Hi, diary. Life has settled down a bit since last week. I mean, life doesn't ever REALLY settle down 'round here, but today was a little boring, so that's a start.
The elephant herd has moved off, so I went out and ‘found’ Philip the Guard’s body. Got the grave diggers to bury him and everything. Maybe now Philip the Ghost will stop pestering me so much. The last time I saw him was at his grave outside the castle walls; I’m hoping he’ll stay there.
Doubt it, but, hope.
They’ve got a new guy to replace Philip. I think his name is Bernard. (Bernard the Guard. Kinda perfect, that.) By the end of the day Captain Cedric had already promoted him above me, dumping poor old Dragomir back down to the worst guard in Castle Roflcopter. I can’t get a break.
Bernard’s still learning the ropes, so I’m stuck in Philip’s old post, guarding the barbican. I gotta say, diary, it’s a boring job. There’s nothing to do! I mean, sure, it gets exciting whenever a horde of goblins or orcs or something attacks and we have to clean their guts off the battlements, but aside from that? Nobody available for a nice conversation. Snoozeville.
I’ve been spending most of my time on the walls instead, watching the western bailey. The castle’s tradesmen are there, and if I hide I get to see them making furniture and weapons and buckets and all kinds of stuff. Libby’s down there too, though, so I need to be careful. She’ll probably attack me with her hammer if she ever finds out I’m not at my post again. She’s kind of a douche like that. Pregnant women are so touchy.
Lucky for me, nobody will notice I’m not at my post most of the time. Not many people are going through the barbican right now because of all the elephant herds, and won’t be until next week when all the merchants start to arrive, so I set up a mannequin with some spare armour to keep watch over the main gate. It’s always facing the plains. I hope it has more fun watching elephants than me.
Sorry, diary, but I’ll have to cut you short tonight. The rats are staring at me a lot lately, even more than before. I swear it looks like they’re actually paying attention sometimes. Probably a silly idea, that, but when you spend every night in a rat farm you get a little weird in the head. They don’t read this thing, do they?
Nah. Sorry, diary. I’m an odd guy. Of course they're not reading you. They don't have thumbs.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Guard
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