Day One Hundred-Eight: He might be better suited to a cocktail spear

Another day of goblin prep, diary, and today we were somewhere I KNOW Grylock's never been: the sparring range in the barracks. Yep, same place where Eve… stabbed… me… with a freaking lance…

She was there today, too. I suspect she's always there, flailing away with those weapons of hers, beating up a dozen soldiers at once. Even the other guys in the Omega Corps, who are supposed to be THE BEST of soldiers, can't hold a candle to her. I'm so proud of my baby. And a little frightened.

Okay. A lot frightened. But if this is what she's gonna do with her life, then I should support her, yeah? Yeah. Wish I could talk to her about that whole wedding thing with Logan… can't even talk to HIM, 'cause he's been avoiding me, I think…

Enough about that. Needless to say, Grylock wasn't so good with weapons. He couldn't figure out why the hell we were practicing soldiering to celebrate New Years, and all I could say was "You'll understand on Friday". That was a COMPLETE lie, diary, and I hate to lie like that, but… orders…

I also hate to laugh when somebody's trying their hardest, but I couldn't help it with Grylock. I'd been told to make him practice with a spear, and our spears aren't exactly goblin-sized. The one we were given by the attendants was easily twice Grylock's height, and made entirely of metal to help build arm strength. Musta weighed fifty pounds. Grylock himself doesn't weigh much more than that. Add in some leather training armour that's too big and you've got one goofy-looking midget of a soldier.

Well, he tried. I have to give Grylock that much, he tried. It didn't turn out so well, though, and when the little goblin wasn't scraping the end of the spear in the dirt, he was whirling around in circles. Spent most of the time falling on his butt - though to his credit he DID manage to spear one of the practice dummies. Once.

And then he poked himself in the eye with the end of the spear. Pure accident. Almost broke his glasses. Funny stuff, diary.

And, yeah. We went to the Beefiary for booze afterward. Grylock swore at me after two drinks and left, saying he was done with this preparation nonsense. Dragged his arms all the way down the hall to his quarters. After that weird sleep digging I did last Friday, I can sympathize - my biceps still hurt.

Gah. The guilt grows, diary - especially since I know the king was secretly watching the whole thing in the barracks, probably laughing his ass off. Don't like this, don't like it at all.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Liar