The Lampwatcher Chapter 4
By Aersnow96
Author's Note: I know this may take some time before we get to the more steamy parts. I have a lot to improve on and I'm just an amateur. I'm learning to get better at writing and I like telling stories with character growth and also a lot of sex.
Thank you for reading my work and take care.
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John went out to meet the woman on the wagon.
The sun had finally risen well at its zenith to bathe much of the land in its bright haze. The green pasture that extends from around the village and surrounds around the tower were full of sheep. It would have been an ideal time to just sit back and unwind within the confines of the tower. The tower was as much as his home growing up, being with his grandmother during her tenure as the Lampwatcher.
With each crunch of his step against the rough earth, John thought of what he had reached for. The job of a Lampwatcher. In doing so, he denied his grandmother's wishes for him to go somewhere else.
This was his first ever real job. One that would have an impact for the village as a whole. Sure, he helped with his grandmother but he always felt safe then, knowing that he wasn't the one in the frontlines. The responsibility and heavy lifting were always left to others.
Her grandmother's passing realized how sheltered he had lived his life. He was always just stayed behind the tower or their home, buried beneath the books his family had collected over the generations. Reading the exploits and adventures of others. His grandmother often caught him daydreaming of what he might do, walking back in forth in hallways of their home, stuck in his dreamscape and imagination.
Now here he was. This was the reality he chose.
These were real people. With real consequences.
He didn't know where he was going in his life. All he did know was he can't stop now, he has to put one foot in front of the other and keep on going.
Despite the unchallenged heat of the sun, the mountainscape winds were ever present, ever cold.
The winds maybe chillier here than the lowlands but he found himself always sweating through the cloth of his back, whenever he found himself handling troublesome folk.
Once, while his grandmother was making her rounds out in the ravine, John found himself alone at her post. John was just doing some simple things, cleaning her grandmother's weapons, potives and other tools of her trade.
The person that came looking for her wasn't from the village but just a passing merchant. The merchant seemed to be in foul mood him that day. To this day, he could not discern what irked the merchant to be in such mood. However he did found himself at the receiving end of it.
The merchant's inquiring at first were simple. John remembered something about some grazing rights and some argument with a sheep farmer about some wool. His face was near red, like some plump red berry turning purple, dangerous to burst at any time.
John, being the recluse that he was, floundered at all the names the merchant mentioned and all the things that he had done right. The man was near shrieking at him and ready to commit to violence. Her grandmother's teaching that day kicked in. John feared the man may get violent even. He didn't know what to do then.
A heavy weight was lifted off his chest, when the familiar shadow of his grandmother finally graced the door.
Stephana Guntram, was a tall woman. Imposing figure in leather armor and lesquin's attire. The jutting end of her carabine fusil at her back. But she was all smiles when the talked to the man. Her tone was friendly and understanding. Cheerful even. She answered his inquiries and deflected much of his rather ill-tempered remarks. He had heard folks call her she knew how to "blend" people.
Their sweetness and sourness, churning and ands stirring them just the right way that their inquiries always turned out just right. Not perfect. But not so wrong either. Just the right "blend".
He admired that of her. She never was to get intermingled with their emotions. Always resolute.
John on the other hand, would just do about anything to drive them off. People were troublesome. Complicated.
John got closer, couple mere feet away from the woman in the wagon. She was older than John by a couple of years, by how many however he does not know. She wore a midnight blue travelling dress in a shade of color that played tricks in the eye. John could not quite discern if it was blue or black, as if in the corner of his eyes it would be one color only for it to change to another when he would look at it directly.
It looked quite fetching on her John must admit. She had sharp features, from the glint of her eyes to the edge of her jaw. Her gaze was calm and penetrating like a sudden strike of lightning, clear and dangerous and without noise. John feared of the trailing thunder behind her gaze.
He may not be one when it comes to interacting with people but he could get a feel every now and then of their traits. This woman was going to be a very tough one to deal with. He had to bit back a sigh at the prospect.
She doesn't seem to be stopping. The gait of her ox was slow but never ceasing.
So he said, in his own appropriation of an officious tone he had heard plenty from the village officials, including his own grandmother.
"Ho there, halt please," that came out good. It was a good start. Not too submissive but not too hostile either.
