The Lampwatcher Ch 02

Author's note: This chapter has no sex scene just yet. But it introduces a character, who'll we get to know more down the line.

There will be plenty of sex scenes in later chapters. For now, I'm just trying to set the foundation and the tone of the story.

Thank you for continuing to read these stories.

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John left his post as soon as the near absolute darkness was tinged with the oncoming sun, making it but a heavy shade of blue. He left so hastily that he did not have the heart to douse the flames. Which had meant that he venture out so far out of the map's edge up to Lamppost number thirteen.

The fog that crept encouraged his early departure.

The village was mostly composed of small squat houses. The watch tower is located on the westernmost edge of the village's boundary.

If it had been scrawled on any official map, the tower would just be a near teetering dot where it would be heavily contested that it even exists. And beyond it lay the absolute unknown.

He trailed past sleeping houses, a few of these already had their chimneys smoking, signaling the wake of some of the older family members to prepare for the day. He made his way as more and more houses were replaced by actual wooden structures, these were not squat stone holdings but rather made in the fashion popular in the faraway cities. Purely made of wood, save for the foundation in which was cobbled stone.

He passed through these outlook of buildings, which made for the center of the village, and out the other side and into the eastern half of village.

Should anyone keep at this direction and out of the bounds of the village, they'd find themselves to more and more settlements. At about a month's journey, so John had heard anyway, one can arrive at first of the cities.

Built upon near the crossroads, fit for the coming traffic from the fur trappers in the high forests and towards the other outlying towns.

Now more than ever he needed a drink. He was never much of a drinker.

The town tavern was located on the other side of town. It took a bit of a walk.

There was a girl working the tavern. Everyone else had either gone home. He could hear the clatter of the kitchen, probably preparing for the breakfast to serve.

They didn't really know one another but it was a small village. And word gets around. Her name is Irmina.

The tavern was a massive barn like construction. It somewhat resembled the more popular style, even accommodating a couple of rooms for any worn travelers.

He went in, and settled himself on a table.

He toyed with his thumbs and fingers. He wrung them out, trying to coax the blood to run through them. His hands was unbelievably cold and frozen, the only way a man does, when he stood face to face with something he had feared.

He finished the motion by running his hand on his face. His eyes felt heavy, having spent the night on the watch.

This mark another first for him.

For as long as the tavern had stood, he had never once entered it. It always seemed like an adult activity. He was nineteen, a man by the village's norm. An adult

But still, John did not feel quite like an adult. It all seemed like yesterday when he was but a child, heedless of the responsibilities and weight of reality. He could still remember it all so vividly his, memories as a child.

To John, being an adult meant one had a firm hold of one's responsibility and self. Confident of whatever direction one might take and hold true to its course.

He didn't even know what he was to do with his life. Every step he took was riddled with doubt and indecision, even now he is uncertain of the supposed path that he had taken by continuing his family's legacy of Lampwatcher.

It was too much for him. His grandmother did remark that he think too much.

Irmina saw him. And made her way towards him. He remembered Irmina to be a daughter of a travelling merchants. He remembered instances of her staying her in the village only to go with her parents on their trading route. And once more to stay back in the village. This pattern kept on till the years went by.

As a child, John remembered seeing her as a willowy, freckled girl. With fringy dirty blonde hair that tinged on being bright brown whenever the sun hits it.

She had grown to be the kind of woman who is ideal with dealing with people. Open and active that she seemed to have an energy to her that made people talk and a toughness that denied any who wished to take advantage of her good nature. The kind of person one could rely on, trusted and respected, which people liked about her.

But she was more of a woman in more ways than one, John concluded, noticing closely how much has the years changed Irmina from that willowy girl in his memories.

She wore a dirndls, with a bright orange bodice accentuating her curves in a way that it made it difficult for John to pry his eyes away. It also gave her chest a generous compliment, she wore a somewhat low cut blouse, the bodice making the top of her chest almost to seemingly bounce and has the added effect of making John's throat dry out whenever her chest faced his direction.

Already, John could feel blood rushing to his ears and cheeks and it wasn't the alcohol.

He must control himself, he felt it was being a bit too rude to stare.

Her eyes had steel to them, as if to say no nonsense.

The brush with death, had left John feeling rather electric. Her nerves were afire with adrenaline, the kind that coming face to face with death could bring.

"Hello John," she greeted him.

"Irmina," John managed to utter in a civil manner. "A flagon of ale please."

"I gotta say, this is the first time ever that you are here?" she said with a lopsided smile at the end. Jophn could've swore it made his heart pitter-patter in its beat.

"Yes, that is correct." he said not knowing where he should look. Her eyes were a glinting shade of blue and still light dots of freckles sprinkled half her face. John feared he might be looking a bit too hard.

He was seated near the counter. Irmina just behind it. Save for another dozing patron some seats away, it was just the two of them in these early hours of the tavern.

She handed him his ale, smiled and made no motion to move. For some reason, he was afraid. He prayed that she not engage him in any small talk of any sort. John was completely horrible in it.

"So --" she was cut off as an explosive sound of falling kitchenware burst from the direction of the kitchen.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!!" Irmina shrieked.

John jerked in his seat. He was more surprised by her outburst than the clutter of pots and pans.

She momentarily composed herself, smiled at John and said, "Please, excuse me," then went off like a raging troll, ready to wreak havoc to the poor soul at the back of the kitchen.

She did have steel in her, as correctly surmised by John. He smiled as he watched through the small window that connected the kitchen to the greater whole of the tavern the altercation that ensued of the falling pots and pans. Irmina in a livid argument with the staff at the back.

It took his mind of the memories of the night before. The creature that lurked out in the bounds of shadow. He recoiled at the memory.

The more he looked on Irmina the more he pondered back to his own love life. Or rather his lack thereof.

He had no particular need prior to this night. He had no interest with women. Or for any human companionship for that matter. But that brush with the shadowy death brought about a sudden menagerie of emotion. The reminder that he was alive.

Chief among these was his inexperience with the fairer sex.

He had not even kissed a girl at this point. And he was filled with an urge to know. He cupped the flagon of ale in his hand. He took a sip to it. It was bitter and with a kick to it. He had little trouble swallowing it. It was withstanding the aftertaste that was the issue. Bitter. He felt a slight buzzing at the back of his head.

He spent his time taking small sips of his ale, all the while stealing glances of Irmina. She was no great beauty but he could surely appreciate her features. Surely there was nothing wrong in just looking?

He wanted to say 'you are beautiful' to Irmina. Just a mere compliment. But what would that entail? What did he want out of her? And quite frankly he was afraid, the same kind of fear that he had. He was afraid of a physical reprisal. From the way she moved and her mannerism, he could discern that she had been in more fights then he ever was.

He wasn't feeling brave enough. No matter even as he ordered another flagon and emptied it. He still couldn't muster the courage. No, he wasn't lacking in courage. But the question of what it must he do and the consequence that would surely follow.

In the end all he did was drink his ale in silence.