Being a newbie author around these parts, I'm just starting to test out my storytelling style. Normally I like to include a lot more backstory and exposition, but I'm still not entirely sure that type of thing is warranted here. This series of stories is taking place as parts in a larger story, so there is potentially plenty of backstory to be had. If people let me know they are interested, I will gladly include more actual story (it's a good one, trust me!); if not, I'll do my best to keep it to just the "juicy" bits!
The door eased shut with a soft
click
as Aranda padded barefoot across the carpeted floor of her chambers. An hour-long soak in a steaming bath had done wonders for her aching muscles, but had only served to intensify the fire raging between her legs.
It had been a fortnight since that fateful night in Bealach SÃdhe, the country village which sat on the edge of a portal between the plane of the mortal realm and that of the Fhiáine, the eternal lands of high elves and fae creatures. Aranda had been a part of the company hired to route a clan of trolls which had been causing trouble for the village. As word spread quickly of their rousing success, their group had been summoned to aid the baron of the nearby province of Tuath and they were forced to depart little more than a day after their victorious return.
Aranda was certain that they all could have used a little more rest before taking to the road again, as everyone had been a little tenser with one another than usual. Part of that probably stemmed from the fact that they had been double-crossed by one of their own company while on the troll-hunt, which set in motion a series of arcane shock waves that created a ragged tear in the fabric of reality. That would leave anyone a little edgy. But the other source of the group's tension was likely due to the fact that the wizard had committed them to this new assignment without first consulting the rest of the party because, as he put it, 'it was their fault the barony needed help in the first place'. Technically it wasn't
their
fault; the three just had the misfortune of being the ones left alive to clean up the mess.
As far as Aranda was concerned, the way to deal with someone approaching you with a problem was to first pin whatever happened on someone else, and secondly to ask for at least half the payment up front. To put it politely, she and Galen had differing opinions on that matter. To put it bluntly, she strongly suspected the next time the wizard did something like that, there was a good possibility he would not live long enough to see the contract carried out.
At any rate, the job had been a fairly easy, if bizarre, one. A good old-fashioned extraplanar monster hunt through ancient ruins hidden within a system of magically barricaded caves: an adventure just like the ones bards never sung about. The pay had been good, at least, and to top it all off the baron had unhesitatingly put them up in his own country estate. Where they were given free access to heated water.
Aranda had to admit the accommodations were nice, but she was getting restless. The incessant monster hunting was getting tiresome and it had been far too long since she'd had a good, solid thieving job. She figured that if she could not have the satisfaction of a good fuck that she craved with every fiber of her being, she would just have to take solace in her work. Sadly, commissions from her back-alley contacts had been few and far between as of late.
Until now.
That evening, as she made her way into her private quarters, Aranda found a note slipped under the door to her chambers. She slid the folded square of parchment out of its unaddressed envelope and carefully unfolded it along the not-quite-symmetrical creases. As she read the correspondence, her eyes picked out several characteristic misspellings, as identifiable as any sigil or brand. Though it had not been signed she easily recognized the author as the Hand, leader of the thieves' guild known as "The Fivers" back in Bealach SÃdhe. It was a bid from the guild for an infiltration and acquisition. Finally, she had a job she could sink her teeth into! The task wasn't the most complex heist she had ever pulled—more of a simple get in, grab, get out sort of deal—but it certainly beat the charity work the wizard had them doing recently. And who knew, if she did this errand for the Fivers, maybe they would give her a little less grief whenever she was in town in the future. It was worth a little risk to have the Hand owe you a favor.
According to the note, the baron with whom she was currently contracted was in possession of a certain ledger which the Hand—or rather, one of the Hand's wealthy clients—wanted. He did not provide further details, and Aranda didn't need any. She had no qualms performing a bit of procurement work, especially when she was lifting the item from a filthy rich magistrate; an item which was just a dusty old bundle of parchments that likely hadn't seen the light of day in a few decades at least. Who was she to say who really
owned
what, especially if their security was not good enough to keep their precious things protected?
With an eagerness she had not felt in months, she began her preparations. Aranda let the luxuriously soft white towel that she had wrapped herself in fall to the carpeted floor, its plush softness passing over her hardening nipples, as she shook out her wet hair in a second towel. Naked, she casually strode over to the wardrobe which held her attire and gear, finally starting to feel like her old self again.
"If a job like this can't get me back on my game," she mused as she perused her small array of garments, "I don't know what can."
Except a good, hard fuck,
a voice in the back of her mind whispered. She knew it to be true; ever since that night in Bealach SÃdhe had left her frustrated and unfulfilled, she had not been operating at peak performance. Sometimes you needed to scratch a really pesky itch, and sometimes circumstances were cruel and just wouldn't let you. This was the first time since that encounter that she'd had any measure of privacy to address her needs.
Her right hand crept down to her crotch as she let her mind drift back to the events of that night. The celebration and drunken revelry. The sexual tension between them reaching a crescendo. The momentary distraction... and the missed opportunity. Finally, the near-consolation her imagination had granted her as a consolation prize the next day. She was wet again, and this time the bath had nothing to do with it. She allowed her hand to linger there, her fingers playing over her soft lips and swollen clit. After a moment Aranda took a deep breath, let out a sigh of regret over her inability to reach that blissful completion, both then and now, and continued getting ready. Hopefully concentrating on this job would force her past this gods-damned mental block.
For a heist like this, she decided, the black leather body suit would do nicely. The padded suede was soft, supple, and silent—
The three S's of a good burglary,
she thought with amusement as she stepped into the legs, the soft leather caressing her smooth, shapely calves. She pulled her arms through the sleeves, shrugging the suit up onto her shoulders, and began lacing up the front. She had had more fun in this suit than simply committing burglaries. The way it laced up, from just above her crotch up to the fullest point of her bust, was enough to get her noticed anywhere she wanted to be. As easy as it was to move in, it was even easier to get out of—a fact that many a lover had appreciated—and it showed off her form better than if she were nude, playing up every curve in soft leather.
She sat lightly on the edge of the bed as she pulled on a pair of short black suede boots with soft soles. Unlike the thigh-high hardened leather boots that comprised her normal footwear of choice, these boots were small and understated, more slippers than proper shoes. They might appear unimpressive, but they were undoubtedly the best choice for sneaking in somewhere without being heard.
Returning to the wardrobe, she retrieved the last few pieces of equipment she expected to need. She fastened a harness across her chest that was also made of black soft-tooled leather, holding a pair of closely-fitted spaulders to her shoulders and a padded leather scale gorget covering her chest. Aranda enjoyed flaunting her figure as much as the next gorgeous cat burglar, but she was also smart enough to know the places that needed protecting from undesirable pointy things. Finally, she cinched on two belts: one at her waist, containing her lock picks, grease, charcoal smudges, and other various infiltration tools and pouches; the other, her trusty sword belt slung lower about her hips.
As a finishing touch, she pulled her still-damp hair back into a long, loose braid, allowing a few wisps and curls of her silky raven locks to fall free and accentuate the softened points of her half-elven ears. She caught a glimpse of her profile in the ornate rosewood cheval that stood in the corner of the dressing chamber and grinned coolly. She was ready.
She kept to the shadows as she slipped out of her chamber. Aranda expected it was likely she could stride around the estate in whatever she pleased and none of the house guard would so much as raise an eyebrow, but she amused herself by making a game of it. She kept a tally of how many people—guards, servants, members of the baron's family—walked past utterly blind to her presence as she stood silently in dark corners.
I may be off my game, she thought, but I'm still damn good.
In this slow and methodical manner, she made her way across the ground level of the estate, passing room after room of life playing out, oblivious to her silent passage. As she made her way to the stairs leading to the cellar, where the barony vault would no doubt be, she came across the large sparring room of the house guard and within it, a familiar figure. She stopped in the darkened doorway and watched as Therin proceeded to beat the un-living hell out of one of the room's many pell dummies. At the rate he was going, the thing would be little more than sawdust in a matter of minutes.
He appeared to have been at it a while; his shirt was off, tossed haphazardly into a corner, and he had worked up a sheen of perspiration that made his naked upper body shine with his every movement. She couldn't help admiring how his muscles rippled as he spun into another attack against his wooden, straw-stuffed nemesis, whirling the twin bastard swords with speed and ease, as if they were nothing but a couple of birch-light training poles. He moved so swiftly and gracefully, Aranda nearly believed she was watching a dancer rather than a seasoned warrior.
I suppose the elven blood is to thank for that. What I wouldn't give to move with such easy grace...
With a primal snarl he launched himself into another airborne spin, bringing his full force to bear on the right sword as he completed the turn. The dummy's head fell off a split second after the sword passed and rolled slowly away without protest to rest in a corner. Therin landed, panting, in front of his now headless foe and drove his left-hand sword into the dummy's chest, signaling the conclusion of their match. He retreated a few paces to a nearby bench, sat down heavily, and began running a whetstone across his remaining blade as he caught his breath.
As she watched from her shadowy sanctuary, the thought occurred to Aranda that she might be able to use some muscle on this job, just in case things went pear-shaped. It would also be a good excuse to be alone with the warrior, affording an opportunity to finally confront him about what had happened—or, to be more precise, what
hadn't
happened— between them on that fateful night two weeks prior. Things had been awkward between them since the night she had so carefully engineered to take advantage of him, and then lost her chance. She didn't doubt he knew her intentions—she had made them abundantly clear—and yet he remained withdrawn.
The day they had left Bealach SÃdhe bound for the Tuath barony things had been all business between them, and it had continued that way through the entirety of the assignment. Their usual banter had dried up, and he declined even to spar with her. It was obvious Therin was going out of his way to avoid being around her. What surprised Aranda the most, though, was how much of the awkwardness between them was coming from
her
. Ordinarily she would not let a setback like this affect her daily life, but Therin seemed to defy her normally effortless ability to compartmentalize. He was closed off from her entirely now, and instead of pushing her way through and acting as though nothing had happened, as she normally would have done, Aranda had become withdrawn herself. She frowned in annoyance and quickly came to a decision, pushing off of the alcove wall which she had been leaning on with a huff.
I'm sick of this limbo. Time to put a stop to it here and now,
she silently declared as she made her way purposefully into the sparring room. She strode over and yanked out the sword Therin had left impaling the dummy without breaking stride. He looked up with momentary alarm as he registered someone entering the room, which slowly turned to look of confusion as he watched her.
"Uh-oh," she called to him as she brandished the large sword above her head, "looks like you lost a sword! You really should be more careful where you leave these things lying about!"
"Aranda," he sighed, his voice lacking any trace of humor, "I fight with two swords. I'm far less effective if I have only one. Now—"
