It has come to my attention (eat your heart out Scaligar) that I have lately attended the greatest manifestation of Draconian conflict since the formation of stupidity. However, I shall recount this crime against enlightenment without a single troubled bone. Not a one. I take no responsibility for the damage done to the Western Wiles, and shall divulge the following with a clean slate. Seriously, don’t tell anybody.
It all began with the wretched secret council. Never liked it, you know, always had a bad feeling in my spine (later I realized this was due to the buffalo wing lodged between my outer scales. I advise you never to tip a waiter sparingly, as they have no conscience and an evil disposition). But if I had afore-realized the approaching conflagration of incompetency I would have retired as a 300-year old.
Accordingly with the council’s information, a team of Dragons wearing ebony cloth ninja suits (which looked amazingly alike to toilet paper painted black) arrived at my cave and promptly introduced my delicate taste buds to the tail of the same Dragon I had attached my jaws to, the latter council date. I shall never look at cucumber marinated cardboard again the same.
They promptly blindfolded me, in expensive cloth whose smell was strangely affinitive with ten year old, thrice wretched black gym socks. Likely my imagination, an enterprise such as the Draconian Secret Council surely could afford equipment surpassing athletic wear with asserted radioactivity.
I was flown swiftly over a time span of perhaps a day, in which time all I had to eat was a forlorn buffalo wing, and then landed on the same ground I had memorized the characteristics of in the last council. No how I recognized it?
like cardboard, looked like landfill fodder, smelled just like the
scent I remembered from my previously encounter.
I was led down into the same dark, room. The only difference was that it was already packed with Dragons, all I realized, in desperate need of underarm deodorant. Smelled like a ferret bathhouse down there.
I was then released from my odious pupil bond (I swear I heard a Geiger counter go off) and I then saw a circle of shadowy silhouettes surrounding the same dark pool I had recently cinderized in an upheaval of righteous retaliation. The meeting began sooner than I expected and the head Dragon quickly outlined our current situation. From anonymous intelligence, we had determined that the invasion through the Western Wiles would take place only eight hours from the current hour.
The invasion force would consist of several dozen battle-hardened Dragons, possibly form the Outlands or merely the out skirting unnamed Provinces. He warned us that we would be outnumbered, but that he had chosen us for speed and skill in combat. I heard several cracking of chest vertebrae as our sternum’s swelled.
The head Dragon told us for the moment that we would go over the main plan of attack in the pool, by way of scrying projection. A concentrated light blared into the pool and we all soon saw the soggy outline of a map, sketched by the claw of a masterful artist. The schematic showed the tunnel-like river pass that would lead straight into the Western Provinces, and an incredibly detailed written battle plan was sketched beside the painting’s impression of the tunnel.
Go tue Wylez, wate for bitt, ammbushz invayzun fors, kik teef in, throw oot uv brovunses. Hy five! Kownt teef.
Incredible! Never seen such complicated offensive plans in all my years. Such astute explanation, such complex battle scheme, and such good code! None but the best could decipher such a complicated algorithm. To say the least, I was very impressed by the battle draft so far. And I had fully memorized the complex execution plan, down to the last detail.
The head Dragon told us that we would now continue up one by one onto the grounds and change into our pre-prepared battle suits. I was anxious for my turn, and elbowed someone in the face, he seemed to mutter something to do with “—ification!”, but it must have been my imagination.
I was soon out of the cave and quickly found my suit, as Trewbodockz was encoded upon its chest. I quickly changed into it. Very comfortable, and very powerful too. Almost like laired toilet paper, or black elastic filled with tissue.
Soon all of my fighting companions were garbed out for war. A small Dragon, who claimed to be the head Dragon, told us to ready ourselves quickly for battle. I re-sharpened my claws against a rock, and introduced my tail to several trees.
A few minutes later the head Dragon reappeared with our fighting standard. A giant tooth backed by two toilet paper roles emblazoned upon a rainbow colored pennant. A truly fear-inducing flag of war. He called us to attention, told to reposition our hoods for our identities sake, and then with a roar we launched ourselves into the night air.
We flew swiftly for maybe five hours, until we finally reached edge of the Western Provinces. Directly ahead were the Western Wiles, and the path of invasion exactly in our path. With only minutes to spare until the supposed time of invasion.
In actuality I am telling this story in the present tense, as it is more prominent a telling to narrate in my time of unknowing. Though of course I suspected the following all along.
Suddenly from a bank of rushes beneath the canopy tunnel a crowd of Dragons flew up toward us yelling categorical curse words and yelling like heck. YOVIANS! They were all Yovians! All scale color and overlap consistency pointed to one final ultimatum, everything had been a sham! And I was the only one who had expected it!
With betrayed rage boiling in my gut like undigested chili, and swept forward and tore the armor (toilet paper) off of our supposed leader. A YOVIAN also! I promptly swatted him into a hedgerow with my righteous strength. That was when the rest of the crowd realized it, however; unfortunately, it was also the exact moment when the surprisingly powerful crowd of Yovians met with us.
It was only due to my surprise and inadequate toiletry armament that a single Yovian, after sinking his claw into my stomach, continued on to beat the living tar out of my ambushed body. After a few minutes of the harsh reprimanding, I crunched down on his toes, poked him in the eye with a wing tip, and furthered my martial art prowess by pulling his snout and booting him into the water.
I then leapt into the fray, indiscriminately grabbing a cursed Yovian by the sinewy neck and beating him soundly around the mouth and snout. I then heard, through the enemy’s remaining teeth something that sounded like Scaligar’s voice. An obvious ploy, I proceeded to kick his face in a further seven inches, and not until he yelled “IT’S ME YOU FOOL!” IN Scaligar’s exact tone that I realized
his transgression. Not having told me who he was in time, he had forced me to
inflict upon him my full strength.
Fearing for his health, I subsequently grabbed him by the hind claws and shoved him into a pothole in the round below.
The rest of the fight needn’t be portrayed in any great detail, let us merely say that me constant suspicions were correct and the renovation of the Western Wiles may take several years.
Unfortunately, Scaligar was not able to pull himself from his earthen prison for several days, until with the help of crane, an earth-mover, and a quart of axel grease he was able to pry himself from the mole tunnel. I told him straight off that I had been solely concerned with his health when I inflicted his violent treatment. His following retaliatory volley of physical and highly un-needfully biased reprimands I shall not fully recount to you, as you are young; and unscarred by this violent and explosive abundant world.
Anyway, the Yovians fled back to their wretched Province, once they realized I meant business. Of course I had seen through their plan all along. Seriously, yep, definitely, true and blue, no doubt about it.
Your clairvoyant uncle,
Trubodox the Scarlet
P.S. Got him.