The 2 soldiers rolled the final barrel down the cellar stairs and shunted it against the others.
“Thank Hextor that’s done now. I stink of fish,” one whined, wiping his hands and slamming the door as they left. For a few moments, all was still in the dark. Then the last barrel began to shift as the lid was pushed away from within. A golden light flared, floating in a small green hand reaching out of the mass of fish.
Amidst a slithering of fish, her head burst above the brine. She seemed like a blending of child and newt, her features inhumanly endearing. Two long flapping ears sprung from amidst a tangle of deep green hair. She hauled herself from the barrel and landed on the earthen floor with a squelch. A crude dress of salvaged sailcloth covered her little body, among a selection of magical trinkets. With a murmur of Sylvan and an irritable flick, she cast off the scales and stink with a spell. With another trail of gestures, she faded from sight.
The trap door opened for an instant and shut silently.