Book Two Letter Twenty-Three

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.

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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.

IUIBYYIBVIYVIHIBHIBBIHHIBBIHIUIUOIUIBVIIBYVIHVIHIVGIVGIVHIVBIYVIHHKBHBKI

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,

Scaligar

P.S. How’s the newspaper coming along? I used to work at a newspaper once.

Book Two Letter Twenty-Two

The contest still stands, readers! What is the title of the dragon Barbung? Barbung the What? I'll give you a hint: it doesn't start with a B, so you can cross out Barbung the Barmy. I'll give you another hint: it's a synonym for rude, and starts with one of these three letters:

Z, I, or W

Good luck! And remember, the reward is that you get to name a dragon (name and title), or you can name a province. And specify if it's in the North, South, East, or West, if you pick the province option. Here's Trubodox's next letter. Cheerio!

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Dear Smok,

It has come upon my notice that your uncle Scaligar is a dork, or to put it in learned terms, Dorkus Ignoramus Crackpoticus Uber Maximus. Any way you put, in street slang or Latin translation, it all spirals down to the problem of the universe: my single minded, accusation inclined fencepost of a brother.

How DARE he accuse me of planting that stick of dynamite in Ratakis’s locker? And he even had the audacity to ask me what the combination of his locker was. Like I know! 46-64-729 Honestly! The sheer, nerve, and no I did not fence an illegal shipment of Flammabotamine to the T.E.N.N.I.S. (by the way its pronounced “flam-u-BOUT-u-mine” not f rally, preposterous, highly irregular. I shall bring him to court for this.

Oh, and did I explain about my plan concerning my striking resemblance to Geekadox, and vice-versa, and the reason he is currently taking up space, and at the moment sawing logs industriously in my inter-living room. I have hatched a daring and ingenious plan, to replace myself with Geekadox (once he subsides chopping down forests in my homestead). As I have long since realized your uncle’s diabolical drafting of my letters using his brick minded lackey of a Drake to terrorize my mailman.

And so accordingly, I plan to send a decoy letter intentionally close to Scaligar’s airspace, narrating a perfectly boring letter to you. I have written below a copy of the letter, so to portray my exact wording, so in your return letter to my decoy narrative you may be convincingly dull and perfectly inauspicious.

Dear Smok,

It was perfectly blarney this week, with nothing interesting going on, and nothing whatsoever concerning my vacation time, a rabid fan, or a decoy letter, nothing at all. Quite boring this week, nothing to say, just though I’d check in to catch up any excitement, as there is none at my cave, none at all; nope, nothing, lukewarm, deadpan.

Hope you have a very good week, as I wouldn’t want you to tell of anything unnecessarily boring came your way. That backwind is all down my street.

Your innocent and bored uncle,

Trubodox the Scarlet

Perfectly convincing don’t you think; nothing suspicious in that, no sir-ee. Heheh, he’ll never suspect a thing. Foolish, underbred relatives. Oh, and don’t tell Semithino, as I’m planning to vacation in the Eastern Provinces near to him. Don’t you dare!

Anyway, Geekadox will replace me for an appropriately extended time, though not for at least a few weeks; as I must get my affairs in order, shop for sunscreen, scale polish and reinforced titanium lawn chairs (50% off at Drakemart).

But for the moment I must prepare for the Secret Counsel in five days. I am sharpening my claws appropriately, and shopping for pepper spray, though the best I’ve come up so far is a pepper shaker, dang, maybe I should go somewhere else then the spice mart for such weapons.

Hoping to see your decoy and genuine letter soon.

Your ingenious uncle,

Trubodox the Scarlet AND GEEKADOX THE REDD

P.S. The next time he does that I’ll send him to Frizid to saw logs and cut ‘em.

Book Two Letter Twenty-One; Draconian Contest No.2

Hello again to all who read this, and the spiraling void of writings and installations that is the Wyvern's Den. As our last contest was such a success (with Rob Thacker naming a Dragon and Semithino's compatibility with the namesake in previous letters), I thought it would be enjoyable to publish yet another of these contests. This time the winner of the contest has the choice of either naming a Dragon, OR giving a name to a province that we must use in our next letters.
The question for the contest is similar to our last, you must name a Dragon's title that we shall give only his or her name. if one does so, then they will be victorious and will be able to name ether a Dragon or a Province.
QUESTION: What is that title of one Barbung the ______?
If no one guesses in three days, I will publish a hint, so to concievably continue the contest.
Below I have published Semithino's latest letter in this blog. I hope you enjoy it while you think over the contestant question.

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A.S. (Ante Scriptum) I hear that your uncle Scaligar has ceased to use the phrase “It has come to my attention” to begin his letters. As it is no longer being used, I shall now begin my letters with this phrase.

My Dearest Nephew,

It has come to my attention that you had what must have been in an incredibly traumatizing experience at the T.E.N.N.I.S. rally the other day. How could the organizers of the Sprinkler Appreciation Day have been so moronic as to schedule their celebration and the opening of their museum on the very day of (and across the street from) the T.E.N.N.I.S. rally? Oh wait, our uncle was in charge.

Anyway, my condolences to you on the subject of the rally, I was watching from a half-mile away with an enchanted telescope and I saw it all. That last explosion reminded me of a fire-breathing contest set up between Browski the Hammered and Purgutt the Perpetually Intoxicated, Perhaps I shall tell you the story some other time.

By the way, have you ever played chess against a goat? As I write this letter, I am being bested in chess by the Ukrainian mountain goat that I had to rescue after that fight between your uncles the other day. He is a genius! No matter what move I make, he counters it with nothing but a brief, superior ‘blah-ah-ah’ which I suspect may be a goat chuckle. Oh did I mention that I put his Wanderwyrm painting up on the market? Well I did. The current estimated bid is unprintable as it might take a few more pages to slot in all the numbers. Plus I might run out of ink.

I have hung a few of my friends painting up on the walls of my cave (Really, they are inspiring works of art, truly bedazzling) and they have transformed the place. I must find a name for my friend. I cannot simply call him “the goat” can I? it would be ideal if he could tell me the name he already has, but I cannot translate the sounds he makes and the only language he writes in is completely beyond the reach of my, or any of my friends’, language studies. I suspect he may have created a new and advanced written language.

Anyway, my condolences once again about the rally and farewell until the next letter,

-Your servant, mentor and uncle,

                        Semithino

Book Two Letter Twenty

My dear Smok,

         It has come to my attention that the phrase “it has come to my attention that” has come to my attention to be tiring to write. In my next letter, I will employ the use of a different opening line. For old times’ sake, though:

         It has come to my attention that you were recently concussed in the Great Bombardment of the year 1938563837927475. I assure you, the newspaper writer was a little out of it when he mistakenly printed that date. I believe he was also concussed, similarly to you. Oh wait! He was and is you! Congratulations, Smok! You have a temporary position at the West Draconian Gazette. Why did you not inform me of this sooner? Your boss, Stagrius of the Flaming Pen, is quite a legend, and happens to be an old friend of mine. When he figured out that my nephew was applying for a job at the Gazette, he informed me.

         But seriously, Smok. Why did you not inform any of your uncles? And yes, I may have intercepted your other uncles’ mail to find out if you had told them. But it turned out (if I had hypothetically intercepted mail) that you had not even told Semithino! Why the secrecy? And don’t tell me you got the job because of the female in Management. She’s a bit snooty and way out of your league. I do not say this because I used to admire her mother but was promptly, both literally and metaphorically, dumped I wish to impede your social life, but rather I say this as a veteran in affairs of the heart.

         The heart, which is, by the way, a relatively simple thing, as I figured out when improvising CPR procedures on a fallen dragon at the scene of the Great Bombardment of 1938563837927475. Speaking of the Great Bombardment, if you are pursuing a political career, write an article condemning the governments of the known world for not preventing the chaos at the T.E.N.N.I.S. rally. If you are pursuing an author’s life, write an emotional, melodramatic, autobiographical novel about your experience. If not, oh well. I tried to make you famous.

         I was there; in fact, I founded the Society for Sprinklers and came up with the idea for Sprinkler Appreciation Day. We had just turned on the sprinklers across the street from the flammable rally, and I was just about to cut a great big ribbon with a pair of huge golden scissors to mark the opening of the Sprinkler Musuem, when chaos ensued. The projectiles being hurled at the rally suddenly began to explode under the influence of the water, and in the resulting panic sixteen dragons were injured; luckily none died.

         I have filed a report about the incident and have launched an official investigation as to why T.E.N.N.I.S. was clearly violating international regulations by using the highly dangerous chemical “flammablotamine” on their playing materials, a chemical which is clearly banned from all civilian use by Muddgar’s Treaty of Treddgast. This chemical caused the barren plains of Treddgast to become barren. It destroyed a whole paradise of draconian civilization in a single small skirmish, and here is the T.E.N.N.I.S. organization using it for a sporting event?!

         The chief executives of the organization will be prosecuted for this gross violation, and will be fined up to ten thousand gold pieces. They will be lucky not to end up locked in the Prison Isles. And if your uncle Trubodox is not careful, rabid supporter of this sport as he is, he as well will have to pay a major fine and may be sentenced to serve up to six months.

         Of course I will not let that happen; as daft as he is, Trubodox is my brother. But he must answer for what he has encouraged. Ratakis has suffered severe injuries. I will not expose Trubodox for planting the dynamite that incapacitated this athlete, nor for bombarding me on my way back to my cave, but if he pulls another stunt like this, I will have harsh words with him; I will remind him both what responsibilities I, as his older brother, hold for his conduct, and what I will do to put him back into line.

         -Your gravely disappointed uncle,

                  Scaligar

Book Two Letter Nineteen

Smok,

Concerning events of late, I will first offer my condolences upon the fact of your concussion resultant of the diabolical debacle that took place at the T.E.N.N.I.S. grand rally. From what your hospital diagnoses told, your concussion has caused short term memory loss, completely obliterating the rally’s events. I myself count this as a blessing, as you would have likely gone straight from the hospital to rigorous counseling if the full day’s events were in any way apparent to you. But the doctor: one Dr. Rig. R. Mortis, said recounting the events forgotten to you would be a sure way to accelerate your memory recovery and fortify it from any later similar injuries. And so with a heart injected with several quarts of lead (that is to say, heavy) I shall divulge the day’s events in all its magnificent insanity.

            Being a contemporary sport, and having being only lately established in the Western Provinces; T.E.N.N.I.S.’s organizers-having had almost no experience in event organization-set the date of the rally on the same day as Sprinkler Appreciation Day.

            The T.E.N.N.I.S. rally began with barely a hitch, save for an unfortunate event where Ratakis the World Famous Athlete found a stick of dynamite in his locker, for which I take no responsibility. But three matches into the pro-combustive event, the spectators were witnessed to one of the worst sporting disasters since when Bolikk the Buoyant squirted ketchup into the quarterback’s eye in the F.O.O.T.B.A.L.L. (Fun Order of Organizational Teams Booting Around a Large Lard-ball) playoffs.

            First the Ceremonial Sprinkler Guard set of an automated spray of hydration, missing the pre-prepared landing spot, and landing flat upon the T.E.N.N.I.S. players and fans. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the liquid used to flambé the T.E.N.N.I.S. balls, was an unstable compound used to prolong the fire’s burn time, but also incorporated a chemical that reacts strongly to alien substances, such as water.

            The resultant explosion of the balls of Bong’Bing the Whacker, Lestrad the Loaded and you; were enough to instigate the retirement of three minors, nearly atomize the facilities and acquaint three game pros with the stratosphere. Honestly I’ve never seen the Heimlich maneuver used to regurgitate a T.E.N.N.I.S. ball.

            From my vantage point in the stands I managed to escape the major damage, but unfortunately the subsequent shock wave sent the world famous Flab Sisters in the row in front flying straight into my delicate anatomy. The crater caused by the impact, several Dragons thought to be caused by a force 10 meteor. I later corrected them. It was force 11.

            Anyway, apart from being somewhat flatter than previous, I was perfectly unhurt by the incident. I heard that Scaligar had been present at the disaster; though somehow he escaped without a scratch. The anonymous explosion that marred his homeward journey I believe to be most fitting; although I wholly deny his accusation against me, involving me in the crime, along with several crates of dynamite.

            Hopefully this has jogged your memory into activeness once again, but my advice is to not remember too much of the incident, the counseling bureau has plenty of attendees as it is.

            Concerning other matters it appears that I was included at length in the article concerning the T.E.N.N.I.S. rally disaster. What can I say? I’m just that noticeable, though possibly it was because of the crater the Flab Sisters and I created, supposedly the largest one since Porkius the Porky jumped off a diving board.
            Anyway, a few days after the article’s publication someone knocked upon my cave door. Wait, I don’t have a cave door. Do I? Anyway, a few days after the article’s publication someone proverbially knocked on my proverbial cave door. I proverbially answered the door and found a miniature replica of myself sitting on the ledge preceding my cave-mouth.

            “Oh my goth! I’m your Biggetht fan!” he squealed, spraying me with spittle.

            I told him to lay off the narcotics and was about to close the cave door retreat into the cave when he explained that he was indeed my biggest fan, and had found my address on the article concerning my meteoric attributes. He went on to tell me that his title was Geekadox the Red, and he had wanted to meet me for several decades of his youth.

            He thed that he looked allot like me, and tho he wanted to meet me to talk and thtuff. A devious plan is now forming in my head, concerning my want for temporary retirement, Geekadox’s resemblance to me, and the supernatural ability of Scaligar’s to intercept my mail. Hmmmmm…Bwahahaaaa….I might let him stay the night…..

            On another exciting note, I have received the exact date for the next secret Westerner secret meeting, concerning the imminent invasion through the Western Wiles. I shall happily attend, as the letter enclosed the information that our immediate and physical action would be required if we agreed to congregate. I haven’t used my left hook in quite a spell, and I’ll be happy to try it on several unsuspecting invaders.

            Concerning your mentoring; I have come up with several more exercises for your fire breathing. I shall not list them, but have enclosed precise schematics of the exact movements needed to obtain results.

            An effective exercise to strengthen your claws is to set your talons into the Suction Stones native to Aeolia. Once you have done this attempt to pull your claws from the compressing rock. Once you succeed at this; do it over and over until you are able to easily free your claws from the stones. This may take weeks or even months but with a mastery of this you will be able to use your claws to their greatest extent, and be enabled to easily pull free if your claws are forcefully smashed into trees or thick mud in battle, giving you an advantage in a close quarters fight.

            I would council you more but it is late I am tired, and I am hoping to get to sleep at a decent hour, just like the saying. ‘Early to bed and early to rise, makes a Dragon cranky and blind in the eyes’. I might sleep in too.

            You lethargic uncle,

Trubodox the Scarlet AND GEEKADOX THE REDD!

Dang kids!