Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Book Two Letter Fifty-Five

'Tis here, 'tis here! The second to last letter! The final missive from the claws of the Western, rampaging uncle! Kindly put your keyboards in the air for...Trubodox's Last!
Dear Smok,
       Dragons are not meant to swim. I realized this shortly after our scale raising flight swim from the prison in which we languished until my idiotic brother opened some brain windows and managed to get us out.
However, I hate to leave you with the thought that your uncle Scaligar the CENSORED is clever. Nothing of the sort, sport. would a clever Dragon enlist the aid of a posse of water toads to tow us through our escape route after hours of doggy paddling through obscure forms of seaweed. Perhaps, but hypothetically a clever Dragon could not organize a coup against the friendly amphibians and took over their moist HQ.
Disgusted that he would not share his frog legs at his callous actions, I left him to his subjects and slogged a further eight miles to a town, which I burned guilefully, stealing several sheep.
Soon enough though, I came upon a deep, dark spooky wood with strange shrieking cries emanating from it. A brave and un-superstitious Dragon as I was, I ran screaming from the spot and only stopped when I met a careworn bat carrying a mysterious message, which included a three sonnet drafted love poem, a plea for help including such phrases as ‘piquant-and-perfectly-perfect person-who-reads-this’ and ‘thine most impressive, impotent assistive facilitations’, and mentions of duct taped Witches and lovestruck curses, and various mentions of literate goats.
Obviously this was from Semithino.
Soon enough I had located him by way of my incredible tracking skills and fierce determination and/or the bat hand cuffing us together and dragging me through pricker fields. He quickly explained to me that the letter I had received was one of several he had sent out, hopeful that one would reach a friendly party. He seemed disappointed in their failure.
He was also insistent in the point that I had to accompany him on an adventure of epic proportions, which he told me would include much danger, dames and dastardly villains.
Needless to say I accepted his offer, for several reasons which I will congregate below.

Firstly. As you know I had a hefty price on my head, from which I would like to escape (torch wielding mobs does not a vacation make), and this would be the perfect opportunity for me to test out my new move, crouching geriatric, hidden chainsaw.

2ndly. DAMES! I was eager to discover the outside world, with which we would encounter closely. And my Incinerating Quarterly bunked on me too, I want revenge...And as we all know, adventures ensure lawlessness, along with broken vertebrae, but who counts those things.

& Finally. I didn’t really want to take up once again with Scaligar, as he was sure to seek out my admirable company if stayed put here. Why just last moon, he noticed me right off at a cockerspanieltail party when I was fully across the dance floor, the fact that I was on fire at the time is notwithstanding.

Fourth and Lastly. My scales could use a tropical treatment, as they seem to be bleaching after my submarine debacle with your asinine uncle.

Vth. I hear they’ve got crepes in the upper Outlands….

And there you are Smok. I know this will come as a heart wrenching loss to your life and education, but fear not. I will return with souvenirs.
I must say it will be hard to get away from the routine of writing to you with nuggets of brilliance ever enclosed in my letters. I believe on my return from vacationing and adventuring I shall resume our contact, until then I shall take up my position with Semithino as Personal Adventurer, Troubadour, and Repossesser of Treasurer.
Now I must go, a house inspector is invading our forest glade asking about toilet numbers, and Semithino wants to duct tape him into a turtle shell or some such nonsense. I think I’ll enjoy my time away…
But I will be back to retake my post in nurturing your growing maturity with thoughts of great rampaging, mass sheep roasting, and Flame Yoga classes.
I’m sure the time away will do me good. See you later, my nephew.
But don’t worry, I shall be back soon. Don’t worry.
The time away will do wonders with my scale tint. Wonders.
This is rather difficult.
But Semithno is calling for more duct tape, the inspector is putting up a good tussle. Must be going.
But I’m sure you need some last minute instruction ion the newest gossip about the provinces—oh that was a good left hook from the inspector…
As terrible as I know you must feel about my leaving you I WANNA STAAAY I really must go now. Do not try to write please write, the Outlands are cruel to courier pigeons (speaking of that, remember, eat that pigeon, he mustn’t escape), and Dragons on quests for that matter.
But we shall persevere, whatever the cost and obstacle, it shall be overcome. Now I really must get going, inspection reinforcements will be here soon.
Your adventuring uncle,
Trubodox the Scarlet
P.S. By the way, we’ve decided creating new identities would be a good idea due to the implacable dangers of our ensuing journeys. Trubodox just doesn’t give the right spectacle. I was thinking of Xodoburt, it gives Scarlet a nice ring if I do say so myself.
P.P.S. Don’t think that I am including these post scripts just to get in some more word with you. As a superior draconian being, I am indifferent to those soppy emotions that have so obviously overtaken my brother-in-laws. Nothing of the sort, I’ve just got an excess of extra parchment.
P.P.P.S. Sooo, how’s the weather over there?
P.P.P.P.S. Nope, just finishing it up now, nothing more to say. Farewell Smok, I must go, and perhaps one day I shall write ag TRUBODOX NOW!!!! THE TURTLES ARE COMING, AND THEY’VE GOT CRAZY GLUE!!! 2568 #TWTEUG^%&*Y*Gh785yhT^RDFGD^^%56r54r54#%^$^@#$%^%ftfr&^&*gydeg8gurh7853htuh
P.P.P.P.P.S. Gotta go.

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