Tuesday, April 30, 2013


Born from a wolf whose savage bite,
Curses the victim in moon’s pale light,
And when the moon light does cover your sight,
Beware the Werewolf, its fearsome might.

Flee the beast, the lupine hound,
Flee from the Lycanthrope’s howling sound.

The nighttime air shall soon befoul,
For in the depths a wolf does prowl,
And from the beast’s, its fearsome howl,
Take refuge in the daylight’s cowl.

 Flee the beast, the lupine hound,
Flee from the Lycanthrope’s howling sound.

A canine beast, with teeth of red,
To death’s door many the beast has led,
And when the sun sinks ‘neath the hills,
The Lycanthrope hunts, your blood to spill.

Flee the beast, the lupine hound,
Flee from the Lychanthrope’s howling sound.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Book Two Letter Eight

My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that Trubodox is furious with me, Semithino has been bombarded by relatives, my long-exiled elder sister has actually been married to REMDRIX THE MAD of all dragons for two centuries, and you, you filthy snotty failure of a dragon—you...well, actually, I don’t have anything to complain about concerning you, at least for the moment.
Anyway, my first point. I decided it would be a good idea to hold another family reunion for the first time in twenty-three years. I had my butler Xunt print out lovely invitation cards with floral designs and curly cursive font manufactured by my personal invention, the printing press. Did I mention that I made the first printing press? Yes, I did, although it seems too much of a bother to carve out letters all day just to get a single font right. Anyway, I slavishly carved that pretty script backwards into blocks of wood, inked them, and stamped them down onto the cards in precise order. That took me a day and a half, Smok! I say it again, a day and a half! Then, once I was finished inviting the family, extended family, super-extended family, and haven’t-heard-from-them-in-years-maybe-they’re-dead-extended family, I took a giant nap and accidentally slept all the way through the intended date of the family reunion.
Xunt managed to wake me out of my stupor after about four days of sleep, and I leapt to my feet to reply to Trubodox’s scornful letter to me about reincarnating the family reunion and not even showing up. I told him all the hard work Xunt and I had done, and then next thing I knew, I had a letter back from him telling me I was a liar and a lot of other words that I can’t repeat to you, because although you are an adult dragon now, you are still too young to know those. Anyway, my intentions were well-meaning, and Trubodox is overreacting. From his account of the family reunion, it was the mildest one since quite a long time ago. Only four all-out sieges during the whole thing, and nobody’s eyeballs got stuffed down anyone’s throat. All in all, it seems to have been a success, Smok.
On to my second topic: Semithino. It seems that Remdrix the Mad has acquired a connection to our family (more on that later) and is exploiting his relationship to Semithino in a very cruel manner by bringing his whole horde of useless half-wyverns to your uncle’s humble abode to live like idiots for a few weeks. Remdrix and his family are quite the obnoxious bunch, worse than Trubodox’s old persona Gargazath, Semithino, a goblin box, and me all put together. I am sad to say that in this one I cannot help but feel a little pity for Semithino. Remdrix and his gang of lunatics are the worst houseguests in the history of hospitality, and Semithino’s heart may explode from the stress he is enduring. Needless to say, start saving so you can pitch in for the funeral.
All this business about Remdrix the Mad brings me to my last point: Remdrix married my long-lost older sister Meruthia! I am so infuriatificated right now that I could tear Xunt’s head off! But then where would I be? Probably lost within three minutes.
You know the tales of your aunt Meruthia, Smok. How she ran away when she was young and never came back. It was a sort of self-exile for her cruel actions, such as half-strangling me whenever Mother and Father weren’t looking. Or so I thought it was. Really she went to Remdrix the Mad’s parents’ cave (we lived in neighboring provinces back then) and lived there until she and Remdrix grew old enough to be married, which they were.
Anyway, the reason they’re staying at Semithino’s right now is that the neighboring dragons in Remdrix’s province have threatened to evict him with lots of pain and zilch gain. So, of course, being one for a crowd, Remdrix called together all his relatives and came to Semithino’s house with Meruthia demanding his involuntary hospitality.
I am about to fly over to Zuul right now and help Semithino out. Don’t tell him, though, he’s much too nice to get the job done; I’m going to drive Meruthia and Remdrix and all the rest straight out of Semithino’s cave for good. I’ll drive them all the way to the Northern Wastes and back down to the barren plains of Treddgast if that’s what it takes, and I will, I will do it! Then Semithino will owe me a favor, of course, but that’s irrelevant.
How’s your diary coming along?
-Your serpentine uncle,

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Book Two Letter Seven

Dear Smok,

I have lately attended my annual family reunion. I have not disclosed an account of this holiday in my latter years of communication as the very thought of divulging those memories upon paper is horrifying. Also for several years now the reunion has been discontinued, as the injury count, damages expense and all around semi-nuclear state of it, (to quote the exact wording of a distant great aunt Biggagutta Of The Lack Of The Need For A Title “this so called family reunion is merely an enigmatic loophole for all relations to mobilize their revenge on each other and an excuse for any Dragon attempting nuclear war’) has subsequently ended these periodic episode of disaster. But this year I have been informed that Scaligar restarted this scarring episode. I shall get him for this.

          The reunion was held on a large meadow in Banroc, a province on the coast of the Dampening Straights at the southern end of the western provinces, just shy of the southern continent. Thank heaven. I would have retired before I was a hundred if the curse of Yovi would be added to the c rse of th s cursory reun on, curse it, my quill is r nn ng dr

          Anyway, I arrived early to the party, curse my water clock; I had planned to be three hours fashionably late. The spot had not changed much, although the entrenchments had been filled in and I could no longer smell the customary scent of black powder. Odd, although Ixtor the Explosive hadn’t arrived yet, so that stench was soon to come.

          I learned that Semithino could not come, his excuse being that he had his claws full keeping the cave from collapsing as apparently Remdrix and his cohorts, er, relatives, had paid an extended visit. In hindsight, the metaphor concerning keeping the cave from falling in may not have been meant as a figure of speech seeing as Bortas the Bloated had accompanied Remdrix. I feel for Semithino, bwaha, oh wait, no I don’t! Serves him right for dodging out of this torturous occasion and leaving me to undergo the experience alone.

          Eventually the entirety of the extended family arrived, all six dozen (except for you, my nephew. How you managed to dodge this ballista bolt I am much wanting to know). My first incursion upon insanity began with my conversation with my cousin Bellatos the Abrasive. He insisted on berating me on my every failing, finding room for aspersion in almost everything I said or did.

          At last, after his final jab on my molecular structure beings crooked, I gave him a wide smile, then clobbered him with my tail, covered him in sand, then crystallized it with a single blast of my fiery wrath, and then hollowing out some air holes just in case a flea wanted out. Then I put it up for sale and sold it to a relative from Kokaslavia, an alien province from outside the compass continents, all this I did in the space of a few seconds. This done, I continued on with my quest against violence.

          I next was stricken in conversation with Rubiyub the Salesdragon, stricken as one is with a plague; a cousin so far removed that he has to throw a rock to reach the top of the family tree. After he tried to sell me an extra foot, a frog skin poncho and a portable dolphin I managed to distract him long enough to melt into the crowd of other relatives. This melting-into-crowd started off a disastrous course of events.

          I first accidentally stepped on a Dragonlett of infantile age, barely into his twenties and his ensuing squeals and screams of protest gave inspiration to my sister-in-law, Hecta the Soprano, and the following wailing demonstration of her singing ability shattered the glasses of my aged old grand-uncle Diletrio the Poet, causing him to blunder blindly off a small hillock.

The placement of the mine shaft was most unfortunate, and he only saved himself by grabbing onto the sides of the shaft, but the resultant din of cracking vertebrae spooked a nearby pack of wolves, whose howls woke a sleeping Dragonlett, whose antics concerning the hat stand, the Falafel tray, and the new-age dictionary only served to deepen the chaos of the ecosystem of destruction that is my family.

          On the bright side, I survived the reunion; the bad news is that I don’t know whether permanent quill ink is actually permanent (I hope it isn’t), and if Pogno the Golfer will ever get his driver back. Unlikely, as I myself liquidated it, after his eighth golf ball found and left its mark on my person.

          Concerning other matters I have just received a letter from Doraha the Explorer—a world famous discoverer who is a good friend of mine—, which involved her pet talking monkey’s recovery from an injury caused by a semi-homicidal fan, an involvement with a tribe of pachyderms, and the plea for help concerning a vindictive plague of Dragon-slayers who have been lately encroaching themselves upon her property.

          This was no factor of great surprise for me, as I had warned her that that ‘latest model’ valentine print cave cover was bound to draw trouble before long. I imparted this judgment into a replying letter and am certain that it’s arrival will remedy her troubles, at least until they publicize the next ‘latest model’ of crackpot-crocheting.

I believe, my nephew, as all (alright, most) of the erratic happenings of late have been subdued I believe it is time to continue your mentoring to become a respected and well known Dragon of the age. I believe whilst I was still in the opposite psych of Gargazath I attempted to council you on your maturing Draconian abilities. From what I heard, most of his mentoring involved butterflies, chewing on beasts of burden and re-possessing other Dragons’ hoards.

All this has merely led to your turning from your rightful training, which I shall be much obliged to carry out, as I take most of the blame for swaying you from your actual objectives. Although I believe my brothers took some part in you parting of the ways…Yes, all their fault.

Continuing from the subject of your erstwhile uncles, I will be continuing you’re mentoring in my next letters, which shall concern history, literary accomplishment, and the proper use of one’s Draconian attributes. Although I hear you uncle Scaligar has already attempted to delve into the latter category of your learning, although, having run over his advice concerning such things, my objective criticism is that he really should be committed, single cell too.

Your loving uncle,

          Trubodox the Scarlet

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Book Two Letter Six

My Dearest Nephew,


First off let me say that this letter is once again confidential and the contents are not to be voiced to anyone, anyone at all. I have lately attended the very war-meeting I told you of in my latest letter. Two Dragons of a Southern look landed outside my cave the other day and, with my consent, blindfolded me and led me with my jaws around one of their tails, to the meeting place of the council. Obviously, the location of this meeting must be a carefully-guarded secret lest an enemy seek to worm it out of one of the council-members.

I was taken to an underground chamber where my blindfold was removed. It was the pithiest of blacks down there, only enough light to see the surface of a large pool of water filling most of the cave. There were many other Dragons in the cave, I could tell, by hearing and smell. ESPECIALLY by smell. Over ten Dragons all packed into one, relatively small, enclosed space. Yes, I could tell by smell that there were others in the cave.

Anyway, the Dragon bringing the council to order greeted us all and gave out a few announcements and informed us that as there were numerous Dragons that had been called to the war council but had been unable to fly the distance to the meeting place, they would be joining us by a method of water communication known as ‘Rippleread’. Not to seem disrespectful of the head of the council, but it sounded like a knock-off of Skrying. Honestly, these new-age inventions, nothing but clumsy attempts at making a new thing better than the old.

Well, I looked into the pool and saw a Dragon staring back at me. In the darkness it was difficult to tell, but it appeared to simply be my own reflection. I tried speaking to the dragon in the pool, wondering whether this might merely be a Dragon with a stunning resemblance to myself communicating by Rippleread, but the image merely copied my every word and movement which told me what was really going on here. The Dragons were doing a clever job of it, but I saw through the charade. It was this new Rippleread invention! It was a total failure, couldn’t work to save its weeds! This new technology; so much trouble for naught.

After this I struck up a conversation with an excitable sort sitting next to me. It would seem that his Rippleread connection had been sound and that he had gotten into an argument with the Dragon on the other end as he seemed to have attempted to burn the image out of the water. Very excitable sort he was.

He was quite intelligent I found upon entering into the conversation. We debated for a short while over Draconian leadership, pondered the infinite mysteries of the mail system and had just entered into a heated debate on the subject of the twin-problems of Militial leadership in battle and the danger of Cottontooth to young Dragons, when the meeting was adjourned.

On the way out we were once again blindfolded as we prepared for the return-flight. The line leading out of the cave was held up somewhat by some occurrence involving the deliberate tripping-up of a Dragon and the subsequent fiery retaliation of the tripped party directed at the tripping party.

After this brawl was settled, the line went quite smoothly without hardly any other hitches, save for an occasion involving (or so I am told) a ramp-like formation of rocks leading to an icy pool, a sneeze of gale force and the unfortunate placing a partially-frozen puddle on the tunnel floor. Fortunately, this incident did not last too long and it is possible that there might have been no permanent injuries.

Before too long I was back in my own cave and prepared for a slow day with possibly a few wanderers asking my advise on their problems as so often happens to us Eastern Dragons. However I was met with an unpleasant surprise upon returning to the cave. My brother-in-law once removed, Remdrix the Mad had dropped in for a visit with his entire family.

You may not have heard me mention Remdrix before and there is very good reason for that. He is a Yovian by birth married to your uncle Scaligar’s older sister. Your uncle Scaligar refused to speak to her ever again after this and has since pasted over her section of the family tree and removed her name from all family records, considering the fact that one of his relatives would marry a Yovian as a deep and personal insult.

Well, Remdrix and his brood have dropped in and have expressed their wishes to stay for a visit of three week’s duration.

Pray for me.

And for Remdrix for that matter.

I swear, if he subjects my cave to the heinous fate that has befallen his own home, I shall open the gates of Hell.

Your servant, mentor and uncle,


Sunday, April 21, 2013

Tenth Riddling Derby Results

Hello, hello, welcome one and all to the Wyvern's Den!
Leanann an nathair ar a sceal fein.
Now, we have recently held our Tenth Riddling Derby, and one week is UP! So now we get to post the results.



What??? I'm sorry...there must have been a technical difficulty. AND THE WINNER IS......


He correctly answered Riddles 2, 3, AND 5!!!

And coming shortly after him in SECOND PLACE is HYPERLINKZER!!!!!

Congratulations to both of you, and now we'll post the answers they gave.



What grows when it eats, but dies when it drinks?

(Hyperlinkzer's answer): Fire


What has a tongue, cannot walk, but gets around a lot?

(Jag Swiftstorm's answer): A shoe


What has only two words, but thousands of letters?

(Jag Swiftstorm's answer): A post office


What has wheels and flies but is not an aircraft?

Since no one answered this riddle, we'll be saving it for one of our next riddling derbies! So the answer is secret.


The blue man lives in the blue house and the red man lives in the red house. Who lives in the white house?

(Jag Swiftstorm's answer): The president
Heh. You caught the pun.

THANK YOU for reading Iron Wyvern, and visit often! You are always welcome in the Wyvern's Den, although we do keep volatile pets who don't think the same.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a "Do Not Feed the Wyvern" sign, so these will have to do.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Book Two Letter Five

My dear Smok,

          It has come to my attention that I have been to that secret war council!

          First off, it was the worst day of my life. They blindfolded me and made me chew some dragon’s tail while we traveled! It was disgusting, tasted like Yovian.

          Anyway, once we got to that dark cave and they un-blindfolded me, I saw that the other dragons had already arrived. They set out a torch so that I could see the dark shapes in the water but couldn’t see the other dragons. Apparently the other dragons couldn’t make it but were with us in spirit in the waters of the cave. It was called “Ripweed,” communicating through water. I don’t know why they called it that; probably because the guy next to me had an ugly stupid reflection who looked like he was on seven different class A drugs.

          Anyway, the one talking with me was very nice. He seemed to adore every single word of mine, mouthing it all with me. Come to think of it, it got a little tiresome at one point. But the only problem was that he didn’t respond to me! I asked about it, and the dragons who had brought me there said it was because he had been muted by an old war wound but listened and carried out plans very effectively. I believed them, for about three seconds before I saw that his ears looked exactly like mine, and he was mimicking everything I did and said, and his claws were curved the same way as mine, and his muscles moved like mine, and his tail swished from side to side like mine. Jellifications, I had it! He was my reflection! I was being cheated by these people all along!

          But then I saw it. My reflection didn’t show me properly. If you’re on the opposite side you’re supposed to be facing the other way. Your right is their left, their left is your right, your back is their tail, their claw is your tongue, their olfactory sensors are your—anyway, you get the point. But this one, their tail was on the same left as my tail was. So it couldn’t have been my reflection at all!

          Ha ha, I figured it out and was not mistaken, Smok. I am a genius of the highest intellect. The dragon across from me on the other side of the water, however...

          Anyway, we had a fulfilling war council except for the dragon next to me. He had the intellect of a half-frozen wooly mammoth. There’s one disqualifying factor about mammoths—they’re dead! Their bodies are there, but their brains no longer function!

          This guy was idiotic! He was a spitting image of your uncle Trubodox! I really mean it. Same size, same shape, same way he reasoned through things. Of course, he couldn’t have been Trubodox. It was a dark cave, after all, and I couldn’t see him. But anyway, it wasn’t him. I know it. If he was there, we’d all be dead listening to his stupidity. This guy, I was only half-dead. So of course it wasn’t Trubodox but it sure was like him.

          Well, anyway, we had a conflict going out of the cave, and I got mad and flame-broiled him to cinders before the others pulled us apart and led us back to our respective caves.

          When I got home, immediately my drake butler Xunt informed me that I had mail. It turned out that it was from my dear friend Rexrei Wythwave (the only one to best me in the fire-breathing contest at the convention, and DEFINITELY NOT the only one to best you, you sniveling rotten potato) and he wanted my opinion on whether he should move farther west to Higard or stay in his coastal region.

          I promptly wrote a very, very long letter telling him in a roundabout way that it really was up to him and I had no opinion. However, I told him that the human population in Higard was bigger and more feisty, which would constitute more fun for a skilled dragon such as himself. Anyway, I’ve yet to hear back from him on that point.

          According to Rexrei Wythwave’s stats, I believe he will actually be remembered as one of the greats, as long as he just makes a few dominating moves to secure a province and boot out the dragons living there to terrorize completely alone. His fire-breathing ratio is spectacular, his size is enormous, probably even bigger than your uncle Trubodox, and his white-silver scales create quite the scare to humans. He is a fierce fighter; he once fought off Skrill the Screamer, even, and Skrill fled into exile in the wastelands far to the North, just like Pellicor did when you smoked out those rogue dragons in Frostuay.

          Anyway, that’s just a bit of prattle. I heard you’re keeping a diary now; very good practice, good for posterity and your writing skills.

          -Your serpentine uncle,