Welcome, readers, one and all, to the Wyvern's Den. Here we have yet another installation in Book Two of The Draconian Letters, which is drawing swiftly to a close.
But fear not! For we, the authors of this blog, shall take a two-month hiatus and produce the most fantastical and hilarious new series of letters, Water Under the Bridge! More details in the tab at the top.
For now, though, enjoy Scaligar's newest letter.
My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that prison breaking is not so easy as the media makes it seem. I apologize if this letter is tainted with scents of radioactive pineapple fragrance. It was necessary to ward off the guards.
I write to you from the Island of Bootjaw the Province of Frizid. Of course, my real location is crossed out in my earlier sentence undisclosed to you, due to my being a fugitive from the law.
All right, now that has been settled. I write to you with the details of my escape plan (in case you yourself should ever end up in such a situation as I did).
First, I dug a tunnel deep underground, mining for diamonds. Then, I purchased a lemon squeezer from one of the inmates, at the price of one toeclaw. Where did I get the toeclaw, you ask? Well, suffice it to say that Trubodox has been wearing a bandage over his left hind big toe since we escaped.
Having purchased the lemon squeezer, I bartered with a crooked guard for his three-legged orangutan. Having traded the lemon squeezer for my new ape friend, I proceeded to trade the orangutan for some much needed toilet paper. Of course, it was not I that needed it, but rather the janitor. He was in a tight spot with the Mob. I traded him the toilet paper for a diamond-polishing kit.
Having acquired the kit, I proceeded to mine underneath the prison until I hit the payload: a giant deposit of diamonds. I had been searching up the local history and knew there had to be a mine down underneath the prison grounds.
I smoothed out the diamonds and sold them to the Prison Warden, Blazzikrusticus the Terribly Sleazy. With his help, I proceeded to hang radioactive pineapples from the ceiling. The guards having been distracted and puzzled by the strange and extremely toxic tropical fruits hanging from the rafters, I quietly made my way out. Trubodox followed, not so quietly. He hobbled after me, moaning about his sore toe and how he wanted to keep the three-legged orangutan as a souvenir. I almost wished he’d withered away from Pancake Disease.
Anyway, we made our way out to the gates and would have slipped by undetected, were it not for the most FOUL SHRIEKING I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE. I stared up at the sky to discover my ingeniously idiotic relative Semithino, riding on the back of a sore-throated Gryphon, with a fleet of vampire bats behind him. The prison alarms went off and the guards all rushed out. I made my move, flying out through the gates and diving straight into the sea.
I have been known to hold my breath for up to three days at a time, you know. I swam my way up the coastline, making sure to scare some local fishermen on the way. When I got to the Province of Zuul, I donned a disguise and flew to Bootjaw, where I am the new King of the Drakes the Province of Frizid, where I nearly froze to death some time ago.
Ugh, Smok, this prisonbreaking business has made me weary. I’m thinking ot taking a vacation soon.
But where to?
-Your serpentine uncle,