Thursday, December 27, 2012

Letter Fifty-Four

My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that in your latest letter to me, you included a few points which I hardly felt necessary at all. You said, and I quote, “Gargazath may be psychologically impaired, but this does not mean we should give up hope on him,” which raises the question (in my mind at least) whether we should have had hope in him at all.
Let me extrapolicate, elaboricate, and clarificate what I mean by this last sentence. Gargazath was perfectly right in the head to begin with, I admit; and our father, that is to say, your grandfather, favored Gargazath over all the rest of us. He had such talent and promise; his physique was unparalleled save by Belligast the Boldest; he was a regular jock, you see, among the draconian youth. This hope of greatness is what drove Gargazath, and I, having three degrees in draconian psychology, realize now that it may have been this hope, this blasted hope, which caused him to fall so low. You see, when he was about your age, Smok, as I recall, he was enrolled in a competition called the Great Dragonhunt, in which the participants all went off and jellificated as many humans as possible before the end of one night, followed by a supervisor to tally up the count. Gargazath was absolutely certain he would win, and hunted with vigor. But it turned out that he lost the Hunt to some uprising young dragon who had jellificated eight more humans than he had. This was a bad blow to his pride and confidence, but then, he was rejected scornfully by the great love of his life, a pink dragon from the north (I forget her name) who threw him away for the hotshot who had taken his title at the Dragonhunt. After this, I remember, Gargazath was never the same, and when he saw his brother, your father Rorfang, marry your eastern mother, I think it tipped him even farther. You see, his hope, his confidence, secured his insanity when he fell from grace, and this slowly developed into Terminal Bligardazash.
Smok, I have something very important to tell you, and I do hope you do not look down on me for it. Gargazath’s condition was worsening; I knew I must put him out of his misery. So, I bought some bags of eastern black powder off the black market and prepped an ambush for the transport team that was taking Gargazath to the lair of Hurdek the Physician. Just as they were flying by a certain cliff along the coastline, my band of drakes jumped out and assaulted the guards, who were all holding chains attached to a collar around Gargazath’s neck. Several of the guards were knocked unconscious, letting go of their chains. I then jumped out as the guards began to rally back, finishing off the rest with my helpful band of drakes.
Gargazath didn’t notice a thing. He was too busy singing the song (popular in Yovi) “I Didn’t See Your Banana” completely off-key and out of tune. So, I did what was necessary. I perched on the clifftop, watching Gargazath flounder and sing amongst the heavy chains sagging from his neck, and then I threw several bags of black powder at him. They all hit him full on, and he careened downward into the sea, quickly sinking. Smok, I killed Gargazath. I hope you will understand the necessity of the action. I put him out of his misery; he was going to die anyway. Even Hurdek cannot cure Terminal Bligardazash, for no cure has yet been found.
-Your serpentine uncle,

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