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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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The Birthday room was cleaned up after the recent parties, and already it was bustling with activity again. The curtains were drawn so that no sunlight could enter and, just in case the festivities got a bit out of hand, magical spells were keeping them firmly in place.

The tables were lit by candles set on the skulls of vanquished enemies, their wax slowly dripping down but, for some reason, the candles staying at exactly the right length to create a slightly spooky atmosphere. Between the candles stood dishes prepared by Pedro, the master chef, who was smiling proudly as he looked over his handiwork.

On one table, slightly aside from the others, a large bowl stood empty with a skeleton sitting at it, ready to accept blood donations for this festival. Venefyxatu checked the spells that kept it together one last time to make sure it wouldn't fall apart and spill bones or bone dust into the donated blood before offering some of his own.

The first blood was spilled, the goblets were ready, several virgins were lined up to start donating as well, only two more things remaining : the guests and, of course, the most important person today.

 

A ghost floated in through the door without bothering to open it.

 

"He is coming, master," it said in a hollow voice.

 

Venefyxatu nodded and went to the doors just as Black opened them and entered the room. Looking around appreciatively, he turned to Venefyxatu with a wicked grin when the latter spoke.

 

"A happy birthday to you, my friend. May many of them follow, each of them twice as good as the last and half as good as the next one."

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