Day One Hundred-Ten: Like the Bible and college hazing combined

Remind me not to put things like 'king hater' in you, diary. Nobody saw it, but it's still not a great idea. I, uh, love King Jeffrey.

Yeah.

Today. Today was the day, the last day of 'preparation' for New Years, and the official day OF New Years. I was visited by The Baron again, and he told me only one thing: "Get him drunk. Very drunk."

Seemed a hell of a lot safer than tangling with mammoths.

I went to Grylock's room, fully expecting him to launch a full-on pee barrage the moment he heard my voice, but he was already gone, and gone to the first place I checked: the Beefiary. Stinking drunk in the middle of the mess hall. According to good ol' brother Robert, he'd been there for an hour already.

I was leery about going near 'im, but as soon as Grylock noticed me he waved me over with a laugh. "Dragofuck," he yelled at the top of his lungs, "move your pasty tush this way, boy! Drink with me!"

What could I do? I sat down with him. A few seats away. "Hi, uh, ambassador, I just wanted-"

"Shut yer gob." Grylock slid a mug my way, spilling half of it on my pants. "Drink. I'll forgive ya if you drink. Wasn't your fault noways."

I drank. Alcohol's never had much of an effect on me anyway, and it was part of the job, so why not? We drank, and he talked, and before I knew it we were joined by a LOT of other people, all drinking and laughing and carrying on. I'd forgotten all about the constant parties on New Years.

I'd figured that Grylock would be dead to the world after several hours of drinking, but by midday he was still at it, up on the tables and belting out goblin songs while everyone around him cheered. He was the centre of attention. Then, after a particularly rousing serenade of burps, he came back and sat next to me, so close that the amount of alcohol on his breath offended my nose.

"Dragofuck," he slurred, slumping against my arm, "yeeeeeer a good bastard. Ye know? I know that wasna yer fault. Tha, that stupid king of yours been settin' me up all week. I'm not blind, e'en with glasses the size o' a fat woman's teets."

He leaned in really close. "I trust ye so much, Dragofuck, that I'm gonna tell you a secret. Big secret. You ready, you ugly mug?"

I nodded, but he'd already started talking anyway. "I'm… I'm on a mission. BIG mission, King Gok sent me on. He wants… s'cuse…" He paused to vomit. "… there we go. BIG mission, wants te find out…"

Now I was interested. A secret mission from the goblins? No surprise, that, though knowing WHAT the secret mission was seemed too valuable to pass up.

But he was having trouble talking all of a sudden. "Te… find… the… you seen… a hole…?"

Hole. That one word made the entire day of drunken stupidity worth it. But before I could say anything, Grylock slumped, squashing his face against the table, drool and rejected booze flowing out onto the wood. Goblins are gross little creatures.

And that's where it all went wrong.

As soon as Grylock fell asleep, King Jeffrey came out of hiding. He'd been sitting nearby with a hood on the entire time, watching, and when he did all of his royal guards did, too. Gods only knows how I missed those stupid-looking helmets under their cloaks, but I guess I can chalk it up to too much beer.

"Aha!" he yelled, motioning for his guards to grab Grylock and carry him away. Then he stood on the table. "Right! Are you all ready?"

The drunken crowd, awed by the king's sudden appearance, cheered and listened.

"Good!" He jumped up and down, nearly upending his table. The royal guards kept it steady. "Then it's time this damn fortress lived up to its name! Long live Castle GoblinPaddle!"

The crowd streamed out of the room in the king's wake, following the guards who were hauling Grylock away. I didn't join 'em, 'cause I already knew what was happening, and I was thoroughly ashamed of my part in it all.

You see, this castle has a tradition. Every year on New Years Eve, a captive goblin is taken up to the top of the king's tower, stripped of his breeches and paddled mercilessly by the king with a tennis racket. He's then locked into a stockade and left there, his bare bum pointing out the hole in the tower, pointed towards Goblinoster. It's all meant as a slight to King Gok, who, as you know, is the king's friend.

'Friend'.

As I write this, Grylock's up there, probably sobering, definitely freezing, with his ass aimed at his homeland, his only company a stony-faced royal guard and Barrel the Dragon. I suspect Barrel, a kindly soul, will keep Grylock warm through the night with his drool.

I don't know what all the prep was for. Likely everything Grylock did was meant to humiliate him, and though that didn't work so well with the smithing, the rest went according to plan. Either way, I'm an awful person.

I should be hanged,

Dragomir the Scumbag