The Lampwatcher

Author's Note: I'd like to thank you for sticking it out and continuing reading. I know there still isn't any sex scenes just yet, I'm building up to that.

These first few chapters are to establish the characters and the setting.

I'm a sucker for character development.

Again thanks for taking the time and enjoy.

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When John left the tavern, the sun had just began to peek out, bathing the world in light and banishing much of the darkness. The village folk of Swindlincote are up and about ready to get the day started

He had emptied his one and only flagon, paid his drinks to Irmina and said his goodbye. John felt pathetic. In the end, all he ever did was ogle her out of the corner of his eye like some fool. Add to that to the disaster of his first watch.

He was lost in thought as he made his way back to the watchtower. Or at least tried to anyway.

There was a wobble to his step. He so much as put one foot in front of the other, it swerved like a lifeless cadaver.

Which was odd since he had only had a flagon. Was that all it took for him to get drunk?

He doesn't feel that much different except for fact that the very earth beneath him wouldn't stay still. Still he was well in control of everything else.

Perhaps it was foolhardy of him to be drinking right before dawn.

It was a bit of ways for a walk from the village proper to the watchtower. One could see it from within the village, hoisted up by a small upraised mound, it was the lone solitary construction overlooking the desolate expanse into the unknown.

The ravine leading the way towards the expanse may seem unseeming to some. And that was the danger to it, his grandmother had told him. The area around Swindlincote was commonplace for the region. Hilly, uneven outcrops with spurts of grass perfect for grazing sheep, goat and cattle. Dotted with clumps of pine trees and wide empty spaces, it was barely even perceptible of differences that made it so debatable to even inscribe Swindlincote on the very edges of the map.

It is not even widely known, save for those living within the village itself, that Swindlincote is the very edge of the boundary.

John had only seen the village on obscure and age-worn maps, a small footnote that could be missed in a mere passing glance. Steep mountainsides surrounds the outer reaches. The ravine as the only means to a path to what may be the other side.

It is such a wild and untamed place. Bound not by any law or claimed by humanity.

When he returned to the watchtower. He stopped dead on his tracks.

The village headman himself was just returning, having fully doused the flames in the lampposts.

John breathed deep and stepped forward to meet the man.

He was big as a bear and just as hairy, the headman favored wearing thick furs to go along ith his grand black beard. He had limbs as thick and maybe just as strong as tree trunks, but had creases on his face for smiling too much. His eyes had that jovial twinkle that he love a good laugh.

"How are you John?" The headman asked as he was putting out the flame using a lanternstick. Twice as long as he was, he had little trouble dousing the wick inside the lamppost, that down he nimbly closed the small latch to gain access to the wick with such familiar deftness that it was somewhat satisfying to just see.

"How was your first night?" he added to John after the work was done.

John sighed and collapsed down to the pile of dirt right beside the headman.

"I-I saw something....in the night," John sat down, his shoulders slumped and feeling overwhelmed. He cradled his head with a heavy hand as he recalled his first watch.

"Just over there, yonder Lamppost Five," he nodded towards the said marker.

"Big as a cow, barely made a noise. Didn't even realize what it was I was looking at first and then....." he shivered. If he had been out at a patrol, it would've been too late for him to notice such a thing.

"Don't beat yourself, it's pointless," the headman simply said. "No matter how hard you try, you can never turn back time."

"True enough....Sorry also - -About the lamps. That's supposed to be my job," John admitted. He had screwed up already. He felt the need to voice and own it up to that one. Otherwise his own thoughts would be filled for the rest of the day, robbing him of his own peace of mind.

"Just don't make a habit out of it, alright? Your grandmother didn't want you for this job and with good reason," he wanted to continue but stopped himself short. He looked back to the village with something like trepidation on his eyes. Worry. He looked old, in that moment. John felt a strange pity for the big man.

"This is dangerous work. I know there are folks out there who do not believe of the dangers that lurks at night. More and more people have come to settle the Outer Fringes. They do not know."

The headman sat down beside John, he expected there to be a thunderous quake as the headman sat, but there was no such thing. John felt silly. The man may seem to crush stones with his bare hands but he was the kindest man John knew of.

"A caravan leaves for the cities every fortnight. Your grandmother's wishes for you were - -"

"I'd like to stay," John interrupted.

John knew that he couldn't live with himself if he left. That he ran away and never finishing the task. That was cowardly on his part. A fact that would haunt him for the rest of his days should he go down that choice. He had spent near his entire life, protected by his grandmother. He had heard talks when his back was turned, when people think he can't hear them, that he was pathetic.

John did not feel pathetic. He liked himself just the way he was. But hearing people say that to him, well that just made him angry. He'd show them.

"Very well. If you would like to keep at this, then I suggest you come along. There's a matter that you should look into."

John winced, "Another killing?"

"I'm afraid so. None hurt mind you save for Farmer Dean's cow."

The headman led the way. Towards the ravine. Beyond the last lamppost. Towards the Farside.

They went out of the village's bounds. It was a bit of a walk. It was desolate here. Quiet.

They passed the Lampposts, the last symbol for any known civilization. The marker for where civilization ends and the beginnings of domain of the wild and unknown.

Wild grass and some sparse trees dotted the side of the ravine. The path was wide enough that five oxen can walk abreast of one another. The path was rocky and the steep walls of the pass shade much of the light, giving the ravine an almost night time like environ.

John gripped his fusil, eyes on guard.

When they arrived on the Farside, they were greeted by a wild expanse that was so untouched, it felt like one was intruding in another's home.

His grandmother had taken him here back as a child. There was this feeling of watchfulness about the wilds here.

Some of the more daring and adventurous of the children would make dares upon one another. See how far how many lamps they could. A test of bravery. They would etch their names in the iron of the Lamppost they reached and run back to the village.

Some have even chosen to live their lives out here.

Though not precisely under the jurisdiction of the village, Patrols were done out of neighborly kindness and concern. It is upon a Lampwatcher's own discretion whether he or she may wish to venture out. So long as one watches over and secure what may be a vanguard against whatever may wish to wreak havoc upon the village.

The lands here were greener, vibrant even. Flowers grew here that were different. John was careful about these splotches of beauty that sprout every now and then in clumps.

Things seemed bigger here, but the most unnerving of all was the calm of it all.

Not far off from where the ravine opened up was a cottage. A small field for crops lay at its side. Farmer Dean's homestead.

The farmer's cow was nowhere to be found save for half a leg. Whatever else, it could not have been alive, since a rather messy portion of his land had been showered in an array of blood and gore.

The farmer slept through the attack. Never did heard a peep from his cow.

John gulped, feeling suddenly hot and lightheaded. The splatter of blood and gore, added by the flagon of ale made his stomach do somersaults. He bent down and leaned over, trying to catch his breath.

Good thing he still had not had his breakfast.

"It's gotten a taste of it now. It'll be back," observed the headman. "It's going to be a rough couple days. More work comes your way. Settlers. I tried to stave them off but they are desperate for a fresh start"

John sighed. No one claims the land beyond. No papers or any such land fees are required with the Authority or whatsoever. People would flock here. Especially with the troubles out in the east.

John wanted to be treated like an adult, to have some sense of purpose and responsibility in his life. Here it was now. He bit back a sigh.

"I-I'll....I'll handle it from here. You can count on me. "

"Very well," The headman simply said. He watched John quietly. John stood straight and looked him in the eye to let him know he was serious about this. Then with another nod, he led the way back.

They made their short way back to the village in silence.

John, in his thoughts were not looking forward with dealing with people. "Ah, look over there," the headman pointed towards the direction of the village. John saw what he was referring to and felt his heart sank. He had hoped that he'd have more quiet time to enjoy. Even rest his eyes a bit.

The headman pointed to an oxcart leaving the village and headed their direction.

"Good luck John," the headman encouraged with a slap on the back that nearly drove the air out of him as he went on ahead of John.

John gave a long winding sigh, feeling the tiredness in his bones and eyes. Damn, did he want so bad to sleep.

Then he sucked in a breath of air and stepped towards the oncoming cart.