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CURATE UNG RASH
Curate Rash was already three sheets to the wind, venturing somewhere close to his fourth. He wasn't quite sure, his eyes could be deceiving him, but he thought he could see a small group of Pandas approaching the wall. Having never seen a Panda, Curate Rash wasn't quite sure why he thought they were Pandas, but they were definitely Pandas, whatever a Panda was.
"Uhm, are they -" began Curate Rash. Adept Stish interrupted, thankfully.
"Rash! Get back to the Garrison! We got a Fifteen Or More!"
"A what?"
"A Fifteen - an Act of Aggression, you dumb-dick!" said Stish, whacking Curate Rash around the head.
Rash did as instructed, though reluctantly and while rubbing his head. It didn't really hurt, he just wanted people to think it did.
It was Curate Rash's fortune, or misfortune, that Bishop Hag, ear to the Venerable Hierophant, Mayhew, Ruler of House Godenheim, was on inspection of the Garrison. Rash nearly clattered into him. He would have, if the man hadn't turned a corner at that moment.
Rash gushed out his information, to anyone in earshot. Bishop Hag popped his head back around the corner, which took Rash by surprise. Then Curate Rash forgot how to speak, to stand, to function as a human being, in fact. Bishop Hag was quite an intense, starey kind of man. Once he locked his eyes on you, you felt he wouldn't release until he had the information he wanted, "What did you say, Curate? A what?"
"A Fifteen Armour, Sir. An Act of Regression."
"Inquisitor Lep?! Ah, there you are! A Fifteen Or More on the - west wall, is it?" said Bishop Hag, looking to Rash for confirmation. Curate Rash nodded, even though he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to. He had become particularly devoted to the Clove of Fealty lately, a concoction all Curates were given, to loosen their ties on reality and make them more devoted. Rash was on three a day. The Curates were only supposed to have one a week, but then Rash had always been a greedy little sod.
A Retaliation Force was dispatched within minutes. Rash followed obediently behind, Inquisitor Lep at the head.
#
"The situation, Stish?!" boomed Lep, upon reaching the battlements of the wall, distractedly scratching his flaky skin. Below them, seventeen badly equipped men stood just out of range, making noises and banging their weapons, such as they were, on the rocks around them.
"We've got seventeen; no House insignia, damn them. Would've made it a bit easier. Don't know their demands. Was awaiting Rash's return before doing anything, Sir!"
"Tell me, Stish, do you ever speak in complete sentences? Never mind. Send someone out there, see what they want." said Lep, ignoring his own irony.
So a Curate was sent out the tiny door which opened out to the piss-pool; muddy in the extreme and quite odourful. It was an area frequented by Curates on long watches, when the toilet just seemed too far. In his venture, the Curate lost both his boots and a stick he was using to aid him in his passage. With a few dozen more steps, he managed to reach the men, who pulled him into their confidence. Lep, Stish and Rash watched as the Curate was tossed from the group.
"They said they want the drugs!" yelled the Curate.
"Don't yell it out or there'll be no need to - keep you alive - oh well. Stish? Collect the body, eh?" said Inquisitor Lep, finding a seat on some poor Curate's equipment trunk and dropping heavily onto it, bending the trunk out of shape. "Return to me, oh Creatures of Old." began Inquisitor Lep.
"What?" asked the ever inquisitive Rash, forgetting his place.
"It's a prayer - oh, never mind. Help me back up, will you?" Rash tried, failed, tried, failed, tried one last time and succeeded. Inquisitor Lep ignored the lack of dignity and rejoined Adept Stish.
"They're preparing, Sir." said Stish.
"Thought they might be. Tell me, Stish, this is ultimately pointless, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes, Sir. Completely. Burn 'em, we will, as soon as they come close."
"Why do they do it?" asked Lep rhetorically.
"They want the drugs, I suppose, Sir." answered Stish, who couldn't have spelled rhetorical if his life depended on it.
"Right. Of course. So, what do you usually do on the wall? It's been years since I paraded the south wall."
"They're all weirdoes on the south wall - begging your pardon, Sir."
"It's okay. They were a bunch of weirdoes when I was with them. Always showing each other the things they could do with - let's not go there. I still have nightmares."
"Well, it's something to do, isn't it Sir? Guarding, I mean?"
"True. Better than the alternative."
"Oh, yes Sir!" laughed Adept Stish, "No one wants that, what with their -"
"Alright Stish. Let's not go there."
"Definitely not Sir. Would be a dereliction of duty if I did."
Inquisitor Lep eyed Stish suspiciously, trying to work out if he was joking, or just really, really stupid, "You're taking your Regulators, aren't you, Stish? Okay, just making sure." Then the stupider one arrived.
Curator Rash pointed out to the field, "They're coming, Sir!"
"Prepare the pitch!" called out Lep, with practiced timing. The Curates did. The seventeen had reached the piss-pool, "Loose the pitch!" They did. "Light pitch!" Up they went, all seventeen. Those who could run did, but were followed by projectiles that took them down, suffocating them in the urine rivers. One or two managed to escape that trap, only to die of the burns they had acquired from the still blazing pitch. The ones who were still dying below the wall screamed like banshees, creating an inhuman noise that rose in the afternoon milieu.
"Right, well that's that, then." said Inquisitor Lep, moving from the battlements, "Oh, and Adept Stish, to the - other place with you. Should've dealt with this yourself. Can't go round wasting Inquisitor's times with trivia like this. Curate Rash, you're now Adept." Lep clapped his hands together in a job well done.
Stish, in an act of insanity, jumped from the wall, rather than suffer the indignity of doing the other thing. No one wanted to do the other thing. It was demeaning, dangerous and dirty.
Eventually Rash stood alone. "Erm." said Adept Rash, as his first act as First of the Wall. His Curates just stood around, trying to work out how they would, or could, Erm.
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