Alan Weiss, Professional Solver

“So, you want to pay us to take a rock back to a mountain,” you ask, incredulously. “Aren’t mountains usually pretty well off for rocks?”

The bureaucrat heaves a sigh and narrows his eyes at you. “Our greatest scholars have told us that this artifact was one of several items removed in the sacking of the Temple of Lymera. As His Royal Highness is currently attempting to gain the favor of the Temple in his bid to return our country to a more…diplomatic relationship with our neighbors, it was decided to have this returned as a gesture of friendship.”

You again eye the supposed artifact, a grayish-brown stone roughly twice the size of your fist that you would peg as an unbroken geode. “Well, what does it do?”

“As best we can tell…nothing.” At your raised eyebrow, he continues, “It has been in our possession for over 60 years and has been examined by the greatest individual minds in the fields of the mundane, arcane, and spiritual. We believe it is drained of its power, or perhaps inert.”

That explains why the King is willing to part with it, you think to yourself. The expansionist Kingdom of Forentia had come up short in several campaigns and now sat blockaded and lacking trade, but you’d still bet that King Roche wouldn’t give up something of value too easily. “Why hire adventurers, though? Couldn’t you stick this in a white-flag caravan and call it a day?”

The harried administrator pauses, as if deciding how much to reveal before you’ve taken the job. “We have reason to believe that multiple parties will attempt to steal the artifact for themselves. In fact, there has already been an attempt on the archives. Whether they know its use or simply don’t want our Kingdom to receive credit for returning it is unknown, but we need it in the hands of someone who can keep it safe.”

“Ah, so more smugglers than couriers,” you prod. The more complicated you can get the stuffed-shirt to admit the quest is, the higher you can set your fees.

“Quite, though I’m sure you can understand our discretion in a public guild posting,” he continues by drawing your attention to a map on his table, “We need someone to travel through Forentia and the disputed territories, navigate through or around the checkpoints on our borders with Martille, and brave the Horned Peaks to reach the Grand Temple at its summit. I assume your company is up to such a challenge?”

For the first time, your companion Clara interjects in the negotiation, with her trademark economy of language, “Of course.” You give a nod of agreement.

“Wonderful. The three of you have quite the reputation for getting the job done. We are happy for the opportunity to have the Solvers aid their country in such a time of need.”

You almost bristle, both at his reference to the missing third member of your party and his rather obvious appeals to your loyalty, patriotism and charity, but you’ve done this enough to have a solid poker face. “Right, so let’s talk terms…”

* * * * * * * * * * *

“You should have told him that Layleen is no longer traveling with us,” Clara says in an even tone, addressing you for the first time since you left the archives. As usual, you can’t tell if she’s scolding you or simply offering what she believes is sound advice.

It is a couple hours later and you now sit in your favorite inn and tavern with a nice pouch of “traveling expenses” and one used-up divine rock resting in your pack. “And risk losing a Rank A payday for what’s going to be a pleasant stroll up north,” you retort, “We’ll be fine.”

Clara Talltree has been a part of your adventuring group for the best part of the past two years. The quiet elven scout is a keen tracker and markswoman and never has a problem with the various missions you choose, which makes for an easy partnership. She doesn’t share a lot of her past, so you don’t know what brought her out of the elven forestlands or even her age. She’s licensed full-time by the guild so she was at least 18 starting out, but with the elves’ longer lifespans and slowed aging, she could be 20 or 200 for all you know. She doesn’t exactly live up to her last name, being rather petite and short even among her own people, but with her short blonde hair, angular features and fit body you’ve always thought she’s easy on the eyes.

“A healer helps,” she states simply, “You should apologize.”

“I don’t have anything to apologize for,” you snap. Layleen Amrita had rounded out the core of your party after you saved her from the advances of a corrupt Guard Captain during an investigation you were hired for last year. Her gratitude had been…enthusiastic, and her skills with healing, both magical and mundane, were an excellent addition to the team. Unfortunately, she had had it in her mind that you were a dashing rebel out to cleanse a broken kingdom. When it turned out that you didn’t particularly care that a greedy warmonger was King, your relationship soured and she started turning her eyes to more “heroic” men. “And besides, she’s probably too busy celebrating the coming peace.”

“Regardless, you should think about finding an extra hand or two.” Clara is probably annoyed that you’re letting personal issues get in the way of the job, but you don’t catch her add under her breath, “If you can stop thinking with your nether regions.”

“Well, maybe you should help me out with that,” you say, responding only to the part of her statement that you heard. Clara always leaves mission selection and recruitment to you, and you figure pointing that out might get her to cut you some slack.

It seems to work, as she is quiet for a long moment. Then you notice the slightest blush on her face and think you may have upset her, or embarrassed her, you can never tell. Those thoughts are quickly scattered when you notice her hand has come to rest on the inside of your thigh.

“Very well,” she replies, her blush deepening a bit more as she starts to fumble with your belt. For the first time you are even quieter than your companion as she fishes into your pants. The two of you have always had an easy but fairly formal camaraderie, with Clara always insisting on getting multiple rooms at inns and using her woodcraft to sneak out of camp to bathe, and now she’s gripping your exposed cock in the middle of a bustling tavern.

The two of you are at a corner table and not entirely in the open, but anyone who looks closely will be able to see everything. Despite being completely confused by the circumstances, you are also quickly aroused under Clara’s ministrations. She doesn’t seem very sure of herself, and you guess she doesn’t have much experience, but you’ve entertained a daydream or two about your taciturn friend, and her determined movements combined with the sheer unbelievability of the situation is getting to you.

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we don’t have a mage to cast protection spells,” Clara blurts out, the first of you to talk since the unexpected hand job began. She’s experimenting with different spots on your dick, which looks larger in her small hand than its already well above-average size.

“Uh…yeah, right,” you stammer, sweeping your eyes around the tavern again. You see a serving girl who must think you’re trying to get her attention as she starts to make her way over. “Do you really think this is the best time for this?”

Clara doesn’t slow down, “We should have been planning on leaving tomorrow, the next morning at the latest. There are considerations.”

“I don’t mean…” you start, before cutting yourself off. The server reaches your table and asks if you want another round. You see that she’s noticed Clara’s handiwork, but she only gives a small blush before returning to her well-practiced smile. You give a wave to decline and she huffs a bit before walking back to the bar.

Whatever is going on, you’re too excited to stop it and Clara’s too unsure to finish you off, so you shift a bit and take her hands. You move one to the base of your shaft and the other under the head, and show her a good pace and a few of your sensitive spots. She lets you direct and then takes over as you lean back and start to lose yourself.

Clara’s no longer talking about gear or extra hands as she focuses on using hers to get you off. Her fingers are slender and her hands are soft, with the slightly calloused parts from holding her bow adding a sweet friction every now and then. Her face wears the same determined expression she gets when she’s following tracks on the job, and you realize that her increasingly aggressive movements aren’t generating much noise, like when she’s stalking through the brush. It’s certainly a new use for her skills.

With those distracting thoughts in mind you realize that you’re about to finish, and before you can give much of a word to Clara you are releasing in her hands. She doesn’t seem upset about it, looking on with perhaps a bit of curiosity before reaching for her napkin and cleaning her hands. “I hope that will help you focus,” she says, before adding “I am going to head up to my room. Let me know your plan in the morning.”

You watch her head up the stairs, before remembering to put your dick away. You finish your mug while continuing to eye where she ascended out of sight before asking yourself the most important question.

“What in the gods was that?”