Saturday, November 1, 2014

Water Under the Bridge: Letter One

Welcome, various and sundry readers, to Iron Wyvern, where we have before us a momentous occasion: the introduction of our new series of letters, Water Under the Bridge!
Narrated by three trolls to their adolescent nephew Lout, Water Under the Bridge is what critics* call "a cutting-edge masterpiece" and "a series to rival The Draconian Letters."
So, without further ado, we present to you: LETTER ONE!


Lout, Lout, Lout,
I have taken it upon myself to advise you. You are still a young troll, but you are growing faster than I had anticipated. So I must take it upon myself to guide you in your journey through life. I am, after all, a relative of your mother, (actually I am her brother, though she might claim otherwise. She disowned me when she was seven).
Anyway, on to the mentoring. You are growing into adult trollhood, Lout.
A word of advice: RESIST.
Here are my three commandments to you, based on my past experiences:
1. Take on as little responsibility as possible.
2. Do whatever you want.
That last one is the most important. Don’t ask, Lout; just trust. Anyway, one of the most important things you need to know as you grow into an irresponsible adult: your heritage. Trollkind is one of the most refined of all the Faerie cultures. Of course there are the famous examples, i.e., Skomas Noseyrun (inventor of the Faerie lamp) and Ollivandar Lamb Smell (inventor of the scrying stone). However, who would forget the great musical masterminds, The Beetles? And yes, the rumors are true; Ringo was not a troll, but a dwarf, but that does not discount the whole band. And what about the great writer, G.R.R. Trolkien? I’m just saying, there’s more to troll history than meets the eye.
But anyway, don’t study your heritage too long. A good troll will have a certain amount of disrespect for his forefathers. For example, it is troll custom to spit, defecate, and/or dance on the graves of our elders whom we didn’t like very much growing up.
Anyway, I’m running out of parchment, Lout; but one last request. Please don’t tell your mother I’m writing to you. She may get angry, and we all know what happens when your mother gets angry. She would kill me if she found out I was in correspondence with you. Anyway, till the next time,
Ferdy Snotdrop

P.S. Mail me anything you have questions about in your youthful life. I’ll write back with answers to your math homework advice.

*Disclaimer: these critics may or may not exist in this dimension.

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