Hearthside Haze

That evening in the great Mountains, the sky roared with the fury of dragons and breathed icy needles down upon the craggy peaks. The wind tore at those scrubby plants that had unshrewdly grown an inch too far from their roots. The flurrying snow bit and tore at exposed skin, blinded the eyes, weighed down furs and coats. Every footstep sank through crunching snow and slippery ice. The only earth visible was that of the jagged cliff faces, gray and muddy stone cold enough to catch a traveler's tongue.

And through the fury of the blizzard, a man in his early twenties stumbled across a narrow ledge and tried to ignore the chasm directly to his left. He was tightly bundled in furs and silks, every part of his face covered save a pair of piercing dark brown eyes. A gleaming iron scythe was strapped to his back, along with several bags and a heavy backpack. He cut a stocky build, though to a stranger looking on, it would be difficult to tell where the furs began and the man began—or if he was human at all.

Alrek usually liked snow just fine.

Tonight, he found he didn't much care for it.

Thunder rumbled overhead. He rolled his eyes. "Tell it to someone who cares, Sky." His teeth chattered with every word.

As he spoke, his foot slipped on a pebble half-secured within the ice, and he lunged forward to grab at a stout sagebrush.

His gloved hands locked around the sagebrush's base just as one leg slid over the side of the ledge. For a moment, he dangled.

The sagebrush groaned, but held. It had been rooted in this cliffside for many years, and clearly had no intention of giving way just yet. It did take the liberty of dumping its load of snow on Alrek's head, however.

The young adventurer pulled himself back up onto the ledge and hurried forward, hugging the cliff face. A moment later, he was off the ledge, and back on 'solid' ground.

The cold gnawed at his joints, despite the layering. He couldn't stop shivering. He was shivering so hard it hurt worse than the cold. Worse, his fingers were getting numb. He'd only barely grabbed that sagebrush—his fingers had turned disobedient, lazy, inflexible. And his eyes stung horribly, despite his efforts to protect them from the searing cold winds.

So badly hampered was his vision that he nearly didn't notice the light off in the distance. When he did notice it, the adventurer stopped in his tracks.

Beneath his scarf, he grinned. Well, then, Wind, he thought with bitter glee, hurrying to clamber up towards the source of the glow, seems like we're just about done screwing around for today.

Alrek was a young adventurer—as a matter of fact, he had only been adventuring for about a month since his departure from home—and he was not yet particularly wise to the wiles of fey. Had he been, he might perhaps have been more hesitant about following a strange light off the beaten path just as night began to fall.

Fortunately for Alrek, though, this particular light just so happened to be genuine.

He leaped onto a covered wooden porch, groaning with relief as some of the wind's roar ebbed from his aching ears, as his boots finally contacted fully solid ground, and huddled against the door. The light was coming from a small cabin built partially into the mountainside, practically buried in snow.

Through the nearby window, he saw the dim glow of an oil lantern. It looked like some kind of tavern. There was a fireplace in there, sadly unlit. He huddled against the door and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering against the wind.

Mountain Folk had rules about hospitality, and those rules varied by clan. Alrek knew the snærið always welcomed visitors who came unarmed, but he guessed that the owner of this house was of the gestrisnið—the people who kept away from large settlements, the hermits and rangers and innkeepers of the Mountains. The gestrisnið were a hospitable lot, but they had their own rituals, and Alrek only knew a few of them.

For instance, it was important to have a gift.

Alrek certainly didn't possess much to give. His first solo dungeon crawl had been a disaster. He looked mournfully down at the small paper bag parcel he had tied to his belt. Tied tightly with string, these two little treasures were all he had to show for all of this.

But he would freeze to death otherwise.

Perhaps he could part with—

The door he was leaning against abruptly swung inward, and he fell backwards with a whump.

"Oh!" said a light, high-pitched voice. "Oh, Stars! I'm so sorry!"

Alrek stared up, head spinning from its slight bump into the stone floor. Luckily, his furs and bags had cushioned most of the fall for him.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees, staring up at the strange little woman with wary eyes, and reached up and tugged the scarf from his face so he could speak freely.

Alrek's stubble had grown thick and dark since he'd set out, and he now had something approaching a beard. He brushed a bit of snow and ice from it before speaking. "What are you?"

His words came out brusque and blunt. That was pretty much normal. Alrek was never quite sure how else to address people.

Especially not people who looked like this.

Alrek had seen a fair variety of skin tones. He had met plainsfolk from down south with skin the color of fresh butter and hair that glinted in the sun like the summer fields. He had seen the umber-skinned merchants come by on occasion from the distant northern jungles, come to trade their strange wares and technologies (or, occasionally, to offer sermons and aid) to the savage southerners. He had met a brown-skinned woman from the Northern Isles, a Toxin Ranger with a rolling accent that plinked like a spider's legs upon webbing, and encountered bards from the Wild East with light skin the same color as their bizarre brass instruments.

He had never in his life, however, met someone green before.

She was short. Even shorter than Alrek, and Alrek wasn't exactly tall. She stood about a foot shorter than him, but made up for it with a plump, lush figure. Her plump dark green lips were pursed at the moment, as if in thought. Her eyes glinted a lovely rosy-pink, complimented by thick, pronounced lashes that fluttered every now and then as if trying to dislodge something. The simple barmaid's dress she wore almost seemed to caress her nubile form, complimenting her softness, emphasizing her prodigious curves. Her hair was done in a sleek bouffant, dark and glistening in the candlelight, offset by a pair of long, pointed ears and also she was extremely green.

She blinked up at him, eyelashes fluttering. "Um... oh, well, what a question. Maybe I should be asking you that!"

Alrek blinked. Then he realized he was still packed tightly in furs, and she was being somewhat literal. He groaned, getting to his feet. "I'm... human. Just here to get warm." He hesitated in the doorway. "Uh... I don't have a gift, exactly—"

"Oh, no!" She tittered. "Not to worry, sir, I haven't got any sort of need for gifts. Just come on in!" She beckoned hurriedly, and he realized she was probably eager to get the door closed against the wind.

He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. It was chilly inside, too, but at least there was no wind. Just ominous creaking from the boards outside, and an infrequent rattling at the windows.

A single rose-glass oil lantern illuminated a rustic old tavern common room. It was abandoned now, as far as Alrek could tell, but stairs towards the back appeared to lead to a second floor—built into the mountainside, just as he'd suspected from outside.

"Is this an inn?" he asked, frowning.

"Why, yes. Welcome to the Gobble Inn." The green woman put a hand to her plump lips to stifle another giggle. "Would you mind letting me see who I just invited inside?"

Alrek hesitated. But the request was reasonable, especially seeing as he was being allowed inside for free. He reached up and reluctantly unpeeled the scarf, causing little flecks of frost to sprinkle onto the floor. "Are you the only... uh, person here?"

"Mm." She blinked up at him, a distant smile on her face as she looked him over. She licked her lips, then gave a start. "Oh! Um, yes, there's the owner and my two coworkers. All sleeping. It's late." She bounced slightly on her feet. "I'm a goblin maid. A goblin barmaid, in fact." She winked. "A pleasure."

"Yeah. Sure." Alrek rubbed his arms tenderly. "Well, thanks for letting me in."

"My name's Nanne." She curtseyed.

Alrek hesitated. "Alrek." He nodded slightly towards a table by the window. "I don't need to stay the night or anything. Just wait out the blizzard. That okay?"

"Oh, of course!" She blinked, seeming caught off-guard. "I mean, you can stay the night as well. We wouldn't mind, as long as... well, as long as you're willing to buy something to eat."

Alrek grimaced. "I haven't got anything to trade. I just wanna get warm." He turned and walked over to the table.

"Oh." Nanne sounded slightly put out. "Well, if you can't afford it, why don't I give you something on the house? I hate to see someone in my inn go hungry. Especially someone so handsome."

"I don't want charity," he said quickly, avoiding her gaze. He knew his face was reddening slightly, and he hoped the subtext was clear: He didn't want anything else, either. He hoped she would take that hint. She was very attractive, and in his experience, very attractive people were used to having their offers accepted.

"Are you sure?" She frowned, walking over to his table and laying a hand on his shoulder. "You don't want—"

She blinked as he jerked away from her hand.

Alrek did not like being touched.

If Nanne's feelings were hurt, though, she didn't show it. She just gave a musical little laugh. "Oh, you must excuse me. We can be a little touchy sometimes, we goblin maids."

"Right. It's fine." Alrek grimaced, shrugging off his pack and bags onto the floor.

"Would you at least let me light the fireplace?"

Alrek hesitated, looking over at the fireplace with an internal longing. He rubbed his numb fingers unconsciously. "Just bring the lamp over," the adventurer said gruffly. "And you can go to bed after hat. Really. Don't worry about me."

But Nanne seemed quite unwilling to take the hint that he wanted to be left alone. The barmaid skipped over, retrieved the lamp, and brought it back over to the table. She set it down in front of him, glimmering softly, and patted his cheek (he again jerked away with a scowl). "You're really not hungry?"

Alrek chewed his lower lip. "I haven't got anything to trade. No money, no mountain tears."

"Well, I don't need anything like that." Nanne sat down across from him, a wide, open smile on her face. The rosy light of the lamp cast odd shadows over her green skin. Alrek avoided her eyes uncomfortably, but he couldn't help but be endeared to that easygoing smile. "Honestly, Alrek, it gets dreary up here. Few come by, and there's not much the other barmaids and owner know that I don't. Haven't you got any stories?"

Alrek hesitated again.

"What's the cheapest thing you've got?" he asked, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly would announce this compromise to the world and the door would immediately break down beneath a stampede of charitable innkeepers.

She batted her eyelashes. "I've got a delicious loaf of goblin bread in the oven. It's as sweet as a goblin's laugh!" As if to provide a sample, she giggled.

He nodded. "Okay. I... guess I can tell a story." Alrek was actually pretty good at stories. He'd used to tell them to his younger peers. And tonight, he had an easy story to tell.

"Wonderful!" She clapped her hands in delight, then bounced back to her feet and rushed over to the kitchen. Her ass wiggled as she skipped, and he tried not to stare. Something about the rosy light of the flickering lamp seemed to accentuate every curve.

Alrek had a moment to form the story in his mind, organizing his thoughts and trials from the previous few days. He would lead with a basic explanation of the dungeon, then delve into his arrival and go over the main three rooms he'd been in. Probably leave out the treasure, though, just to be safe.

As Alrek waited, he took off his gloves, adjusted himself slightly beneath the fur coats, and warmed his hands by the lamp. He could see his breath, very faintly, against the glimmering pink light. It was interesting, watching it swirl, looking in the lamplight like thick, pink fog.

After a minute or so, Nanne returned. She now carried a plate bearing a steaming loaf of a sweetbread of some sort. Alrek's stomach rumbled as he saw the reddish loaf—it looked sort of like the moist, cakey beet breads they'd occasionally baked back home.

"Here you go!" she chirped, setting the bread in front of him next to the light. The loaf was pre-sliced, and she daintily took one slice in her hand and, unprompted, raised it to his mouth. "Try a bite?"

Alrek firmly took the slice from her, not about to allow himself to be handfed. "Thanks," he grunted.

He took a bite. It was surprisingly good—sweet and moist like the beet bread, with a spice to it he couldn't quite name. He frowned and took another bite. "'s good."

She preened. "Oh, thank you!" She sat down in the chair opposite him, cupping her chin in her hands as she regarded him happily. "So, the story?"

"Right." He swallowed. He looked around, and saw a small tray of softened butter. It seemed to have little bits of herbs mixed into it. He curiously dipped his slice of bread in as he spoke—the butter practically dissolved into it. "I came here to find the Amber Tombs. They're a... one of the old dungeons the dopterines built."

He took a big bite out of the buttered bread and chewed. His eyes widened.

Holy shit.

This was some really, really good bread. It melted on his tongue, moist and delectable. His mouth watered, and he found himself rapidly polishing off the slice. The butter was just slightly salty, with hints of... rosemary? Thyme? Something floral he couldn't place. Alrek didn't exactly know spices.

Nanne was watching him with a smile as he ate. "You mean one of the prisons."

"Mm-hm." Alrek nodded, still chewing.

"So you were looking for fiends?"

"Mm-mm." He shook his head as he swallowed. "There's s'posed to be a tree at the dungeon's center. Stories of the snærið say the tree drips with 'heaven's light'. Brings revelations, 'the secrets to eternal satisfaction of all desires', that sorta thing. Worth more than diamonds."

"Oh, how lovely." She giggled, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. But at least part of her mind seemed to be elsewhere. "Can I interest you in something to drink? Maybe some nice mulled wine?"

Alrek shifted to suppress a shiver. A hot drink sounded pretty nice right now. But if he got drunk now, he'd be stuck here for the night. And his tolerance was pitiful.

"I'm good," he said, even as she got up to go to the kitchen. He took up another slice of bread and ate it quickly. "Anyways," he said, though a mouthful of food, "place was full of demons. Wards. I bar—" He finally swallowed. "barely made it out."

He rubbed his eyes. He'd gotten a bit ahead of himself in the story. Damn, he was getting sleepy. The journey had taxed him more than he'd realized, and in the soft, flickering rosy glow, it felt so easy to lean back in his chair and relax...

He finished his third slice of buttered bread, licking his lips. Looking over, he saw that Nanne was coming back to him, swinging her hips with every step. He blinked slowly, then realized he was staring and looked away. His eyes momentarily settled on her jiggling tits before he forced himself to make eye contact.

Those limpid pink eyes looked almost joyous. Maybe a little amused. "Sounds like you've had a rough time of things," she said, reaching forward with a napkin. Alrek realized too late she was going to wipe his mouth, and winced as she dabbed tenderly at his lips to clean him of crumbs.

It didn't feel worth pitching a fit, but he... wished she wouldn't do that. Even if her hand and handkerchief smelled like roses.

Roses! That was what the spices in the butter reminded him of. Rose blooms. Sweet and rich. And that was the smell coming from the wine pitcher she now bore.

"So tell me, Alrek," the buxom barmaid said, twirling a narrow wine glass between her nimble fingers, "what happened then?"

"Well, I..." His eyes were drawn to the glass, which softly reflected the lamp's light as it spun. "I... what happened, see..." He quickly looked away, hoping his blush wouldn't be apparently beneath the red lighting. "Sorry, what was the question?"

"Oh, you poor thing." She tutted. "You've had such a long day."

"I'm fine," he grumbled, reaching down and taking another slice of bread. He practically inhaled this piece, trying to savor the richness.

Unfortunately, his mouth being full gave Nanne free reign to talk over him. "Maybe you're fine," she said impatiently, "but even I can see you're freezing! You're losing track of your lovely story, too. Come on. Let me put a fire in the hearth." She smiled. "You can just lie back next to the fire and warm yourself up while you finish the tale. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"No need," he said quickly, scowling. He was accepting a free meal—a meal for a story, anyways—but that was it. Alrek was determined not to depend on others. Besides, he didn't even see any logs in the fireplace—she'd have to go out to the woodshed to get some, and he certainly couldn't ask his host for that much in this weather. Alrek was rude, yes, but he wasn't a bad guest. There was a difference.

Nanne's eyes fell downwards, as though disappointed. She bit her lip. Alrek noticed her teeth were just so slightly sharp. "Then... oh, please accept just a glass of mulled wine! On the house!" She seemed almost near tears. "I can't let you freeze to death out there, and the wine's already heated up!"

Alrek was starting to get annoyed. "I said I didn't want any! I don't—"

Nanne was biting her lip as she raised her fist, as though about to bite her knuckles instead. Instead, she lowered the hand until it was palm-up, fingers pointed right at his face... pursed her lips, and blew him a little kiss right over the rim of the full-to-the-brim pitcher.

Alrek blinked. He actually saw her kiss—her breath, he corrected himself—waft over the pink-violet wine, leaving little ripples trailing after it. He swore he felt the breeze waft over his cheek.

As it did, strange smells—sweet scents, heady, thick aromas of a strong, slightly bitter wine—washed over him. He breathed in reflexively, and his head spun as the wine's intoxicating flavor seemed to settle on his tongue.

He blinked again. The goblin maid smiled demurely, the flickering glow of the lamp casting a reddish reflection in her large, pink eyes.

"I... guess," he said at last, swallowing. "Just one glass." He was freezing, and the mulled wine would warm him up a little bit. She honestly seemed desperate for him to accept it. It was silly to be so stubborn about things.

Her expression of utter delight made him feel that it was probably worth this small, harmless sacrifice. The little goblin maid quickly poured the glass and handed it over to him.

For a moment, he thought she was going to actually push the glass to his lips, but as his hand came up to take the glass, she flashed him a mischievous, 'caught-in-the-act' smile and relinquished it to him.

"So," Nanne said, "your story. What was it like in the dungeon?"

"Um..." Alrek hesitated, taking a sip to steady himself. He involuntarily let out a slight sigh—oh, gods, that was... that was perfect. The warm liquid flowed down his throat as smooth and easy as milk and honey, and he rapidly emptied the glass before he even knew what he was doing.