As always, many thanks to NewOldGuy77 for tirelessly working to reduce the typos and errors that make it into the posted story.
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"I'm bored..." I commented. "I'm going to go down to the Adventurers' Guild for a bit."
My husband, Goredo, looked up from his whittling at this statement, "Just be careful, OK? Knowing you, you'll get tempted by some new discovery and then you'll be off to who knows where."
I frowned, "I will not. You know I left all that behind when I met you and decided to settle down and have the little ones."
Goredo peered at me from his comfortable fireside chair in our hobbit-hole skeptically, "Don't open yourself to temptation, Kletara."
I examined my husband, as a dwarf he fit perfectly in my hobbit-hole, although less perfectly in the shire. Squat and muscular, he exuded masculine power even under the rotund beer belly he'd gained over the years. His biceps, once as large around as my thigh, had shrunk while my thighs had expanded. Despite the weight I'd gained, he still looked at me the same as on our wedding day, like I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
While his muscles were no longer quite as obvious, he remained the strongest of the shire's lumber workers, able to lift twice as much wood in a single load as any of the local hobbits. Sometimes, I liked to watch as he effortlessly demonstrated his physical superiority. It still made me wet. Even better was when he used all his power to ferry our two kids around on his back, running them in giggling circles.
"Nothing could tempt me to leave you, Gorey," I said, honestly.
My husband looked at me carefully for a moment, then shrugged, "I won't tell you what to do, just remember what's important."
"Always," I said, then yelled to the hobbit-hole in general, "I'm going out!"
Moments later, two small children burst into the room. Half-dwarf and half-hobbit, they were the loves of my life. I bent down and folded them into a hug.
"Be good for Papa while I'm gone, sprites."
"Of course, Mama. Bring me a sweet?" the youngest replied eagerly, never letting an opportunity to ask for a treat go unused.
I smiled, "Maybe."
Mussing both little heads of hair, I strode out into the shire. The sun was bright, already thawing the frost that coated the grassy knolls marking each hobbit-hole. As usual, no one else was out. I breathed in the early morning air, clean and crisp, feeling free.
Smoke billowed from chimneys all over the valley, creating shimmering columns that obscured the horizon intermittently. From our dwelling on the edge of the shire, high up on the valley side, I could see the glinting stream of blue river below and the flat, unending plains beyond. Above me on the ridge, towered the tall spruce of the forest which would shade our valley in the afternoon.
I walked down into the valley and North along the hill, making my diagonal path to the ferry port. There was a small collection of buildings there, and one of those was the Adventurers' Guild. The shire was a peaceful place for adventurers to gather on their way to or from distant lands.
As a child, I had hung around the guild all the time, watching the adventurers with fascination. The moment I had been old enough, I'd gone adventuring myself, eager to see what was beyond the shire. I was an odd sort of hobbit, I'd always known that.
Eight years after leaving the shire, I'd met Gorey, an adventurer as well. Both of us were prickly, proud, and passionate. We'd fought hard and loved harder. Unlike me, Gorey had been dragged into adventure unwillingly. He dreamed of the shire life I'd left behind, a humble home, and a family to fill it. And through his eyes, I'd begun to see the charms of that life as well.
Twelve years later, we were well settled in our hobbit-hole. Years of work, a decade of struggle and compromise had resulted in, for the first time in my life, peaceful coexistence. I hardly knew how to handle the calm.
And so, I visited the Adventurer's Guild. Unlike when I was young, I wasn't just there to listen to the stories, but to tell my own as well. Although I had given up adventuring a long time ago, I had pursued it harder than most and had ended up with stories even those who wandered for decades were surprised to hear.
None of the shire residents, the hobbits, understood at all -- being intrinsically disgusted by adventure. Not even Gorey liked to talk about my years of adventuring, as he constantly worried that I was on the verge of going off again. Which left only one place for me to talk to like-minded souls.
I grinned as the buzz of loud talking, furniture scraping, cussing, and other associated raucous sounds of life drifted up to me from the Adventurers' Guild. The clang of metal on metal from the courtyard beyond meant either someone was training or settling a dispute. As I reached the front doors, they swung open, and a pair of young satyrs fell out.
"Ya louts have grasped ya last arse in here, ya hear? Ay see either o' ya again, and ya lose ya hands, hear?"
"Hey, Truna," I grinned up at the guild master, a middle-aged human woman dressed in slacks and a loose blouse that did not emphasize her bosom -- although hers was certainly generous.
"Kletara," Truna frowned down at me, "Ya remember ta keep ya stories tame, right? Ay'm tired o' my hirelings running away home."
"Sure, sure," I replied with a sigh.
I mean, I had only told the one story about the Flandoran's unique ass-stretching torture, and that was months ago! Wasn't it time to let that go? Yet, every time I showed up, I got the same warning. Apparently, it was fine to mention the torture practices, but not to describe it in gleeful detail. Mea culpa.
I passed easily under Truna's still outstretched arm as she held open the door, one of the benefits of being short around tall people. Inside, the guild building was dimly lit and densely occupied. I took a deep breath of the unique mix of scents that always permeated the building, each aroma telling a tale of a distant land visited. Today's strong notes were orange blossom and cardamom tea from the far shores of Tilanria, a cologne with a particular cinnamon base note that was popular in the Hadric lowlands, and the musky sweat that meant my friend Burgg, the boar shifter, had been showing off his altered form again. I followed that last, and least pleasant, smell.
I snaked through the room, practically invisible to most of the other adventures, my height putting me well below their accustomed line of sight. But there were a few who were more observant than most. One of these hailed me as I scooted past.
"Kletara," A melodious voice caught my ear.
I turned and squinted into the shadows. A quick movement and a flutter of fabric drew my eye and I headed in that direction, forgetting my search for Burgg.
"Fwin," I greeted the shadow dweller, "Good to see you!"
A face gradually became clear in the shadows, indistinct and blurry. No one know what the mage really looked like. He wasn't really present, anyway, using astral projection to visit the guild.
"I am glad to see you here today, hobbit," Fwin said, "I was worried that I'd missed your visit."
"You miss nothing, mage," I laughed.
"Neither do you," Fwin returned, his voice softly mocking.
"Has it been so boring today?"
"It has been just the usual here, boasting and bragging and nothing of substance said."
"Of anyone here, you are the one who lacks substance," I teased.
"Believe me, I wish I could be there in the flesh," Fwin sighed.
"You are hard enough to look at now. I can only imagine how horrifying you'd look in person," I replied lightly, laughing.
"I assure you that I am quite easy on the eyes."
"Easy like a two-penny whore," I quipped.
Fwin chuckled, "Not quite."
