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It had rained consistently all day and everyone was sick of it, especially Zippo. He had given up making sarcastic comments due to the fact that every time he opened his lips to speak, the pounding rain would splash off his face mask and splatter directly into his mouth.
"Not far now" said Private Stule
"Good. How big are the rooms?" asked Randy. "I really hope they have a big bath!"
"Ha!" grunted Stule "rooms? Do you know anything about Hickford?"
The rest of us kept our heads downs, staring wistfully at the wet ground and concentrating on not stepping into deep puddles, which were all too common on the rutted road between Hickford and Mouthton, and trying not to think about Lizardmen. The stinking swamp stretched away on either side of the raised road, and the feeble storm lanterns we were using could only push the darkness back a few feet to either side of the road, and then only if you walked right on the edge, where the road dropped half a foot into the surrounding water. Small clumps of drooping rushes and sodden marsh-grass bent and swayed in the downpour. Fortunately the only thing coming out of the swamp was the horrendous stench of rotting cabbage, or something worse. Somewhere off to the right the Hick river silently flowed by, down past Mouthton and out into the sea.
Even Lon's fabled half-elven infravision only penetrated ten or so feet into the wall of falling rain, just like a thick mist to ordinary human vision. Even hearing was seriously muted by the constant hiss of the rain, and you had to shout quite loud to be heard at all.
"Bloody water" grunted Zippo
"Good thing it's the dry season" replied Stule.
Every step dropped into the inch or so of water and mud that covered every surface, and had spattered every one of us from the waist down. It was a good thing the road was raised, and marked every so often by a stake driven into the ground along the right hand side.
"During the big wet only the top half of those markers can be seen" nodded Stule knowingly.
We didn't believe him, at least not then.
Shortly the road climbed up a shallow rise and passed through two solid wooden gates in a large sturdy-looking log wall enclosing the town of Hickford. Stule thumped on the gate with the butt of his sword, and none too soon a head appeared above the gate, rain plonking and bouncing off its steel helmet, and called down to us.
"Halt!" it shouted, "Identify yourselves."
"Shuddup and open the gate!" yelled Stule, "It's me, and a few .. friends"
"And we were already halted, ya dopey umbrella head" muttered Stanley quietly.
Stule lead us through the gates and round the edge of the small town towards a large earthen ramparted compound. Two spluttering torches in storm shrouds illuminated a set of timber gates. Log planking and wooden spikes adorned the top of the ramparts either side of the gates and through the steady rain we could just make out patrolling figures pacing the interior walkway.
"Halt!" they shouted, "Identify yourselves"
"Bloody Imag," whispered Zippo, spitting out rain, "don't these guys know any other words?"
After a brief exchange between Stule and the guards, we were lead through the gates and into what would be our base of operations for the next while.
"Holy crap," stammered Randy "a very short while I hope."
The garrison compound consisted of the rampart walls, arranged in a rough square approximately 150 feet each way, one smallish slate roofed stone building in the far left corner (with a cosy fireplace if the smoking chimney was any indication), two even rows of sopping wet tents arranged along the right hand rampart wall, a drooping canvas screen (the privies?) against the far wall, and an odd timber scaffold structure half way along the left hand wall. A few attempts at drains had been scratched into the ground in random locations and water dripped, trickled, and flowed across the compound and into a low region located below the timber scaffold. A mud-plastered wooden walkway led from in front of this pool to the door of the stone building.
The stench of the swamp was less, unfortunately overpowered by the noxious odour of human waste and stale sweat.
"Maybe a cold bath Randy" suggested Stanley, gesturing at the pool of water.
"Uggghh" shuddered Randy.
"You lot can kip down in there" stated Stule, pointing at the closest tent,
"Parade assembly will be one b'light, and I suggest you not be late!. Mr Danno sir, you had better come with me to see the Lieutenant."
"One b'light!" stammered Opera, "but it'll still be dark"
"Quite so, and how will I do my hair?" squeaked Randy.
As Bookem was led off towards the Lieutenant's quarters (you guessed it: the cosy stone cottage with the fire) Zippo sighed resignedly and we all splashed across the muddy yard to the damp quarters which was now home. Even the hammocks slung about 3 feet above the ground were wet, drips falling continuously from the sagging underside of the canvas roof and trickles of water spiralling down the six internal poles and pooling on the the floor before running out under the tent walls to join the small streams of water flowing across the compound to the pool. Each of the the hammocks had collected a small pool of water, except for two at the rear of the tent where Opera and Lon had stowed their gear. Lucky buggers.
Rain hammered onto the canvas roof of the tent, but it was quite hypnotic and we were all soon stretched out in relative comfort, fatigue assisting in sending us into a weary sleep.
"PA RAMP, TA DAH, TA DAH, PA RAH" shouted the early morning trumpet call, startling us all awake to an unfamiliar damp and humid darkness.
"Hissssss" pounded the rain on the canvas roof.
"Splat, splat, splat, ..." dripped the tent.
"GET OUT HERE YOU 'ORRIBLE LOT!" yelled a voice from the yard.
"Oh shit, it wasn't just a dream" whispered Randy with a horrified look around.
The wet, muddy yard was illuminated by a pair of Light sticks, and as we staggered out of the tent and across into the rear line of other bedraggled militiamen we noted that the parade assembly was arranged in four rows, roughly in the centre of the compound, facing the timber scaffold structure and the large pool of muddy water below it. The lines of men were nice and straight, every man and woman there standing at attention, directly behind those in front. A small man strode back and forward in front of the troops.
"YOU NEW SPECIALS, FRONT AND CENTRE!" he yelled.
As we shuffled to the front, others quickly making room, we found ourselves facing a strange scene. The light from the Light sticks illuminating what we hadn't seen the night before when we had arrived, soaked and exhausted after a gruelling day. The timber scaffold wasn't just a platform, it was a support structure for something hanging below it by a large steel chain. The chain dropped from a large drum, split into four lines, and supported the corners of what looked like a steel grate, about six foot square. The grate was suspended about two feet above the surface of the water of the pool. As we looked closer we noticed two small shapes below the grate, round shapes about the size of human heads, and arms, reaching up and clasping the steel bars of the grate.
It wasn't a grate, it was a steel cage. And it was hanging, mostly submerged, in the pool of water below. And it was occupied!
"What the ..." started Stanley
"SHUT THE F' UP!" yelled shorty, "YOU WILL BE SILENT AND WAIT FOR THE LIEUTENANT TO ARRIVE!"
So we stood in line, and waited. And waited. And waited. We waited for more than half an hour before the door of the stone officers' quarters opened and three figures emerged. They strutted down the muddy boardwalk and stood at the end of it in front of us. One officious military type in immaculate dress uniform, one midget gnome in velour, and one hot-looking Soixante-neuf Priestess in not much at all!
And so we met the commanding officers of the Hickford garrison.
Lieutenant Thwouse the commander.
"Bigotted idiot son of someone famous, but long dead" muttered Bookem.
Corporal Sharn, half-elf, his short adjutant.
"Oh shit, looks like a member of the Specularum Guild of ... Locksmiths" worried Lon.
Company Mage and Quartermaster Nargo Spoon-digger.
"Stinking gnome mage scum" grunted Randy.
Local Priestess Cruella Fairburn.
"Soixante-neuf!" gasped Bookem, staring at the way the rain trickled down her long dark hair, ran down over her sodden leather-clad breasts and exposed flat stomach, "Oh my Books, will you look at ... ahem, cough"
"Why, Mr Danno," she purred in strong Luln accent, "Is that book in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"
"Haul up the Cage!" shouted Lieutenant Thwouse.
Two militiamen wound the crank, and the cage slowly rose from the pool, water dripping from every bar. In the cage were two people, one male and one female, naked, and both looking terrible. Their skin was grey, pale and wrinkled, and they both collapsed to the base of the cage as it was elevated above the water, coughing and spluttering.
"What did they do?" whispered Lon to the man beside him.
The adjutant must have overheard because he suddenly barked: "Fornication while on duty, Gross derilection of duty, Insubordination, and Bringing the Militia into Disrepute!"
"Gulp ..." gulped Bookem.
"Hob's Hell on earth" muttered Zippo.
"I could do wonders for their hair and skin" preened Randy.
Some of us were to become quite familiar with the Cage.
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