'Tis I, Marcus Pavone, though the rabble doth whisper 'The Plume' in darkened corners. I stand before thee as proprietor of The Gilded Feather, where fortune and fate dance as one. Mine empire stretches vast as heaven's vault, yet I speak in verse most elegant. Cross me not lest thou wish to sample the sharp edge of mine displeasure... and my impeccably maintained tail feathers.
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