There seem to be an awful lot of pigeons about today. They blanket the courtyards and pathways, cooing and fidgeting and fighting. They’re as flighty as ever, wheeling away in great flocks as soon as anyone approaches. All but the odd one or two, who hop on the spot half-heartedly, or else fly in a circle and quickly land again
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He's one to know of cursing, like a sailor even. It's another matter seeing it all written out in what appears to him to be blood, when reading and writing in the first place are such rare things that writing out 'fuck' was not something he's come across before.
Even worse still, this one seems to be done up by a mad man.
"Screaming? I don't quite like the sound of that." What is out there in this strange Keep?
He looks for another blighter with a bottle on his back.
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But he is rather resolute. The birds seemingly hold the answer to a strange riddle indeed.
"If I didn't like cats, more than I don't like pigeons- I'd be well on my way to searching one out by now."
The pirate does his best impression of stalking the flock where it flies. That can't be all that's there.
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So the pirate wanders after a flock of pigeons. That has to be an odd sight.
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