Hello, readers of the blog! Draconian Contest No. 2 is now over, with our reader Angrod Carnesir solving the fateful question:
What is the title of Barbung?
His answer: Barbung the Insolent. Well done! Let's give him a hand! In reward, instead of naming a province to be used in the Draconian Letters Book Two, he decided to name a dragon, complete with his title:
Ehrex the Guardian!
So look out for Ehrex in upcoming letters! Anyway, here's the next letter.
My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that DANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, Xunt is in a bad mood today, I’ve been distracted, you can’t blame me for forgetting my pledge never to use that phrase again—oh, stuff it. I’ll try again next time.
Anyway, my lawsuit against the T.E.N.N.I.S. chairman and board would be going successfully—that is, if they didn’t have bucketloads of money to bribe judge and jury! I shall be rallying a countercampaign and I am currently working on getting my good friend Rexrei Wythwave, whom I have mentioned before, elected to a judge’s seat. These flammable tarts have perpetrated a grave crime against the public and must be punished for it. I have also sent a letter to Semithino pleading that he join the jury on this court case as well. Xunt is busy preparing legal documents. I told him specifically not to forge any incriminating letters or anything like that. This will be strictly by the book.
Speaking of jury duty, I also would like to invite you, Smok, to join the jury on this case. You are reasonably rational, and a sincere dragon. Please have an answer by Tuesday.
I’m sorry, Xunt is in a bad mood, have I mentioned that? I won’t bother to try and erase it; he’s been buying patented unerasable writing utensils from Drakemart. Drakemart is the bane of all things reasonable, Smok. I hope you never go there.
Smok, I’ve noticed a little something funny about Trubodox’s correspondence of late. His letter was, well, suspicious. I thinkificated over this matter and then sent Xunt way up over to Trubodox’s lair. Once he got back, about thirty-seven seconds later, I sent him again, because I didn’t think he actually went. It turned out that he had gotten about three feet before he tripped over a rock and landed in the dirt, at which point he forgot his mission. I think he may have been distracted by the rock, or perhaps by thoughts of Xelle.
Anyway, I sent him, and when he came back, he said that everything looked all right, except for the fact that Trubodox’s cave entrance was completely covered by layer upon layer of wood planks, and most of the trees in the region had been reduced to mere stumps. This I could hardly believe, so I sent him again, hoping that the long journey would knock his sense of humor out of his mind. He came back and said that Trubodox was out there chopping away at some trees.
I immediately flew to Trubodox’s cave. Hunkering down behind a large bush (don’t ask me how it got that large), I observed the proceedings. It appears, Smok, that your uncle Trubodox has contracted some form of Terminal Bligardazash!!! He’s out there sawing logs and muttering to himself, and every once in a while he starts yelling, “I’M RED! I’M RED! I’M GEEKERDOCK THE RED!”
He pronounced his name wrong, but at least he wasn’t claiming to be Gargazath. It appears that my brother is ill. I’m sure he’ll get over it, though. I’m not at all worried. I’ll monitor his correspondence and if he starts writing about Blizzdiblundikuss again, I’ll hit him over the head with some firebrands.
Anyway, on to other subjects. I have been informed that the secret council meeting will take place next week. Apparently the others have gathered intelligence about a Yovian ambush, and I’m sharpening my claws even now for battle. It seems that the fate of the West lies in my hands, Smok. I’ll ask them if they will invite you for the third meeting, but this one is only for the great leaders. I asked about Rexrei’s presence, but was told that he declined the opportunity to help lead the war. However, I was told not to contact him about it because my letter might be intercepted. I, an expert in interception, would know that. Anyway, until the next letter.
-Your serpentine uncle,
P.S. How’s the newspaper coming along? I used to work at a newspaper once.