The Seven Kisses Ch. 00

"Oh, heavens." The goblin maid dropped to her hands and knees, her cheeks visibly glowing and her eyes wide with embarrassment. "I am so sorry, lord."

"Not a problem in the least, my dear." Leon smiled easily.

Briefly, he thought about taking the opportunity to segue into a more suggestive exchange—it was hard not to feel some temptation with the barmaid in that pose, so adorably flustered—but he quickly decided against it. This was not the time.

A week ago and a hundred miles west of here, he had been visited in his room by a pair of very nicely-dressed elves from the Baalestial Family. After some confusion about their intentions, it was kindly clarified—at knifepoint—that Ms. Baalecil herself had a job, and Leon had been hired. Entirely without his knowledge, evidently. He'd been taken to meet with her, and she had made him a double offer he couldn't refuse: Money, and the avoidance of receiving a fitting for a pair of 'honey shoes'.

Unfortunately, the charmingly clumsy goblin maid would be the first casualty of this unholy matrimony. Prospective love might often win out over prospective wealth, but it was prospective harm he had to keep in mind right now—specifically, the prospective harm very politely implied as a consequence of not getting the job done.

A week later found him in the small village of Perlgrut, some two-copper village out in the boonies with a population numbering in the dozens—mostly made up of goblin maids, goats, and husbands, in that rough order. But apparently they were having some sort of problem, and owing to an arrangement made with the Baalestials, that made it the elves' problem. And owing to the job interview he'd narrowly survived, that now made it his problem.

Leon was now waiting in a quiet tavern-diner named The Wispy Willow for a local contact. And the goblin barmaid serving him had just dropped his meal again.

"Oh, you're too kind." She smiled bashfully up at him, sweeping the rest of the mess into her apron and rising to her feet. "I'm so sorry, it's just—I'm new on the job. O-Of waiting tables, I mean. Normally I just sit behind the bar."

"Well, we're happy to have you out here, then." Leon winked. Nothing wrong with being a little bit of a flirt. No harm there, right?

She curtseyed—as best she could bent over and with a full apron, anyway. "Bless you for being so patient with me. I'll be right back!"

She turned and bustled out of the common room, bustle being the operative word—the barmaid wore a plain but fetching black dress that seemed solely designed to accentuate her prodigious curves while actually revealing as little as possible.

Leon watched her leave through the reflection in his tin cup.

The locals were... certainly charming enough, at least.

He set the cup down and waited patiently. He hoped the goblins knew how to grill a beefsteak—apparently meat wasn't a major item in the goblinoid diet, but after ten days on the road, he was determined to get a good, hearty breakfast.

He glanced over at the meal of the only other patron in the bar, wondering if she'd had what he was having. It wasn't promising. She was a woman bedecked in spiked armor, her face obscured by wild black hair. He was pretty sure she'd been sitting in that shadowy corner for at least two days now, judging by the smell. On her plate was a single untouched waffle.

His fears were instantly relieved as soft padding footsteps behind him heralded the barmaid's return, and he glanced over to see a sunny smile and a truly mouthwatering selection of delicacies. The tray she held half-balanced atop her chest dwarfed the plump little creature, laden with still-sizzling steak, generously-spiced potatoes, and several large danishes Leon was pretty sure he hadn't ordered.

"Cook insisted," she said with a little wink and playful grimace. "As an apology for the delay."

Her apron was gone, now—understandable, considering how she'd dirtied it. Leon couldn't help but let his gaze drift between her eyes, the meal, and her... distinctively indulgent bosom as she set the tray down before him. She bounced back and clasped her hands behind her waist expectantly, her posture perfecctly, obliviously geared to keep his eyes where they had settled. "Anything else, lord?"

Leon hesitated. He tried very hard to appeal to his good sense, his logic and reason, his sense of chivalric abstinence... and found that his reserves of all four were being largely melted away every time this painfully eager-to-please accidental temptress bounced on her tiptoes.

He couldn't help himself. Smiling, he gestured to the seat across from him. "Well, I must admit. This is my first time visiting such a charming town, and...well, it's best to consult the locals when one wants to learn more, yes? If you don't mind a spot of conversation, that is."

"Oh! Well, um—" Her eyes darted around the largely empty common room, as if worrying about her responsibilities. But a slight smile and pink flush across those dimpled green cheeks emerged as she appeared to realize just how empty the common room was.

The barmaid giggled and sat down next to him, moving with such casual grace that he didn't even notice the chair was there until she was suddenly at eye level. Or, well, a little below eye level. The shortstack was about as tall sitting as she was standing. She brushed her elegant ebony bouffant back, kicking her feet in the air. "If you don't mind. What are you wondering about, lord?"

"Well, I hope this isn't... indecorous to discuss, but." He clicked his tongue. "How to put this... I've had Perlgrut on my travel itinerary for a good long while now, and according to my friends, the timing couldn't be worse."

Her eyebrows raised. Nonchalantly, she took the little gravy boat from the tray and poured an elegant trickle over his potatoes. Her lips half-parted in an 'o' shape. "Oh?"

Leon furrowed his brow, trying to keep his voice casual, smooth, but a little curious. "They didn't seem to know anything specific, but apparently there's something happening here?"

"... Ooh, well, yes." She frowned slightly, appearing to think for a moment. With some difficulty owing to her size, she scooted her chair a little closer. She beckoned. Leon leaned in. In a hushed voice, the barmaid murmured, "The blacksmith's husband went missing just last week. And a week before that, we lost one of the millers just upriver—and she was daughter of a village elder, so, you know. Nobody's quite sure what's happening."

"Goodness!" Leon tried to look sympathetic, but not too alarmed. Not too alarmed to make her uneasy. From the occasional hunt he'd attended (and mostly drank and caroused through), he could tell that this goblin maid was like a doe—gentle, harmless, but easily-spooked. He had to let her take the lead.

She bit her lip. He could smell her sweet minty perfume as she scooted a little closer still, casting a wary look at the other patron. "We're trying to keep quiet about it to avoid scaring people away. We rely so much on the few merchants who come by. But..." She swallowed. "Well, you especially might want to be careful."

That last remark put Leon on his guard in an instant. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Well, anyone this forthcoming isn't likely involved, unless her scheming runs as deep as the sea. And someone that clever likely wouldn't be relegated to playing the waitress.

"...me especially?" I quirk a brow and glance to the other patron as well. The other patron was staring into her drink—bitterbrew, and probably very cold by now. Apparently that was a very cosmopolitan way to drink one's bitterbrew these days, but... she looked anything but cosmopolitan.

"Well, I imagine." She wiggled and scooted her chair closer still. Their chairs were almost touching now. "Oh, I hope I'm not being too forward or anything." There is a quaver in her voice, and her cheeks were visibly burning now—perhaps as much from the closeness as the subject matter. "I just... it's important we not be overheard, you understand? People get so upset these days."

Goodness, she was a helpful little goblin, wasn't she? And so pleasing to the senses. Leon licked his lips. He was usually a very good judge of character, but it was hard to get a read on anything when she was so close, and her frilly dress hung so low.

But he was pretty sure he got the gist. Leon leaned in close as well, speaking out of the side of his mouth as if he was imparting some great secret—one that had to be jealously guarded. "You needn't be so surreptitious with your flirting, my dear."

Her eyes widened. Her carving-knife-ears stood up straight on end. A rosy pink glow like twin sunrises took over her face in seconds. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it and closed it again. The green-skinned barmaid bit her lip.

And then she leaned in close, very close, rising up a little in her seat to reach, and her lips and breath tickled his ear as she practically purred, "The miller was the prettiest girl in town. Everyone had a crush on her. Everybody knew, when she sought a husband, she'd have whoever it was under her, begging to breed her, with naught but a whisper and a kiss. And the blacksmith's husband was a gorgeous stallion of a man. A true breeding bull. Almost as handsome as you. You see?"

Leon breathed in softly, savoring the smell of mint. He nodded faintly, trying to keep his wits about him and finding that many of them were quite occupied calculating just how many laces had to be undone to let those fat tits of hers bounce free. "Mm. I... I see. Yes."

"Mm-hm." She gave a faint giggle. "It's not hard to make the connection, I think." Her voice, dainty, coquettish, positively oozed suggestion. Ricard swallowed. She snuggled up against him, and she was so warm on the crisp autumn morning, and she smelled so sweet, her voice sosoft and comforting... "So you simply must be ever-so-careful."

"Mm." He gave a minute nod, and turned to smile at her. "I'll do my level best, but truth be told..." His hand drifted to rest on her knee, ever-so-subtly, barely even a graze. "... I fear that I might walk headlong into any trap that had you as bait."

Gods, he was flirting. He'd specifically told himself that he wouldn't be flirting today, and he was flirting.

Missing people, though. That was a bit of a bother, especially if said missing people are important enough to warrant investigation by... "dubiously legal" organizations.

She giggled. "You're as sweet as syrup," she cooed in his ear. "What's your name, lord?"

Her fingers stroked along the back of his hand, teasing, promising.

"Sullivan. And while a rose by any other name still smells as sweet, I don't yet know yours."

"Jingka, lord," she sighed, her eyelashes fluttering. She was breathing heavily as she nuzzled his neck, not quite kissing him, covering him in her scent. It was like she couldn't get enough of him. "So... Sullivan..." She squeezed against him, and he could feel her tits all-but popping out of her dress, "... are you telling me you have... a weakness for goblin maids?"

"I—" Leon's heart was raising. He stared into those eyes—gorgeous, shimmering crimson moons, heavy-lidded with lust and suggestion—and briefly struggled for a response that would be smooth, witty, a response that could deflect the question while appearing to answer it, a response that would... would...

Oh, fuck it. "I'd like to meet the man who doesn't, if only to slap him across the face for his nonsense." One of his hands strayed to the swell of her hip. Gods, she was affectionate. Who could expect perfect chastity with such eager company?

"Ooh." She nodded slightly, eyes not leaving his. "I... I thought so..." She wriggled and squirmed, seemingly encouraging him to grope her ass even more openly, to feel how soft, how smooth...

"Now, I'm going to wager a guess," he whispered, smiling at her quivering lower lip as she blinked up at him. He let his hand on her leg get a little more adventurous, sliding along her curvy thigh, up her plush lap. With his other hand, he cupped her chin and leaned in slightly, brushing a droplet of drool from the corner of her open mouth with his thumb. "Unmarried?"

"Mm. Mm-hm!" She was almost moaning, thick eyelashes fluttering, rubbing her hot body against him. Gods, she was panting. Her hand was crawling over him, towards his lap... "Oh, yes... oh, so sad, yes..."

Her plump lips. Her lush body. Her sweet, heady, minty scent. Leon gave her ass a squeeze, pulling her closer to him. "Only because I'd hate to do anything..." He lowered to whisper in her pointed ear. "... untoward."

"Yes," she whined, head bobbing, "o-of course..."

Leon could barely believe how easily she was seduced. Or... had she seduced him? He blinked rapidly, unsure of the difference. With a goblin maid this eager, this willing, this breathtakingly rapturous...

Movement caught his eye. His gaze darted from her shimmering red eyes to the window.

Thankfully, instinct took over then. His finger went to her lips. "Hold on a moment, darling," he whispered. "I think we might be about to have an audience."

...Besides the woman half-asleep contemplating her drink, that is.

"Mm?" She pulled off of him, blinking. One look into those huge crimson eyes, her eyelashes thick and hanging heavy like curtains, and Leon almost gave in and sank right back into her delectable temptation.

But she slid away abruptly as the door chimed open, and the Toxin Ranger stepped into the bar. A chill accompanied her.

She was most definitely a Toxin Ranger—the mushroom clasp was an easy givaway. She was also a goblin maid, which was slightly unusual (though perhaps not for this town). She had shoulder-length black dreads and was dressed heavily in furs. Very top-heavy.

Her eyes were just a shade off of gold, and they narrowed as they look between Leon, the barmaid, and the other adventurer.

The other adventurer began to snore.

"You know the funniest part?" Leon hooked a thumb towards the dozing adventurer. "She's been drinking bitterbrew all morning."

Jingka gave a slightly nervous giggle, hurriedly rising and greeting the new patron. They seemed to know each other, and the Ranger was friendly enough—but her eyes golden eyes never left Leon.

Jingka gave him one last smile and wink as she bustled out once more, a slight spring in her step, leaving him alone with the sleeping adventurer and the overdressed Toxin Ranger.

Leon hesitated, then decided to run with the charm and gestured to his meal. "Here, would you like a danish? I have several, and I'm beginning to suspect they're poisoned. Or at the very least drugged."

The Toxin Ranger gave a tight-lipped smile, slipping into the seat across from him. She ignored the offer. "I hope you're Leon."

"Sullivan, actually." He winked with a smile. "For now, at least."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I almost forgot I'm working with those... jackanapes. Well, isn't that just a peach?" She extended a hand across the table. "Iarile. You can call me Riley."

"The pleasure's all mine, Riley. Goodness, but aren't the locals friendly here? A bit flaky, but that comes with the territory of illicit acts in the face of authority."

"You have to watch out for the barmaids." Riley took a danish and gave it a curious nibble, pulling a face. "When a goblin maid becomes a barmaid, she's looking. I'm sure you guessed that."

"I'll keep that in mind. It's such an interesting notion, waitressing as a social symbol." Leon gestured back at the sleeping adventurer, then lowered his voice a tad. "So, ah... people have a tendency to disappear around Perlgrut, apparently. Troubling, to be sure."

"Yeah, to be sure." She sighed, adjusting to sit in the chair crisscross. She continued nibbling on the danish. Leon began to suspect that they were perfectly fine and she was just stealing his food. "Isha probbum."

"... In a word."

Leon waited for more. When Iarile just kept chewing, he cleared his throat. "So, begging your pardon. You're here to tell me something, yes?"

There was a pause.

She set the danish aside, letting out a long sigh. "Yes. Good morning, thanks for coming by, et cetera. Yes, the Baals asked me to get you up-to-speed on what's going on." After a moment's evident thought, she steepled her fingers and leaned in. "See, what most people outside myself, the elders, and maybe one or two hunters don't know is that Perlgrut happens to be right next to a faun cult. Do you know what that is?"

Leon frowned. "...What, like a cult where you fawn over things? I think that's the basis of most cults in general."

"Oh, gods."

Leon nodded thoughtfully, gazing off into the distance. "Those too. Though I feel that, nowadays, most of the objects of adoration aren't the most liable to find appreciation with... normal people."

"Uuuugggh." Iarile tapped the table impatiently. "So, here. Back when the fey had the Courts in place, they had these pacts with Hell, see? Yearly sacrifices, I believe. You know of those?"

Leon blinked. Of course. Anyone with any level of education knew about the tithes. Perhaps that knowledge was less common out in the reaches, though.

Riley drew out a long pipe from her coat, though she didn't light it yet. "When everything... changed, those pacts fell apart. But a lot of fey and humans never moved on. Most satyrs and fauns sort of stuck with it, since the tithing festivals... well, that was what fauns and satyrs were all about, I guess."

She started filling the pipe. "So you have these, uh, these cults going around finding things to worship to fill the void. Things to make those sacrifices to. It's not usually good for the town's growth, but I know these fauns. They're usually pretty harmless. Just sacrifice their own number." She sighed. "At least, that's how it usually is."

As she went to light the pipe, there came from the kitchen a sudden, ear-piercing,

"NO."

Riley dropped the pipe onto the table in her shock. Nearby, the adventurer paused in her snoring.

For a moment, the ranger looked too stunned to react. She glared and snatched the pipe back up. "Just the cook. Frickin'... I don't know how she always knows." She stuffed the pipe back into her coat with a baleful glance toward the kitchen.

"... so." Leon raised an eyebrow. "Faun cults. Sacrifices."

"Yes. They are usually well-behaved." She rolled her eyes. "But lately... well, we've been having problems. Deer hoofprints in the mud."

"... I was about to say 'oh, dear,' but somehow that seems a bit too appropriate."

"Cool, the elves sent a comedian. They should have sent a poet." Riley straightened in her chair and looked him dead in the eyes. "Something's got them angry, or riled up, or... oh, I don't know. They've taken people before, but always travelers and wanderers, and I was always able to sort it out. But I can't go into the Cotton Wood right now. The spiders are still angry with me."

"Well, to be perfectly frank, a poet would likely find himself or herself a touch too inspired by the present company to get much done, either." After a moment, the rest of her explanation registered with him, and he gave an indignant huff. "... Also, I must take issue with the notion that travelers or wanderers are acceptable sacrifices! In case you're unaware, I'm a traveler, and I dabble in wandering!"

She sniffed. "First, barking up the wrong tree—already happily married to my work, not that anyone here ever seems to believe that."

"Listen, a fisherman always baits the hook, even when he doesn't intend to reel in the catch."