Monday, August 22, 2011

Day Sixteen: So gross

Good evening, diary. Welcome to Castle HappyGoMerry. Maybe I should keep a list of all the different names.

My weekend was nice. I didn’t get yelled at, smacked, told I’m an idiot or demoted. (Not that I can go any lower on the guard totem pole. The captain's stupid dog is ranked higher than me.) I’m back to work now, though, and I have a grisly task ahead of me: I have to watch the Neck. I guess it’s punishment for messing up with Prince Logan, even though I... didn’t really do anything wrong...

Anyway. The Neck is the bridge over the moat that joins the barbican with the rest of the castle. Most castles have some kinda Neck, only King Jeffrey is so paranoid about security that he’s rigged our Neck with a bunch of traps. If anybody he doesn’t like tries to cross, a big shell that looks kinda like a glasses case claps over the bridge, covering the Neck. The invaders are almost instantly shredded, ‘cause the underside is covered in a bunch of crazy spinning blades.

And if anybody survives? The bridge collapses and dumps them in the moat. That’s also how the king feeds all the piranhas and crocodiles and mermen that live in the water, ‘cause all the chunks tumble down when the bridge opens. It’s really gross.

There haven’t been any invasions lately. The bridge is still bloody, though, ‘cause it’s kind of finicky and likes to go off at random. It’s bazaar season right now, and merchants keep getting chewed up while entering the castle, carts and all. I dunno why they don’t just let the merchants in through the secret underground entrance, but then I guess it wouldn’t be a secret.

(In case you were wondering, diary, we guards have our own bridge that's above the Neck, so we can get to the barbican without dying. Flimsier than the stone bridge below, but it's not trapped.)

(I think...)

Long story short, I have to watch a lot of people die from the safety of the barbican. And then clean up after the Neck's done, using a really long stick with a mop on the end. It takes days to do, and since merchants keep coming in there’s always fresh blood. It’s such a pain, diary, you don’t even know.

Between that and Libby’s weird pregnancy urges - she demanded three pounds of yak tarts earlier - my week is gonna suck, diary. I’m gonna keep writing in you every day, 'cause Robert the Librarian says practice makes perfect, but I might be late some evenings. We’ll see.


Dragomir the Bloody

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