Day Two-Twenty-Nine: The Day of Many Pictures

Entry One

Siege, day three. Not much has changed. Troops are entrenched on both sides, the bailey's clogged, trebuchets and catapults are launching dirt clods 'cause they've run outta rocks, and Driscol's nowhere to be found.

But he hasn't been spotted with his army. Got that from Princess Celine, who actually snuck out of the castle and spied on the enemy camps. I'm surprised her mother would LET her do that, but since Celine is, like, invisible unless she wants to be seen, I guess there's not much risk.

Yeesh. I bet Queen Daena would kill Prince Logan if he did that. Logan would probably go nuts with pranks and get himself killed, of course, but still.

Hrm. Logan. He knows this castle really well. Wonder if he knows anything about Driscol…? You out there, Logan?

Might be more entries today, diary. Hell, I can flat out guarantee it.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Guard

Entry Two

For the FIRST TIME EVER, I caught Logan reading you, diary. I'd put you down so I could use the can. Granted, I think the prince WANTED to be caught, but it's still a badge of honour for me.

As I suspected, Logan did have a good idea for finding Driscol: the secret tunnels. Remember way back in January when we secretly shaved King Jeffrey's head? We used a tunnel to get to 'im, and Logan says there are lots more. You just have to know where to look for 'em. He knows, and he's agreed to help me and a bunch of soldiers go searching.

Hope this works. We need to find that bastard, and quickly. Gonna run out of fresh food and water if we're besieged for too long.

Entry Three

 

Fuck. All the soldiers are gone. They got called off to deal with a sudden rush at the wall. Seems as though Driscol's army is impatient to get things over with, now that Eve's gotten rid a lot of their siege weapons.

I'm still searching. Alone. Prince Logan drew up a map of all the secret tunnels he could remember. Then he went off to be with his dad. He looks reeeeeeally pale… even more so than last time… something's very wrong with that kid.

Here we go, diary. Just you 'n me. Dunno what we'll do when we find Driscol… but… we're gonna manage.

Entry Four

I've checked a dozen secret hiding spots, all along the north and east walls. Can't get to the west wall 'cause the bailey's still blocked. I bet Driscol's still there, but The Baron disagrees. He says Driscol's probably far from his troops, where he won't be found. Dunno if I agree, but it makes sense - and it's not like I have a choice.

Grrr. Getting tired and impatient. Where the hell is he?

Entry Five

 
FUCK

The BARBICAN is GONE

A big bloody rock wiped it out. HUGE rock. I'm watching from the walls. A trebuchet waaaaay in the distance winded up, and let go, and... and... what's Daryl yelling at me...? OH HELL R 

Entry Six

Sorry. Rock… nearly… took out the wall… I was on… gods, I saw my life… flash…

The Neck is gone. Wiped out. Driscol's men are bringing in wooden bridges to cross the gap over the moat. I'm hoping our harpoons will put a nice dent in the bridges, but… really… it's starting to seem like we're gonna lose. There's just too many of 'em.

I didn't even reach a year of diary entries. What a fucking gyp.

Entry Seven

I found him.

I found Driscol.

I mean, I think I found him, and I probably shouldn't be pausing to write this entry, but I'm so giddy that I just HAD to toss it in:

He's in the cockroach cupboard.

Entry 8

WE GOT HIM, DIARY. THE BARON AND I GOT HIM. THE SIEGE IS OVER.

HOLY GODS I'M A HERO AND SHIT. AND SO ARE YOU, DIARY.

Here's what happened. After that second-to-last entry, I sulked. I had NO idea what to do. Couldn't find Driscol anywhere. I'd checked almost all of the secret spots on Logan's map, and even though I didn't get 'em ALL, I wasn't convinced that I was right. I figured, hell, he must be somewhere else. I must've been wrong. Looking was a big waste.

I needed cheering up. Everybody else was so busy, though, that I couldn't rely on outside help. So I went to the cockroach cupboard.

You remember the cupboard, diary. I discovered it a couple months ago, when Cedric posted me there on guard duty. Put a cup inside, it fills with dead cockroaches. A little buggy cemetery. Sound familiar? 'course it does, I've rambled about it way too much.

The cupboard amuses me. Creeps me out, sure, but it amuses me. Dead cockroaches every time you open the door? How random is THAT? So, I figured, what the hell. I'll have a look. And so I did… but when I got there, there was no cup to be found. Hence, no cockroaches. Just a plain 'ol empty cupboard.

I was a mixture of bored and horrified, and in my exasperation I did the first thing that came to mind: I fiddled with the cupboard. I ran my finger along the inside for no reason, wondering if I could get away with sticking my helmet in. I really wanted to see some dead cockroaches. One thing in my life HAD to remain constant if everything else was about to change.

Then I touched the bottom of the cupboard. Lo and behold, I was SHOWERED in dead cockroaches. A handful of 'em plunged out of the top of the cupboard and bounced off my horns, and I, ever brave, got my ass out of their and screamed.

And wet. Oh, so wet.

The cupboard was open. Cockroaches tumbled onto the floor. After a few seconds, the stream of corpses died… and something clicked shut.

After recovering from the shock, I moved in to investigate. I remembered what I'd been doing, exploring the cupboard, and I did so again. When I pressed down on the bottom of the cupboard long enough, BAM! Cockroaches. Roughly a cupful. They came out of a little hole in the top of the cupboard, one I'd never noticed, because, really, why would you EVER look at the top of a cupboard?

I couldn't see anything inside, because it was too dark. That didn't make my investigation at all fruitless, though, 'cause I heard something. A voice. A deep, rumbling, pleased-yet-displeased, aristocratic voice. One I knew sooooo damn well.

Driscol. You BASTARD.

I let out more cockroaches, using my helmet to keep the hole open. Cockroaches streamed through, forming a rather large pile, and I listened closely to the voice on the other end:

"Their troops are focused on the front gate and our bailey blockade. The Matriarch will soon be forced to pull out and engage our primary assault. Use that opportunity to swarm the secret entrance. Bring in three platoons, no less. Converge on all sides and crush them. Repeat."

A high, thin voice repeated everything Driscol had just said. Creeped the hell outta me.

"Good. Go."

Driscol stopped talking. I let the hole close. Stepping away from the rather huge mound of cockroaches, I checked Prince Logan's map, hoping that I might see a secret room drawn on the floor above. There weren't any rooms -

- but there WAS a suspicious gap in the floor plans. (Yes, Logan was incredibly detailed in his drawing.) That was good enough for me. I ran off to find some help, a guard, a soldier, hell, a peasant. ANYBODY.

Once I got back to the throne room, I found only one person who could help me: The Baron.

The old man looked defeated. He was slumped over his desk, mumbling to himself, his normally-crazed hair spikier than ever. I took this as a bad sign, 'cause he's usually quite composed. He didn't look ready to kick ass at all…

… until I told him, breathlessly, what I'd found. What I'd heard. He perked up with each word, and by the time I was done explaining he was on his feet, searching frantically for guards to send with me.

Nobody. Not a soul. Everyone with a sword arm had run off to defend the walls.

He looked at me, distraught, then bit his lip and nodded. I'm sure his eyes were full of resolve behind his glasses. "Let's go. We'll do this alone."

I led him to the cockroach cupboard. We listened quietly for a few seconds to confirm that Driscol was still up there - he was giving more orders, and receiving more eerie replies - then charged up the stairs to the next floor. As promised by the map, we found only a stone wall.

The Baron was undaunted. Filled with new fire he scoured the wall, searching frantically for a brick out of place, a loose stone, a switch, anything that would open a door and reveal a traitor with a tree on his cloak and a chip on his shoulder. After a few moments of probing, The Baron found one: a sliding handle between two rocks.

He tugged on the handle. The wall pulled back and slid open. We stepped inside…

… and discovered a grotesque sight: Driscol. Sitting in a chair. In a small, stone room. Covered in cockroaches.

I'm not kidding, either. Every inch of that man, from his regal robes to his slicked hair, was COATED in writhing cockroaches. When we stepped in he was speaking to a dozen of them, all lined up on his knees, and they were repeating his words when he noticed the extra light in his chamber. The cockroaches universally vanished, scurrying into the rock walls.

Eyes narrowing - ORANGE eyes, I am positive that for a brief second they were a tinge of orange - Driscol stood and brushed a handful of cockroach corpses off his leg. They fell into a stone basin at his side and tumbled out of sight - though they didn't fall far, as the thing was filled with dead roaches.

Right above the cockroach cupboard. What a weird way to get rid of evidence.

"I always knew you were no better than an insect, Driscol," The Baron hissed. He rolled up his sleeves. "It's over. You've failed. Call off the siege."

Driscol laughed. "Are you and your dog going to take me down, Baron? A fat old man and a useless guard who can't even hold a butter knife? I'd love to see you try."

"I can so hold a butter knife! I just couldn't stab you with it, you… you… jerk!"

The count shook his head, still laughing. He shrugged off his robe, revealing a tight tunic that highlighted every muscle on his chest and arms… and he has a lot. Like, a LOT. He also revealed a broadsword attached to his hip, which, given the circumstances, kinda made the muscles moot anyway.

Driscol's hand fell to his waist. The sword slid free of his scabbard. I'm quite certain that he would have cut us to pieces with it had I not acted out of instinct, so quickly and so naturally that I don't even remember making the motion.

I, uh, threw you at him, diary.

I had never really considered you as a weapon before. And, hell, even then I must not have been weapon-minded, 'cause I can still obviously pick you up. But you flew anyway, tossed by a hand I don't remember moving, and in slow motion you zipped in at Driscol's face -

- and stuck. You CLUNG TO HIS FACE, diary. I don't know if it was the moisture in the room, or cockroach goo on Driscol's skin, or WHAT, but you hugged that asshole's nose like it was a bucking bison. Driscol jerked back, released his sword, hit the wall -

- and fell into the cockroach basin as The Baron, rearing up and charging, brought his full weight to bear on Driscol's back. The count grunted as he went down, sliding headfirst into the basin. It was a glorious, FANTASTIC moment, diary, I kid you not.

Gleeful over his victory, The Baron remained behind to keep Driscol pinned in the basin while I ran off to fetch some royal guards from the king's tower. They followed me in a hurry, lugging Driscol out of the pit. He spat dead cockroaches out of his mouth and cursed foully. You dropped off his nose the moment he got free, diary.

GOOD FOR YOU. I LOVE YOU, DIARY. WE'RE THE BEST TEAM EVER.

The royal guards, The Baron and I at their side, marched Driscol out of the castle and into the main thoroughfare. We presented him to his troops, and, one by one, they gave up. With their client captured, there was no reason for mercs to keep fighting.

An hour later, the siege ended. When one of the mercenary commanders discovered the capture of his benefactor, his words were exactly this, from what I've heard:

"Seriously? He's done? Bollocks this shit, then. C'mon, fellas, let's go get plastered with all our coin! 'n burn those stupid flags, I don't wanna bunch of idjits wavin' trees on my heels."

The enemy troops, still outnumbering us, gave up and left. They abandoned a slew of damaged siege weapons, all of which have been appropriated by our forces. I'm pretty sure Eve is stalking the mercs as they 'retreat', 'cause she still hasn't come back to the castle, despite the end of hostilities.

Driscol's in custody. He's languishing in the dungeons, watched over by a dozen guards. Probably being tortured as I write this. He deserves every lick of pain he receives.

It's over, diary. After months of suspicion, political intrigue and war, it's over. The bad guy is in chains. And it's not even Friday!

This might just be the best day of my life.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Hero