The Village

The wind whirls around you, whipping back and forth as you look up from under your hood. You squint, trying to read the sign through the thick rain violently pelting your face. You blink the water free of your eyes several times before finally making it out.

“The Drunken Lover”

Below the words, there is a depiction of a busty maid, leaned back provocatively over a spilled drink mug.

You step up the old wooden stairs. They creak under your weight as you step onto the covered porch and pull back your hood. You run your hand through your neck-length brown hair and sling out some of the rain, now that it is no longer hammering down on you. You allow yourself a little time to dry off before entering, busying yourself with looking over the wooden structure, and admiring the stone walls of the tavern that remind you of home. The unusual pattern and sharp rugged edges... you reach out, resting your hand on it. Small streams of rain trickle down the wall, teasing your fingers as they dance their way to the ground. You close your eyes. It was a simpler life then. Not always on the road, roaming from place to place. If only...

“It’s just a wall man.”

You blink, and look to the side, noticing now the man curled up in a corner on the porch. “Why are you ogglin it and touchin it like you wanna make love to it?”

You don’t bother to respond.

“The girls inside are prettier than that there wall. I’d be in there.. but I ain’t got no more money.”

Lightning strikes nearby, briefly illuminating the pitiful excuse of a man huddled in the corner.

“Say... about that... care to he...”

You ignore him, grabbing the iron handle and pulling the tavern door open. You enter, leaving the useless beggar to the storm.

The wind whips around you as you enter, disturbing the occupants inside. The room quiets, and they all look to you, curious who interrupted their drinking. You ignore their annoyed gazes and find an unoccupied bench, and sit down.

The room slowly rises in volume again as the patrons resume their bantering and crude drunken humor.

A mature tavern wench steps up to you with a couple of jugs and an empty mug. “What’ll you be having then, stranger?”

Your eyes drift up her figure. Brown sandals barely cover her, oddly, well-manicured feet. The leather straps twist and wrap their way up her healthy legs. A yellowish brown skirt covers her womanly hips and thighs, which appear perfect for child bearing. Her outfit wraps tightly around her lean waist, as well as her breasts, which are impressive. Not overly huge or anything, but full. Her ample bosom, you are sure, serves her well in her occupation. Your eyes drift to her unblemished neckline, partially obscured by her naturally curly reddish hair, then into her green eyes, admiring this older, yet still quite remarkable woman.

“Well? What’ll it be?” She says, obviously ignoring your looks of interest, and encouraging you to answer.

“Ale” You respond.

“Food this evenin?”

“No, not hungry.”

“Fine.” She responds, with no hint of emotion. She drops a mug in front of you, fills it from one of her pitchers, and walks off.

You thank her despite her flat demeanor.

She’s been doing this awhile. Obviously a very tough woman. Used to men doing what they do, especially when drunk.

You survey the room. These all look like locals. All joking around like drunken friends. I don’t imagine they would have too many visitors here. Out of the way, no major places to trade out this direction. Quaint little village. This might be a decent place to... You stop yourself from that train of thought, and are quickly distracted by an old, fat, boisterous patron shouting.

“Hey Lena! Why don’t you come over here and fill me up?!”

Lena was a very young and very pretty blonde. She had an innocent and shy demeanor that was very out of place. She was of consenting age, but something about her did not fit. She was too gentle, too well groomed. She did not belong here. You wonder what may have happened, that she wound up here, serving as a tavern wench.

Lena picked up a jug from the barkeep and headed over to the boisterous man. You could already tell he was a tremendous asshole. She refilled his drink as he grinned at her, obviously mind fucking her to pieces with those creepy eyes.

You were a predator yourself, so you try to hold back your judgement, some... lest you be a complete hypocrite. Although, none of your, partners... ever complained. If rejected, you are sure you would respect their decision and leave them be. Besides, there is no need to draw unnecessary attention to one’s self. If you are not welcome and unwanted, best to just leave.

Watching this man. This fat, ugly, obnoxious man. A man who could be her grandfather, really irritated the fuck out of you.

The boisterous man leaned in as she filled the last if his drink. “I’d love to fill you up too, you know that pretty girl?”

And there it is.

He laughed, crudely, and Lena turned to go. “Oh com’on, I’d take good care of ya!” His hand quickly reached up, grabbing and squeezing her ass. She turned, blushing, and glared at him.

“You bring nothing of value to the young lady, old man. It is obvious she is not interested, leave her be.” You say calmly.

He bolts up, scowling at you. “It’s none of your fucking business, stranger, mind your own!”

“Alright Gandril, that’s enough. Wrap up your drinks and lets end this night on a good note, ok?” The tavern keeper spoke up from his bar, trying to calm the situation.

So much for not drawing unnecessary attention to myself...

You glance towards Lena, momentarily meeting her frosty blue eyes.

Fuck.

You see it in her eyes. Gratitude, desire, longing. She bites her lower lip, but turns away and returns to her duties.

Shit, I’ve done it again. I know I look decent but it’s not that, they’re drawn to me. All of them, but some more so than others. I do not wish to “always” corrupt their innocence.

You sigh.

“Fine Rakil,” the disgruntled dirty old man said, “but the stranger better keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.”

You ignore Gandril’s threat, and nod to the Tavern keeper in agreement, saying nothing further.

You take a sip of your drink to interrupt the akwardness in the room. It is... especially awful. You continue drinking it anyway. The tavern looks well constructed, very few windows. Rough stone walls on all sides, just like your childhood home. Strong, well made wood framing seemed to be in all the right places along the walls and ceiling. Aesthetically pleasing as well as quite sturdy.

Some time passes as you relax and settle into an adequate level of comfort with the place, especially after Gandril and his friends left. More and more people were now slowly beginning to head home. You guess it is probably 1-2 AM. Pretty typical winding down time for these kinds of places. You stand up and walk over to the bar. The tavern keeper, Rakil, nods at you, obviously querying you for your needs.

“Sir, I seek a room for the next few days. Are there any available?” He nods to a narrow hallway adjacent to the dining hall. “It’s 2 copper a night, or 10 for a week.”

“That is doable.” You toss him a silver which covers the week and little extra.

You step towards the room, but hesitate, and turn back to the bar.

“To be clear, I mean no disrespect in asking this, but I also crave the... comfort of a woman’s touch. Do you offer such services?”

“This is not a brothel.” Rakil said flatly. “However.” He pauses again, “I will extend the offer to our ladies of your desires and propose appropriate compensation for them. If they agree, I will point them in your direction. If they do not, your money will be returned first thing in the morning.”

“Fair enough.” You reply.

Rakil continues, “Lena, you are already familiar with, I would guess, based on the incident earlier.” He pauses, “Thank you for letting the situation calm, by the way.”

“Valera is the one who served your drink. Both are magnificent women. Did you have a preference?”

“Price?”

“For Valera, 3 gold. One for the house, and 2 for her.”

“For Lena, she has so much more to lose. She is a virgin of consenting age, beautiful, and could easily marry the right suitor if given the opportunity. However, she does not have many options here in our small community, and with the unfortunate of her proud family just a month ago, her options are even more limited. 7 gold, 1 for the house and 6 for her.”

“I mean no offense,” you reply, “She could buy a small cottage for that, or food for a considerable amount of time.”

“That is the point. She has lost everything, and if she does this, it will need to give her a new start in life, a new chance, as it will sadly, also, ruin her chances with marrying anyone of stature.”

“Remember, these are not whores. Whores are cheap, my girls are not. It is highly likely they will not even bother responding to your proposal.”

You nod, and pull out your coin purse.