The Fluffy Lamb

The Miggelin guide is published annually and lists every restaurant and eatery worth visiting in Waggenrook and then assigns them a score based on some cryptic checklist of occult requirements, no doubt including such things as culinary creativity, floor cleanliness, and the number of rodents spotted during the main course of a meal.

For me, all these things are surplus to the actual reason I would choose to eat at any given location. I mean, I don’t particularly care if there are rats snuffling through the bins outside or the food isn’t following whatever trend of the season some stuffy old codger thinks is important.

What I want is food which actually tastes good.

And, while it sounds exciting to have rare and obscure seafood wriggling away on your plate in some delicate cream milked directly from a maiden’s breast right at your table, I, for one, couldn’t care less about it.

I don’t care if your restaurant serves mermaid nipples with a side of delicately sliced centaur lips.

Actually, eating at restaurants like that are too much fuss and bother.

I’d have to dress up. And book in advance.

Sometimes months, or years in advance. All for a very expensive plate of food that isn’t remotely filling. After five hours in a chair with a numb bottom while awaiting my sacred crumb and its dab of exotic sauce, I’d end up across the road buying a kebab because I was starving.

No, it’s simply not worth the effort.

One place which never makes it into the Miggelin guide, is The Fluffy Lamb.

The Fluffy Lamb is a tavern. A boisterous place stocked with greasy mooks and sour-faced drunks. It smells like someone has been sick on pretty much every surface, and this isn’t an unreasonable assumption.

If they haven’t vomited or bled on it, someone has certainly urinated on it.

It’s disgusting. It’s horrible.

It’s not the kind of place three angelic young ladies would be seen in without proper escort and a very good reason for being there.

Happily, as I herded my twitchy little charges up to the ogre guarding the front door, they had both. They just didn’t know it.

“Taran,” the ogre growled. “Back again.”

I looked up at him and thrust my jaw out. It’s not wise to show weakness to an ogre. Especially not one who works as a bouncer at a place like The Fluffy Lamb.

“I am,” I said. “I have come for pie.”

“Alright,” the ogre shrugged. “You’re good.”

By good, what he meant was I didn’t leave a mess. Void magic is a excellent for more than just making people disappear. It also works to get you into seedy establishments where employees respect not having to slop up entrails and mop up buckets of blood when you’re done.

I gave the girls a gentle push to herd them inside. They were obviously reluctant to enter. I didn’t blame them. If I didn’t know the place, I wouldn’t want to go in, either.

Inside, a barmaid weaved through a small crowd of rowdy mooks, none of whom were brave enough to give her bottom a suggestive pinch.

She was tall, slender at the waist, and curved in all the places a man finds incredibly attractive. Her blonde hair was then tied into a tight ponytail held in place by a bright pink ribbon. Her pretty face left bards speechless as she smiled with lips so plush they inspired more than one man to brave her reputation for slinging a devastating right hook to the ear.

Her beauty didn’t end there.

Some might say that’s just where it began. Because her breasts were magnificent! They were like two oversized soft pillows, and any man would happily die just for a chance to smoosh his cheeks between them for three incredible heartbeats or less.

And three is definitely all you’d need.

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No man could last for four. Any who says he could is a liar and not to be trusted or invited to an evening dinner.

She wore, and just barely I might add, a fancy lace-trimmed dress typical of most barmaids in the city, but hers tended to fluff a little higher than anyone else’s at the back to expose creamy thighs above smooth white stockings clipped to delicate lace garters.

They left you breathless as she bent over the tables in front of you but never delivered on their promise to reveal even a glimpse of her precious panties beneath.

That knowledge never stopped those with less than savory characters from hoping, though.

She was very popular, and her name was Lilsa.

She waved at me, smiling widely. I waved back.

To both her breasts.

She pointed to a little table by the stairs which would be big enough for the four of us. I took it as an invite, and we took the table, too.

“I apologise for the filth,” I told them as we took our seats. “But it’s worth it in the end.”

“Oh, it’s not as horrible as that smelly old alley,” the shortest one said with a forced giggle.

Oh, my heart. She giggled!

I swooned a little, my eyes working hard to not roll back in my head at the sound. I wanted to scoop her up and tickle her against my ear and make her do it again and again until her ribs exploded with joy.

“Taran?” Lilsa finally sauntered over, giving my three guests a casual once-over. “Pie and drinks? It’s beef today, but I have a few chicken ones left from yesterday if you’d prefer.”

“I’ll have the beef, please,” I said, glancing at the hooded girls. “Anybody want chicken, or shall we all have the same?”

The girl to my left made a nodding gesture and put a hand up. “Could I have the chicken, please?”

“Okay,” Lilsa nodded. “Three beefs, one chicken. Drinks?”

“Gin and tonic for me,” I said. Then, because the girls seemed to flutter a little nervously in their seats, I decided to order on their behalf. I didn’t want to give them the impression I was trying to get them tipsy enough to wander alone into my bedroom. “Perhaps something softer for the ladies?”

“We’ve got moonberry juice,” she said, managing to keep her smile from passing judgment. “If that’s alright?”

“That’s perfect,” I said. “Thank you, Lilsa.”

“My pleasure,” she winked, then sauntered away with a quick professional wave over her shoulder.

I waved back.

To both her bottom’s perfectly round cheeks.

When she was gone, I looked around the table, starting to feel a little bit more awkward as three hooded figures stared at me. I had assumed there were ladies under those hoods.

Now I wondered if they were grim reapers.

Their features were so deeply hidden. Perhaps the hoods were enchanted, I thought. I wondered where I could get one like it and considered how best to raise the subject without offending them.

The three of had arranged themselves from my left to my right around the table in order of height. Small to smallest. I was very tall, so everyone looked small to me.

The silence stretched.

Two of the girls began to fidget. They all looked down at the table in front of them.

“Alright,” I announced, deciding the awkwardness just wasn’t healthy. I would do my best to drive it away, even if I had to find a big stick to do so. “I’ll start. My name is Taran. I live in the area. I was coming here for a brief mid-evening snack, and hadn’t expected to have guests. But, guests I have. You’ll have to excuse my lack of manners in bringing you to a place like this, but I’m not used to entertaining ladies. It’s not one of my skills, so to speak. I normally prefer the company of books, and would one day like to own a parrot. Unfortunately, I have a sort of cat and it would eat it, so I can’t. Oh, and I’m also a void mage. You can run away now if you like, but you’ll be missing out on an amazing pie.”

“A void mage?” The shortest squeaked out. If she hadn’t been protected by her hood, I’m sure I’d have pinched her cheeks. “I’ve never heard of a void mage before.”

“Me neither,” the tallest said. She turned her head towards me. “Why do you think we’ll run away?”

“Most mages usually do,” I shrugged. “And you are mages, aren’t you?”

She brought a hand up in shock, letting out one of those delightful little squeaks. “How did you know?”

I blinked at her. “Well, you’re wearing Mage Guild uniforms. They’re a bit hard to see, but I’ve caught a glimpse or two. First years, I’d say. They are still using the gold trim for that, aren’t they? I saw the trim.”

The three girls looked down at their cloaks which hadn’t quite hidden the front of their uniforms. Mage guild uniforms were usually short simple black robes with coloured trims to let everyone know just how long they’d been in the guild.

The tallest slumped a little. “We’re not very good at hiding, are we?”

“Why would you need to hide? And from whom?”

“From the others,” she sighed. “We were expelled from the Guild’s dorms a few nights ago. Now, whenever we find a place to stay, they come and harass the building owners until we’re forced to leave.”

I looked from one to the other, wishing I could see their expressions.

“Let me get this straight. You are first year students at the Mage Guild, and the Mage Guild is not only refusing to let you lodge in their dorms, they are actively seeking to prevent you from lodging anywhere in the city?”

She gave a sad little nod, and I wanted to immediately cast a large enough portal to swallow the entire city in rage. How dare the Guild behave in such a mookly manner! I had never heard of such an outrageous and ungentlemanly crusade before.

I hunched peevishly, trying not to let my ears steam, and scowled. “I will not let this stand,” I told them, tapping the table violently with my finger. “Such grievous and malicious behaviour offends me, as it should any true gentleman of the land. No, there’s only one thing to do.”

“What?”

“You’ll have to come and stay in my tower,” I told them firmly, holding a finger up to prevent argument. Then glanced to my left as I saw Lilsa threading her way through tables. “Right after pie, of course…”