birds


Peredhil

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Peredhil bustles about in the Birthday Room, scattering bird seed for the thousands of singing birds as the said birds tune their throats and chords.

After checking the anti-bird-poop spells carefully, he straightens his grey raw-silk Armani jacket and steps onto the floor.

 

The room falls silent.

 

Raising his hands, he motions a silent one-two-three count and on the fourth beat thousands of birds' throats swell and throb, in multi-part harmony, the Happy Birthday music. From the highest piping (with a frown he adjusts them a little less shrill) to the lowest swans trumpeting, they swing through the song three times.

 

Perfect...

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Wyvern sits perched on a wobbly branch of an oak tree located outside of one of the Cabaret Room windows, dressed in a canary outfit loosely based around Gryphon's form and hesitantly examining a music sheet. Tossing a bag of Almost Dragonic Brand Bird-Pooper Scoopers™ aside and cursing at their strange lack of sales, he clears his reptilian throat and opens his scaly mouth to sing. The overgrown lizard-canary's throat throbs and swells,... then throbs, then swells, then continues to swell until he realizes he has a piece of bird feed stuck in his throat. Clutching his throat and gagging, the reptilian Elder just has time to marvel at Celes Crusador's elaborate breakfast platter before the branch breaks and he crashes down to the uncomfortable, Almost Dragonic Brand Bird-Pooper Scooper™-filled garbage can below. Cringing as the bird feed becomes dislodged from his throat, Wyvern holds up a sign that reads "Happy Belated Birthday, Wrenwind" before collapsing into an unconscious heap of scales...

 

;-)

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