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Half-elf adjutant Sharn produced a scroll, sodden in the rain, on which the ink was already running, and loudly read out the charges [ see last ep ].
Lieutenant Thwouse intoned: "Twenty lashes each."
He nodded to the Soixante-neuf Priestess Cruella. She gave a nasty smile, walked around to stand next to the whimpering bound girl, and shook free the large multi-barbed whip she was carrying.
The whip made a nasty wet sound as it flayed into the grey, wrinkly, water-logged back of the poor girl. Bloody welts soon appeared on her pale back, and red smears dribbled down in diluted rivulets. Cruella's upper body musculature was clearly visible through the sodden leather straps of her outfit as she worked her whip arm back and forward relentlessly. She was not holding back at all.
After a few sobbing desultory screams, the girl passed out on the fifth lash.
The male wretch didn't last much longer. He collapsed and hung, supported by his wrists, after the eleventh lash.
The flogging complete, Cruella shook the blood off the whip and returned to the Lieutenant's side. Her eyes were gleaming unashamedly, and her excessive bust heaved. Her excitement was quite evident through the sodden leather.
Despite his revulsion at what had just occurred, Bookem stared at the Priestess. Her cold sadism fascinated him, or maybe it was just the stunning Luln Goth look: jet black hair, pale skin, black eyeshadow, gleaming black glossy lipstick (even in the rain).
Parade was dismissed and the soldiers dispersed.
Adjutant Sharn came over to the party and shouted: "You lot, report to the Meeting Room immediately!"
"Welcome to Camp Hickford," announced Lieutenant Thwouse grandly. "I run a tight ship here. One company: one hundred and ten soldiers of Specularum's finest to keep back the hordes of darkness scum; lizardmen on the rise. Only us between them and the destruction of the town. We do our best..."
"How come you're only a Lieutenant when this is a company?" interrupted Bookem. "Ought you not to be a Captain?
Adjutant Sharn and Mage Nargo flinched. Cruella smiled at Bookem, her eyes flashed.
Lieutenant Thwouse scowled and carefully phrased his words. "Certain individuals in the Militia heirachy," he said "are too blind to see the logic of my promotion..."
Randy blurted out: "So they sent you to this back-water hole, to rot and fight lizards?"
The Lieutenant was getting angry.
Adjutant Sharn stepped forward. "BE SILENT!" he bellowed in the small room. "You will NOT interrupt the Lieutenant."
The Lieutenant continued: "A season ago, I's stationed here with a platoon ... was quiet then. We seldom ever saw the lizards. But recently, in the last six or so weeks, lizardmen started attackin' Hickford. They hauled off livestock, stealin' horses, robbin' houses. We did our best, but more and more of 'em came. Then they started attackin' people's houses and kidnappin' civilians, takin' children, rapin' women, molestin' elves. So Specularum sent more soldiers and my platoon was made into a company..."
"And Lieutenant Thwouse's promotion was lost in the post," interrupted Sharn, shouting excitedly.
"And I's not promoted," corrected the Lieutenant. "So I then starts corrings-pond-dance with the Spec Militia HQ back in Specularum. Gnomepost would get the letters back to Specularum, real fast, within the day so the comm lines weren't delayed. An' still my promotion never came through ..."
Cruella walked around the Specials as the Lieutenant droned on. Her four-inch stiletto heels clicked on the stone floor.
Randy watched her, marvelling at her boots: How does she manage those heels in the mud outside, he thought.
"... I tried writin' all flowery-like, like the arse-bandits talk," continued the Lieutenant. "But that din work. So then I got to the point an' demanded action ..."
Cruella began to touch various members of the party as she walked in and around them. She trailed first her hands over them, rubbed her body against some, brushed her breasts, chin, lips. Bookem, Lon, Stanley, Fiona, and Randy were the subject of her affections. She avoided Zippo & Opera completely. Bookem, Lon and Stanley's reactions were quite evident. They almost panted like lap-dogs. Even Fiona beamed a lovely smile. Returning to Randy, she couldn't get a response. She looked at him hard. Then suddenly smiled.
"A Section 76 here, Lieutenant," she gloated.
The Lieutenant suddenly stopped speaking, and blinked.
Bookem scanned through his flawless memories of the Specularum Militia's Rules of Engagement (which he had thoroughly memorized during those warm sunny days on board the Shibboleth en route to Jorn). Section 76 described the Specularum Militia rules about homosexuality. Originally, it carried a death sentence, but had been abrogated to a flogging offence about a century ago. And even this was seldom enforced; Bookem was sure that it was decades since the last Section 76 flogging.
Lieutenant Thwouse suddenly stepped forward and viciously back-handed Randy. Randy stumbled and fell, blood at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't tolerate your filth in my camp!"
Randy's immaculate coiffured wig tumbled to the floor revealing his bald pate — an affliction of all psionicists.
Nargo's jaw dropped. He gave a little squeal: "A psi!"
Cruella smiled "A gay psi. Fascinating..."
Nargo wasn't so understanding. "Seize him!" he squealed. "We will not be having psis in the Militia, sir. They will be destroying us all. They will be popping our heads."
Lieutenant fixed Bookem a steely gaze "You work with psis, man?!"
"We have two," said Bookem calmly. "And used to have three."
Nargo squealed hysterically and pointed at Stanley. "Yes Yes. It be making sense now. Fat one bald too."
"Calm down Nargo," said the Lieutenant. "So long as they obey MY rules, I can tolerate them. But that .. that homo ... erectus," he pointed at Randy. "Goes in the Cage."
"I must protest..." began Bookem.
While all this was going on, Zippo was quietly standing, his back to the open fire, and urinating down his own leg. He hadn't relieved himself at all this morning, and his hyperactive prolific bladder was straining to bursting point. The pool of Hob urine, lamp oil (kerosene), was slowly edging its way towards the fire. Suddenly, a spark from the fire popped out and landed in the pool. FWOOOOSH!
Everyone yelped and jumped back.
Zippos stood there, merrily ablaze, engulfed in the hot yellow flames as they licked and played over him, some dangerously close to the wooden roof.
"Aaahhh," he sighed contently.
"REAL preserve us!" yelled the Lieutenant. "What the hell..."
Cruella said coldly: "Is religious ceremony to foul god Hob. I suggest he extinguish it lest he burn roof."
"Put that out," snarled the Lieutenant. "And yer going to the Cage too, you fiery fuck."
"That water-filled hole?" snapped Zippo. "No freakin' way." The fire burned hotter.
Lieutenant Thwouse drew his double-handed sword, the blade glowing with magical energies, took one stride over, and raised it, snarling "Yes freakin' way!".
Randy stepped in between the Lieutenant and Zippo. "Can't we talk this through?" he lisped.
The Lieutenant chopped, the magic blade struck Randy and he collapsed like a deck of cards. Bookem & Opera rushed over to tend the wounds.
Zippo's sword was out. "I'm not goin' in that water!" he screamed. His fire now even hotter.
The soldiers drew their swords. Cruella, Nargo and Sharn stepped back. The roof began to smoulder.
Lon could see that it was degenerating into trouble and that someone would get killed. And probably not the Militia.
"Stop!" he cried out.
The Lieutenant and Zippo paused.
"Zippo hates water, sir," pleaded Lon. "He would rather die than go in it. Maybe if you just had him flogged..."
The Lieutenant thought about this. And nodded. "Yield, Hob cur, now, and no water for you."
Zippo lowered his sword.
"Fire out. Get on th' ground."
The soldiers pounced on Zippo and hauled him off, manacled. Followed by Cruella and her whip.
Lieutenant Thwouse pointed to Randy who was just coming around from Opera's cures "Chuck him in the Cage."
Randy was hauled off too.
"By IMAG's dark arse," muttered the Lieutenant to noone in particular. "Why are Special Forces always such a bunch of wankers?"
"I don't know, sir!" Sharn shouted.
Suddenly a ring of purple fire appeared in the room.
Nargo squealed and clutched at his head "Psis!"
Randi stepped into the room, from the circle, beaming at his own cleverness.
Stanley smirked "Dimension Door."
The Lieutenant rolled his eyes and raised his sword: "Fuck! Nargo, how do we stop this?"
"I know!" Nargo squeaked excitedly. "Psis be needing head bare. We be locking helmet on head. They be no using powers then."
"See to it, Sharn. Do both the bastards."
"Well, I demand that the wizard be gagged too," said fat Stanley. "He could let loose a fireball and kill us all. I haven't used ANY of my powers, nor will I. Why should I be punished for Randy's crimes?"
"He has a point, sir!" shouted Sharn.
The Lieutenant scowled: "Very well. Helmet the troublemaker and get him back in the Cage. The fat bastard can stay free."
Soldiers leapt upon Randy and soon had him locket in a helmet, and back in the stinking water, back in the Cage.
The rest of the day passed peacefully. Well, maybe not for Randy nor Zippo. Zippo's back was flayed to tatters by the scourge. Randy became a water-logged prune — at least his wig stayed dry..
Late in the day, Priestess Cruella managed to tempt Bookem into the Soixante-neuf temple, and attempted to seduce him. He realized just in time, the brain overriding the groin, that this would not bode well for him in the eyes of Funken Wagnall: "The moving finger writes and having writ, moves on. Nor all thy peity, nor wit, shalt lure it back to cancel half a line. Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it." And all that. So he managed to reluctantly escape from those heated arms, those parted lips, those heaving breasts, those powerful thighs ...
"Oh Funken, the things I do for you," he moaned.
"Right, Specials!" gloated Lieutenant Thwouse after morning parade had been dismissed. "You lot are going on a reconnaissance mission; out into the swamp."
"Are the paths dry?" Randy asked.
"Oh yes," leered the Lieutenant sarcastically. "There are little elevated wooden walkways, clear above the swamp, and dry rest-area shelters where lizardmen servants serve you with the tastiest swamp food. Should be a lovely day."
Sharn giggled.
"You can take Private Stule," the Lieutenant added. "He's a swamp Ranger."
Half an hour later the Specials were splashing through the cold filthy water, deep into the Hick swamp. This was even worse than the track from Mouthton. At least that had some support for your feet. Here, everywhere you stood, you sank up to your knee, thighs or waist. Stule tried to do his very best: "Don't stand there!", "Watch out for that pool", "That's a sink hole!", but it was like pissing into the wind. Everyone was soaked to the skin, everyone was miserable. And it was still raining.
Zippo suffered the most. Water was his bane, and he was utterly soaked. More than once he had to hold his sacred Hob fire aloft, as he plunged into a pool, over his head, his chainmail weighing him down like a lead balloon.
The day dragged on. Many times, Stule thought he heard something, and bade everyone shut up. He would then scout out away from the group, only to return half an hour later saying it was all clear. At least during this time, the group could have a short rest and try to climb on to some vegetation and get a little bit dry.
Two bells [ two hours before dark ], the party came upon some dead lizardmen. Their bodies bloated already, lying face down. They had been killed by sword and axe.
"This aint our doin'," said Stule. "And look at those tracks."
He pointed but noone could see anything.
"Some bigger creatures came from that way. The plains are two or three leagues in that direction. Might be gnolls or bugbears."
The bodies were searched but nothing was found.
At one bell, Stule started to scout around for a night resting place. He found a relatively good mangrove copse, and the group headed there.
"Nights are safe here," he muttered. "No mad fool travels through the swamp at night."
Sure enough, it was a peaceful night.
The next morning, about two hours after light, Stule suddenly froze.
"Shit!" he hissed. "Five or six. Take cover. Now!"
The party scattered about finding whatever cover they could, and readied bows, arrows nocked. Zippo voided his bladder making a pool of oil floating on the water and reeds. Whether he did this from fear, or for tactical considerations, noone knew.
Stule fired first, at something noone could see. It was not a very good shot. In fact, it could not have been worse. He somehow managed to shoot the arrow right through his own leg, at the thigh, and it pierced the femoral artery. As blood gushed, he slumped over backwards on a pile of rushes. [ a critical "20" fumble ]
And then they struck. Out of nowhere spears came. One hit Fiona in her belly, one smacked into Zippo, another into Bookem. Fiona and Bookem both went down without even a groan.
Then the lizardmen rushed in, scaley, ferocious and armed. There were six of them.
Zippo ignited his oil, one lizard was caught in the burning. He screamed in hissing fury.
Opera got to Stule and quickly healed him, just as Zippo dropped one and went down himself, under the onslaught.
The fight was short, hard and close. Stanley's psionic-attack forced one lizardman to flee. The burnt one also fled. Opera's Command spells knocked down two lizardmen, who were then summarily dispatched. And the final one, wounded by Zippo, was taken down with sword and knife: Lon, Stule and Randy.
Zippo, Fiona and Bookem were tended to by Opera. Zippo and Bookem were zonked; they were stretcher cases.
Fiona was not so lucky. The spear had gone in deep and had punctured her hepatic artery. She had bled to death.
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