Drammus The Dragon

Transcription:

Gather round, ye numpties, for a tale, awt we Kevin and Lance, as they find theirselves in a right pickle again. This time, the pair in Egypt stumbled into a mess bigger than three highland coos in a bothy on a whisky-fuelled Friday night. A portal had opened up after their last adventure with Flash Cash the Unicorns, and it spit out a dragon that looked as if it stepped straight out a drinking den, and not a fine one at that. So there they were, lounging about Glenfinnan, when a rumble shook the earth and the scally-faced beast landed in the village square. It was Dramas the Dragon, what scales the colour of the bad hangover. The fire in its belly sputtered like a drunk old man trying to start a tractor. This dragon was a right nasty piece of work, its breath smelling like weak old ale and regret, and hun it was looking for trouble. Aye Lance, we better day something, Kevin said, scratching his head. What's the first move against a scaly shite like that? Lance, never the wisest, grinned like a dafty. We'll just tickle his belly, if he laughs maybe he'll fly away. Oh you Egypt, it's no a feckin' lassie you're after, it's a dragon. But before Kevin could make his point, the dragon roared, sending a wave of hot, stinking breath over the pair, making them both gag like they had had one too many at the pub. This beast was a clever one, it shot fireballs out of its stinking gullet, filling the room with the smell of a thousand outhouses. Kevin and Lance, dodging the inferno, looked like two blind highland goats trying to escape a hunter. Lance clapped and shouted, you lassie, get your hands off our village. The dragon's eyes gleamed with demon-like delight. You think you can face me, you wee pipsqueaks? It bellowed, its voice like some old drunk puffing up a wall. I'll make your lives as miserable as a lousy git on a Sunday morn. Clearing up their battle wits, of which they had barely a drop, they decided it was time for a wee plan. We need help, whispered Kevin, as fear swept over him like a nasty cold chill. Let's call for that unicorn we met a wee while back. Lance, in a right daft moment, shouted, oy you beastie of the light, come and save us from us own stupidity. As the dragon swirled and fire rained down, a glimmer sparkled in the distance. There was the unicorn, strident forward, her hair glowing like the golden ale they wished they were drinking. You numpties, you definitely need help, she cackled, before summoning a blast of glittery magic that made the dragon stumble in surprise. Was this nonsense, roared the dragon, taking a step back, its lizard tail knocking the oot side, all as Kevin shed down. You think you can out-magic me? I'm the lord of the hangover. The unicorn turned to Kevin and Lance, you need tae outwit this beast. That thrives on your weaknesses, play it like the whiskey you know. So Kevin hatched a plan, yelling, oy great dragon, let's have a wee competition. If we win, you fly away for good. If you win, will you turn us into haggis? You daft wee shite. The dragon, never one to pass up a chance to make a fool of anyone, agreed. Aye, I'll play your game. What's it gonna be then? They decided on a riddle contest. Simple riddles awit. Each time the dragon answered wrong, a shard of its power weakened, just like Kevin and Lance might have in a boozy brawl. What goes in dry and comes out wet, Kevin asked in a lad's hootin' tae voice. Ah, that's easy, roared the dragon, puffing up so much it looked like it was Dane's Caelid dance. It's a bottle, duh. Think again, you old bag o' bones, moaned Lance, laughing for the first time. It's a tea bag. And waa that, they watched the dragon dwindle a wee bit more, like a dram slippin' frae a glass. With each riddle, they took the dragon's strength down, making it flail about like a tipsy git trying to find his barstool. Finally, they were left to face off in the last riddle, which the unicorn gave them. What has keys but can't open locks? The dragon's face scrunched up and it stammered, visibly shacking. I cannae think. A piano, you daft bastard, shouted Lance, never one to miss a chance to mock. And as the last answer fell, the dragon shrieked. It deflated like an old balloon, collapsing onto the ground, hissing fumes of shame. As it crumpled, Kevin laughed. Man, that's one hell of a belly flop, now sod right off, you scaly git. The beast writhed a bit before a puff of smoke swirled into the air, and waa it came the sparkly bewilderment for all creatures in Glenfinnan. Yeah, I've done it, ye silly wee bastards, the unicorn cheered, flinging glitter round like it was confetti at a New Year's bash. Ye have faced the dragon and even survived, and so ended another misadventure of Kevin and hard Lance, two legends of Glenfinnan now known as the Dragonslayers of Dramas, the drunk-ass dragon Dafty. Since not a person has seen a trace of such a creature in Glenfinnan, but hereforth now Kevin and Lance will be the ones ye be calling if ye have any dragon problems in the toon of Glenfinnan. Uh, wah, dinnae forget tae like and subscribe, ye bleeding shambles.