Greetings once more, Followed and friends! I come not to glorify the Derby, but to bury it. You came, you saw, you solved the riddles.
And now, i give out the prize to the winner of the Twelfth Riddling Derby!!!
Congratulations, Juliet! Incredible solving! You get the blog's highest award for genius....unfortunately, due to inflation, the invisible wreath of victory iis now the immaterial wreath of victory! But you remain the champion, and new coming hero to the Riddling Derby!
lets run through the answers before we go, just to even them up.
Riddle I: What has been around for millions of years, but is only ever a month old? The moon. [As answered by Juliet Lauser]
Riddle II: I cover what is real and hide what is true, but sometime I bring out the courage in you. What am I? Makeup. [No one answered this but personally I don't blame them, I didn't really understand the truth in it.]
Riddle III: What has a tongue that can't taste, a throat that can't swallow, eyes that can't see, and a soul that will never die? A shoe. [As answered by Angrod Carnesir]
Riddle IV: I am tall when I'm young, and short when I'm old. What am I? A candle. [As answered by Juliet Lauser]
There we are! All written up! Now congratualtions again to Juliet Lauser! Thank you all for participating and I hope to see you in the next post!
Oh, and don't forget to comment on what creature you want in the Weekend Disaster Post!
Monday, July 29, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Welcome back! Friends, followers all, to the Twelfth Riddling Derby! Once again their will be four individual riddles for every follower, and visitor alike to solve and gain the ultimate prize.
I now ask you to enjoy the riddles, solve them wisely, and avoid the blitzing carpet seller. Here begins the TWELFTH RIDDLING DERBY!!!!!
Riddle I: What has been around for millions of years, but is only ever a month old?
Riddle II: I cover what is real and hide what is true,
But sometimes I bring out the courage in you.
What am I?
But sometimes I bring out the courage in you.
What am I?
Riddle III: What has a tongue that can't taste, a throat that can't swallow, eyes that can't see and a soul that will never die?
Riddle IV: I'm tall when I'm young, and I'm short when I'm old. What am I?
Enjoy and enter your answers below. The Riddling Results will be published on July 22nd. And please remember to comment on what mythical creature you want in the next Weekend Disaster Post!
Draconian Fun Fact: Trubodox finds mustard and clam sauce crapes exceedingly toothsome, Semithino enjoys a good hot dog, and Scaligar dresses up as Semithino's waiter and steals his tips.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The challenge still stands: what fantasy creature do you want to see in the next Weekend Disaster Post?
And now a letter!
My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that I have been freed from the icy wasteland that is the tundra of Frizid. I may also have permanently paralyzed Semithino while I was at it. First of all, let me clarify: Semithino deserved every ounce of the gigantic beating I gave him, and I will under no circumstances apologize for the deed. Unless he dies, of course. But I highly doubt that. Hurdek the Physician is taking care of him even now, and my relative shall soon recover from his injuries.
Now, I shall take up my narrative where I left off in my last letter, which, I trust, has reached you by now. As Xelle and I sat in the snowdrifts, keeping each other company in the last hours of my waning life, it came to my attention that the hail was beginning to fall much harder than usual, pounding at the overturned sled we were sheltering beneath. Xelle had gone to sleep; drakes’ immunity to cold is quite enviable, because I really wished I could fall asleep, but every time I tried, my jittering body convulsed so hard that it seemed I would split in two.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
A missive! A missive! A missive from whom? Why, a missive from Trubodox, my readers!!!
What fantasy creature do you want to see most in the upcoming weekend disaster post? Comment below with your suggestions!
My dearest, most acclaimed nephew,
It appears that I have been dethroned, abdicated and gentrified by the armies of boredom. Nothing exciting has happened for months (save for that slight misunderstanding with the Drakes, which I shall not narrate in any great detail as my superiority is boundless).
It appears that twould be most timely for your previously dematerialized mentoring to be recreated in a most contemporary fashion.
It appears, firstly, that you have partaken of an unacceptably low average of the food stuff known as Chewing Gum, this is an irreplaceably nutritious entrée, and should be ingested, to use primal terms, indiscriminately and, like, liberally.
It appears, secondly that you have done nothing apparent enough for me to continue this narrative, for this reason solely, I shall discontinue this missive forthwith
and go look up some more words in the dictionary to continue on my rectified, and ethereal path of life.
It appears, that I’m saying bye.
Truebodoks the Scarlet
Monday, July 15, 2013
(first off, as your uncle Scaligar has lately taken back his start off line, the following news did not come to my attention, it simply allowed me to notice it very lately. There, that ought to keep the lawyers happy, or better yet; confused)
Due to the information that very lately allowed me to notice it (namely the family reunion proposed by my cousin
Xexeophlaomrakixiturtis cousin X) I have put my advertising job with the
local newsletter on hold and set out on a journey into Frizid. This letter I
penned at the first rest-area after my flight and was then sent on my
messenger-fish to your post-office. Forgive the fungi, and possibly the
Anyway, I was searching around for some means of transport across the tundra, when I overheard a trio of Drakes conversing by their sled, drinking cups of steaming hot Sluj, their national drink.
I shall not repeat the actual words that the conversation was made with as 50% of them were unintelligible, 29% were inappropriate comments and 21% percent were horribly and viciously grammatically-flawed. However, I gathered from the overall conversation that the Drakes had left one of their Drake-friends and a Dragon whom they referred to as “the one who says ‘Ificate’” whom I assumed to be your uncle Scaligar, on a sled out in the middle of the tundra.
Immediately leaping into action without the slightest hesitation, pause or vague possibility of the thought of rest of any kind or sort I invited the Drakes to tea.
This invitation to the sipping of tea leaves in steaming water was but the first step in a scheme of great cunning. As the Drakes sat down to tea, I would put into action step two of my plan, serving the tea, mixed with a slight sleeping-drug which would addle their minds just enough for step three to be pulled off hitchlessly.
With the Drakes in their semi-drugged state, I planned to then activate step three: a process of mesmerism taught to me in the far reaches of the Eastern Wastes by the Dragons of fire and sand who dwell there. With step three perfectly completed, I would then have been able to extract such information from the Drakes as I would need in order to rescue my brother and the female Drake out on the tundra.
With all steps of the plan completed, I would then have sprinkled a light dust of a powder made from the dried and crushed petals of the “forget me forever, don’t come near me again, don’t speak to me and don’t even think about writing or coming near my cave again” flower popular among young lovers in order that the Drakes would remember none of the things said in our conversation.
However, the Drakes refused my offer of tea, so I clobbered their heads together.
Having then pinned all three of them with a nearby motorized sled, I questioned them forcibly on the subject of the whereabouts of your uncle Scaligar and the Drake.
After the sled dropped on top of them, the Drakes were most forthcoming, giving me the coordinates of the place where they had stranded Scaligar, the position based on the movements of the storms, the most likely outcome of the next Flame ‘n Fur Ball match and a palm-reading.
I have since turned the Drakes in to the authorities and plan to set out on my journey to find your uncle Scaligar before the Drake he is stranded with is bored to insanity by his conversation. Oh, and I believe that there might be a slight danger of getting a bit cold.
-Your servant, mentor and uncle,
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The Phoenix Games on Saturday, much anticipated by many, ended up in complete disaster! (What a surprise.) These games, thought by many influential thinkers such as Sockcrates of Grease and Sissy-Rowboat of Pizzaville to be the key to unlocking life's greatest mysteries, were delayed back in March because of a serious scandal involving flame-retardant liquid and the possible use of hippo jugglers. Investigations on this matter (see the article Mr. Big-Hippo-Juggler and the Pachyderm Pact) are still ongoing, but the games have been allowed to continue uninhibited.
There was much anxiety among referee officials. Says one official who wishes to remain anonymous, "Our contestants this year seem to be very motivated, and that motivation might cause certain members of the competition, [particularly] aging athletes, to use outlawed measures."
Saturday, July 13, 2013
My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that I am dying of cold. Thus, I have arranged this last of mine very letters as my last will and testament, along with an explanation of what has led to this dreadful course of events, of what has led to my most certain, inescapable, fantastically unavoidable, doom.
Deathifications, my nephew; take up the legacy I have left behind, take up my mantle and follow in my footsteps. I am proud of you, Smok, but I’ll cut out the heartache from this script as I am freezing my buttocks off in profound agony, and every moment bringeth mine cold, frail body toward the inevitable, preferably warmer light beyond.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Greetings, faithful readers of Iron Wyvern! You may be wondering why the template of the blog has changed, or why there is a new tab at the top, reading "Water Under the Bridge." The truth is, my fellows, that we have come up with a new project, and are beginning to wrap up The Draconian Letters. Smok is getting quite old now, and growing more and more independent of his squabbling uncles, so we have come together and decided that it is time to end The Draconian Letters. After the next few series of letters are posted in a prompt fashion, we shall begin our new project. Introducing...drumroll now...
Water Under the Bridge
Featuring trolls and trouble, contractors and castles, goats and gremlins, and three controversial and very competitive characters at the heart of it all: "Honest" Bingo Gobspit, Ferkil Gruntsnort, Ferdy Snotdrop, and their mutual contact, Lout. Read more at the Water Under the Bridge tab above!
We have also changed the motto under the blog title. It reads (in Armenian) "Don't be polite, it's bad for you," as a tribute to trollish culture. We hope you enjoy the finale of the dear and long-lived Draconian Letters and the beginning, the premiere, the dawn, the threshold, the realization, of Water Under the Bridge! We hope you like it!
-JTZ Baner (Executive Bloggers)
Thursday, July 4, 2013
It has come to
my attention it has become apparent that my life has been
sanctioned, annexed, and disordered by such base invaders as the Governmental
Society of Draconian Trademarks, headed by one such treacherous relative
Scaligar the CENSORED. Such betrayal I have expected for
many cycles, though his midnight kamikaze incursion of my cave, along with the
assistance of several Draconian lawyers toting enough paperwork to stupefy a
Basilisk, was I admit an unexpected turn of events.
Depredating as Scaligar’s solicitous invasion upon my legal property was to be, he appears to be backed up by the court. And so I was unable to undergo my usual primordial calisthenics routine on my ‘honorary guests’; as they insisted upon being titled (I secretly entitled them the Flatulence Squad, but you didn’t hear it from me).
Contrasting to my belief, court…is even worse than my prior beliefs. I mean, for a simple misunderstanding of copyrights, had the court have to exhume all those previous misunderstandings (assault and battery of the Ice Cream Dragon, water balloon mania ending in several minor casualties at the college bonfire, proven incapacitation of countless Yovians, the embezzling of several metric tons of alcohol at a sitting, etc. etc. all misunderstandings). It all ended in my sentence of 10,234,345,679 days in the Provincial Tower of Undun, resident mad house of the large Province of Undun.
The sole reason for my salvation was my quick draw with a checkbook, and my infinite understanding of lawful
long-term bail. Heheh, you should have seen Scaligar’s face. His jaw hit the
floor with a satisfying clang of recently inset fake iron teeth. Bwahaha, but
the best part was when the Magnet Sailsdragon went by. Aahh yes; the joys of
life are many and infinite.
Anyway, I was able to escape that particular escapade with all limbs attached, and on an unrelated subject the court judge shortly after my leaving retired due to an upheaval in personal and unrelated funds.
Now that I have straightened out my legal status, and hand drawn several pictures of Scaligar’s magnet-inspired imprisonment for later blackmailing, I shall shortly mobilize my plan of temporary retirement with my resident adolescent Dragon as my short-term replacement.
Boy, will I be happy to get away for awhile. I have already sent several decoy letters past Scaligar’s airspace so to lessen the possibility of his suspicion. I would have copied them below but their sheer lack of excitement or any objective matter would no doubt crystallize your cerebellum and fuse your pupils for all eternity.
Geekadox will be writing to you under my assumed name, just to keep any Mail Dragon malcontents from accepting Scaligar’s, or rather Xunt’s persuasion to divulge all information concerning my undercover getaway.
Hopefully I shall return in a few weeks to reawaken your mentoring; until my next personally written letter, nephew.
Your subterfuge learned uncle,
Trubodox the Scarlet
P.S. The armored Uhaul carriage I hired to transport this revealing missive may have been overkill, but I believe it will be well worth it to me, my wallet and my vacation time.
P.P.S. I have also come upon the information that your uncle Semithino has lowered his standards irreparably in enlisting in the D.N.A., or the Draconian News and Advertisement. Such a lowly status I would have never thought possible with my slightly timeworn, ancient world type, though highly accredited brother.
Buy now Swamptongue the Stupid’s Scrumptious Slug Sandwiches™! With extra salt for a Fixed Fatality Front!
P.P.P.S. Ugh, ripple effect.