Chapter 149 Feeling Cool

Lisanna carefully uncapped the vial containing the soothing elixir, its essence shimmering with a calming radiance. She dipped her fingers into the cool, blue cream. Approaching Hermit, Lisanna positioned herself behind him, her eyes filled with mischief. In a fluid motion, she reached out, her gloved fingers extending toward the swollen goblin's enlarged ears.

Her touch, soft and fierce, traced the outlines of his inflated frail appendages. The cream, like a balm of comfort, spread its healing magic, enveloping the swollen skin with a tender embrace. A soothing sensation penetrated Hermit's ears as if a refreshing breeze had swept away the tormenting swell and pain.

The cooling effect of the cream spread across Hermit's ears, quenching the burning pain that had tormented him for far too long. It was as if tiny frost-kissed tendrils tickled the sensitive skin, granting pleasure and inviting a newfound sense of comfort.

A gentle weeping escaped Hermit's lips, carrying with it the weight of pleasure and gratitude.

"Uweeeee! So nice! Thank you, Master Lisanna! Thank you. Feels so good!"

 The pain that once had gripped his ears with relentless tenacity now receded, replaced by a soothing calm that radiated from within. 

As the pleasurable touch of enchantment caressed his weary ears, his stiffened shoulders surrendered to a wave of unimaginable relaxation. They dropped with such force that it seemed as if his whole body quivered in response, leaving him floating in a sea of bliss. A sound of crackling joints and released tension echoed through the air.

In an otherworldly display of ecstasy, his eyes rolled back into the recesses of his skull. His eyelids, caught in a frenzied trance, twitched uncontrollably, creating a mesmerizing display of spasmodic rhythm.

His face contorted by a delighted ecstasy, twisted into an unimaginable face of grotesque bliss. Every muscle strained and competed as if engaged in a battle between pleasure and torment. The lines on his mug were etched deep like ancient runes telling tales of forbidden pleasures and secret desires.

His mouth drooled, empty of all sense and reason, and spilled forth a cascading torrent of saliva, glistening in the light as it formed a disgusting pool at his feet. His tongue, seemingly detached from its mouth slipped out and slapped the ground with a wet clap, a wild appendage in a dance of shameless freedom.

 His leg, driven by a primal instinct, rose toward his ear in a comical quest to scratch an itch, mirroring the scratching of a dog. But his limb didn't reach his ear, It comically scratched the air suspended halfway to his ear.

 With each touch bestowed upon Hermit's ears, the very fabric of his being was sent into convulsive contortions, rippling through his form with a passion so profound it defied the boundaries of comprehension. The sheer ecstasy he experienced was enough to ignite a symphony of spasms, his body writhing in the agony of indescribable pleasure.

With a swift and forceful motion, Lisanna slapped him across the face with his own ear, the impact echoing through the guild with a sound of a wet clap.

 Her words, dripping with disgust, "Ew! Disgusting goblin, stop soiling my table! Your dirty spit is leaking out of your filthy mouth! Snap back to reality! This will stink horribly. Keep that filth inside your mug or I will sew your lips shut."

Caught off guard by the abrupt assault, Hermit found himself jolted out of his enjoyment, his world shattered by the jolt of shock.

 "Reeeee! I'm sorry, Master!" he wailed, his voice carrying the weight of remorse and captivity.

 A primal screech tore through the air, a piercing cry born from the depths of his startled soul.

Frantically, Hermit scrubbed his face with trembling hands, desperately attempting to cleanse the traces of his own drool, a pitiful attempt at redemption. He licked the table clean, and Lisanna was even more disgusted by the goblin.

 She watched his elongated tongue slither on the desk and scoop the spit and slurp it back in his mouth then with a loud gulp he swallowed. His face, once lost in a daze of pleasure, was now tainted by the remains of his own folly, a grotesque reminder of his drool. 

"Ueghhh! I think I gaged in my mouth a bit, you are so disgusting, Hermit! Ueghh!" Lisanna said with disgust in her tone as she gaged.

Before Hermit could immerse himself in the bliss of having his ears caressed, Lisanna interrupted him with a demanding tone, a cruel edge to her voice. "Before you defile my reception desk again, I demand an explanation about your obsession with your ears. You called them your treasure. Goblin, explain now, or I shall rob you of the pleasure of my touch."

Hermit pleaded, his voice tinged with fear and desperation, "Please, master, Hermit will yield. Master, please, do not halt touching Hermit's ears. Hermit likieeee! The sensation brings such ease and pleasure as Master's fingers dance upon them. Hermit... loves it! No more ouchieee, please!"

Lisanna tightened her grip on his ears, her fingers digging into his tender flesh. 

"Then speak little one," She leaned closer to his ear and shouted, "Talk!"

Hermit emitted a high-pitched yelp as a loud voice shot through his ears.

"Reeee! I will talk! I will talk!"

Summoning every ounce of strength, Hermit calmed himself and began to recount the harrowing tale of his goblin existence. 

"We, goblins," he began, his voice tinged with sorrow, "Regard our ears as a symbol of our beauty, Master. From the moment Hermit hatched, his ears were a lifeline, a miraculous gift that saved him from the clutches of death time and time again. Without these beautiful appendages decorating my head, Hermit would have died the same day he was hatched. But the less fortunate fellow human-goblin hatchlings... those born with meager, scrawny ears, met a grim and swift demise. A bloody wall with a hole in the floor awaited them. They were discarded mercilessly, ripped from their eggs without even finished hatching, and splashed against the wall, their squashed bodies slid down the wall and fell into the pit of mangled hatchlings. Their lives extinguished before even reaching the pit of uncertain survival."

A heavy sigh escaped Hermit's tormented soul as he continued, the weight of his words laden with despair.

 "In countless ways was Hermit tormented, but never his ears. Among goblins, an unspoken rule for meaty ears prevailed. Even the cruelest of tormentors among goblin ranks, in their twisted ways, restrain themselves from violating these sacred treasures."

The floodgates of his despair burst open, and Hermit's tears flowed, tracing a path down his gloomy face as he continued his tale with a broken sob. 

"B-but Hermit... Hermit lost one of his once-beautiful ears," he choked out, his voice a mere whisper drowned in sorrow and weeping.

 "Once vibrant, green, and plump, it now bears the marks of torment and scorn. Discolored, and marred by cruel scars, it is a tragic result of the torment endured."

Lisanna's laughter echoed through the guild hall, her callous disregard piercing the fragile heart of Hermit. With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she playfully clapped his ears together, mocking applause that drowned out the remnants of his sorrowful tale. 

Her words dripped with indifference, "Ah!" Lisanna cried, faking interest.

 "So touching, but spare me your woeful stories, dear Hermit. Tell me, instead, of the goblin affairs. Have you witnessed any humans in these wretched farms you mentioned? What fate befell them?"

Hermit's tear-stained eyes met Lisanna's callous gaze as he fought to regain his composure. He took a trembling breath, his voice laden with sorrow and resignation, as he continued, "The male humans, trapped within these wretched goblin farms, are condemned to an existence of relentless torment. They are thrust into the pits, forced to battle for their very survival. Day after day, they fight until their bodies succumb to exhaustion and death."

His voice faltered, choked by the weight of the horrors he had witnessed. But Hermit pressed on, determined to share the truth that had been etched into his being. 

"And the females... the females endure a fate even more wretched. Bound by chains, they are imprisoned, their bodies violated, and enslaved to breed and hatch more slave goblins like me - workers."

Hermit's heart ached, the anguish of his fellow slaves etched into his memory. He recalled the hard labor in the mines, the relentless torture they endured, and their shared agony forging a bond that surpassed the limits of their torment.

 "It was amidst the struggle and pain that I learned to speak," he whispered, his voice trembling.

 "From fellow slave humans, we clung to one another, seeking comfort in the fragments of conversation. Bit by bit, I learned words of the language, our small talks were a meager comfort amidst the sea of despair."

Hermit whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the stifling air. 

"In those whispered conversations, human slaves spoke of towns, grand and mighty, where people dwelled within towering structures hacked from stone. They amused me with tales of great feasts and glorious quenchers, tantalizing my senses with visions of a life untouched by the darkness that engulfed us."

A tear welled up in Hermit's eye, his voice barely a whisper.

 "But such tales were mere echoes of a dream, forever beyond our grasp. The only feast was our feces to eat and quenches our urine to drink. The reality that bound us was one of unending suffering, a relentless cycle of anguish and despair."

Lisanna chuckled, her voice dripping with condescension. 

"Well, I must admit, for a goblin, you seem surprisingly adept at stringing words together. Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

Hermit said with joy in his voice, "You relay think so, Master Lisanna!?"

"No, your disgusting and you eat your own feces, ew!" 

Lisanna's voice echoed through the empty room as she tenderly caressed his ears, an act of fleeting affection before casting the dirty gloves into the trash can.

 "I'm done with you 'Fece Eater', and listen closely, don't touch the ears. If you get the cream on your hands, it will sting. Don't touch the ears." 

Her piercing gaze bore into his fragile soul, she dismissed him with insult, casting him away like a discarded fragment of existence.

"Now, get off my table and find yourself a corner to play or something, you Naked Scuttle! Scuttle away you Fece Eater, shoo, shoo!"

Hermit, burdened by a sense of weariness that clung to his every movement, sprung to his feet with a desperate urgency. He scurried across the reception desk, his tiny form a mere blur. Clinging to the chair as a lifeline, he descended to the cold floor below. Seeking ease in his exhaustion, he sought refuge beneath a nearby table, curling into a minuscule ball, seeking warmth in the embrace of his own ears.

As his weary fingers brushed against the peaceful softness of his ears, they made contact with the tantalizing cream. At first, a sense of delight washed over him as the cool, azure substance caressed his skin. But time revealed its cruel intentions. Gradually, the gentle chill morphed into an icy grip, seizing his very core. Panic seized Hermit's heart.

Frantically, he attempted to cleanse his tainted fingers by vigorously licking them, seeking refuge from the frigid torment. His tongue, an elongated appendage coated with the remnants of his desperate licks, became a victim of the encroaching cold.

 In a desperate bid to find respite, he yanked his tongue from the confines of his mouth, placing it on his trembling lap, and began to rub and scrub, hoping to banish the icy grip that threatened to freeze him whole. Yet, his frantic efforts proved futile, for in his haste, he inadvertently splashed more of the cream onto his face, increasing his misery.

Desperation took hold of Hermit as he desperately wiped his cream-covered hands on his body, smearing the cold substance across his once-warm flesh. The chilling effect took hold swiftly as if mocking his futile attempts to find warmth. The cool sensation intensified, gradually evolving into a biting cold that seeped into his very bones.

Goblins were weak to cold weather, and Hermit was no exception. Smeared with cooling cream he felt like covered in a snow blanket.